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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Reflections on almost a year of blogging

It’s been almost a year since I launched this blog. Some 40 posts have been published and a few more are in the pipeline. However, in just over a month, on February 1, 2020, it will be over. At that time, this blog project will have reached its finish line. Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for the manuscript for my second book. This will require some additional time for writing. 

There are several reasons why the book manuscript will not be finished. First, I knew already in advance that a year for writing a book was a pretty ambitious goal. I’m not a slow writer. Nor am I fast as a bullet. What helps me produce text is that I have good routines, good self-discipline and a good minimum level. This means that I can consistently squeeze out one page a day. Sometimes two. Only rarely more than that. 

Second, I’ve had a lot of other things requiring my attention. In 2019, I have written applications, edited two books, traveled to conferences and organized seminars. I have also received requests for a couple of small writing projects that I didn’t want to turn down. The book has been a priority during 2019. At times, however, the project has been on hold. These are the choices I have made and they are ones I accept. 

However, a project that has not slowed down my book is this blog. Before I started, I was afraid that it would consume a lot of time. To some extent, this is obviously also the case. Blog posts don’t write themselves. But at the same time, at least for me, writing has resulted in more writing. By constantly writing for publication, I have increased my speed. In addition, I have become more fearless expressing myself in writing. Unlike almost all other forms of academic writing, blogging also offers immediate feedback. This has been valuable. 

A further advantage of blogging about my writing and working process is that it results in a form of accountability. My book writing occurs in public, thus creating a form of social contract. Sure, none of you readers will punish me if there is no book in the end. But as far as I am concerned, the promise made to myself is made stronger by making it public. From time to time, I have to report on the progress of the book. This means that my blogging represents additional pressure on me to actually advance in the book project. This pressure has also been valuable. 

More important than all this, however, is the fact that this blog has taken on a greater purpose along the way. As it is now entering its final stages, I realize that it no longer primarily concerns academic writing and writing a second book. It is about what it’s like to be an academic at the beginning of his or her career and everything associated with that. 

Many of us live this kind of life. But we are rarely heard. The voice of the project researcher has no obvious forums or any obvious representatives. Yet, we represent an important part of the academy. Without us, many departments and research fields would have ground to a halt and become rigid. For our well-being, however, we need each other. We need to share experiences and help each other. I hope that this blog has played such a role and that it will continue to do so for a while. 

With these words, I thank you for this year. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! The blog will start again on January 17.

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The glass ceiling

The higher you get in the academic hierarchy, the fewer the women. This is a general pattern. Things may be balanced at the undergraduate and graduate level in different disciplines. Perhaps even more women. Among associate and full professors, however, this balance shifts. Women drop off and men remain. The theme of this blog, writing a second book, is a classic dividing line. More men than women manage to write one. If we add children into the equation, these differences become even more significant. There are very few female historians with children under the age of ten who publish a second book. But quite a few men. 

The general pattern is not exclusive to academia. It appears in all hierarchical organizations, such as the judiciary and business life. Looking at my own cohort of history PhD students in Lund, the outcome is predictable. Six or seven years after having received their PhD, some of the men have written second books, become associate professors (docent) and gained permanent faculty positions. None of the women. This despite the fact that the women have been relatively more successful among the major research funding bodies. Furthermore, several of the women have been employed in permanent, parttime administrative positions. The men have not. 

Why is that? And what can we do about it? Looking at the academic career advice literature, we find Rena Seltzer’s highly readable The Coach’s Guide for Women Professors (2015). This is a practical guide written by someone with decades’ worth of experience in coaching female academics and leaders. Among other things, it includes a great chapter on learning how to say no. This, of course, is something all ambitious academics need to learn. But it’s particularly important for women. In fact, due to current gender imbalances and gender equality requirements, they will receive considerably more inquiries than men. These may involve various forms of reviews, grading committees, supervising, committee work, etc. Men, on the other hand, stay under the radar and can uninterruptedly work on improving their CVs. Women must safeguard their time or drown in smaller tasks. 

For those wanting to read even more broadly, and with an open mind, there is Sally Helgesen and Marshall Goldsmith’s How Women Rise (2018). This is a sequel to Goldsmith’s modern classic What Got You Here Won’t Get You There (2013), focusing on the behaviors preventing successful people from reaching the next level. These books are primarily written for business executives and are based on the authors’ many years of experience in coaching this demographic. But the principles are valid in many different contexts, including academia. 

These two books are written based on an understanding that at high levels, skill, intelligence, talent or drive rarely determine who is the most successful. Everyone on the starting line has a lot of these qualities. Hence, other aspects determine the outcome. Helgesen and Goldsmith are not blind to structural causes, but their focus is on things that the individual him- or herself can do something about. They focus on behaviors in particular. And among the most dangerous are the ones that have gotten us to where we are today. The reason is that what was a virtue at one level – say, always delivering 100% – may be directly harmful at another level. A postdoc or senior lecturer must be able to let go of texts and give lectures that are good enough. There’s simply not enough time to think about each footnote and comma. Not everything you do can be a masterpiece. In such a case, you will drown in work. There won’t be enough hours in the day. 

But which habits tend to serve as obstacles for women? Helgesen and Goldsmith list twelve. These include “reluctance to claim your achievements,” “expecting others to spontaneously notice and reward your contributions,” “the perfection trap,” ‘the disease to please” and “putting your job before your career.” At least my wife, who is on track to becoming a judge, nods in agreement… Perhaps some of the female readers of this blog do the same?

Further reading on the topic: "The second book", "On the importance of a social and intellectual context", "Mobility"

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The 2014 five-year plan revisited

In the summer of 2014, I created my first ever five-year plan. That was not my idea, but an assignment in the online course PostdocTraining. It involved a great deal of effort. Before I embarked on creating it, I carried out a few exercises. They aimed to clarify who I was, where I wanted to go and what I needed to do to get there. One of these exercises involved estimating how good I was at some 40 academic tasks and the extent to which I enjoyed doing them. Another involved visualizing my ideal workday twenty years from now. From when I woke up to when I went to bed. 

They may not sound like particularly difficult exercises. But I was mentally exhausted. I wasn’t used to thinking about my life in these timescales. During my time as a PhD student, I did my best to avoid thinking about the time after I graduated. Four years felt like oceans of time. And if I only did my very best, things would probably work themselves out. After all, that had been the case so far. 

The result, as you know, was that I ended up in the basement at LUX. A humbling experience. So, I decided to carry out the exercises diligently and without any preconceived notions. My motto was try first, judge later. After a couple of weeks, I had created a five-year plan. It was obviously full of uncertain variables. But I was actually quite clear about which situation I wanted to find myself in by 2019. I wanted to be internationalized, to have secured funding for a research project in a new subject area and, by extension, to be employable. 

I looked upon internationalization as something absolutely crucial if I wanted to work as a historian. In my professional context, I noticed that those who wrote in English, regularly traveled to international conferences and became visiting scholars were rewarded with grants and positions. I had yet to do any of this. This was something I needed to change, and this is also something I have done. I now have many publications in English under my belt, I am used to international conferences and I have a rather substantial international network. With small children, it hasn’t been possible to engage in any longer visiting fellowships. In empirical terms, I have also for all intents and purposes continued to have a Swedish focus. But, on the whole, I’m quite satisfied with how I’ve worked on this. A lot has happened in five years. 

The second item has also gone according to plan. A couple of years into my time as a postdoc, I discovered the private investor blogosphere. At first, my reading was based on aimless curiosity and a fascination with an unfamiliar cultural phenomenon. Over time, I realized that this could probably be studied from a historical perspective. The key was when I started reading economic historian Orsi Husz’s articles on the financialization of everyday life. They were incredibly inspiring and served as a portal into this field. At the national history conference in Sundsvall, I approached her. The following year, we invited her to the history of knowledge seminar series in Lund. We then got her involved in an edited volume project, and next year we will work together within a module of the large research program headed by Jenny Andersson. This item on the list could certainly not have worked out any better! 

The third objective was to become employable. This is a point I’ve not really reached. I have yet to become a contender for a permanent faculty position. I hope that the second book, once finished, will enable me to be in contention. However, this obviously depends on who I am facing and what the external reviewers value. Contrary to sports based on concrete results, such as soccer or track and field, history is a sport based on receiving scores from judges. There are a lot of things I’m unable to influence. 

So, what would me in 2014 think of the years that have passed? Would he have been satisfied with the outcome? Yes, I’m absolutely certain that he would. My postdoc years have been my best time in academia. Each year, my work has become more interesting and the stage bigger. I think that the five-year plan I drafted in the summer of 2014 has something to do with this. Long-term planning makes dreams and ambitions more concrete. It offers tools for prioritizing and having the courage to do things that seem scary. In a few weeks’ time, the time has thus come to create my second five-year plan.

Further reading: The Basement

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Chaper 6 and 7

During the last few weeks, I have sort of gotten started on writing the sixth chapter in my second book. It’s about how an organized Swedish environmental movement started to emerge during the years around 1970. My point of entry into this theme is the youth organization Nature and Youth Sweden (Fältbiologerna), which I wrote about together with Anna Kaijser. Our article serves as a point of departure for the chapter, albeit supplemented by press material and other studies. 

The structure of the chapter is quite clear. I start by highlighting how a couple of hundred members gathered at Sergels Torg in Stockholm in March 1969 to protest against the expansion of hydro electric power in northern Sweden. This demonstration aroused a fair amount of media attention at the time. These young people were “no ordinary demonstrators.” The organization was associated with bird watching and outdoor life – not political manifestations. However, this would change in the years around 1970. Nature and Youth Sweden became an active and highly visible part of the new environmental movement. 

In order to show the effects of this transformation, I carry out a chronological review of the history of Nature and Youth Sweden from the late 1950s to the early 1970s. At the beginning of this period, the association is firmly rooted in an older tradition of nature conservation. The key aspects here include experiencing, studying and preserving wild nature. When a member of Nature and Youth Sweden talks about “environmental degradation” in 1961, it means that esthetic values are under threat. They are concerned that a highly productive cultural landscape with cultivated fields and pine and spruce trees will expand at the expense of the untouched expanses. 

A couple of years later, in the wake of Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring (1962), they start to discuss toxic substances and birds dying. But there is hardly any talk of a global environmental crisis threatening the survival of humankind. However, this theme will become important in the late 1960s. That is to say, after environmental issues have achieved their major breakthrough in Sweden in the fall of 1967. Initially, this is an incipient environmental movement taking shape. By the beginning of the 1970s, a radicalization has occurred. Nature and Youth Sweden makes a name for itself in the form of demonstrations and direct actions. A particular target is the environmental policy establishment in the form of the Swedish Environmental Protection Agency. 

I expect the above to result in about 15 pages of text. That’s not enough for a chapter. That is why I plan to spend another 5 to 7 pages on, based on other research, adopting a broader approach to the emerging environmental movement. This includes Carl Holmberg’s study of the Centre Party’s Youth Organization, Jonas Anshelm’s analyses of the Swedish Society for Nature Conservation and Per Lundin’s unpublished study on the activist scientist Björn Gillberg and the establishment of Miljöcentrum (Environmental Center). I have also collected some press material that may supplement my presentation. 

The end of the chapter is to focus on the media controversies surrounding Björn Gillberg. This serves as somewhat of a bridge to the seventh and final empirical chapter in my book, which will concern open conflicts and conflicting claims of knowledge. This is something characterizing how environmental knowledge and knowledge regarding the future circulated in Swedish society in the early 1970s. During the breakthrough phase in 1967–1968, there was a strong consensus regarding the gravity of environmental issues, and Hans Palmstierna served as somewhat of a unifying figure in this regard. In 1971, when this knowledge had started to be translated into politics and law, it was no longer the case that everyone agreed with each other. In 1971, for example, Hans Palmstierna ended up in an open conflict with representatives of the industrial sector. In the spring of 1972, a polarized debate on the future raged between two professors, the “prophet of doom” Gösta Ehrensvärd and the “techno-scientific optimist” Tor Ragnar Gerholm. 

However, actually writing chapter 7 will be a task for 2020. Before I can start working on that, there is a lot more I need to finish. To begin with, writing chapter 6 has turned out to be more difficult than I anticipated. I’m not really sure why. It’s not that it has completely ground to a halt, but writing two pages a day is certainly not doable. Perhaps this is due to the lack of sunlight in November? Perhaps I have too many things going at the same time? Or perhaps it’s simply due to a long book project and a long semester starting to take their toll.

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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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