What Do You Actually Do With Your Day, John?

What did you do today, daddy?

I think my children are vaguely aware that I am a scientist, possibly that I work on colds and sniffles, but they would be unable to describe what my day involves. Then again, I suspect my PhD students are equally unclear about how I pass the time. To try to set the record straight, I kept a diary recording my day in 30 minute chunks. However, all I learnt from this exercise was that I drink a lot of tea and about half my time goes on the poorly defined ‘admin’, which, even at the time I was recording it, was so dull that I failed to note any specifics.

More data needed

But as we all know n=1 is a poor sample size, and I had the intention of repeating the diary exercise. Sadly, I was then too busy to record any detail. I know that amongst the activities I failed to accurately document were putting microneedle patches on the ears of one group of mice, collecting poo from another group, interviewing project managers, correcting two PhD theses, drinking more tea and looking after the children whilst my wife was away with work. Additionally, I was firefighting, grant writing, tutoring and ‘networking’ (aka going to the pub). So, in short I do an incredibly varied range of tasks in any given day, much of which doesn’t fall into easy soundbites for those with short attention spans.

I’m just like you, but different

However, since I was asked to do a blog about how an academic immunologist principal investigator (PI) spends their time, to inform people at earlier career stages ‘my days are really busy and quite varied’ is not all that informative. If you are involved in any form of immunology research, your days are no doubt equally busy and more varied. So I guess the more relevant question is, what is different about the way a PI spends their time compared to a PhD student, research assistant, research technician or postdoc?

Mutual support

The simple answer is: more office, less lab. As a postdoc, I spent at least 110% of my time in the lab, 15% in the office (I may be over-inflating a bit, as my postdoc supervisor is now President of the BSI, more realistically it was 75:25). The proportion in the lab decreases as you get more senior; when I started as a PI, lab: office was about 50:50, it is now about 10:90 and it is unusual to see many professors at the bench due to the other pressures on their time. One of the big adjustments from being a postdoc to being a PI is the lack of tangible product at the end of the day. On a good day at the bench, you can say – today I did 10 ELISAs or I ran samples through the FACS machine until I had dots burnt into my retina. Either way you have something that wasn’t there at the beginning of the day. On a good day, I can maybe point to a paragraph of text that is slightly better than it was yesterday.

I’m Alan Sugar

A slightly more nuanced description of how I spend my time is that I spend it supporting a team, whilst the members of my team spend their time supporting my ‘vision’ (or lack of). Being a PI is like running a small business. In my case, think of a start-up in someone’s shed; for my head of department, think major biotech just about to be bought by a big pharma. To support the members of my team, my tasks fall into a number of different functions:

• Administrative – health and safety, HR, ordering, tendering and purchasing equipment etc. (some or all of which I try to farm out as ‘development opportunities’).
• Mentoring – training staff, weekly meetings, helping in the lab, journal clubs and telling great jokes.
• Publicity and sales – papers, conferences, blogs, grants, collaborations, twittering (@DrTregoning) and networking.
• Keeping my job – teaching, committees (see blog).
• Future planning – reading papers, pilot studies, establishing collaborations and thinking (though to the untrained eye this can look a bit like sleeping).

The balance of these activities depends a bit on the cycle of academia. If I have some grant funding, I will try and focus on mentoring the people doing the work in order to deliver it successfully, then when funding begins to run out, I write papers and grants.

The NeverEnding list

So what do I do in a day? Sadly, there isn’t an easy answer that I can tell my children. I start the day with a long list of tasks and on a good day end up with an equally long list of new tasks generated in response to the ones I have completed. Some of these are fun (paper writing, mentoring, paper reading), some less so (grants, health and safety), but no two days are alike … except for the tea drinking.
This first appeared on the British Society for Immunology blog

Cheer up my colleagues: A rebuttal

Let’s say, hypothetically, I did write this article in the Graun about being happy in your work and, theoretically, I had read all of the comments obsessively, then I might potentially reply as follows (if only to get more traffic to my blog):

Naively happy

Naively, I thought a message about being happier would not be all that controversial. It turns out there are a lot of angry academics out there (but I should probably have guessed this from the peer review process). On reflection, there are many places in the article, where for levity or brevity (or because of the reader’s own biases), my message may not have been quite as clear as it ought. Not applying the rigours of science writing to a piece of whimsy I wrote on the tube, on the way home from the pub was amiss of me. Ironically, I cut the following lines from the original:

“I can already hear/ see the acerbic, but witty or maybe just acerbic tweets being prepared to puncture my optimism: “it’s easy for you to say, you’ve made it”, “you don’t know how hard it is for X stage academics in Y field”, “self-satisfied Oxbridge twit”. I am aware that any description of one’s own life can come across as boastful (if good) or lacking in self awareness (if described as bad). To those of you preparing such retorts (the haters), give me the chance to persuade you that academia is fun and to rekindle the spark that got you here in the first place. And if I can’t, at least make your comments funny.”

Right to reply

Maybe I should have left those lines in. However, seeing as I failed to convince everyone first time around of the joy of this career, in the tradition of academic discussion it only seemed reasonable to try and address some of the comments:

1. On Money. As was pointed out, the statement about money was about research funding rather than salary. Research funding (and whether there is enough of it is another topic) does come from someone else’s pocket and they – the government/ charity chose to support our research over spending it on other things and for that I am grateful (and I struggle to see how this could be wrong-thinking of me). The other perceived point about money was about salaries. I didn’t mention salaries. But the comments do raise an interesting point around pay, gratitude and expectation. My world view is to be happy you have a job and are paid, I had not appreciated that this was a political viewpoint, but am grateful to have been enlightened about my shortcomings. I do think if you are deeply unhappy in your job or with the system, it is worth at least exploring other options.
2. Use of the word lucky. There is some luck about being the right person in the right place to getting into a tenured job, but on reflection use of the word lucky was misleading, I meant it more in the terms of blessed/ appreciative. I don’t think appreciating the good parts of the job necessarily precludes being aware of the bad parts and trying to change them.
3. On the comment about writing well for a scientist. I do, don’t I?
4. Finally, and this sounds more whiney than I want it to but to many of the comments: I didn’t say that actually. I wasn’t saying there are no other worthwhile interesting jobs there clearly are. No I haven’t done many of them (I have been a soldier too, but thought that probably wasn’t going to endear me to the average Guardian reading academic).

Angry like me

PS. Secretly, or not so secretly if you actually work/ live with me, I am pretty angry much of the time. The irony of writing such an upbeat piece was not lost on me or my colleagues. But it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try and be more positive, at least some of the time. On the whole, I stand by my assertion that there are good elements to a career in academia and that these should be celebrated. And as a teaser for wildly optimistic pieces which will appear here and elsewhere in the future, it should be possible to work within a system acknowledging there are parts of it that are broken, whilst still being mindful of the pleasures, and try to find or recapture the joys and the positives. Except of course on the day when I am an angry academic too (grant/ paper rejections), on those days I agree with you, smash the system, burn it all down.

Cheer up, my academic colleagues! Happiness Anonymous

This post was originally on the Guardian Higher Education in the academics anonymous column. It was anonymous, because it's ok to be happy as an academic, but not ok to let anyone else know...

Good moaning

As a tribe, we academics enjoy complaining: too much teaching, too many committees, not enough funding, reviewers too mean, houses too expensive, wages not enough, blah blah blah. However, I would like to stick my head above the parapet (anonymously) and propose a new manifesto for 2016: Celebrate Academia. I would like to remind you that academia is fun, to rekindle the spark that got you here in the first place. Yes there are rubbish bits, but when I pause (from complaining) and reflect, the following things make me happy and I think should make you happy too.

Everyday people

The longer you work in academia, the wider your global network. Bask in the reflected company of your peers. We have the privilege to work with brilliant, interesting people from around the world, many of whom are fascinated by the same obscure minutiae of our fields and will happily discuss it late into the night, often over a beer, in an interesting exotic place, or Brussels.

My Generation

Working with students allows you to reflect on the joys of youth through the mirror of their experiences. Undergraduates have a limitless capacity to imagine they are pioneers, that their ironic fashion show is the first of its kind, or that no one else ever pulled an all-nighter to complete an assignment for which they had ample warning because they were too busy organising an ironic fashion show. Celebrate your acquired wisdom and maturity, whilst missing grant deadlines for which you had ample warning because you were too busy organising your children’s fashion show.

Get Better

I don’t have much experience of the real world outside academia, but certainly compared my time as a night cleaner in a refrigerated yoghurt warehouse, working in a university is full of chances to learn. Learn more because you are teaching a new course, learn more because it drives your research. But most of all learn more because it’s fun, it’s there and it’s the essence of the job.

Heal the world

Our work has societal value (measurable if you believe REF). Not only is that a good thing, it is a shield when confronted with your friends from undergraduate days who are now earning a million dollars in the City. It will take the sting out of the fact that they can afford houses in Oxford/ shopping in Waitrose/other essentials.

Research

You get to be the expert in your field. We may not get as much time to spend on research or the funding to support it as we would want. But we are extremely privileged to be given money, most of which comes from other people’s hard work – taxes, charity, benevolence, to indulge our own personal curiosity, which, when you stop to think about it, is amazing.

Time is on my side

Find the things you enjoy and do them: I get deep joy from playing football during the working day. You are, as an academic, more or less your own boss. Yes there are disagreeable tasks: admin, marking, grant-writing. But even the bad bits shouldn’t take all of your day and if they are, drop some. It is acceptable to say no and where not, it is normally possible to shape courses and committees to reflect your research interests.

Under Pressure

Remember, no one forced you to do this job. There are a number of high stress jobs that involve people shooting at you (soldier), shouting at you (police) or dying on you (doctor). There are others that involve horrible hours, terrible working conditions and repetitive tasks, but luckily I stopped being a post-doc.

My Generation

If my relentless optimism isn’t enough for you, think of the children/students. A common reason given by PhD students for not remaining in academia is pressure on junior PIs. Complaining about the stress of academia may be a cunning plan by established faculty to stop newer, smarter people joining the competition. But it isn’t fair on the next generation and wasteful of all we have invested – time, energy, money - in getting them across the line.

Don’t worry be happy

In conclusion and for the sake of balance, I accept that there are problems with the system. There are fewer entry level posts and those that do exist come with considerably less job security than before (believe it or not). The demands of the career have changed significantly and it is much harder to get that critical break-in grant than 20 years ago. But dwelling on the negative doesn’t actually help anyone. So, in 2016, let’s turn the tearoom discussion around and celebrate what we have. Happier people are more productive, healthier and have better hair (just look at Trump/Drumpf he is really angry and has terrible hair).

PS as always bonus points for the artists for the headings.

 

Nature Jobs Blogs: How to add value in Academia

Have been freelancing for other blogs. These two are from Nature Jobs Blogs and are linked:

The faculty series: Nobody rides for free

This described how faculty need to learn how to add value to their institution.

Faculty series: Balancing the books

The companion piece described how to get the balance between your different responsibilities.

Brace for impact: making the most of your research

This article first appeared on the 18/11/2015 on Times Higher Education 

Given the impending doom of the spending review, academics are becoming more mindful of what is expected of them by their political paymasters. A recurring piece of rhetoric around universities is that research should have “impact”. But what does impact really mean, is it a valid metric and should you be chasing it?

Impact is the new translation

Impact, defined on the Research Councils UK web pages as “positive impact in our society and economy…through knowledge exchange, new products…and so on”, is the potential of the research to make changes in the real world outside the university gates. It is different from “high-impact” papers – another different kind of evil, another gripe, another blog. Making research quantifiable and beneficial is a noble-sounding ideal and much/some/a little (delete as applicable) of the research performed has a clear and quantifiable impact – eventually.

Lost in translation

I have two concerns with using impact as a metric. First, I believe it is difficult, if not impossible, to predict which new avenues of basic research will have the most impact. Second, I believe too great a focus on impact can harm innovation, leading to shorter-term thinking and a narrowing of the horizon. A clinical trial of a drug is clearly closer to impact than understanding the crystal structure of a molecule, but the drug may have been designed based on crystal structures generated decades ago. If we cut the root of research today, we won’t be able to deliver the fruit of clinical trials tomorrow. Think of the laser, green fluorescent protein, the structure of DNA and monoclonal antibodies. All of these were discovered and developed with minimal consideration of impact or their possible industrial applications but now underpin vast industries.

Blue-sky impact

Ideally, we would get rid of impact as a metric altogether. University research labs should be viewed as feeder blue-sky labs. Owing to financial pressures, many companies no longer sustain pure-science basic-research facilities. Universities can fill this gap, playing to the strengths of both partners – academics have time to develop random thoughts; industry has the cash and the experience to see things to market. Yes, that does mean that publicly funded research supports private industry, but since we are told that one of our major functions should be to spark economic growth, this is a good thing.

Past performance equals future impact (maybe)

Sadly, in this age of metrics for everything, vaguely asserting that research has downstream benefits is probably insufficient. So how should impact be measured? I would argue that at an individual level, past performance is an ineffective metric, biasing towards more established groups, when historically disruptive innovation comes from outsiders, new starters and people with less to lose. However, assessing the impact of previous work at an institutional level is effective. Although time-consuming (and costly), the impact studies in the 2014 research excellence framework (REF) did clearly show how universities add value. Institutions with a history of impactful work over a longer time period are, I believe, more likely to deliver it again in the future. In academia, the larger institutions have the reputation to pull in the best thinkers, the resources to support them and the infrastructure to enable researchers to research.

Game it

Sadly, my saying that impact is an inappropriate metric is not going to change the system (although I am happy for Jo Johnson, the minister for universities and science, to prove me wrong). We are stuck with impact and therefore need to play the game by writing awe-inspiring impact statements. In these times of slender research budgets, grants have been won or lost on the perceived quality of the impact. Read the advice on the RCUK pages and get tips from academic mentors. But to take it a step further, be inventive. This is the one part of the grant where you can just make stuff up* – it is hard enough quantifying impact objectively after the work is done, it is impossible to quantify impact before the work is done. So say that your research can cure cancer, cancel Third World debt and fix the ozone layer, because you know what, some of it will.
* This is for comic effect to emphasise a point – I would never make anything up. My work WILL cure the common cold (in the space of a three-year project).

Academic failure: four more ways to deal with it

I had intended to focus on some of the many core skills needed in an academic career: selling your science, the importance of brand and how to collaborate. But I got derailed.
It turns out you can come up with all the carefully phrased advice, witty but apposite anecdotes and strategies for coping with failure. You can think outside the box and look on the bright side, but occasionally the wheels come off.

Twenty-four hours ago, I was sitting at my desk working on the third draft of a grant proposal that I have been tortuously pulling together for many months when I had an unshakeable feeling that “this is unfundable garbage; what am I doing here, my career is in tatters”. I slowly sank into despair.*
That I had recently written upbeat pieces about failure and building resilience, combined with my inability to listen to my own advice, only added to my frustration.
You may wonder why I am sharing this in a blog purportedly about academic career development. Mainly, it is to (re)emphasise a key point: we all struggle with the ups and downs of academic life, and anyone who says they don’t is lying, not trying hard enough...or emeritus.
It is also to emphasise that every glowing opportunity is accompanied by a kick in the bum. Failure is rife and disappointment common.
I also wanted to share what worked for me in order to compress my time in the doldrums and accelerate a return to productivity. The route back up involved support, distraction and time.

Support

There are times when you need to draw on your network of friends, family and colleagues to hold your hand (literally and figuratively), to send you friendly emojis and reassure you that your idea is OK (or at least has salvageable parts). But make sure you are available to return the favour when the positions are reversed.

Step outside the moment

For me, exercise resets the balance. For you it might be music, drawing, playing Grand Theft Auto or cooking. I said this in my last blog but will stress it again, if only for my own benefit: if one aspect of the job gets too much, do something else. Defrost a -80°C freezer, order lab consumables or clean the incubators. Find your stress relief valve and make sure it is accessible at work.
In an attempt to manage myself better, I have now got running kit in a drawer in my office, to be deployed in emergency.

Time

The simplest factor is time: time away from the desk, time to reflect on the good bits and time to refocus.

Lessons learned

The moment passes, there will be bits you can salvage and, if not, you have learned what doesn’t work.
My problem is fear of failure, but you can’t win the lottery unless you buy a ticket, and you can’t get a grant unless you submit a proposal. I’d like to hope that having reflected on the stresses of failing (again) I won’t get into the same state (again). However, I am sure I will – but maybe next time I will be self-aware enough to break out the running shoes earlier.
* Note to my funders and employers: this was unfounded. My grant proposal is amazing. In fact you should fund it without even reading it.
 
This first appeared on 13/10/2015 on the Times Higher Education

Failure is an option: six ways to deal with it

Are you ready to fail, because as an academic you will, repeatedly.
We all do. Failure is part and parcel of academia. The two repeat offenders are grants and papers and, of the two, grant failure feels more brutal (to me at least). If you are like me, you will take each failure really badly, and it will ruin numerous evenings and weekends (and on one occasion, a child’s birthday party).
To avoid this, it is  important to develop coping strategies, a lot of them grounded in approaches to build mental resilience. Here are six that might help:

Mindset

I cannot recommend strongly enough the brilliant book Mindset: The New Psychology of Success by Carol Dweck, Lewis and Virginia Eaton professor of psychology at Stanford University. In brief, don’t take failure as a blow to your self-esteem; look at it as a learning opportunity. There may be a good reason why the grant or paper failed. Don’t think: “stupid reviewers, why don’t they understand me”; do think: “how can I write that better so it makes sense to even the most stupid reviewer”.

There are other opportunities

Failure is very rarely the end of the line. Grants are on a rolling cycle and many applications only get accepted on the 2nd or 3rd submission. That journal you were striving for is probably not as great as you thought, and there are more journals than ever, so your paper will find a home. Convince yourself that impact factor is an artificial construct. Successful academics are determined (bloody minded). Think how many job applications and interviews you had in order to get here and apply that same spirit now you have the job.

It’s nothing personal

Unless you ran off with the reviewer’s partner, killed their grant or ran over their dog, the critique of your work is about your work and not about you. Taking it to heart, memorising key lines and writing “you are an idiot” in red pen on the comments is satisfying but doesn’t get the grant funded. Look at it from the reviewer’s point of view: they have limited time to make decisions on a large number of grants from a range of subjects. Bear in mind that we are all called to be reviewers and through negligence, weakness or our own deliberate fault we sometimes get it wrong.

You’re not unique

Look up the success rate of your grant scheme, then take the inverse – that is how many people you are in company with. More applicants fail than succeed. Find them, commiserate and move on.

What would Alan Sugar say? 

Remember, you are selling, they are buying. You have to make sure the fit is right and the sales pitch correct.

Learn from what goes well

While failure may seem bad, success has its downsides too. You’ve actually got to do the work that sounded so good on paper. You’ve then got to think of bigger and better new ideas. At least if you are unsuccessful, you can recycle the good parts of the application.

Remember, academia is just a job. It may take up all your time, intellectual capacity and emotional energy, but it is still just a job.

Take a step back, do something unrelated – garden, run, swim, paint, sing. Apologise to the child whose birthday you ruined, and then on Monday morning pick up your pen and start again.

This first appeared 19/09/2015 on the Times Higher Education