Fortune Cookie Advice - For Real

Since this advice works as well in the coffee house, tea shop, or cafeteria as in the pub, here's my post full of nuggety accumulated experience advice that I posted on the Prehistoric Pub, dealing with the pitfalls and the advice to (hopefully) avoid them in academia (with a paleo slant, of course).

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I'm picking up a shift at the Prehistoric Pub today. Faces come and go, but if they are the faces of students starting out in paleontology, there is a look they all have in common at one point or another: that look when you jump into the deep end and realized at the last moment that you aren't as strong a swimmer as you thought. The look of feeling in over your head, feeling overwhelmed.

That feeling that makes you sit down and mumble to your confidant "I don't know if I can do this."

If that describes you or someone you know, have a seat at the bar. I've got some advice that I've accumulated from time, some experience of learning from dumb-ass mistakes, and some experience of learning from events that you simply can't control, and hopefully a way out of the seductive mind-traps that we all fall into.

Wine? Beer? Soda? Mineral water? Hot chocolate? The virtual bar is well-stocked.

I can only speak from my experiences, and the experiences of what I observed in student colleagues, colleagues, advisers, and mentors. All of my advice comes to you through my personal filter. 

Do what you love, and you will work harder than you have ever worked in your life.

If I could find the person who first said "Do what you love and you'll never work a day in your life", I'd give them a metaphorical smack on the back of their head. (This quote gets attributed to Confucius, at least according to goodreads.) More accurately, I'd give this metaphorical smack to those who use this quote to say that doing what you love is easy, while doing what you don't like is difficult.

I love paleontology. The exploration, the discovery, analyzing data, writing up the papers, telling the stories of the past of our planet to kids, the public, and colleagues - it's an honor to be part of the system that opens the doors to understanding our past.

If it feels like a difficult system to be a part of, it is. It takes a lot of time, a lot of training, and a lot of discipline to get into a position where you can start unraveling the mystery of the history. In short, it takes a heck of a lot of hard, hard work.

I was at a conference, standing around and chatting with colleagues in between talks. A prospective student who was interested in joining a certain lab had joined the conversation. Student started asking questions. These questions started to piss me off:

Student: "I know So-and-So-Grad-Student in this lab, so that will make it easier for me to get in, right"?
Us: "That's not how you get into a lab. You have to contact the PI and see if they are taking students. Even if they are, you have to submit your proposal and application like everyone else."

Student (persisting): "You people are clearly succeeding. What are your tricks?"
Me (rather irritated at this point, and yes, I swore): "Tricks? There are no tricks. This is hard-ass work, and I'm a tenacious bitch. That's why I've made it this far."

The others who were with me started giving the now shocked Student, um, softer good advise (for lack of a better word), but I was annoyed by this line of thinking. Clearly hard work was not first and foremost in this Student's mind. They persisted on believing there was a gimmick, a trick, a sham that made all of this seem so easy.

My wish is that I never make this look easy. I don't ever want to fool people into thinking it is easy. There is no innate brilliance that makes paleontology easier for some and harder for others. It. Is. Not. Easy. This shit is hard - hard to do, hard to keep the energy and ambition up to do it. Loving what you do gives you something to focus on when you're submitting yet another grant application, when you're rewriting that paper that got rejected again, when you're told by your funding agency that they support museums but don't support research. Maybe you've made a mistake that is now going to cause you seemingly endless hours of work to correct. Maybe you're trying out something new, and there is no clear path to follow. That happens. That love for your path is your carrot, the hard work is the stick. You can't have one without the other. Loving what you do doesn't make the bullshit easier to deal with - it just gives you a target at which to look past the BS. Do what you love, and you will work harder than you ever have in your life because you will want to make it work.

Who are you?

This next story makes me sad. The Student character represents several individual students I've seen through teaching labs, running volunteer programs, and being in labs.

I know this Student is bound and determined to pursue paleontology as a career, and I have not even spoken to them yet. How can I tell? Student has come to class wearing an Indiana Jones fedora, hiking boots, canvas pants, and a pocketed photographer's vest. They announce in grand tones that they are going to study dinosaurs, and scoff at using mammal bones in osteology labs. It's bones, after all. Student knows bones, because dinosaurs. Student receives soul-crushing 20% (or lower) on the bone lab, and, fighting back tears of disappointment, comes to the lab instructor all confused. HOW?

Here's a confession. I was that student. On my first comparative anatomy bone lab I crashed and burned, Chicxulub-style. I may not have had the fedora or the vest, but I was convinced that years of being a dinosaur fanatic was enough to prepare me for what it takes to be a scientist. Hell no.

Why does this scenario make me sad? I saw the same familiar pattern repeated in each new set of undergraduates. They are so determined to assume the mantle of paleontologist that they take an idealized, TV-promoted distillate of what a scientist appears to be and lose themselves in that ideal because that is all they know about the people who do paleontology. They only know what they have seen in the media, in books, in movies. These students have no sense no real sense of who the people they idolize are, and no sense of who they themselves are as individuals. Cosplay is all fun and games until someone loses their identity.

Make sure you develop who you are, inside and outside of the scientist realm. If you don't yet know, that's OK. It's a constant work in progress. An easy way to do that is start by a fill in the blanks exercise. "I am a scientist who feels/does/thinks _________." What's in your blank? Is it art? Jazz dance? Bar tending? Archery (guilty)? Martial arts (guilty)? Are you a bird fanatic (guilty)? Do you have causes you are passionate about? Great! You do not have to give up who you are or the non-paleontology (or science) things that excite you to be a paleontologist. They are part of your identity. Being comfortable in your own skin, quirks and all, will go a long way to helping you identify who you are as a scientist. Scientists are people, and people have varied interests. Be a person...

Do Unto Others...

...unless that person is a jerk. Do. Not. Be. A. Jerk.

All paleontologists are people. Some people act like jerks. Therefore, some paleontologists are going to act like jerks. You will encounter jerks. I'm sorry. It sucks to be on the receiving end of such behavior, especially if others brush it off as "Oh, that's just So-and-So. Pay it no mind."

There is no rule that someone has to be who you would classify as a good person to be a good scientist. There are no end of stories of people who have done good work, even brilliant work, and have been people you would not want to go to the pub with, be in the lab alone with, or share research ideas with. Some people are just jerks. It might be that they don't know they're jerks. It might be that they just don't care. Regardless, the outcome is that they hurt colleagues and students, building resentment and distrust in a community which is so much more than a sum of its parts.

Some people, intentionally or otherwise, try to emulate their jerk-heroes, or buy into the destructive culture of a particular lab setting. Here's a personal example: I interned at a (non-paleo) lab in my youth. My supervisors were two men in their mid-late 30s. The room in which they conducted my orientation was decorated with female porn centerfolds. It was also the room in which my temporary desk was placed.

I did not feel like I belonged in that lab. It felt like the supervisors were symbolically telling me this was a no-girls allowed space. It gave me a sick, disgusting feeling when they would look at their centerfolds while talking to me. I was horridly uncomfortable. I was also scared. I was scared to tell anyone because I thought I would get in trouble for making a fuss. I was scared that, by not playing along with this lab environment, I was not cut out to be in science. I was scared of not being accepted by the boys' club culture of the lab. Not only did I make it through the one day introductory orientation, I chose that lab to work in to prove that it didn't get to me, to prove that I belonged. I didn't want to rock the boat and call this out for what it was: inappropriate and unacceptable in a professional setting.  I thought speaking out was a weakness. I was so wrong. It is never weak to call out BS. Always stick up for yourself. Always stick up for people who are not in a position (or don't feel they can) stick up for themselves. Don't contribute to a culture you would not want to be on the receiving end of.

Here's some advice that needs to be emphasized a heck of a lot more than it is now: the ends no longer justify the means in science. The culture of accepting crappy behavior from someone just because they do exciting work is dying a long-deserved death. There are now enough people in paleontology that you don't have to suffer a jerk when you encounter one. And, in the event that you do encounter a jerk, there are people and resources there to help you. Don't keep it silent.

You do not need to belittle others, downplay their work, be jealous of them, steal their work or credit, or marginalize them to do good science. If you feel the need to do that to be in science, to be in paleontology, sit yourself down for a second and ask "Why am I doing this?" If "being the best" is your goal instead of "doing your best", it's deep self-reflection time. Take-home message: if you wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of your actions, your actions are inappropriate. If someone tells you your actions are inappropriate, you owe it to yourself and the people you work with to consider that they might be correct.

...Oh, and if you are called on jerk-like behavior, DO NOT try to justify it as "Oh, I was just so excited and eager" and other lame-ass excuses. When people say that to you, they are saying that their obnoxious behavior towards you is justified because of science. No. Science does not need people who try to use students to access your data for a paper that they have not told you about, but are going to try to publish first (for an extremely specific example). Science does not need the person who is so desperate to be noticed (or is a show-off) that they belittle someone during the Q & A of their talk. As Andy Farke said, to quote the great ones, "be excellent to each other."

Who are you racing against?

Have you ever had one of those days when you feel as though you are "behind"? You're publication list is woefully small compared to that of a lab colleague. You were rejected for that NSF/NSERC grant, while your lab colleague's was successful. Here is my favorite: did you start your program before those people who are now Ph.D.s?

Welcome to the race. Except that it isn't a real race. Oh sure, there is competition for research money, for publication spaces, for talks, for jobs. Even so, one of the biggest morale killers is feeling and behaving as though you are competing against someone. (That feeling could also tempt you down the Jerk Path.)

I get it. It's likely the most common mind-trap I fall into. I've looked at people younger and better funded than me and have thought "I don't stand a chance against this. How can I possibly compare?" The honest answer is that I can't compare. No one can compare, because every person's situation is unique to them and them alone. The only person in your race is you. You have to find your own academic pace so that you can complete a marathon, not a sprint. Don't feel that you have to burn yourself out: there is a culture in academia that accepts stress and pushing oneself to the breaking point as some sick badge of honor, and it's dangerous. There are enough challenges in academia without approaching it with the attitude of being "better" than someone, or trying to "win". Also, do not buy into the notion, if you find that academia isn't for you, that you are a failure. I call shenanigans on that idea. You are going to feel loss and disappointment over a plan that did not work out. You have to rethink the idea of failure. If A doesn't work out, then that means you should try X. A plan not working is an opportunity (albeit a bloody frustrating one) to try something different. You have failed no one.

You are not alone in feeling the way you are. You are surrounded by people at all stages of their academic careers who have felt this way at one time or another. There are people who will give you advice. Some of it will be good. Some of it won't be good for you. You get to choose what advice you follow.

Remember the way you feel now. One day a student or a colleague is going to come to you and say "I don't think I can do this.

Advice for Students Feeling...Well, You Know the Feeling.

Hello Dear Readers,

Every once in a while the Strange Woman comes up with a nugget or two of wisdom. These nuggets are dug from under a layer of dirt made of a combination of learning from my own silly mistakes, observing experiences of others, and from enduring those situations that are sometimes out of our control.

All of this has given me strong opinions on the approach and conduct of people in vertebrate paleontology, although I imagine this has applicability to any STEM field. I'm fairly open about sharing what I think with others when they ask. A friend recently told me "You're advice is awesome! It's really helped me. It should be in fortune cookies!" All of my fortune cookie baking attempts have been sad, but what I decided to do was to put some of this advice in blog form. I share some embarrassing stories, one rather painful creepy story, and a couple of frustrating experiences. These stand out in my mind when someone asks me "How do you think I should do X?" Needless to say, I'm going to steer people away from being the future subject of someone's creepy/frustrating/embarrassing story.

Check out my post at the Prehistoric Pub: Fortune Cookie Advice...For Real!

SW

Why I Will Always Give New Students Scut-Work

Hello Dear Readers!

This is a brief post, partly to dust some of the cobwebs off of the blog after a hectic summer, partly to post something before I dive into a rather intense period of publishing, and partly because there are just some things that steam my clams, boil my tea, and burn my toast. In other words, welcome to a rant.

This issue keeps popping into my mind, and clearly the only way to exorcise this demon-thought is to write it out. [UPDATE: This issue also came to mind as I spent two days scraping plaster off of a sink and counter, and attempting to peel a latex mold that someone had left a plaster cast in. I have never given birth, but removing a forgotten plaster cast from a latex mold is what I imagine it feels like.] The issue is one of menial tasks, mindless tasks, and those jobs that can be best described as scut-work. You know the jobs: they range from filling out the same words over and over and over again on to the acid-free archiving sheets with a pen tip that is not forgiving to any level of pressure, to mopping the floors and scrubbing plaster off of counter tops and out of sinks. [NOTE: don't wash unhardened plaster down the sink. That stuff hardens under water, and will cost you a heavy plumber's bill and a scolding from said plumber.] These are the jobs that, if they are not done, either progress is inhibited and/or the place turns into a bloody pit of filth (usually both).

We operate in a small, rather remote community, and with small communities the volunteer/student pool on which to draw is understandably small. In general there are two categories of volunteers: the Community Volunteer and the Prospective Student. The Community Volunteer is an interested member of the community who is either retired or has the capability to donate their time. The Community Volunteer tends to be older, experienced in their previous field, and has a great deal of accumulated experiences. The Prospective Student is looking for paleontology/geology/museum studies related experience because they are interested in pursuing paleontology/geology/museum studies as their career.

There is one major difference that I notice right away between the Community Volunteer and the Prospective Student. When the subject of workspace cleanliness is addressed, the Community Volunteer understands immediately, and I never have to remind them about it after that initial orientation. The Prospective Student, in general (doesn't apply to every and all students, but to enough that this post entered my brain), needs to be reminded. Many times.

I used to have serious reservations regarding "ordering" someone to do scut-work. I am not into the  "I did it, so now you have to" or the "That's what students are for!" attitude when assigning work to students. These are future colleagues, not servants. My work philosophy is that I don't assign chores that I wouldn't or haven't done myself, and I lead by example when rolling up my sleeves and participating in said scut-work.

I have to do this because scut-work never ends. Never. It's not just something that you are subjected to by a crusty old lab tech or professor and then, once you have served your time and have proven that you are capable of mopping, you are done with menial tasks forever.

I have tried leading by example. I have explained, multiple times, why we must keep our labs and stations clean. Here are some of my go-to examples:

• Safety. Clutter hurts. Sloppiness can kill. My favorite real-life example is a student who did not realize they had spilled acetone on themselves, and then decided to use a tiger torch (no one was hurt). 
• Equipment longevity. Tools that are not properly maintained and stored break down sooner. Tools are more expensive to replace than to maintain. Improperly functioning tools are also dangerous (see previous point).
• Specimen integrity. Let's say you are prepping a bone, and a piece becomes loose and free. It falls on the work station service. What is easier to find: a bone fragment on a clean surface, or a bone fragment in a pile of refuse?
• Efficiency. If you spend most of your time sifting through clutter and mess to find what you need to do your job, you are wasting both my time and yours. 

I have now reached the point where scut-work is part of any training program for new students and/or volunteers. Some students do not like this. I had a parent of a prospective student, with student in tow, ask me to detail what the very first tasks were for new students. I had to answer with data entry and collections foam cutting and sorting: those were the tasks I needed done right away, and I would be working directly with the student on this. I explained this was for the ongoing fossil collections reorganization project. The eyes of both student and parent glazed: they wanted to jump into the field and prep dinosaur fossils right away. I explained this is a tricky task that we don't throw immediate recruits into (our rock requires the use of pneumatic tools - we have no simple toothbrush and solvent preparations.) I never heard from them again.

There is another good reason to give everyone a hand in the scut-work: how people approach the "not fun" jobs is a very good indicator of the attitude they will bring to the "fun" jobs. Do you approach cleaning the lab as a chore, with copious amounts of whining, glares, and snide comments? Or do you realize that this is a necessary, if maybe dull, part of the entire experience of working in your field, and roll up the sleeves for the collective good? Our best preparators, tour guides, and gallery hosts have been those who have attended all the tasks, from floor mopping to prepping, with the same thoroughness and thoughfulness.

My advise to students? You are not being punished with scut-work. Whether you are told this or not, you are receiving training in your field, but a part of your field that is not portrayed by the documentaries or other media. Scut-work allows for the exciting discoveries to happen, because the cool science can't happen if the focus is on repairing the plaster-clogged sink or sending the tools away to be refurbished due to neglect.

Now, time to break out my favorite broom and give collections a good sweep. The glue that I peeled from donated archival-quality foam left its-and-bits all over the floor.

The Race In Your Head

Hello, Dear Readers!

Today I rewarded myself for finishing a long-suffering paper on Saturday by participating in "That Dam Run" in Hudson's Hope - a 16 km/10 mile jaunt over the promised dam, the sediments exposed by said dam are a hot spot for Early Cretaceous Gething Formation vertebrate traces (yes, I looked for fossils on the way). The run also took us up and down the ski hill and over lovely trails lightly shrouded with yellow autumn foliage.

I am fairly low-key in my approach to running races. First, I don't ever enter a race with the idea of racing against someone. I really couldn't care less if I don't come in first. The only thought I consciously take with me into a race is "I'm going to do this." After that, I can think of whatever my mind free-associates.

Today my mind free-associated its way to life in academia as I have experienced it, and because my brain isn't necessarily creative when it wanders, it kept returning to the idea of academia as a race, and something that one should strive to "win."

I am still a graduate student, and still have another semester or two to go before I finish my research and defend. I took six years to complete my undergraduate degrees in zoology and geology, and had to withdraw from my first masters program for financial reasons. That prompted a year and a half academic hiatus while I recovered, and I resumed my academic career by finishing my masters program in five years. I am in my fifth year of my doctoral program, and for the exception of the times I have had to physically be on campus to fulfill course requirements, I have worked full time in a museum while conducting my graduate research.

If I dwelt on the pace of my academic career, it would be easy for me to focus on my graduate student colleagues who started their programs after I did and now hold PhDs. If I wanted to, I could easily feel that my progress is inferior, and potential future employers and colleagues could judge me unfavorably based on the amount of time it is taking me to finish my degree. I could focus on the faster pace of my student colleagues and think "I'm going to beat so-and-so" and use the motivation of "winning" by competing against a student colleague. I could push to publish more papers than a colleague. I could push to give more talks than a person. I could push to finish my degree before a person.

I could approach my academic career as a race against colleagues, but I won't. I blatantly refuse to compete against any colleague. I openly talk about how long it has taken me to complete my graduate work because I feel no shame or embarrassment in regards to my progress. I do not measure my progress as it relates to the progress of others. I don't need to use someone else to set my pace. I have found a pace that I can maintain in the long run, and by nature and training I am a long-distance runner.

Academia is a long-distance run. You find a pace at which you can work and present your work so that you are functional to complete more work. There are speed-training intervals that consist of mad dashes for deadlines, grants, and time-sensitive publications. Since you are running in the race with others, you'll encounter those who eagerly cheer you on, and those who purposely don't tell you about the detour ahead. If you are a woman or a person of color, you will be made to feel (indirectly or told flat out) that you need to run an extra 10 km of a standard 41 km race just to prove that you weren't specially let in to fulfill a quota, to prove that you belong in the race with everyone else. There are enough challenges in academia without approaching it with the attitude of being "better" than someone, or trying to "win". As long as you keep moving forward.

There are plenty of challenges inherent in trying to exist in academia. We don't need to make up little races against someone as an added challenge. Keep the idea of a racing out of your head. You'll free mind up to focus on why you are in the run to begin with.