The basement

In January 2013, I defended my thesis, which received some public and scholarly attention at the time. My department gave me the opportunity to teach full-time for the remainder of the year. In April of that year, I became a father for the first time. I was an editorial secretary for the scholarly journal Scandia. A leading professor invited me to participate in larger applications. On the scale between hubris and self-contempt, I was closer to hubris. An indication of this was that I decided to apply only for multi-year research funding. I didn’t want to work based on small grants or stipends. I was too good for that. 

A year later, I was more humble. None of my applications had been close to being accepted. There were no prospects of further teaching assignments. In the summer of 2014, furthermore, the Department of History moved to new premises. In the old building, where I had been both an undergraduate and PhD student, the staff was mixed. The offices of professors and PhD students could be next to each other. At LUX, things looked different. There was one floor for people with permanent positions and another for PhD students and postdocs. In addition, there was a room in the basement for newly minted PhDs without research funding. 

So, when I returned from my parental leave in 2014, I wasn’t just grounded. I was literally below ground. There was a small window offering some sunlight. The terms of my employment expired within one month. I realized there and then that my back was up against the wall. The basement was not a long-term solution. It was either up or out. 

At this time, postdocs at Lund University were offered the opportunity to attend something called PostdocTraining. It was a digital course aimed at postdocs in all disciplines. I’m quite certain the self-confident me in 2013 would not have attended this program. But the slightly more humble me in 2014 did so. I listened to e-classes and conscientiously carried out the various assignments. I started to realize that the time had come for me to take control of my career and create a long-term plan. If I wanted to work as a historian, I needed to get into the game. 

Another eye-opener for me at this time was Karen Kelsky’s blog, subsequently book, The Professor Is In (2015). It is a brutally honest book on how the academic labor market operates. It is written on the basis of an American context by someone who was awarded tenure, but who subsequently chose to leave the academy. For those wanting to learn the rules of the game in academia, there is no better place to start. For those wanting to retain their illusions and romantic ideals of higher education, it represents dangerous reading. 

One thing I realized when reading The Professor Is In was that my failures in 2013 were not particularly difficult to explain. Taking a look at my CV and list of publications was quite sufficient. These documents clearly showed that I had not understood anything about the academic labor market in the 2010s. I had not written any peer-reviewed journal articles. I had not been published in English. I had not received any grants. I had not presented my research at international conferences. I had not been a visiting PhD student. 

Simply put, there was no real foundation for my ambitions to have an academic career. If I had any qualities, I didn’t communicate these all that well. In the basement, I could no longer turn a blind eye to reality. If I were to make something of myself, I needed to study the rule book and roll up my sleeves. This was the beginning of a personal professionalization process. It’s still ongoing.

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