Today started badly with a rejection of
my BU abstract: I guess I won't be going to Boston this November, once again.
My disappointment was offset by the fact that the reviews were mostly fair and
helpful (if I ever think of redoing this piece of research), but was heightened
by the consideration that my success rate with conferences and papers in recent
years is woeful compared to a time when I was more research active, and when
anything less than 80% seemed like failure. So at 9:30am I was feeling pretty
flat.
Less than two hours and one class later, however, it's clear
to me that I don't actually care that much and that there are things that matter much more than a line on my cv. (I'm happy for those who can do both
life and career advancement equally well, but I'm not one of those, and I'm happy with my compromise.) The twist
is that if I did care more, I'd put more time and energy into writing more, and
better, abstracts and my success rate would increase. It's good to know what
counts and to have the security to be able to fail at the unimportant things without
worrying about the next paycheck. [Punctuate the last sentence (,) as you will.]
(My mood was also improved by listening to my first year
students' presentations of English singer-songwriters with text analysis. Happy are those who get to teach courses like this. Usually, this is the day when they take revenge on me force-feeding them Bob
Dylan and Joni Mitchell for 10 weeks by playing 1D and Taylor Swift, but today
I was introduced to Laura Marling, Shawn Mendes — hardly in Joni Mitchell's league, but not awful for an 18 year old — and one group discussed Eric Clapton's Wonderful
Tonight, an all time favourite).
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All things considered, it's a good day, then. (As for BU,
I'll try harder next year.)
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