Taking the plane to school

On the Amtrak going to Northern California, looking out at the hilly green landscape I tried to plan the next four month in even more details. As much as I'm excited about my new job and the thought about never having to be apart from Zoe for more than a week, I'm also realistic. It will be hard. I'll be tired and I'll be missing meetings, missing friends, trying to write that brilliant paper on my one hour flight and have breakfast in the lounge more than I care (their coffee is not that good). But it wasn't until I bought (and wow, it's easy for me to buy plane tickets with my mobile Scandinavian Airlines app) a plane ticket for me and Zoe to fly from Copenhagen to Stockholm, early one October morning so she can make it for school that day, that it dawned upon me the reality of this: My daughter, Flybaby, will be taking the plane to school. If we catch the first 6:15am plane from Copenhagen, we can just make it for 8:30am, being probably 15 minutes late. But I have a work dinner the previous evening, so we have no choice. It's not just my life that will be chopped into pieces of different settings and countries, it is also Zoe's. I hope that I'll be able to support her and comfort her if it is all too much one day, and I hope that I will be relaxed enough to just let things (and plane tickets) go if she needs to take it easy.

I arrived at my California destination and rolled my little suitcase out to my hotel. Later on, Zoe's dad texted me telling she misses me. My heart broke in two and I had to comfort myself with with the fact that in 10 days we will be reunited. Meanwhile I have a committee meeting to run, six big boxes of stuff to pack, one lecture to write and a couple of flights to take back. 

Game over

The Empire State Building is green and red, two colors Zoe would find boring, but she is not here to complain. Instead I'm hitting the two week mark of her absence where I start really feeling it in my heart. Her pictures around the apartment, her toys still scattered a bit between the bedroom and the shelf in the living room reminding me that she was just here and will be back again. In another two months. Not for long, because her dad informed me today that he wants her to be back in Europe for at least two weeks before she starts school so she can get over her jetlag. Not like something we could talk about or agree about. "I want her back in Stockholm by x date". I am not sure exactly when this whole parenting thing turned from two people trying to agree about what is best for Zoe, to demands and requirements. It is honestly the weirdest thing. And it only adds fuel to my hurting heart, missing her, missing hugging her, chatting to her, reading long chapter books before bedtime and rubbing her back as she falls asleep. She is and will always be my little baby. And being without her is like missing a piece of myself.

If it wasn't enough that I miss her, my life is as messy as it could ever be. Having my visa cancelled out of nowhere was nothing compared to this. On top of having a major life decision in front of me, I'm responsible for coordinating some conference work that will take about 30 hours to do this weekend and be a major chore this summer. And then I have all the work at my second job, which is actually my main job at the moment since they are the only ones providing me with a salary. On top of that I pay too much attention to someone who doesn't deserve it, someone who can't help pay attention to me either, but who should know better. I just want to move on. I just want to have made this decision, to be on the other side, next to Zoe, having pizza on a weeknight and discuss how the stars were made and why her friend in school doesn't speak another language.

I keep concluding that it's game over. That I have been defeated by circumstances and really bad life choices such as who I decided to have a child with. It makes me depressed and sad and incapable of working on anything serious for a while. But then I remember my promise to myself. That I'll never give up. That I *will* one day have that professor job in the US, no matter how much I have to sacrifice. Except I'll not sacrifice any time with Zoe. And this is where I fail again. And again. As her dad satisfactory said to me last time he picked her up: "I have my research group now, this is what I always wanted". I'm so happy for him.

Flying again

I told Zoe we were going to San Francisco for a couple of days and her reaction was priceless: "Great, I haven't been flying in a long time, and I feel like getting off the ground". I dried the smirk of my face before answering her, that it was actually really less than two months since she had flown over here. A few days later as we were walking home to pick up our suitcases and head to the airport, she said a similar thing: "I don't actually fly very often, but when I do I fly really far". I told her that was slightly incorrect, she flew both often and far but it is all about comparison.

This evening we are on our way to San Francisco after a compact week where I'm more shocked than impressed with how much I have fitted in. I have been a teacher putting together a study with some undergraduate students, I was a good mom, taking Zoe and her new best friend from school to a ceramics painting shop where they painted figurines and had a small playdate after. I managed a series of other studies at my other job and was home before the babysitter put Zoe to bed. I then went to three meetings in one day and gave a talk next day on a topic I had just started delving into this past weekend. But the most crazy thing this week is not that I still have two full day meetings in San Francicso while Zoe is with some good friends, I managed to get a manicure and order a few Christmas presents online. Yep, on top of all that craziness, I managed to be nice to myself and others.

Now flybaby is off with her usual kit of iPad and headphones, she has raided the lounge for chips and pretzels while her mom raided it for white wine. Ready for takeoff.

Game over

My phone rang at 2 am in the morning New York time. It was Zoe. I answered happily but still partly asleep. "Mommy, do you know where my baking set is?", she asked as this was the most important thing in her life right there and then. I explained that we had left it at grandma's place and that we would get it next time were were there. "I want to bake a pumpkin cake", she continued and I promised that we would do that as soon as we were reunited. It was early Saturday morning in Stockholm and I realized that she had woken up by herself and decided to call me from her own phone. Nobody else in her house were awake. We chatted for a bit more and I told her that she could call me any time before we said goodbye. I fell back asleep with the phone still in my hand.

It was such a relief to see that she could finally call me on her own and that she did it. A few days later when she called to say goodnight and get a story (or two) she cried again though. "Mommy", was all she could say. She wore her bracelet, the one where I have the other heart part, which I was also wearing. I told her that no matter what I would convince her dad that she had to come over here. And if he still wouldn't let her, I would come back to Stockholm for two months.

On the train home from half a weekend in New Jersey, visiting a friend who had offered to cheer me up and distract me with red wine and good food, I mentally started going through the things I would have to do if she would not be allowed to travel here. Zoe's dad was still refusing me to take her here, saying we didn't have an agreement but since I thought we did have an agreement, I did not know what to do other than keep asking him. After making this mental list of things I would have to do if I had to go back to see Zoe for two months (quite my job here, losing most of my income for two months, losing my deposit on my apartment because I'm leaving with less than a month's notice, kick out my own renters in Stockholm, cancelling my committee meeting in December etc), I realized that this is not an option. I have to get her here. My head started spinning. What more could I offer him? Money? More time with Zoe when we get back? Because the game is over. I can't stay here for much longer. If I can't have Zoe here, there is no way I can be in the US. And circumstances seem to be dictating my next cross-Atlantic move.

After I had read two stories for Zoe, we said goodnight. She told me it was just the girlfriend that evening, her dad was at a cafe (probably out for work dinner) but that is was okay. After all, I'm glad they get along. She is a good friend for Zoe and that's all that matters.

Two weeks and counting

As for Sundays goes, this was one of the better ones. I got to spend all afternoon with a really really good old friend of mine. In fact I like to call him my oldest academic friend because we met at my very first academic conference back in 2002 when we were both graduate students let lose in a foreign city with two goals: following as many interesting talks and meeting senior researchers during the day, and having as much fun drinking and partying at night. The latter is what I remember the most, including him and I dancing in a basement disco to the tunes of electronic beat music. This was still three years before he would, at a similar occasion in a different city, reach behind my back and cockily snap open my bra. Just to be silly. Since then we have seen each other once or twice per year, closely following each others parallel life of buying a home, marrying and having children, changing jobs and moving cities (well only me). Opposite me, he is still happily married but he has seen me through ups and downs and been hugely supportive whenever we get to talk. In fact, I remember more than once, me being upset and him hugging me, telling me things would be okay. Not something you find in your average academic colleague. Just today I was reminded how this guy, of all men I know, is one of the most observant guys when it comes to emotions. He noticed I got teary eyed when talking about him being away from his family. He asked and listened attentively to why I got divorced. No judgement, just listening.

We walked through the West Village and SoHo, ending up at my secret sushi place where we got the chef's selection of amazing fish, including mini squid and fried fish bone. I realized how lucky I am having such good friends around the world who know me well, who comfort me when I'm sad that Zoe is not with me. Five weeks more. Just five weeks.  

Happy mom, happy baby

I was lying in the king-size Chicago hotel bed, rubbing Zoe's back so she could fall asleep easily, while she asked me about my work today. "What did you work with today?" she asked, because I had been at a committee meeting while she was with her dad. "Remember when daddy brought you into that big room with all of Mommy's friends? And the big screen?", I asked. She nodded. "I was working there all day, writing on my computer and saying things such as 'No, we cannot reject that paper!'", I continued. Zoe laughed and took that as enough of an answer. Three minutes later, she was fast asleep.

The train station in Mountain View that we are now very
familiar with

The past two days have been full of discussion with my international research colleagues, something that I enjoy tremendously. I have exchanged research ideas, updated knowledge on different areas and provided my (sometimes unpopular) opinion on other's research. I found that my own academic vocabulary, talking about my own research improved highly over those days and I was able to explain a project much more elaborately to a colleague earlier today. I miss having this in my everyday life, but meetings like this partly make up for it. For the rest of the afternoon today, a colleague who had a baby invited me and Zoe over to her house and we hung out, just playing and talking. I felt very lucky to be able to spend quality time with a colleague that I respect and admire for her research and ability to juggle child and career. We exchanged a lot of experiences and Zoe said the baby was so cute she just wanted to eat it.

As Zoe lay there asleep, all I could think of was how happy I was right now. I don't need anything else right now. Not at all.

Reject

My work as a researcher* takes me through its ups and downs, both in terms of teaching situations and collegial interactions but particularly through the merciless part of publishing research results. Research areas differ but one thing is certain, getting a paper published is hard. Not only do you have to have groundbreaking interesting results, they also need to be written up in a clever, thoughtful way and the results need to be carefully related and differentiated from previous similar results. I fare pretty well in terms of getting my work published but it doesn't mean I don't struggle with each paper and that I don't put a lot of effort (blood, sweat and tears) into each and every part of an article. Like most other researchers I get emotionally invested in the review process, that being in a conference review committee or a set of journal reviews. Meaning, yes, I have almost cried over getting a paper rejected, I have screamed and jumped up and down by another one getting accepted and I have sympathized with many colleagues doing the same. At a committee meeting many years ago I found a colleague crying in the bathroom after her carefully written paper describing a longitudinal study that she had worked on for years got rejected. "I don't know what more the reviewers want!" she sobbed as I tried to make her feel better. Reviewers are those cruel anonymous people behind sentences such as "I really like this paper but the contribution is just not significant enough for publication at this point", and "The topic and method is great but the sample size is just too small for such study". They most often don't know the authors either and cannot see their tears, their shredded dreams and their funding slip away as they reject the papers.

I'm not saying that research papers are being rejected for no reason. To non-researchers it looks like a simple and fair process that we as colleagues check each other's research for flaws and novelty. But reality is different, particularly in interdisciplinary fields like my own. Reviewing papers is not just about checking the facts, the calculations and if this has been done before. It is also about pushing for a specific type of research that the reviewer find important, in essence trying to drives one's own agenda. Nobody is of course willing to admit that this is the case but talking privately to colleagues, it's obvious that such prejudice takes place. A classic (very simplified) argument goes that these researchers should not have used this method for this study but another method (one that happens to be of the reviewer's expertise). And they cannot claim the results on the basis of the method used. When the authors review the reviewer's research, they will argue the opposite.

Zoe sometimes helps me write papers

I just spent two days in a committee meeting where we decided on a set of 75 papers to be presented at one of the main conferences in my field. Committee members were ruthless in their slashing but also occasionally compassionate. I got convinced of accepting one paper that I initially felt was not good enough but I also argued for rejection of another one due to its lack of serious contribution. My own paper** was also out of luck. After three rounds of discussion (where I of course had to leave the room, this is customary) it was rejected by a committee member who felt the theory we had used was not developed any further but simply used to illustrate our data. The positive part this time around was that the particular committee member identified himself to me and offered a bit of advice and a suggestion to what to change and where to submit it (a second tier conference with deadline in 8 months). I nodded and took a few pointers but I'll be ignoring most of his guidance, for a variety of reasons. What I didn't tell him was that this time the rejected paper has direct consequences for me: because I don't have any research funding in my new job yet I depend directly on published papers for travel funding. This rejection very likely means that I will not get any travel funding next year and cannot attend any conferences or committee meetings unless I get some research funding (I have applied for several grants but they take 6-8 months of review time). So although I have yet to cry over this rejection, I am utterly stunned and perplexed over the random and person-centric system of reviewing yet again. I am running on borrowed steam because of my sh**** job situation where I am just building up a research agenda and a research group, and this was a tie-over publication based on research in my previous job. Luckily I'm a very driven person and as soon as I get over this (probably by tomorrow), I'll use my annoyance to motivate my next writing efforts. I will do this. I will continue to publish interesting, novel and relevant research. And I'll continue to get rejections but hopefully also at one point accepts.

*Technically my job title is associate professor but I like to refer to myself as a researcher because research is the core part of what I do. It might not be the part I spend the most time on but it is the most important and interesting part of my job. 

**Like most other research papers, this is a collaboration paper with several coauthors who did an amazing job contributing to the paper, in fact two coauthors did the majority of the work in this case.