Ending things

It’s sometimes said that a thesis is never completed – it’s abandoned. There is some truth to that expression. Many research projects end long before the academic feels that he or she is finished. The high demands sometimes originate externally, but most frequently from within. For many academics, the pursuit of perfection is one of the strongest drivers. It can even be non-negotiable. 

I have a somewhat different disposition. I primarily like to discover and learn new things. That’s why I am happy to move on to new fields of research. The next project generally attracts me more than the one I’m currently working on. At the same time, I truly dislike leaving things unfinished. I thus need to put an end to things in order to really move forward. Note, however, that it doesn’t have to be the best ending ever. “Done is better than perfect.” 

I haven’t always had this attitude. Nor does it always come naturally. That is why I use a special technique to finish things. I decide in advance how much time I will spend on them. When I agree to write a review, I schedule time for this in my calendar. What I manage to do during this time is what I submit. I use the same technique for applications. I dedicate a certain amount of time during which I do my best to write something good. 

This blog follows the same principle. I had been thinking for years about launching a research blog. To make it happen, I decided to do so for a year and to publish one post a week. Each post would be about 500 words. In my mind, this task was substantial and ambitious. But it was not limitless. There were a starting and an endpoint as well as a clear framework. I knew what to do and I knew when I was going to be done. That’s how I like to work. 

At the same time, I am obviously only human. As the blog attracted readers and some posts received a great deal of positive feedback, I started thinking about carrying on. Long into the fall of 2019, I seriously considered simply keeping going. At least until the book manuscript had been submitted. Or why not until the monograph was to be printed? Perhaps I could rename the blog “Two years of academic writing”? 

In the end, however, I came to the conclusion that the time had come to end it. I like principles and am reluctant to break promises I have made to myself. “Get a plan and stick to it” is more my thing than “Wing it.” I’m sure some people will find this approach rigid, but to me – as I have discussed in previous posts – this is ultimately a way of creating freedom and well-being. 

That is why a year of academic writing is over today. This is the result. For me, this has been an extremely fun, stimulating and meaningful journey. I can highly recommend other people thinking about starting a blog to give it a go. At some point, I will probably do this again in some form. Until then, I hope we meet in other contexts. Thank you for your attention.

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The Monday club

Most of my blog posts have not taken all that long to write. I have had an idea about something I want to say, found a point of entry, after which the actual writing has been a smooth and fun experience. Of course, I have edited and rewritten my texts afterward. In some posts, I have carefully considered how I phrase things. But that first text, the blog manuscript, has mostly taken shape in one focused sitting.

However, there is one theme I have struggled with. I have sat down and tried to do something about it at least a dozen times. But it’s never been good and dynamic. Perhaps I’ve been tense. Because I happen to think that this particular post is just a little bit more important. Hence, I’m going to try to write about it by taking a detour… 

I made up my mind on the title of this post a long time ago: The Monday Club. This is the name of the group of peers that includes Malin Arvidsson, Erik Bodensten, Martin Ericsson and yours truly. For almost three years now, we have each week had a set lunch date when those of us who’ve been able to do so meet behind closed doors to talk about our work and the different situations in which we find ourselves. These lunches tend to last for about an hour and what is said in the Monday Club stays in the Monday Club. These lunches are characterized by honesty, trust and the fact that we all care for each other. 

When we launched the club, it was intended to serve as a writing support group. The plan was that we would talk about ongoing writing projects and get help from the others in terms of setting intermediate objectives and being held accountable. We were inspired by Paul J. Silvia’s Write It Up (2014). Relatively quickly, however, it evolved into addressing all those other things: teaching, applications, requests and feelings. Not least, it has come to be about choices, priorities and daring to look beyond one’s immediate professional horizon. As far as I am concerned, the group has helped me say no, disengage and lower my ambitions. But also to set targets, be confident and persevere. 

Academic work requires all of the above. It is contradictory work and certainly not easy to navigate. Especially not for lone rangers. By joining a group of peers, you’re continuously given the opportunity to put words on your situation and your feelings. You get to share other people’s experiences, difficulties, successes and strategies. Over time, you also learn what drives the others. This makes it easier to both give and receive advice and support. 

For me, the group plays a great role for my well-being and growth at work. During times when we for various reasons have found it difficult to meet on a regular basis, this has had an impact on me. My work has not been as enjoyable. In private, I’ve found it more difficult to let go of my work and relax. The decisions I make on my own are also without a doubt lower in quality than the ones I make in consultation with the group. I tend to take on too much work and create obligations and excessive loyalties out of nowhere. The people in the group are experts in defusing this. They are also very familiar with my writing and working process. They know that my weeks often start with concerns and resistance but that these have often been resolved a week later (subsequently replaced by a new “problem”…). 

I’m not sure whether this post has done justice to the Monday Club. But I really want to highly recommend those curious about this way of working to gather some colleagues and try it out. For those who want more inspiration, I would also recommend Ellen Daniell’s Every Other Thursday: Stories and Strategies from Successful Women Scientists (2006). This is an incredible story of friendship and science spanning 25 years. The Monday Club will probably not be around for that long. But you never know!

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What are the benefits of being a parent in academia?

The difficulties associated with combining an academic career with a gender-equal family life are well-known. Historically, successful scholars have been rich men who didn’t really have to concern themselves with taking care of children, cooking, washing and cleaning. Obviously, this role included participating in social and intellectual evening activities, at one’s own discretion. Travel, conferences and a need for isolation didn’t generally have to be reconciled with the calendar of someone else working full-time. 

The current role as academic is modeled on this privileged position. For women in some countries close to Sweden, it is still almost impossible to seek an academic career and start a family. One child is perhaps possible. But beyond that, it’s a matter of making a choice. Anyone trying to have their cake and eat it too does so at his or her own risk and against better judgment. 

Fortunately, this is not the situation in Scandinavia. Here, there are lots of academics – women and men – who are on parental leave, drop off and pick up children from daycare, work and piece together calendars. How well they compete with others, however, may be up for discussion. But at least they are not disqualified from the outset. Could it even be that they enjoy some advantages? Is it possible that they have something others do not have? 

In order not to overgeneralize, I base the following on my own experiences. How have the years of being a parent with small children helped me as an academic? First, they have offered me a much-needed perspective on my work. They have made me realize that when it all boils down, this is just a job. However fun and stimulating it may be, there are many things that are more important. This insight makes it easier for me to set boundaries and say no. 

Second, the time limitations have served as an indirect blessing. In a normal workweek, I have, at best, five days working 8 a.m. to 4 p.m. I’m typically too tired to work in the evenings. On weekends and longer holidays, my days are filled with family activities. This has forced me to get better at prioritizing my tasks and planning my time. I have gotten better at finishing things and not overdoing them. The latter sometimes feels almost like a superpower. 

Third, being a parent has made me more fearless. I’m confident that my value as a human being has very little to do with my work. My children couldn’t care less if I get praise, grants or citations. What I write and publish makes no difference to them whatsoever. In their world, it doesn’t matter whether or not I have a good period at work (as long as it doesn’t affect my general mood). This has made me better at failing and facing adversity. After all, what I do at work is not that important. I still need to mix baby formula and cook dinner tomorrow.

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What academics can learn from poker players

My undergraduate years coincided with the massive boom in online poker. In the Magic circles I belonged to, it was obvious that we should jump on board. By talking to friends and reading some poker books, I learned pretty quickly how to become a winning player. At that time, around 2005, this was not particularly difficult. The skill level of the average online poker player was low. If you had the discipline to fold starting hands and count pot odds, you were far above average. 

But to become a winning poker player, being good at the actual game was not sufficient. Being able to manage money, choosing who to play and being emotionally stable (in ups and downs) were at least as important. These were my strengths. I wasn’t the best poker player among my Magic friends. I was definitely not as talented as my younger brother. But I had a robust system that I was good at applying. It made me pretty good at winning money. But, more importantly, I was good at not losing money. 

A key concept in this context is the “bankroll,” meaning the capital a poker player has at his or her disposal. This should be separate from the private economy and to some extent be seen as “Monopoly money.” An important principle is that the bankroll should be significantly larger than the amounts you’re betting. If you have 100,000 in a bankroll, losing 3,000 one night is not that bad. But if the bankroll is 3,000, the same loss is disastrous. Then you’ve “gone bust.” It goes without saying that the vast majority of professional poker players have at one time or another gone bust. I never did. I was tough as nails in my money management. 

The concept of bankroll is also useful in the academy. Especially for project researchers. Here, your research money and research time are equivalent to a poker player’s bankroll. This is your game capital meant to generate research results and publications. If you run out of game capital before you receive new funds, you have “gone bust.” Depending on your personal finances, this could mean that you need to take what’s on offer, such as temporary heavy teaching contracts in another part of the country. In such a case, it will be difficult for you to publish, research and write applications. You easily end up in a negative spiral. 

But let’s imagine that you have a year of research secured. What can you do in such a situation? Well, given that you want to continue to do research under reasonably good working conditions (preferably better!), you need to prioritize securing new funds. A poker player would refer to this as “building a bankroll.” A large bankroll enables you to adopt a long-term perspective and take calculated risks. A small bankroll forces you to adopt a short-term perspective and take chances. 

The major advantage of having a decent bankroll is that you can afford to lose. For those with two to three years of research secured, it is not a disaster if a Swedish Research Council application is rejected. You’ll get another chance next year. And the next. This means that you can approach the application process in a relaxed manner and look upon it as part of a larger learning process. The worst thing that can happen is that you have spent a few weeks delving into something and developing your ideas. The best thing that can happen is that your bankroll is doubled. 

For those who don’t have a lot of time, the same approach can be applied to applications to smaller foundations. Such texts can often be written in a week or two and then sent out to 5–6 foundations. So, what you’re betting is a couple of weeks’ worth of work. At best, you win 6–9 months of research. For a poker player, this is an attractive game. “Heads I win, tails I don’t lose much.” However, this bet can’t be taken out if you’re absolutely backed up (50 exams to correct, a presentation at the city library and a chapter deadline a week from now). 

The result is that those who already have research funding have a major advantage over those who do not. In poker terms, they can “protect their bankroll” by allocating 10–20% of their research time to low-intense work on designing new projects and continuously applying for new funds. This means that they never need to force something that doesn’t really exist (or at least not be dependent on the bluff working). A lot of others don’t have that luxury. So, for those who want it and those who want to keep it, it doesn’t hurt to think like a poker player.

Further reading on the topic: "What academics can learn from players", "The role of writing applications in the research process"

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