A sabbatical is an opportunity to slow down and do the things
that most academics complain they never have time to do during the regular
school year: read, reflect, write. Those three words that attracted me to this
job in the first place. Yes, I love the teaching too, but once in a while it’s
good to get a break from the daily grind of lectures and grading. People
outside academia look at the idea of a sabbatical somewhat enviously and some
see it as an indulgence—time off with pay
that doesn’t get counted as leave?—but maybe precisely because of that,
there is this added pressure to have something to show for it. The feeling is
quite common, so much so that a search on Google using the question “expectations
from a sabbatical” yielded over half a million results. Reading through some of
the blogposts, Quora responses, and other social media tell me that practically
everyone feels that pressure, and even as one welcomes the promise of open
time, there is an undercurrent of anxiety. Sara Perry, a senior academic from
York University, speaks lucidly about managing intention, expectation and self-worth
on her blog,
as she embarks on her 10-week sabbatical. Just a little over three months. And
even as she confesses that her institution places absolutely no burden of a
specific outcome from this break, it’s clear that she feels that characteristic
anxiety.
Much of the anxiety stems from what Perry calls the “broader
and insidious culture of relentless productivity that pervades academia”,
combined with the constant comparisons that academics make—with
others in their departmental units, with others in the same domain within the
country, with international scholars—to get a sense of their self-worth and the
quantum and value of their output. And the digital complicates this need for
recognition and visibility in multiple ways.
Payal Arora, professor of culture
and communication at Erasmus University while arguing for a turn to “slow academia”, says that today there’s a “need
to market your work across digital platforms to be heard, seen and cited”. We see others doing this, constantly tweeting
their latest reflections on media trends or pointing to new publications on
academia.edu or ResearchGate or posting their attendance at conferences and
meetings. A sort of social comparison dogs us, and we think… so much productivity out there, so little
here. The amazing work of scholars like Slavoj Zizek, who seem to produce a
book or two every a year (we all have the colleague who seems to be hopping
from one launch to another) does inspire, but it also daunts, and sets that bar
for scholarship that much higher. While we may not all aspire to be Zizek,
there’s something to be (not) said for staring at the computer screen
struggling to write that paper and having those scores of citations by a single
admired author dance in your subconscious…constant comparison? The progressive
metrification of scholarship (what’s your h-factor?) doesn’t help. It doesn’t
say anything about the hours spent preparing for classes, scratching your voice
to a rasp in the classroom, talking to students about good, bad and indifferent
work, poring over barely intelligible assignments into the wee hours of the
day. So where’s the scholarship, the
administration asks. What’s your citation
score?
So. A
sabbatical is supposed to give one that opportunity to slow down, to take a
breath…and yes, produce that scholarship!
So. Here I am. After eight years in the academy and 34 years
in the workplace, a year off from the routine. With pay. What privilege. And
what pressure.
So. I begin every morning with a list. Reminding myself of
the things I have to do. I write them down with the nearest pen in my lovely
Booker diary. And then I pencil in the things I’d like to do. Among the “have
tos” are student work to be read and commented upon, columns to be written,
books to be reviewed. And the “like tos”? Other writing, other reading. And on
a little placeholder on my desk is another list: of deadlines I must not lose
sight of. It’s not so long ago that I
was in a somewhat similar
position when I took the Fulbright. I should have learned, no? And maybe I
have. Maybe I have.
I do have my goals. Long term, and short term. But I’m going
to try to allow myself to do that other thing. Sit back. Relax. (if you’re a
certain age, you might follow that with “Have
a Charminar”!) Read. For pleasure and for growth (isn’t all reading for
that?). Take the thoughts slow. Take the writing easy. Don’t overthink or
overschedule. And above all, take a break from the guilt.
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