The German owns the fish

I have been intensely worried about my future. I am supposed to be graduating soon, although who knows with my committee meeting looming over my head. Every other week I freak out that I will never graduate. But even worse is when I freak out about what I will do if I do graduate.

The normal road for a research scientist in academia is a Ph.D., followed by postdoctoral training, followed by an appointment as an assistant professor, followed by a tenured track position, followed by death. And now is my first step out into the world. I know kind of what I want to study, but not where and with whom. Hence, the freaking out.

The freak out:
I have a position in France, which seems to intrigue me a great deal. To learn more about it, I decided to talk to the man in France's former boss who happens to be a professor here. He is kind of a famous guy, so I thought it was a good sign when he decided to meet with me. He tells me the guy in France is smart and fantastic and will publish good papers maybe even another Cell paper. (Cell is a highly regarded journal in our field.) But then he asks me the question, "What are your plans for the future?" When I tell him that I want to stay in academics, he replies "Oh then you can never go to France." He proceeded to tell me how the world works, how choosing the right lab for postdoctoral training is the most important decision I am ever going to make and most importantly why I have been rejected from a number of jobs.

"Evil Twin #1, you must write that you are a U.S. citizen on you cover letter or maybe even you subject line. After speaking to you, it is clear to me that you are an American, but if I got an email from you, I would most likely dismiss you. I get over a hundred cover letters from people from China, Japan, Korea, and India and I simply do not have the time to read them all. I'll tell you what. I want you to come back with a list of the most competitive labs you want to work for and we will work on a letter together."

Although the professor was really kind, he sparked off a wave of freaking out. Here I was almost certain I knew what I was going to do, and I would have to start over again.

Self evaluation:
In an effort to regain some semblance of normalcy in my life, I went to a yoga class on the next day. Since college, I have heard my friends and frenemies extol the virtues of this ancient art. "It is so relaxing." "I feel so at peace afterwards." "It centers you." "I have increased my flexibility."

In class, I took purple mat choosing to be in the front of the class next to a 50 plus year-old soccer mom. I was okay during the sun salutations, push-ups, and downward facing-dog. I think I was even able to manage warrior poses and some weird balancing thing one leg while staring at the sky. However, the backward push-up did me in as well as the frog pose. I could feel my arms quivering and it took all my strength to hold in the fart that would have surely broken the peaceful tones of new age zampana music playing in the background.

Yoga for me was not relaxing. I sit in front of the computer today with sore shoulders and twinge in my right calf. I am not good at yoga, step aerobics or many other activities that require coordination. My body does better at things that require hard labor, blood and competitiveness. That has been my modus operandi over the years, to simply plow my way through things. It was time to stop freaking out and plow through this job thing.

Back in the lab that night, I opened up an excel spreadsheet and wrote down a list of potential labs. Then I wrote down things I am good at, things I am not. My job crisis became a little more clear.

Revelations (sans biblical implications):
"The German owns the fish," declared Steph slightly inebriated at 1am Saturday night. She pointed to computer that flashed an Excel spreadsheet that she used to solve a puzzle. "You see, the German owns the fish," she said again.

"That would be a great title to a blog post, " I replied as I stared out her living room window looking for the taxi that was supposed to come.

Just as Excel had aided Steph with her puzzle, it had been doing wonders for me. On Sunday morning the blustery wintery mix convinced me to stay in bedroom. I tried to procrastinate by watching 4 hours of television online. Eventually, I was forced to stare at my options. I "sorted" by location, by lab size, by subject matter.

As I stared at the columns thinking about what my life might be like in its next incarnation, I realized that it would be alright. I had choices and if I just would take a deep breath ... I learned that one from yoga.