Why I just quit my dream job

Buckle up, folks; this is a long one.

Photo by Mohamed Nohassi on Unsplash

The job description for my tenure-track position was literally written for me. I had been a visiting lecturer in the department for two years, and to keep me from taking another job, the dean promised to open a tenure line for the following year.

I was thrilled when the position was advertised on job boards a few months later. I couldn’t have written a better job description for myself in a department that had already supported my research and teaching. Despite having complicated feelings about being the infamous “internal candidate,” I was elated to accept the job and have had such enriching experiences in my department in the years since.

In an unexpected twist of fate that I could not have predicted a few years ago, I recently resigned from my dream job after five years on the tenure track and seven years overall at the institution. On top of this, I resigned without another academic position waiting for me.

The reasons for this decision are complex and multifaceted and have required deep soul-searching. I’ll do my best to distill my experience succinctly, but be warned: this is a long story with multiple parts.

To be crystal clear at the outset…

• I didn’t quit my dream job because my department colleagues treated me poorly. I have had wonderful mentors and comrades, and I have felt incredibly supported as a scholar and teacher in my department.

• I didn’t quit to avoid being denied tenure. Based on all metrics and assessments up to this point, I had a strong tenure case and would have submitted my file this summer if I stayed.

• I didn’t quit because I hate academia. Yes, I frequently criticize the academy, but I also voice my discontent with other capitalistic institutions that mistreat their employees. Academia doesn’t own the trademark on exploitation and still offers many affordances in spite of the challenges of late capitalism.

No, I quit my dream job because my life is more expansive than just a job and because I have irreconcilable differences with my employer, the Government of the State of Texas.

“You may all go to hell, and I will go to Texas.”

My partner, Kate, and I have never felt at home in this state. I will not go into detail so as not to offend the many wonderful Texans I know and love, but this has never been our place.

We loved Seattle, my grad school home, but I know many wonderful people who lived there and then left due to the weather or the people's reserved demeanor. But Kate and I cherished every moment we spent in the Pacific Northwest. It felt like home to us. Part of this is undoubtedly due to Seattle's welcoming culture toward LGBTQ people, which we have experienced to a lesser extent here in Austin.

Some people consider Austin to be their Mecca because it is (relatively) progressive and has a thriving food and music culture, and I understand this appeal. That said, just because others love it doesn’t automatically make Austin feel like home to us.

Photo by Christin Hume on Unsplash

We tried to make Austin and Texas work, and Kate sacrificed a great deal to support my career. But the job is no longer a good enough reason to stay, and I cannot keep asking her to do so.

To be clear, Kate offered to stay another year if I wanted to achieve tenure officially, but I decided I didn’t need this rubber stamping on my career. I had already done the work and proved to myself that I could, so the official nod of institutional approval became less important to me—especially when the institution’s values and actions are becoming increasingly less aligned with my own.

And yes, Kate’s indeed a saint. Academic partners are the true heroes, and mine is Herculean.

Texas politics

Since the pandemic, our sense of not belonging in Texas has intensified. The state took a disappointing approach to COVID-19, refusing to let the university require masking and returning us to the physical classroom too quickly.

Our lives didn’t matter to my employer, and this angered me.

The state has since attacked DEI programs, and I’ve watched marginalized students shed tears as centers that were formerly beacons of light for them are now shuttered. I recall a trans student telling me early in my career at UT that they felt so at home because of the awareness and resources available to trans people. I wonder if they would still feel the same way if they were a student here today. I strongly doubt it.

It is one thing to live in a country where the government is regressive and makes decisions I don’t agree with; it is quite another to work for a fundamentalist state with so much control over my job and that regularly threatens to do more damage. The latter has proven much harder for me to reconcile.

I have seen well-meaning colleagues attempt to remove the words diversity, equity, inclusion, and identity markers from our research description in order to avoid the institution's scrutiny.

I have heard about high-ranking officials at UT advising tenure-track faculty to remove all DEI service from their CVs or guest speakers to change their lecture titles to exclude marginalized identity markers—all in an effort to avoid further scrutiny. (Guess which identities typically have the most DEI work on their CVs or include marginalized identities in the titles of their research talks.)

Some people want to cede ground that is not legally required out of fear that enraged mobs will come after us. Academic freedom still protects research and teaching in Texas in theory, but there is a very real fear that it will be taken away as well.

I empathize with that fear, but I also refuse to bow in the face of it.

UT Austin continues to cave in the face of legislative scrutiny, recently eliminating employees who formerly worked in DEI spaces that had already been redesigned and renamed to comply with the new law. A joint statement by the Texas AAUP and the Texas NAACP estimates that 60 people are affected, and

None of the staff who received pink slips are currently working in DEI-related jobs. In order to comply with SB 17, all of the professionals had been given new responsibilities and some had been moved to new offices. Because of this, we have urgent concerns about these termination notices, which follow closely upon a recent communication to University officials around the State, including University of Texas at Austin officials, from Senator Brandon Creighton, warning them about continuing persons in their employment if the changes amounted to simple label changes.

This is yet another example of ceding ground that isn’t legally required but only legally scrutinized.

If I had fallen in love with Austin or felt at home in the state, I might want to stay and fight the power. After all, these atrocities are not unique to Texas.

I have spent the last seven years educating young people here, and I frequently tell them that they will one day change Texas. I still believe that. I am leaving them and my remaining warrior colleagues to carry on that work with all my love and support from afar.

Leaving academia

If you had told me in graduate school that I would land my dream job at a top program in my field only to leave on the verge of tenure, I wouldn’t have believed you. Even writing that makes me laugh out loud still. I worked so hard to get the job and position myself for tenure that I could not imagine leaving without another academic job lined up.

I have been on the job market for the past three years, only applying to programs similar to mine in more progressive states and countries where Kate and I might enjoy living. As you are all aware, this is a tiny pool of possibilities each year in a job market with a seemingly endless number of other candidates seeking the same objectives.

Academics are rarely able to choose where we live. Our families and friends frequently assume that if a town has a university, we could teach there. We are all aware that this is nearly impossible in today’s job market and that many of us must move for the job or leave the profession we’ve worked so hard to join.

In graduate school, I slowly accepted that we would move where the job was, and that would be fine. In the irony of ironies, I actually didn’t apply for the PhD program where I eventually got my tenure-track job because I didn’t want to live in Texas! My priorities shifted when I realized I would have to relocate for an academic job, even though geographic freedom had been a priority when I was younger.

Photo by Victoriano Izquierdo on Unsplash

As a child and as an adult, I moved around a lot and lived in some incredible places. I grew up mostly in Tennessee, but spent several years in Cyprus and Kuwait as a child. I studied abroad in three different countries while in college. After getting my degree, I taught ESL in the Czech Republic and Mexico, and I was a Peace Corps volunteer in Morocco. I’ve also lived in Vermont, Virginia, and Washington State.

Living seven years in Texas is the longest I’ve ever spent in one place…ever.

Why did I think I would be content with a job that didn’t allow me to choose where I lived? It is as if I entered a relationship with an obvious red flag that I ignored from the start.

I am a scholar, even if I’m no longer an academic.

One of the biggest hurdles I’ve had to overcome to get to this point was detaching my scholarly identity from academia and dismantling the limiting belief that the only meaningful work is in academia. This was a belief I held for over a decade, between graduate school and my full-time academic jobs. I couldn’t imagine myself doing anything else.

Who would I be if I wasn’t a professor?

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Cultural studies scholar Stuart Hall once advised one of his star pupils, Ien Ang, to write the book she wanted to write rather than pursue a PhD and write a dissertation. His rationale was that academia was too conservative and disciplining. You might be surprised to know that the great Stuart Hall did not hold a PhD, despite spending much of his career in academia and being a prolific scholar. He saw academia as merely a job that paid him to do intellectual work. He was famously critical of the institution and avoided tying his scholarly identity too closely to it.

I have been redefining myself as a scholar and intellectual rather than an academic, and the experience has been both difficult and liberating.

Managing the fear and grief

There are a myriad of other reasons why people are quitting academia each year. Some of us have no choice because we are unable to find gainful employment in this job market. For others, it’s that the pay is too low and the workload is too high. For still others, toxicity and burnout have run amuck in our institutions, and we have to choose our health, wellness, and families instead.

The prospect of leaving something you have worked so hard for can be terrifying, and it can be disorienting to consider other options for yourself.

For the past year and a half, I have contemplated leaving even if I could not find another job in academia. I began in fear and eventually moved on to grief. This process was initially raw and difficult to wrap my mind around.

And, while I would still describe some of my emotions as trepidation and grief, hope grew alongside those difficult feelings, like wildflowers on a fresh gravesite.

Moving Onwards and Upwards

Once I opened up the possibility that I could carve a meaningful path outside of academia, I gained a stronger sense of myself and my values. I also became a lot braver in speaking truth to power when I no longer feared losing my job—this freedom has been particularly cathartic.

I began to think creatively about what work might look like for me outside of the ivory tower, and I considered options that had previously appeared closed to me.

My dreams changed.

I now feel lighter and brighter than I’ve felt in a long time because I no longer live in a space where the academy is my only option. Stuart Hall and other wise scholars have taught me that the academy is just one container for my work. I just needed to think more expansively to see that truth.

If you are considering leaving academia for any of the reasons listed above or others, please know that I see you and you are not alone. It can be an arduous process, but I can now confidently say I’m already basking in the light that lies at the end of the tunnel. I believe you can reach that light as well.

If you are determined to remain in the academy and fight the capitalistic and conservative forces that seek to undermine academic freedom and opportunity, I see you and will continue to support you. I still believe the academy is worth the fight, even though I will no longer be on the frontlines.

I’ll be sharing more about what’s next for me very soon, but never fear, dear readers. As many of you have already guessed, my future plans include Publish Not Perish, and I cannot wait to tell you more.

And in even better news, my future also includes shaking off the dust from my passport! More soon!