Category Archives: Career Stuff

Undoing

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michael-lewis-the-undoing-projectI just finished reading The Undoing Project by Michael Lewis. He’s the guy who wrote Moneyball and The Big Short, riveting books about the arcane subjects of choosing baseball players and the subprime crash of 2008. This latest book is even better. The Undoing Project is one of the best science books I have ever read. It has fascinating science as well as love, obsession, envy, triumph, failure, self-doubt, arrogance, humility and war. It’ll make a fantastic movie and might do more than even The Double Helix to explain to non-scientists how science gets done — and how it is such a human endeavor.

Ultimately the book is about the triumphs (and failings) of two scientists, Danny Kanneman and Amos Taversky, and their studies of human failings. Much wisdom emanates from them. One Taversky line particularly resonated, I guess because my frantic semester finally ended, it’s the Christmas break and sabbatical is beckoning:

The secret to doing good research is always to be a little underemployed. You waste years by not being able to waste hours.

I think there is something to that. My best, most creative thinking happened when I was on sabbatical or research leave, or in the early years at Penn State before fund-raising, teaching and institutional nonsense caught up. The Undoing Project is really about identifying important problems. Hyper-busyness gets in the way. New Year’s resolution: Just say no.

Lots of opinions, very little data (to be posted 5mar14)

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(NOTE: the following was written in March 2014, when I lacked the courage to post it 20 weeks pregnant and prior to actually becoming a mom of twins. It is posted here unedited since that point. Look for the “Epilogue” at the end for how things actually turned out).

One of the more frustrating things about being pregnant and a scientist is the lack of reliable data available on the subject. (Well, that plus being extra tired, forgetful, clumsy, and hungry ALL OF THE TIME). Most pregnancy books are useless as far as providing means and standard errors, and instead offer vague and sometimes conflicting advice. When I asked for data at a routine visit, one of my doctors pointed out that randomized control trials with pregnant women are difficult to do. Fair enough. I don’t think I’d volunteer to be a control or in the experimental group for a lot of my questions…

As a scientist, I am able to go on a hunt through the primary literature myself (if I don’t take an omega-3 DHA supplement will my kids be forever stunted? – the literature suggests not), but seriously, who has the time? Plus, it’s not like I have any previous experience being pregnant, and with pregnancy so variable across individuals, there isn’t any good literature on what a “normal” pregnancy entails.

Another academic experienced similar frustrations, and decided to write a book that was published in 2013. Emily Oster answered her questions with summarized data from peer-reviewed articles and nice summaries at the end of each chapter. This was my favorite resource by far (and I felt better reading it because she was even more paranoid than I am about screwing this up).

So, about 20 weeks into this whole pregnancy thing, I’m starting to think about how I’m going to continue to keep up my science career while my husband and I are raising twin newborns. (Actually that was a huge lie just there; I’ve been worried about this since way before I was pregnant, even years before). Again, very little data, and many opinions are out there.

Opinions like Sheryl Sandberg’s are to just “Lean In” and do what you can the whole time you’re pregnant and after, never saying no to additional responsibilities. I read her book over Christmas and felt even more tired after absorbing her Superwoman stance, but I suppose also more motivated. There are lots of opinions on blogs like Tenure She Wrote, and Yes, You Can: Women in Academia. Frankly, all of these books and blogs seem to me like another tax on my uterus. Why should I read this stuff just because I’m career oriented? Men don’t seem to read or write this stuff, and lots of them have families and academic careers. There are endless solutions to this question, which boils down to addressing “how should I live my life”. The main problem with this is the “should” part. Getting rid of the “shoulds” in our lives would make us all happier.

So what’s my plan? Well, I plan to keep doing experiments until it’s too uncomfortable to bend over and aspirate mosquitoes (though I’ve needed help with some of the chemical stuff so I don’t expose my growing babies to technical grade insecticide by accident). I’m planning to continue a little past this with a little help on the aspiration front. I’m sad that now that we finally have the Plasmodium falciparum experiments I’ve waited so long for up and going that my involvement will have to be in collaboration only until after July when the babies are external and it won’t be such a big deal if I need to take some antimalarial drugs if I were exposed (and it would be worse to be infected, turns out NF54 loves to bind to placentas). This last is a personal choice, but I’m not willing to take an exposure risk, no matter how minimal (and it is super minimal since I helped to write the SOPs!). After the babies are external I’ll be a sleepless zombie milk machine, because the data show that breastfeeding does make a difference. This means I’ll  be even more hungry even more of the time (bring me food). For once I’m going to just have to not have a definite plan and see how it works out, but we’ll manage. I think that the moral of this story is that there isn’t one solution that fits all, and that we should figure out a way for men to also do the gestating part of having babies.

Epilogue: In July I delivered two healthy boys, and it was necessary for me to take an unpaid leave of absence to be with my new family and recover. Maternity leave (paid) ends at 6 weeks at Penn State, at which point I was sleeping a maximum of 2.5 hours at a time since I chose to breastfeed (newborns require 10-12 feeds/day about every 2 hours), and was therefore up way too much of the night to be a useful, thoughtful, scientist (and not dangerous in the lab)! At 5 months the sleep is better, the feeding schedule down to 6-7 times per day, and the babies are so much fun. I am so glad to have become a mom, and so thankful to have great bosses that have allowed me the time to spend these last few months with my children as they change so much each day, and still have a science position to come back to. I am looking forward to seeing you all again in January!

LoR

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In an intriguing B&B a few weeks back in Philly, I met a lawyer from Indianapolis. He makes his living defending government agencies from the people. Sometimes, he defends Universities against employees. He said in universities it all boils down to personalities and egos. There is little else to argue about.

dear committee membersBy way of justification, he got his phone out and played an NPR review of a new novel Dear Committee Members. I mentioned this to Mark, who was the reason I was in Philly, and he had the decency to check it out en route to Sweden to collect his Nobel Prize. For twenty+ years, I have been reading books Mark recommends (he is more reliable than the NY Times; maybe he knows me better). He said it was funny and, better yet, that it was a short fast read. These days, short and fast is a serious plus (I am engrossed in Anna Karenina). And it turns out Dear Committee Members is really bloody funny. And quite a lot tragic, for the reasons well summarized in the NPR review.

The novel is entirely composed of Letters of Recommendation. Writing LoRs is what Professors do. During the Fall semester it is a huge ever-present, mind-numbing, enthusiasm-killing activity. During the rest of the year, the demands ease back to a mere drizzle of weariness. LoRs are a thankless task. Peoples’ lives can rest on them, but if you do them well, no one notices. Moreover, it is hard not be overwhelmed by the inanity of it all. I find myself writing more and more ‘You can read a CV as well as I’. Sometimes you labor for hours and then the candidate gets rejected a few hours later. And the information value of LoRs is mostly near zero. Of course I am going to support my people. LoRs only get informational if someone is no good (and who would agree to write one for someone like that?), or if you don’t know the person very well and have to really appraise them (tenure letters). Reference letters for mentees? What a waste of everyone’s time. Reference letters for senior people? Even worse. I wrote a letter recently for a University looking to promote one of its most distinguished to its top category of professor. He was a member of the National Academy of Sciences, had hundreds of top class papers, patents coming out the wazzoo, had clearly made major contributions to his field, his mentees were fantastically successful and he was a popular teacher. Yes folks, read the CV yourselves. He’s your guy. You are lucky to have him. You know that. Why bother asking the rest of us to confirm that? Use your own judgement people.

The great thing about Dear Committee Members is that it is clear the LoR could become an art form. I’d never realized that. I could cut loose with rhetorical flourishes, turns of style and narrative that would enliven everyone’s world. If we have to waste our time endlessly extolling the virtues of others, let’s have fun doing it. From the book:

“Obediently complying with your latest summonses for superfluous information, I am thoroughly willing to recommend X for…” p 126.

“Firmly situated between the proverbial rock and its opposing hard place, I am in this letter recommending that your office in its infinite wisdom renew and continue the appointment of… In my wildest nightmares I never imagined I would make such a recommendation…” p. 151.

“Ms X knocked at my office door this morning and with the air of a woman wearing diamonds and furs entered the icy enclosure in which I work, perched at the edge of my red vinyl chair, and urged me to respond to the second email request for a recommendation as she desperately hopes to be hired…”  p.80.

“X recently submitted a proposal to your conference–a proposal she now belatedly understands has to be accompanied by a letter of reference.” p56

“X has requested I support her application for Y. A cursory glance at her transcript, with its tidy, monotonous fishing line of A’s, should suffice to recommend her.”  p.52

Roll on the next request.

Twerk like Miley

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When I have to present at a conference I am freakin’ nervous the night (or two nights) before. I can’t sleep, have frequent bowel movements and can’t eat my breakfast (sorry if this is too much information). But when I get on stage, I simply love it! It’s show-time!

But what is scientific show-time? Mostly you get on stage, tell your story, answer a few questions (if there are any) and go back to your seat. At my last conference the majority of the talks were informative. But only a few presenters knew how to entertain the audience (lively presentation, engaging the audience, occasional joke) and they and their research made it into my long-term memory (plus the few topics that were really, really interesting, but I cannot remember the presenter).

You worked hard for that one beautiful graph, those significant data, maybe that top-tier paper you like to highlight. I would argue that most of us work harder than let’s say a Bieber (and party less hard unfortunately). We also deserve that moment in the spotlights! To show ourselves and our research!

So why can’t we have bombastic intro-music when we get on stage? Special light effects during our talks? A few underly-dressed ladies pointing at the significant results on the screen while doing (in my case) a ‘thermal performance’ dance? After all we all are scientific rock stars!

I do not think this will ever happen (which is too bad). I have often thought about weird/silly/fun things to do on stage. Things that will certainly create a lasting, but not necessarily a positive, impression. So I guess the best thing we can do is work on our slides and on our presentation skills.

Presenting is an art, and just like other forms of art, your technique will be loved or hated. But work on your slides. Have a clear structure, so the audience knows what is coming (more or less). Use images and not endless bits of text. Have clear and short titles above each slide. Avoid huge tables. Write the main conclusion below each figure/table. Remember that the audience will forget abbreviations and jargon, so repeat important words. Have intermediate conclusion-slides to keep the attention of your audience, and end with a slide showing all your main conclusions (never skip this slide, even when you run out of time!) –> Don’t run out of time! Don’t over-rehearse your talk and sound like a robot. Don’t talk too fast, too slow or too monotonous! Sound like you love your research and that what you do is interesting and exciting stuff, the best thing ever (even if it is all bloody obvious)!

And if that all doesn’t work for you, I guess you might want to twerk with the chairperson while giving a laser-pointer show. People will surely remember that…

Love to you all, Krijn

PS. Andrew, I thought you might appreciate the fact that I deleted the image of a twerking Miley 🙂

How to change science

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I have just finished reading The Silwood Circle. It’s by an historian of science with a big interest in the philosophy of science. Despite that, I could hardly put it down. I found it riveting partly because I know the players involved, and partly because it is about putting math into ecology (and why that matters even though the models are largely heuristic). But mostly I could not put it down because the book is really about a bunch of men (all men), who set out to insert ecology into the heart of British science and The Establishment – and why they succeeded. I think it has lessons for young folk who want to change science – and older folk who want the next generation to change science.

Silwood Park is a campus of Imperial College London. In the late 1960s, Richard Southwood and slightly later Bob May set out to use Silwood to transform ecology, particularly British ecology. By the time I came on the scene in the mid to late 1980s, they had done it. It was achieved by picking the right people (smart, ambitious, sociable) and opening doors (career opportunities, prizes) once those people performed (which the anointed ones did). But more importantly, it seems, it was done by putting together people who shared a common philosophy about how to do science but whose interests and specific expertise were complementary within the group. They drove each other forward (as big egos do), but as part of an us-against-them mentality, not a dog-eat-dog approach. And my sense is they laughed and argued and socialized as a group, something which really glued them together. Together, they rode the 1970’s environmentalism into the upper reaches of the British establishment. Much of it because they hiked together. It might all hinge on the hiking.

I have heard the criticism that the book fails to acknowledge what happened elsewhere in the world at that same time. That is perhaps a little fair. I also wonder if the Southwood ambition and associated narrative look a bit clearer in retrospect. But to me, what is really missing from the book is an analysis of the impact of charisma. Several of the protagonists are (or were) some of the most charming, forceful, articulate, erudite, stylish, visionary, self-confident, stimulating people I have ever met in science. Add to that potent mix their ability to unite previously disparate subjects like pesticides, parasitoids, parasites, predators, pathogens, public health, plants and a whole lot of other p-words like parties and pubs, and well, ka-Pow.

Is the face of academia changing or just perspectives?

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Professor. An older absent-minded white male, often found in tweed, with a few chalk or coffee stains along the sleeve edges, engrossed in his personal library of books, several of them open on his desk, is lit by a practical but decorative antique lamp as he hunches over a page, glasses on the end of his nose, referencing from his comfortable perch in the ivory tower the great works of others before him, slowly constructing his own contribution, a lengthy tomb.

Professor. A young 30-something perhaps multi-racial female, often equal parts frantic and focused but always driven, in jeans, large coffee on the desk, surrounded by a computer, smart phone, maybe a book or two as flotsam amidst a wash of printed journal articles, bright fluorescent lighting overhead as she dashes off email after email before settling down to a trampling parade of meetings, interspersed with lectures, grant writing, administrative paperwork and travel schedules to sort, and hopefully eking out just a few more paragraphs on concurrent journal articles in progress.

Photo lifted from http://www.apprise.ox.ac.uk/academic_career_paths/

Does the professor in the 21st century continue to evolve, or is it just that as we get closer to applying for professorships we have a new perspective? Some of the change in job description must also be due to a change in society, technology, and cultural norms.

I also wonder how large a role economics play. Was science a past time belonging only to the upper class (as was undoubtedly the case for Darwin, just check out his house) or is the mythical absent-minded professor just that – a myth?  Dual incomes are becoming increasingly common for a majority of American households, even with overall household incomes decreasing in recent years. Women are increasingly employed full time and are the primary breadwinners in 4 of 10 homes with children under 18, with many single mothers running their own household contributing to this figure. These numbers influence who we see in academic positions, and with attaining both jobs and grants becoming (perhaps increasingly) competitive, the daily thoughtful perusing of books seems like a quaint eccentricity of professors past. Your thoughts?

Nut jobs?

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We did a lab meeting on stress a few weeks back (1, 2). It’ll be a couple of years before we do another. Meanwhile, the American Psychiatric Association has released the 5th edition of its DSM, the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders. It looks to me like folks trying to write a manual of infectious diseases before germ theory.

I really admire powerful and succinct writing. We get The Week. The editorials are <300 words long, and they usually knock my socks off with their pointed brevity. Try this opener by William Falk, prompted by the release of DSM-5:

We are all, to some extent, crazy. If you come to know any human being well enough, you eventually gain access to the basement where the traumas and wounds and deprivations are stored; rummage in there for a while, and you begin to understand the neuroses and fixations that shape his or her personality. The successful, reasonably happy people I’ve known are nuts in a way that works for them. Those who struggle and suffer fail to turn their preoccupations to some meaningful use….

Thinking of a career switch?

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I was just reading the online newspaper and I was stunned by the announcement that the selection for a commercial trip to Mars, scheduled for 2023, has opened. Mind you, this is a one way trip, the plan is to establish a human colony and grow this population by four every two years.

Crazy? Get this, cause who do you think is all going to pay for this? Us, sensation-seeking human beings. That´s when I realized this was clearly a Dutch initiative. Remember ´Big Brother´? Big business. Combine that with the dollar making versions of ´Pop Idol´ and a very simple commercial idea was born: Let the selection of astronauts be a publicly broadcasted sensation, one where, of course, the viewers can cast their votes. The selected candidates will be followed in all the ups and downs during preparation, travel to and life on Mars. This is all planned to become the biggest media-event in history.

My disbelief just grew and grew. Is this some kind of April fools joke? Or am I just too naïve to think this would still be too much science fiction? Also, who would ever want to sign up for something so permanent as this? Perhaps expectedly, the latter doesn´t seem to be an issue, the organization received tens of thousands applications before the call was even opened. There is clearly lots of ambition out there to be the next Neil Armstrong.

What do you think? Is this crazy? Exciting? And most important of all: will you watch?

Becky, and transferable skills

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I was in Scotland last week, staying with one of my former students, her husband and her three adorable children (6, 3, 1.5 y.o.). Becky went into banking after she finished her PhD over a decade ago. For those who do mouse malaria, Becky is the Timms of Timms et al. We got to talking, and this is what Becky wrote…

So, imagine this, you are part way through your PhD or postdoc and you are thinking about what you will do next. It might be more of the same, a move to a different research area, or a move out of academia. This is something all junior researchers face. In my particular case, towards the end of my PhD I didn’t have any firm ideas. I wasn’t sure if I was going to stay in science. Or, if leaving science would feel like a failure. Or, now I am recalling this, if I would ever finish my bloody PhD. But what I can share if you are in a similar position is that you have options. Quite exciting ones in fact. And your experiences are developing skills that are wonderfully valuable whether or not you stay in science. At the request of Andrew, I am going to share my personal story and 8 Points that I would have found helpful back then.

Some of you may have heard of me via lab group meetings, but for the others, let me introduce myself. I did a PhD with Andrew way back in 2001 in Edinburgh. Thesis title: The Evolution and Ecology of Virulence in Mixed Infections of Malaria Parasites. At the time, I obviously spent rather a lot of effort thinking about, and doing, the work that went into my thesis. Just now, I had to look up the title. Even I am slightly shocked by this – all the blood, sweat and tears, and I can’t recall the exact title?! Point 1: the work that you obsess about today may fade as it becomes less relevant, however your skills are transferable.

At the end of my PhD I became a banker. Now there’s a modern-day swear word! I made a very difficult decision to leave academia. And a (general linear model free) analysis of my skill set was a large part of this. Now, perhaps this sounds easy to you? It was awful: I am British; I am a woman; and, despite outward appearances, I was not very confident. These three conditions made it somewhat challenging to catalog my skills (am I good at X? Well not as good as they are….). Point 2: this exercise is not about saying what you are best in the world at. Just what you are good at. I found it helpful to compare my current day skills to those that I had when I was 16.

So what transferable skills do you develop in research that can help you in your career outside academia? I will assume you are mid-PhD like I was.

Straight up with Point 3: completing a PhD gives you confidence and an edge. Let’s face it, following many iterations of selection, the folks around you are fairly bright. Possibly among the brightest in society. That can ruin your confidence and make you feel stupid at times. But remember, you are part of that peer group and have been through similar rounds of selection. You many not feel it at the time but, being objective, and on reflection, you are also quite clever. There, I’ve said it. This is a wonderful, beautiful revelation and you can guard your secret if you wish, but even if you never tell anyone, you carry this knowledge in your heart. And, more importantly, consciously or otherwise, in your behaviours. This will get you noticed. I’ve met a lot of very clever people in the business world. But none of them have been cleverer than some academics I know. And when I talk to these business people, they are consistently impressed and interested in hearing that I have a PhD. This is a great conversational aid and can help you hugely with networking (I might include networking as another Point, except that I didn’t learn how to do it properly until very recently – of course, you might not take as long as me to learn this and I have some helpful tips if you are interested).

Another skill, that is easy to trivialise, is that you will be quite an expert in Microsoft office software such as PowerPoint, Word and Excel etc. Having software skills is expected, but don’t underestimate how helpful these can be – I have helped many people who have in turn helped me out with something. Point 4: being personable, eliciting favors and learning from others is the quickest way to get on top of a new job.

Point 5: giving lab group meetings, departmental seminars, and conference talks means that you are pretty damn good at giving presentations and communicating difficult ideas to an audience that can be either more expert than you, or new to the material. This is very useful at interview, and essential in your business role. Being able to clearly communicate with people is the key skill in business in my view (with networking being a close second). And the audience will never be as scary.

You already are, or at the very least are mid journey into becoming, a magnificent critical thinker (Point 6). All the literature reading, scientific debates with your mates, and those bruising challenge sessions with Andrew has sharpened your thinking. Once dissecting arguments and data sets becomes second nature, you are onto a winner that will help you cut through to the core of issues and work out the solution.

Point 7: you write beautifully, or you will by the time you have written up your PhD with Andrew.

I’m sure we all agree that science is a glorious pass time and a thrilling day job. But it can also be a curiously perverse and sadistic sort of job with endless rounds of disappointment and rejection: ideas can be complex and difficult to understand; experiments go wrong; results don’t turn out as expected; papers get rejected; grants get knocked back. It is compounded by the fact that we tend to be consumed by research and live and breathe it, which makes it feel all the more personal when it goes badly. Still, Point 8: all this adversity builds your resilience. Resilience is the new buzz word in the banking world as we grapple with rebuilding our reputation following us becoming public enemy number 1.

Finally, your key weapon is a nuance of Point 3, which was about confidence arising from overcoming something that you personally aspire to achieve – completing your PhD (or why else would you be doing this). The twist on this is that once you complete it, you have had the ringing endorsement from one of the sharpest thinkers I have come across. Someone who motivated and inspired, no inspires, me. You have the fortune to be working with the amazing Andrew Read. Treasure your time in his care, I miss him. [ok, editorial Andrew here: I did not write this, honestly]

My take home message after all this reflecting is that I was a fairly average PhD student, but I have gone on to have a rewarding and satisfying career in a completely new field. I used to find the business world a little intimidating – money and power are irresistible to many, and so you would have to be brilliant to succeed wouldn’t you? What I have learnt is that I was mistaken. If I can do this, then it is not beyond the wit of you too.

p.s. Andrew has my contact details and permission to pass them onto you if you want to follow anything up.