So, academics, whatcha doin’ for summer break?

From ScienceMag:

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I know you’ve heard the question.

A family member, or a friend, usually well-meaning, casually asks what fun plans you have for your 3-month hiatus. They might just be making conversation. They might be trying to tee up a dig that ranges from passive aggressive (“Gosh, it must be so relaxing to have the entire summer off!”) to aggressive aggressive (“I wish I could just walk away for June, July, and August every year, but I suppose I’m one of those suckers who, you know, HAS A JOB”).

Or, they might simply be unaware of the truth: that summer, for an academic scientist, might include a slight change of activities, but, uh, no, you don’t get a break.

Sure, there are differences compared with the “regular” school year. Summer starts with dapper-looking parents helping their kids load beanbag chairs into SUVs. Then, after occupying every nearby restaurant for lunch, they vanish. An odd quiet settles over the quads. The usual lines for the cafeteria and rec center die down; on-campus parking transitions from scarce to slightly less scarce; and lampposts and bulletin boards shed their stapled fliers like oaks in the fall.

But meanwhile, scientists head to the lab, same as usual.

When I was in grad school, the question about my plans for summer always felt more annoying than naïve: No, I didn’t have some school-sanctioned break, and as for fun plans, I intended to spend quality time with millions of subcloned bacteria. The question about summer break was yet another reminder that most people not only found my chosen career path to be inscrutable, but worse, that they misperceived it as relaxing.

It reminded me of other similarly irritating inquiries—questions that implied that, while my peers sweated in the real world, I had slipped into Neverland as a perpetual student, living off their income taxes and seeing nothing wrong with life as a 23rd grader (or 28th grader). To name just a few that plagued me, and I’m pretty sure many of you:

When will you graduate?

This has to be the top of the list, because for so many people, the idea of an academic program with no set end date sounds like absolute madness. This is probably because it is absolute madness. But it’s the madness you’ve chosen, and you somehow have to justify why you agreed to a life plan that may sound, to them, like you’ve signed a contract for a 500-year mortgage. This question applies to postdocs as well. Tell them it’s like a job, but it also isn’t, and you’re only there until a different job becomes available, but one might never become available, and shut up I’m not crying, you’re crying.

How can you possibly afford to pay for so many years of school?

This misconception reinforces the idea that scientists are the elites who can afford years of expensive training. I still remember the look on a friend’s face when he asked this question, and I responded, “Because in a Ph.D. program, you don’t pay the school. The school pays you!” Regardless of whether you deliver this last line in a Yakov Smirnoff voice, once their shock has dissipated, you’ll want to reassure them the same way I reassured my friend: “Don’t worry … it doesn’t pay you much.”

Why do you have to go to the lab at midnight? Is someone making you do that?

Well, you can tell them, yes and no. It’s a delicate social balance wherein your adviser isn’t exactly telling you that you must be in the lab at midnight, but if you show poor progress at your lab meeting, and you justify it with a derisive snort and the response, “Well, I wasn’t exactly going to go into the lab at midnight, now was I?” you’re not doing yourself any favors. Even if your adviser is the nice kind who seems to be aware that Work-Life Balance isn’t the name of a granola bar, someone or something might still “make you” go to the lab at midnight. Depending on your flavor of science, you might be subject to the whims of bacteria, mice, chemical reaction timelines, or telescopes. Either way, just let your naïve friend assume you’re a go-getter who’s earning lucrative overtime.

Ooh, you’ve published! Where can I find your article when it comes out?

It’s not easy to explain that, no, your article won’t be on the front page of any magazine they’ll encounter at the newsstand; and no, they probably wouldn’t want to read it anyway because it’s not exactly written in “words” in the traditional sense; and no, they probably wouldn’t want to pay however much it costs to access. And, no, you also can’t afford to access your own article.

How can you possibly have a social life with this kind of career?

I don’t know, you should answer, how can you possibly have a social life when you’re so preemptively judgmental? Then concede that maybe they’re right, and you should submit a grant application to study the social lives of scientists.

Do you need anything? Would $5 help? Here, take $5. Don’t worry about it. Seriously, you need it more than I do.

This offer is wildly insulting and moderately helpful.

This summer, as you breathe a little easier on your empty-ish campus, try not to lose your mind over the questions your friends and family ask you. Explain that you’re working on something you feel passionate about, and research never takes a summer break.

But go home at 11:59 p.m. tonight. You’ve earned it.

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