For early career researchers, the academic job market is challenging. It can easily feel like an obstacle course without a finish line. I found the cycle of looking for jobs, writing applications, waiting, getting a rejection (or never hearing back), then scouring for jobs again both exhausting and demoralizing. This is an attempt to put my thoughts into words.

Early Career Struggles

If you’re an academic, you will most likely have a good idea what the current job market and the working conditions of ECRs look like. Staggering numbers of applicants for each position, not just those at well-known institutions or in popular locations. Scholars moving from one short-term contract to the next, in particular if – like me – they are looking for a position in Germany and the institute sector. The dependency on external funding to secure the position you hold. The expectation to flexibly go where the job is, wherever the job is. So what if it’s 800 kilometers away. So what if it’s in a different country, maybe one you never saw yourself living in, whose language you do not (yet) speak and whose academic culture you’re not familiar with. So what if it means uprooting your life and starting over, from scratch, for the fourth time in the fourth country within ten years. So what if you have no energy left to build up a new social network in a new location because you have to assume it will be temporary anyway. And never mind how difficult (cross-border) moves are logistically, bureaucratically and financially.

At the core of such mobility expectations is the notion that it’s a privilege to be working as a scholar and that, therefore, no sacrifice is too big. I’ve encountered arguments insinuating that unlike jobs in “the real world,” academic research is some sort of self-indulgent activity we engage in purely for our own personal gratification. As if there is no benefit of our research, of our teaching, of our science communication and policy orientation, to society whatsoever. We are not doing a job, like people in other professions. No, we are following our calling. As such, we have no right to the job security and stability other professions (albeit certainly not all of them) do. Academia is oh so special and unique.

Maybe such narratives wouldn’t matter if it were easy enough to find a suitable position, again and again. Encouraged by my prior experiences, I was optimistic about my chances. Naively optimistic. As I started my job hunt early and still had quite some time left on my current contract, I chose to be selective in what I applied for. I limited myself to opportunities where I thought my profile was truly a good fit. To make a long story short, I was not invited to interview for most of the positions where I thought my profile was an almost perfect match. I became confused and frustrated, not least because several of my colleagues had nothing but encouraging words for me. With your CV, you won’t have any trouble finding a position. The thing is, though, that other people have impressive CVs as well, and coupled with a particular substantive focus, or a methodological skill set, or someone who advocates for them, that may make them a more desirable candidate. As much as we are told to “publish or perish,” and as much as our publication record is emphasized as the core criterion (at least in Scandinavia), in the end it is only one puzzle piece. In my experience, however, it is not always clear what the other puzzle pieces are – and if all potential employers are even working with the same puzzle set.

When I talked (and yes, complained) to others, I received varied advice: Apply more widely geographically! What about the UK, the Netherlands, the U.S.? I was contacted by search committees and recruiters inter alia from Australia, Israel and the United Arab Emirates. Some of these positions would have been very tempting had I been in a different point in life. Other people suggested I apply for different kinds of positions (e.g. more teaching-intensive) than I had in mind.

Choosing Yourself

But what I came away with after 1.5 to 2 years on the job market is this: No matter what others tell you, or what the academic gold standard is for what types of positions are and are not desirable, focus on and be guided by what you want out of life. I had very clear criteria for what I wanted my next position to be: based in Germany, in my field of expertise, research-focused, with minimal to no teaching. Would I have compromised on one of these criteria if I had come across an otherwise perfect position? Absolutely. Would I have been willing to compromise on several? As long as I could afford to keep looking, no. Although at one point I almost did, and it was only when I had rejected the offer at the last minute after the parameters of the position kept changing, that I realized I was not willing to compromise too much, too soon.

In short: Whatever criteria you set for yourself are the right ones. They are valid. It doesn’t matter if your plans and priorities hold up to other people’s standards or to what some fictitious personification of academia would expect you to do. Even if it means saying no to an opportunity that would objectively (ha!) be better – which usually means more prestigious – than what you envision for yourself. Choose yourself rather than “being strategic” or “playing the game.” Liberating oneself from the ideas and values we are socialized into as academics can be difficult. The only acceptable goal? Continuing down the academic path leading towards a professorship, and struggling through a string of precarious employment situations along the way. Why else would you have gone to all the trouble of getting a PhD? Pledge your allegiance to academia now and forever. Leaving academia means failure. No, it doesn’t. All of us probably know at least one person who has left academia, and is much happier for it. Better work hours, better pay, a less cut-throat environment, greater job security are just some of the things I have had former colleagues rave about.

In the end, I had just about made peace with the idea of leaving academia. (To my great surprise and immense delight, I was then unexpectedly offered a position that encapsulates pretty much everything I had been looking for [minus job security, but that’s a given in this field, sadly]. I will be starting in the new year.) But before that, I would have been OK with turning my back on academia because I have criteria and goals for my life that go beyond my identity as an academic. I am glad to see that among the “younger” generations of scholars, we are placing greater emphasis on putting ourselves first – within whatever economic and situational constraints we face, of course.

This can result in accusations of being entitled, inflexible or naive, of setting the wrong priorities, or of failing to acknowledge the privilege it is to be an academic. But here’s the thing: we shouldn’t view it as an honor to be granted the opportunity to be a scholar. Not if it comes with a sense of obligation to sacrifice on several dimensions of our personal lives and our non-professional goals. Being an academic is not a calling. It is something I worked hard to be good at, something I truly enjoy, but it is not something I am willing to place above all the other things that matter in my life. Choosing yourself is never the wrong decision. And we need to move away from the idea of academic exceptionalism.