The Violet's Trip North

“Violets don’t travel well,” Friend warned me. “It might be best to leave it with Jill.”

“No,” I refused, frowning with great concern over the plant I transported home. “She told me to take it so it’s coming north with me.”

The plant, for those of you new to the blog, belonged to Winnie. When she died during my first year as a post-doc, Jill took the small pot and it flowered continuously under the lamp on her desk. When I ended up moving to Winnie’s desk, she gave the plant to me and I’ve kept it for the past few years. I spent therapy sessions crying over why it wouldn’t produce flowers for me and finally ended up with a bottle of violet food and enjoyed about a year of pretty purple blossoms.

Friend, as is her habit, was correct. I’ve picked off dead leaves and given early morning pep talks to the plant that currently sits on one of the shelves in my office. “I know you won’t flower right away,” I said, gently coaxing, “but it’s important that you don’t die. OK? No dying. You have light, it’s nice and warm and the people are friendly. We’ll work on the flowers later.”

I’d just left a meeting where I was very slow and cranky at around 2:00 yesterday afternoon. It was Monday, I despaired, and I was utterly exhausted, wanting nothing more than to go home and sleep. I quickly composed a note to Adam saying that I was sorry, but I wasn’t feeling well and would he mind terribly if I left early?

I paused to read what I’d written, thinking with some dismay that it sounded incredibly similar to many notes I’d written Boss. I blinked at the words then clicked the button in the corner to close the window. I confirmed that I didn’t want to save changes, went to get some water, took an Advil and set about working for an hour until my next meeting.

“In a way,” I told RL on our Sunday walk around her town, “it’s good that I screwed up the post-doc so badly. I know how it feels to have people look at me as unreliable and inept. I didn’t get invited to meetings because people weren’t sure I’d actually come. They read my absences not as a personal struggle, but as professional disinterest. It made me feel worse about myself, and I continued to withdraw, and the situation continued to worsen.”

My strategy to correct the problem obviously included leaving. It seemed easier, frankly, but the main reason involved the acknowledgment that I was miserable a lot of the time. I didn’t want it to be so hard to go to work. I dreamed of a job where I wouldn’t have to force myself to stay put until the end of the day. And while I am happy here and I think this was the right decision for me, it’s not all sweetness and light.

The job isn’t perfect, though it is very good. I still get overwhelmed or sad or exhausted. And I respond the way I always have – I desperately seek escape. I’ve woken up a couple of mornings and gone through my handy list of reasonable excuses for not showing up, but winced when I realized I ran out of new ones during my three year post-doc. Not again, I told myself firmly, and got out of bed and into clothes. And though I was feeling terrible yesterday – and my mood reflected it as I found myself apologizing for snapping at people or spacing out and asking folks to repeat questions for me – I stuck it out until 5. To point out the obvious, I wasn’t flowering, but I didn’t die.

“Key challenges?” Adam asked at the end of our meeting yesterday evening. We spent an hour going over my progress and plans and problems.

“Um,” I said, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, “I should get started on ScaryProject. I’ve been focused on areas that come easier to me, but this week is devoted to the scary one.”

“OK,” he said with a decisive nod. “Where will you struggle?”

I took a moment to enjoy the way his accent made the word ‘struggle’ sound, then listed some issues I might face as he scrawled them on a paper. After I finished listing them, I was feeling a bit intimidated and afraid. So I shook my head, withdrawing into silence when he asked if I had questions.

“Get it done,” he said, winking at me before handing me the paper on which he’d written the areas I might stumble. “Ask for help, gather resources and get this done. You’re capable and I’m going to push you on it.”

I nodded after pausing for a moment, assuring him I could handle it. He said he knew I could, smiled at what was likely a fearful expression and allowed me to scurry back to my office. Then, since it was well after 5, I came back to the hotel.

I was in bed and asleep by 7:30, which hardly seems ideal. While I want to be clear in expressing industry positions as a valid option for well-educated scientists, I don’t want to be misleading about my adjustment. There are moments where it hurts. But given that I have no desire to return to academic research, there is a great deal of motivation to make this work. And having seen the consequences of failure firsthand, so far I’ve been forcing my way through each and every day.

I was a bit late this morning, though I still arrived before most of the group. I drank coffee, though I didn’t really want it. I’ve stopped having it first thing in the morning – I don’t like my small coffee maker at the hotel – so I get a free cup at work when I arrive.

It’s important to do that, I decided as I sipped. I felt myself grow sharper and less drowsy in the 20 minutes it took me to read email and finish my drink. I printed pages I needed to review for ScaryProject. I answered emails and set up meetings and organized my computer equipment. I went through boxes that were left in my office, set out the few things I had to decorate my space and went to all my scheduled meetings. Then emails started to arrive and I found my starting point for ScaryProject. I found old notes I’d written that are relevant and began to sketch out ideas and typed lists and slides.

I took a picture of the violet before I left today – admiring how it was perking up and how amazing my new camera is. (I realized when I got home that I need the connector to transfer pictures as well as charge the battery (I think). So I’ll update the post with a photo later on. But the camera is perfection! So happy!)

“We’re figuring it out,” I whispered to the plant before I left. “And now that you’re not at death’s door, we can start talking about flowers.”