What academics can learn from Andre Agassi

One of the books that has made the greatest impression on me this year is Andre Agassi’s autobiography Open (2010). Among a plethora of other things, it is about Agassi hating – and basically always having hated – playing tennis. The choice to seek to become an international top player was never his own. It was his father’s. From the time he was able to hold a racket, he was drilled in playing tennis. Tennis was never fun. It was never an interest. It was something Agassi was good at, thus becoming his job. 

In this regard, the life of Agassi resembles that of many others. There are lots of people working with something because, for one reason or another, they have to do it. Many people spend their days on things they are good at because someone else pays them a lot of money to do so. Being able to turn your interest into a livelihood is hardly a human right. 

Nevertheless, one of the most common pieces of career and life advice is: Do what you love! Follow your passion! It’s only when you truly enjoy something that you can get really good at it. Only those who love playing tennis can become the number one player in the world. But is this really the case? Do you have to be passionate about something to get really good at it? What really happens when people find a job they love? 

The latter question is at the center of Cal Newport’s So Good They Can’t Ignore You (2016), another of my 2019 reading highlights. This book is a rejection of the above standard advice. Newport argues that people rarely become happy simply by following their dreams. Many crash and burn on the way. Truly wanting something won’t take you very far when you are facing the Swedish Idol panel of judges or applying for an assistant professor position. 

Hence, Newport advises his readers to skip the “what do I really want to do with my life” phase. He thinks it’s a better idea to strive to be really good at something valued by others. If you do, you will be in a good position to create the career and the life you want. In addition, many people who are really good at something learn to appreciate it. The hatred is rarely as deep-seated as that of Agassi. 

All of this may seem alien to people working in the scholarly community. In the humanities in particular, there is plenty of deeprooted idealism. A lot of us ending up here have, against our better judgment, followed our interests and let these guide us. Those who in their early twenties thought about their future careers, mortgages and family vacations in Thailand obviously studied completely different subjects. 

At the same time, I believe there are many students in the humanities who continued much further than they initially planned precisely because they turned out to be good at it. They were good at studying for exams, analyzing texts and writing essays. A few words of encouragement from a teacher in a thematic course or an undergraduate seminar had major consequences. Perhaps you even turned out to be particularly talented in a research area you weren’t interested in whatsoever? According to Newport, this would not be particularly surprising – quite the opposite. Frequently, he argues, skill comes first followed by a deeper interest. 

But what can we learn from Agassi’s story? Well, one thing is that it’s clearly possible to be very good at something you truly despise. This lesson may be useful to keep in mind for those who find it difficult getting themselves to write grant applications, speak to a large audience or network at a conference. Tough luck. Not everything is fun. Sometimes, it’s simply a matter of doing your job and getting good at it. Maybe even so good that they can’t ignore you.

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Writing about teaching and learning

In the fall of 2016, I was asked by professor Klas-Göran Karlsson to be part of an edited volume project on teaching history at university level. He had an idea that I could write something about thematic and chronological aspects of teaching history. These were issues I had to some extent wrestled with when writing my thesis. It sounded like an exciting and difficult challenge and it didn’t take me long to accept. 

All in all, we were around a dozen people in my department who met for over a year to discuss ideas, experiences and chapter drafts. There was a wide range of people in the group. There were newly graduated PhDs with limited teaching experience and professors with decades of teaching under their belt. Some approached the pedagogical theme from perspectives based on theory and the philosophy of history. Others started off in concrete teaching situations and practical choices. 

Myself, I had a hard time starting to write. I didn’t feel that my own thoughts and experiences were sufficient. So, I set aside time to read and follow leads. In some way, I needed to find something worth building upon. A few years later, I can no longer accurately recreate this reading process. But I definitely recall when I found my way. The key text was Lendol Calder’s “Uncoverage: Toward a New Signature Pedagogy for the History Survey” (2006). I found it deeply inspiring. It was concrete without being boring. Theoretically sophisticated without being abstract and fussy. In addition, it was written in a sharp and smart fashion. 

For me, this text served as a portal. I read everything from Calder I could get my hands on. Through the footnotes, I followed the leads backward. Via Google Scholar, I checked out the ones who had cited him. During a few weeks, I made intellectual discoveries one after the other. If I were to choose the one thing in my profession I like the most, this is it. When new worlds open up and my reading, so to speak, cascades. 

In relation to this, I was asked by Henrik Rosengren, at that time editor of Scandia, whether I wanted to write a “Scandia introduces” piece. Some six months earlier, I had proposed a different subject, but the scholarship of teaching and learning track now seemed more attractive. As a result, I pitched the idea of writing about Lendol Calder’s pedagogical ideas. The result was the text “Avtäckningsmodellen: En undervisningsform med framtiden för sig?” (2017). It was later expanded into the longer book chapter “Kan vi göra på något annat sätt? Utblickar och tankar kring färdighetsorienterad historieundervisning” included in the edited volume Att undervisa i historia på universitetet (2018). 

An important consequence of this work was that Andrés Brink Pinto was inspired by my literature findings. We had each started to test some new approaches in our own teaching. These, we thought, turned out to be successful. Hence, in a low-intensity and organic fashion, a deeper collaboration emerged. In recent years, there have been conference presentations, a couple of joint texts and even a small research project together with Emma Severinsson on how students learn. 

A couple of weeks ago, we had the privilege to visit Örebro where Henric Bagerius and the other historians at the department have revised the undergraduate program on the basis of the same pedagogical ideas we were attracted to. Being able to take part in this work and discuss teaching issues with a cohesive team of teachers with real power over how teaching is to be designed was extremely stimulating. It will be very exciting to follow how their initiatives turn out! 

I could hardly have imagined that all this would follow from Klas-Göran’s invitation in the fall of 2016. But this is often the case with edited volume projects. They have side effects. Not least by facilitating new areas of cooperation. Controlling exactly what will happen, however, is quite difficult. For example, Klas-Göran himself had to address the questions of thematic and chronological teaching of history. This is often the case for research directors. To a large extent, their role is to give other academics opportunities, resources and challenges. What happens next is up to others. As economic historian Kerstin Enflo put it during a seminar this spring, managing academics is “like herding cats.” Myself, I have some history of knowledge experiences of trying to “herd.” In this context, however, I was one of the cats.

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Does reading matter?

This is a blog about academic writing, but perhaps it should also be a blog about academic reading? There is certainly no lack of incentives for academics to write. Anyone seeking to attain positions, research grants and a good reputation must write. There is no other way.  But do academics need to read? Or is it in practice sufficient to google, browse and generously use footnotes? Is there ever time to venture outside your own particular area? How does being well-read actually benefit you? 

I’ve been wrestling with these types of questions for a long time. In fact, reading is one of the things I value the most in my work. Writing is rarely as exciting as being immersed in a well-written and illuminating text. Nevertheless, just like many other academics, I feel that I have less and less time to read. When I was a PhD student, I could spend months reading up on new fields of research. I remember reading Paul Boyer’s By the Bomb’s Early Light: American Thought and Culture at the Dawn of the Atomic Age (1985/1994). I highlighted things on almost every page. Reading this book must have taken me a week or two. But what a reading experience! The things I learned! How inspired I was! 

I still prefer reading books and articles in their entirety. When I read for work, I use a pen. I underline and mark things to be able to return to the text. But these days, I relatively rarely read academic texts on what I am researching just for pleasure. This is perhaps a result of having been working on my current project for more than five years. It would require something quite extraordinary for me to have a mind-altering experience by reading about the breakthrough of environmental issues. That is why I prefer to read a bit farther away. My reading is also more based on individuals rather than subjects. I’d rather read what academics X and Y write, regardless of what they write about, than research in areas Q and Z, regardless of writer. 

In my experience, academics who have made an impression on me tend to be interesting regardless of subject. They are able to problematize phenomena and make me look upon things in a different light. They make me discover something I didn’t know I wanted to know. In addition, craftsmanship (i.e., how a skilled academic creates a text, presents a line of reasoning or uses language) can be just as interesting to follow as the actual content. Outstanding academic texts are also always included in larger intellectual contexts. They get better by relating to, building upon and challenging other texts and ideas. As a result, such texts turn into portals to lots of other rewarding reads. 

But how do you get the time to read? Can non-instrumental reading really be combined with writing, teaching, administrative tasks and children who need to be dropped off and picked up? Yes, I think so. In fact, I believe that it’s necessary to make room for “broad reading,” to refer to Ylva Hasselberg (whose new collection of essays Inte utan visst motstånd: Essäer om akademisk kapitalism och akademisk nyliberalism I highly recommend). In the short term, this reading may not matter for your career. A published article is undoubtedly more important than having read a couple of books. However, the long-term effects of reading in terms of intellectual growth should not be underestimated. Nor its social effects. There are few things as rewarding as conversing with great readers. 

But when should you engage in broad reading? And where? Myself, I do so in particular when on work trips. I sometimes also do so at night, after the children have gone to bed. In the last six months, I have also tried to replace my morning surfing routine with a little bit of book reading. A few years ago, when the kids required constant supervision and woke up very early in the morning, this was not possible. But at the moment, it works out pretty well. In the office, however, I rarely read longer texts. Here, I prioritize the opportunity of having uninterrupted writing time, interacting with others and everything else that needs to be done. What’s your approach?

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