When I wanted to be a professor
And I was, but…
Since my childhood, I wanted to be a professor. Like my parents. I deeply admire and respect them, so I wanted to follow a similar career but things went not the way I thought. I started well, but sometimes life gets in the way.
I was appointed assistant professor at the University where I studied foreign affairs when I had been graduated for merely a month and I was still studying anthropology. What made my boss appoint me instead of anyone else at the previous assistant professor resignation was my performance over the past year. I went there for my internship, in the middle of 2013 and they considered I did a good job so, after my internship was over, I got a contract to work with them for another year. By June of 2014, my predecesor resigned, but we already knew he would.
The run to find his replacement was over before it began, as my professor had already selected me for a couple of reasons: my writing skills, my research approach, my efficient way of working and the fact that I was double majoring with anthropology, a very useful and necessary career to have on the team of an indigenous affairs research center. But I was not counting that my weakest spot was going to be the reason for my exit, not even one year after.
Although I am an anthropologist, I study human culture and behavior, I have always had trouble with human relationships. I can understand and produce theory, but it is hard for me to manage my human interactions. I do not want to intrude too much in other people’s lives and I expect the same in return. I believe my personal circumstances are not valid excuses or arguments to ask for something in laboral terms and I believe I should not disclose too much to the people in the workplace. Anything I say can and will be used against me when the right time comes.
Well, that was the root of the problem. I sincerely believe what I stated, but my boss did not and neither my back-stabbing coworker. I made an enormous mistake (mis)guided by my ego. Sheila* was not the type of person I would worry about. When we shared a couple of classes together, she could barely pass, while I performed well. My GPA was outstanding, while she struggled to remain in college. She was the last person I thought would pursue a researching career. In my squared mind, there would be little chance for someone like her to get into a research position.
However, one good day of November 2013 she showed up at my office, telling me and my two coworkers I shared the space with that she would be part of the young researchers program at our research center. She was doing a thesis on indigenous affairs and she got accepted that way. Until June of 2014, she kept being the same person I remembered — vaguely, there had been around four years without seeing her — underperforming and using the personal side of things to keep there. She took it too far.
When Dylan* resigned, I indeed obtained the post I was already told I would get, with a catch. Two, actually. The position at that particular center had two features that made it very attractive: besides being a researcher, I would be the assistant professor and academic editor of the books they produced. The salary was a good compensation for the effort, at the time. Specially because I would have one as researcher and editor and another one for being an assistant professor.
Well, there was a problem, for her. I had a smaller contract since I signed it when I had not graduated, which prohibited me from getting a bigger pay and she had an even smaller one, for the category in which she was hired. So, somehow she convinced my boss to name one of our coworkers as research assistant (taking the well paid job from me and giving it to him), with a three month delay: my friend would graduate next October, so, meanwhile, the pay was split between Sheila and another young researcher, because he was not allowed to sign the contract unless he had his bachelor degree. I was, however, given the full responsibility as a research assistant, professor and editor. With the same salary I had before. All of that was done on the very same night our coworkers were throwing me a party for my graduation. Sheila and professor Jude* were sitting right next to me.
I was more than pissed when I found out a couple of days later. I wanted to slap her with a chair. That was as unfair as it could be. I had worked hard and the only reward to my effort was more work and less pay. Only because someone severely incapable of performing well had pulled her strings to retain a job she was on the verge of losing since she got it. In time, two of our colleagues, who grew close to me were also dismissed and another two, who also became good friends with me went away on their own.
I was heartbroken, my world had been shaken, I never thought I would be the type of person in that situation. I became aware of the relative fragility of nearly everything. That fueled a personal crisis and prompted me to return to my psychiatrist, whom I had seen for a couple of years before, for an unrelated issue. I felt down, stupid, unworthy. I felt I was doomed at 23 years old, when I had my whole life in front of me, but I was blinded because the path of my dreams was severed without any consideration by someone who, in another place, would have been reprimanded at the very suggestion of what she proposed to my boss.
At some point, I decided I needed to pick up the pieces and figure out something else for myself. If academia was just as unfair and arranged as any other place, I might as well go to work for a big company or something similar. If I had to compromise my principles and not deliver the highest quality work, I’d better be earning good money. I thought integrity was something to be found at some specific places, rather than something people have, independently of where they develop their work. I no longer believe that, but it hurt deeply.
I did not return to work until more than 2 years later, because one key decision I made and, today, I thank myself for: to finish my anthropology degree first and then go for whatever I wanted. I finished taking the subjects I needed and was working on my thesis when I went to work as a teacher at an unorthodox private school. Another remarkable experience, also a great learning opportunity for me. Working for Maurice Tonyo* at his family’s school convinced me, beyond any reasonable doubt, that academic settings were not my dream, after all.
It made me realize I was capable of doing multiple things, but I needed to make decisions about where, when and with whom I wanted to work, so I devoted time to it. I resolved I was going to follow my original dream and become a forensic anthropologist. I had taken another path, which did not work, so I was entirely free to try another one. It was the reason I became an anthropologist, in the first place.
There was, however, a bump on the road. I could not graduate before the required date to enroll in 2018, so I had to wait. Meanwhile, I got a job at a big company, as an English-Spanish interpreter. Mostly medical at first, then switched to broader settings. That job is what brought me seriously to the thought of launching a writing career, besides my interest in forensic anthropology.
When I had some free time, I went back to writing my thoughts inspired by the conversations I heard. I found myself reflecting on the social conditions that put the people I interpreted for there in the first place and analyzing them. I started writing drafts on my email, as I was not permitted to have anything opened in the web browser but the corporate email, a couple of information pages, some vocabulary PDF’s and two dictionaries.
I kept that to myself in the beginning, but I eventually crossed with one Medium article which was successful in convincing me that I had something that could be worth other people’s time. I started writing in Quora and it went well. When they invited me to their Partner Program I could not believe it. And then, I grew enough confidence to jump here. All while waiting to go for my master this year and taking on a couple of personal projects I had delayed for too long. Among them, to go back to publish articles on social, political and economic analysis of Latin American issues for a newspaper that accepted me in 2017.
My mishap with my first job is what, ultimately, led me to where I am. If it had not been for Sheila’s betrayal, professor Jude’s complicity and mr. Tonyo’s family, I would not be heading to where I am heading now, I would not be humbler than in my past and I would not know my true worth. Thank you, Sheila, thank you, professor Jude, thank you, Mr. Tonyo. You all made me realize what it takes to make dreams come true is unshakable decision, hard work and enduring perseverance. Every fall is an opportunity, every bump on the road is a teacher and every mistake signals the need for change. I embrace that and I will keep walking.
*The names have been changed.
This story was written in response to the As Brave As Can Be writing prompt.
