You know the drill. You are asked to turn every term paper into a dissertation chapter, every chapter into a journal article, a stack of chapters into a “real” chapter of a book written by someone else, or even into a book of your own making.
Every single idea needs to be utilised, recycled, upcycled. Even a note on a piece of restaurant napkin becomes the backbone for another blog post, an Instagram story, or a Facebook message to yourself, just making sure you do not forget. You know, “just in case.” Publish, build audiences, do not dare to fall out of the (funding) public eye. There is no time to spare, because as we all know, it is publish or perish.
But is there something else we can do to stay engaged? To avoid, overcome, or live through burnout? … To stay, as some mean (marketing) guru would call it, “relevant?”
I have recently decided to stop complaining about the lack of opportunities to engage with my field, and to start a reading group on the topic.
I meant this reading group to be a space of sharing, inspiration, encouragement, sometimes even boredom, of exploration, and yes, in a way also community. I wanted to engage with diverse materials, bringing in visuals and podcasts, but also more performative and embodying acts of simply going to places together. Exhibitions, cinemas, each other’s houses. Yea, a sort of (a research) community.
A couple of days ago, I was discussing a similar project with a senior professor of mine. Based in a different city, and coincidentally also founded by a woman, this project spoke of nourishment, exchange, mind-set, and care. All of a sudden, the conversation turned to the “point” of this whole endeavour and its “future prospects.” Should they institutionalise a bit more? Start a journal? Publish a special issue? Simply leave their shelters and enter the “real world?”
And what about my reading group, what are we planning to show for ourselves? Any plans for the foreseeable future?
I think that in a way, I do understand where this was coming from. Our field is still incredibly marginalised, so having a stronger bargaining power on the national level could be an asset. And institutionalisation would probably help.
But in order to genuinely join forces and come together, we first need to feel real purpose. And also a community. Getting to know each other, finding connection, correlation points, Venn diagrams of activities, dreams, and perspectives.
Just like with everything else, the field will never change if our behaviours remain the same. If obsessiveness outshines passion, if productivity pressures overcome curiosity, and if (self-)violence replaces care.
I could feel this burden even while working on this blog. Should I pay for the domain to make it look more official? Should I force myself to publish more regularly? Should I actually put effort into curating another Instagram profile, so that people can find me more easily? Should I do this and that? Should I…? No.
I mean, this blog was meant as an anti-burnout protection. As an expressive safe space. A place where I could actually write without feeling blocked. But once things got out of my control for a couple of weeks and I became busier than I would like, I started feeling guilty. Blog posts became another section on my daily Notion to-do list. Another thing I kept moving from a week to the next, until I eventually discarded it altogether. I even wrote down a number of possible topics, hoping to spark some inspiration.
To my horror, my anti-burnout safe space was suddenly turning into another burnout trigger. And you know what? I refused to let that happen. So I took a break from blog writing, even if I felt sad about it at first.
Today was the first day I felt truly inspired again. I felt like I could speak openly, without overt curating or after-thoughts. I had ideas. I wrote down another list. I enjoyed this feeling.
I mean, maybe for the time being, our fields, our passions, our niches, our whatever we like but are too scared/reasonable/adult/whateverwethinkweshouldbe to pursue, might remain in some sort of (protective) shadows. But doing it means something to us. And to those with similar interests. Because no matter how weird and dodgy these might be, there is a big chance that somebody else shares them with us.
And this engagement. This connection. This…community. Or a simple happiness of working on something we enjoy – alone or with somebody else – that is the only “tangible” outcome I am willing to obsess about.
What are your thoughts on these tangibility traps? I mean, if there is not a photo about it on Instagram, it did not happen, right? :)
Talk to you soon.
In the meantime, take care.
~ Lucie
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