Ginger is no longer in a relationship with her PhD

"The time has come," the Walrus said,

"To talk of many things:

Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--

Of cabbages--and kings--

And why the sea is boiling hot--

And whether pigs have wings.

And why Ginger has taken the slightly dramatic step of quitting her PhD."

-Lewis Carroll (and others)

Yep, that's right. Your blogging hostess is officially a PhD drop-out.

I realise that, from the perspective of my blog, this might seem like a bit of a bolt from the blue. Sure, I've had the odd grumble, but mostly I've kept my disgruntlement to myself. But trouble has been a-brewing for a while now, and recently I made the big decision to call time on my research project. Without wanting to go all 'group therapy' on you, I thought I might use my blog as a way of offering an explanation. Not least because I found Googling 'Quitting a PhD' quite a helpful way of seeing what other people's experiences of this kind of situation had been before I made my final decision.

So, where to start? Well, I entered into my project with the best of intentions, and the desire to see it through to the end. And it's not like I went into it blind - I'd already worked at the lab in question for 10 weeks before I committed myself, as well as gaining lab experience elsewhere. And things were fine to begin with. I had the newbie enthusiasm, the naively optimistic 'get back on the horse' attitude to the odd experiment that failed here and there. But as time went on, things began to unravel. A bit of extracurricular reading introduced me to the existence of a different field which got me far more intellectually and emotionally fired up than the one in which I was working. I began to realise that, post-PhD, I'd rather work in that field and cease lab work altogether. I still remained committed to seeing it through though.

But then... well, there were the experiments that failed to work over and over again, gradually eroding my self confidence, and occupying weeks and months of attempts before I finally managed to show that it wasn't actually my fault. The realisation that the technical problems plus the consequent demotivation meant I was at least six months behind schedule. The dread with which I was filled at the thought of carrying this on for another couple of years, and the long hours it would entail, when my heart was no longer in it. And other problems I won't go into on a public forum.

I do appreciate that everyone goes through 'second year blues' where it becomes overwhelmingly apparent that you have no data, and the end is both a bloody long way off, and yet too soon to get everything done. And I don't think that any one of the reasons I cite constitutes, on its own, a need to throw in the towel. However I do think that, in combination, there was a compelling argument for my decision. I did not want to give over a major part of my life for the next 2-3 years to something in which I no longer had any confidence, had lost passion for, and which was no longer directly relevant to my future plans. I have a deeply ingrained 'I'm not a quitter' attitude, but I am beginning to appreciate that sometimes there is virtue in walking away and not flogging a dead microarray.

Something that has surprised me is how much kudos I seem to be getting for making the decision. PhD/science web-fora seem to be full of people saying 'I want to quit, but I don't want to let my parents down' or 'I wish I'd quit a year ago'. I am fortunate in that my family and friends have been supportive of my decision. What came as a surprise was that people seem to view it as a brave step to take. Certainly, I know it's one of the gutsiest decisions I've had to make, but I was fully prepared to have to justify myself and fight against the perception that I was a wuss who didn't have the courage to meet the challenges of a PhD. It's been a pleasant bonus not to be burdened with that label.

Right, having managed to spout cliché after cliché, it's time to get on with the rest of my life...

Blood on our labcoats

It always sucks when you discover an organisation you're associated with is not quite what it seems. Particularly if the hidden side isn't one of which you approve.

I strongly feel that universities should be apolitical institutions with respect to their governance. Not that students and academics within them shouldn't argue for or against various political concepts and ideals - rather that the institutions themselves are free from the sway and trends of politics, as might be imposed on their operation.

Working from within that framework, I find it both disappointing and disturbing to discover just how many UK universities have shares in arms companies. What place does arms dealing have in what is supposed to be a climate of academic thought, learning and research? It's somewhat disconcerting to realise that the tuition I sought to try to make a positive contribution to society was indirectly supported by an industry whose products maim and kill. 'Disconcerting' is probably not the word to describe the sensation experienced by those on the receiving end of such 'products'.

It gets worse (and more bizarre). Reed Elsevier, a major force in scientific journal publishing, also run arms fairs such as DSEI, which attracted protest today. I cannot begin to fathom what kind of board meeting resulted in that decision:

"Right, ladies and gentlemen, we need to do something to increase our revenue. Any ideas?"
"How about we become pioneers in Open Access publishing, thus benefiting the academic community and perhaps society as a whole?"
"No, not profitable enough. Any other thoughts?
"Well, we could run arms fairs and invite military from around the world to come shopping?"
"Excellent idea!"

As it happens, Reed Elsevier have decided to sell off this enterprise at the end of the year due to criticism from a number of sources. I'm glad of this, as boycotting KitKats because Nestle are evil bastards is one thing, but trying to avoid Reed Elsevier's publications whilst simultaneously trying to make a reasonable stab at this 'cancer research thing' is rather more problematic. It's a strange old world where civilian war casualties are somehow linked to cancer patients in peaceful nation states, but such is the complex web that underpins commercial enterprise. Whatever my purist ideals about working in academia and not industry, I'm becoming increasingly aware of my need to get to grips with commerce and economics if I want to try to live an ethical life.