My Own Hundred Foot Journey
- Seth K. Thompson
- Jul 1, 2020
- 7 min read
A story of my journey through academia and some reflection along the way
Academia has a funny way of disconnecting people from place until you reach mid-career. We have these embedded assumptions that people will move from place to place in pursuit of their education and training: undergrad on the east cost, grad school out west, postdoc in the south and a faculty job anywhere they are hiring. For many this means it can be incredibly difficult to establish "roots" in a community; the place is temporary on your way to the next stop. It cultivates nomads, promotes identify formation around what you do instead of why you do it, and often punishes those that prioritize social connections over professional success.
Last night I was watching one of my favorite movies, The Hundred Food Journey. In the second half of my life, I've been lucky enough to enjoy a number of fairly high caliber culinary experiences and like to consider myself an amateur foodie, so naturally a movie detailing the life of a Michelin starred chef had some appeal. But this time, after seeing this movie dozens of times before, it struck me a little differently. Instead of focusing on the food, I found myself drawn in to the journey of the main character. For most, this is probably the aspect of the story that compelled them to watch but for me I had somehow kept it in my periphery. On this occasion though, I let it come into focus and consume my attention. At its core, the story is about a young boy from India that rises to the top of the French food world. Along the way he battles his connection with family and his desire to grow professionally. This tug-of-war between social connections and professional growth resonated with me. In this movie, the main character finally comes to an understanding that these two aspects of his identity don't have to be at odds with each other; in fact they may even depend on each other. It had me reflecting on my own experience, thinking about the career choices I have made and the impact they have had on myself and those around me. I found myself reliving my own hundred foot journey.
In 2007, at the age of 18, I found myself standing on the corner of Buford and Gortner in St. Paul, Minnesota. As I looked for the building marked 1479 Gortner Ave, I took in the unfamiliar place around me. I grew up in Rapid City, South Dakota, roughly 600 miles to the west of the spot I was currently standing, but the Twin Cities were not totally foreign to me. My older brother (by eight years) had attended the University of Minnesota and had even earned his degree from the College of Biological Sciences, so I had been a visitor in the city on a regular basis for almost a decade. But for most of his college career my brother had lived on the east bank campus and after graduating bought a house in South Minneapolis, so my familiarity centered somewhere around Stub and Herbs or Village Wok and this particular parcel of land in St. Paul that I found myself standing on felt more like a distant cousin than a close friend.
It was a warm summer day and my parents had parked in the Gortner Ave ramp, knowing our true destination was a short walk away. We trekked up the short hill between the ramp and the four-way stop marking the corner. I double checked the street signs to make sure I was on the right path and then headed north for the final half block to reach my destination. I had arrived in front of Gortner labs, about an hour early (thanks Dad), to board a bus that would drive me ~220 miles northwest to Itasca State Park. I had arrived for my summer bridge program, I had arrived to explore the Nature of Life. What I hadn't realized that day was that I was actually starting a second journey, one that would extend well beyond the four years it took my to earn a B.S. from the College of Biological Sciences. One that would bring me right back to the corner of Buford and Gortner.
When I finished my B.S. in the Ecology, Evolution, and Behavior program, I had a decision to make. Life had provided me with two paths forward: a stint with Teach for America in the Bay Area or an opportunity to continue my research career in a graduate program at the University of Minnesota. Both presented amazing opportunities; both were aligned to my passion for education. But I knew I had to choose one. I agonized over the decision. In the end I chose familiarity. I had a chance to stay in the lab I had joined as an undergraduate, to continue working with a mentor that I had already grown to respect, trust, and admire. I wasn't afraid of the adventure San Francisco represented but when I really searched my should I knew my heart wasn't on the west coast. Deep down I knew I'd be cheating those kids in the Bay Area I was supposed to be teaching because my commitment to it wasn't whole-hearted. It also didn't hurt that staying in Minnesota meant staying with a woman I was rapidly falling in love with.
Fast forward to today and a lot has happened since I decided to stay in Minnesota to pursue my research career. I've earned two graduate degrees, both at the University of Minnesota, I've published a handful of papers, and have even been awarded a few grants to fund my work (although far more of them went unfunded). I've had opportunities to study ecosystems across the planet and access to professional networking at national and international conferences. I'm grateful for all of these things and I know I've benefited from (and continue to benefit from) a massive amount of privilege that has allowed me to carve out the career path that I have. Along the way I've been surrounded by some of the most amazing people that you can find on this planet. Research mentors that have become a second family, instructors that shaped my worldview and I'm lucky enough to call colleagues today, and students that continue to remind me of the world's potential.
And there is that women I was falling in love with so many years ago... She became my life partner, the foundation of everything I value, and the best wife anyone could ask for. We have the most amazing 2 and a half year old son and I can't imagine what life would be like without them. She walked every step of this journey alongside me, never faltering, even when I was unsure of the way forward. Its been 13 years since I boarded that bus to Itasca, and in that time I guess you could say I've put down some pretty deep roots.
This year, we faced another crossroads. Ironically enough, a professional opportunity in San Francisco. But again, my roots held me here. In my current role leading the outreach and public engagement programs for the College of Biological Sciences, my office sits in the building on the corner of Buford and Gortner. Every day (pre-Covid) I park in the Gortner Ave ramp and walk up the same little hill I did as an 18 year old, but now this place is no distant cousin. This place and its people are a part of who I am, seeded deep within me in a way that its hard to tell where I end and it begins. After 13 years, my journey has led me back to the start.
I acknowledge that my path is the exception and not the rule. Most of my colleagues have lived more nomadic lives in their pursuit for truth and knowledge. In academia, this is often worn as a badge of honor, a demonstration of ones commitment to the profession and willingness to seek out new ways to grow. Without a doubt, there can be substantial benefits of working across multiple institutions and with may different people. It cultivates (or can) diverse perspectives and intellectual flexibility. But when I reflect on my career and the moderate success I have had so far, it has come not in spite of my investment into place, but because of it. My sense of community and my connection to these people make me a better scientist (at least I believe they do). My work is not in a vacuum, it exists within the context of the people and places I've done it, and I believe that is what gives me my impact.
Some days when I am standing on the corner in St. Paul waiting for the traffic to clear so I can cross over to enter my building, I think about that kid who stood there 13 years ago. He never imagined he would one day be employed by the college he was about to attend, a member of the academy. When I think about him, I think about how my journey has spiraled across the world but always returned to this corner. I think about the academy and this profession I've chosen. But most of all, I think about those our profession has lost because of our collective insistence on prioritizing our work over everything. I think about the collection of benefits I've had that made this 100-foot journey of mine possible, benefits that so many others don't enjoy. So I wonder, what could our profession look like if we strived to put people before progress? What if we valued social connection and community impact more than citations or H-index? What if the academy could not only feed one's curiosity and intellect, but also their soul? Those days when I think of that 18 year old at a crossroads, I never get answers. I don't know what our world could look like, I don't know who we would gain, and I don't know how we would get there. But sometimes, I wonder.
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