Category: employment

I’m moving to Austin!

The title pretty much says it. After spending four great years in Colorado, I’m happy to say that I’ll be moving to Austin at the end of the month. I’ll be joining the Department of Psychology at UT-Austin as a Research Associate, where I plan to continue dabbling in all things psychological and informatic, but with less snow and more air conditioning.

While my new position nominally has the same title as my old one, the new one’s a bit unusual in that the funding is coming from two quite different sources. Half of it comes from my existing NIH grant for development of the Neurosynth framework, which means that half of my time will be spent more or less the same way I’m spending it now–namely, on building tools to improve and automate the large-scale synthesis of functional MRI data. (Incidentally, I’ll be hiring a software developer and/or postdoc in the very near future, so drop me a line if you think you might be interested.)

The other half of the funding is tied to the PsyHorns course developed by Jamie Pennebaker and Sam Gosling over the past few years. PsyHorns is a synchronous massive online course (SMOC) that lets anyone in the world with an internet connection (okay, and $550 in loose change lying around) take an introductory psychology class via the internet and officially receive credit for it from the University of Texas (this recent WSJ article on PsyHorns provides some more details). My role will be to serve as a bridge between the psychologists and the developers–which means I’ll have an eclectic assortment of duties like writing algorithms to detect cheating, developing tools to predict how well people are doing in the class, mining the gigantic reams of data we’re acquiring, developing ideas for new course features, and, of course, publishing papers.

Naturally, the PILab will be joining me in my southern adventure. Since the PILab currently only has one permanent member (guess who?), and otherwise consists of a single Mac Pro workstation, this latter move involves much less effort than you might think (though it does mean I’ll have to change the lab website’s URL, logo, and–horror of horrors–color scheme). Unfortunately, all the wonderful people of the PILab will be staying behind, as they all have various much more important ties to Boulder (by which I mean that I’m not actually currently paying any of their salaries, and none of them were willing to subsist on the stipend of baked beans, love, and high-speed internet I offered them).

While I’m super excited about moving to Austin, I’m not at all excited to leave Colorado. Boulder is a wonderful place to live*–it’s sunny all the time, has a compact, walkable core, a surprising amount of stuff to do, and these gigantic mountain things you can walk all over. My wife and I have made many incredible friends here, and after four years in Colorado, it’s come to feel very much like home. So leaving will be difficult. Still, I’m excited to move onto new things. As great as the past four years have been, a number of factors precipitated this move:

  • The research fit is better. This isn’t in any way a knock against the environment here at Colorado, which has been great (hey, they’re hiring! If you do computational cognitive neuroscience, you should apply!). I had great colleagues here who work on some really interesting questions–particularly Tor Wager, my postdoc advisor for my first 3 years here, who’s an exceptional scientist and stellar human being. But every department necessarily has to focus on some areas at the expense of others, and much of the research I do (or would ideally like to do) wasn’t well-represented here. In particular, my interests in personality and individual differences have languished during my time in Boulder, as I’ve had trouble finding collaborators for most of the project ideas I’ve had. UT-Austin, by contrast, has one of the premier personality and individual differences groups anywhere. I’m delighted to be working a few doors down from people like Sam Gosling, Jamie Pennebaker, Elliot Tucker-Drob, and David Buss. On top of that, UT-Austin still has major strengths in most of my other areas of interest, most notably neuroimaging (I expect to continue to collaborate frequently with Russ Poldrack) and data mining (a world-class CS department with an expanding focus on Big Data). So, purely in terms of fit, it’s hard for me to imagine a better place than UT.
  • I’m excited to work on a project with immediate real-world impact. While I’d love to believe that most of the work I currently do is making the world better in some very small way, the reality most scientists engaged in basic research face is that at the end of the day, we don’t actually know what impact we’re having. There’s nothing inherently wrong with that, mind you; as a general rule, I’m a big believer in the idea of doing science just because it’s interesting and exciting, without worrying about the consequences (or lack thereof). You know, knowledge for it’s own sake and all that. Still, on a personal level, I find myself increasingly wanting to do something that I feel confers some clear and measurable benefit on the world right now–however small. In that respect, online education strikes me as an excellent area to pour my energy into. And PsyHorns is a particularly unusual (and, to my mind, promising) experiment in online education. The preliminary data from previous iterations of the course suggests that students who take the course synchronously online do better academically–not just in this particular class (as compared to an in-class section), but in other courses as well. While I’m not hugely optimistic about the malleability of the human mind as a general rule–meaning, I don’t think there are as-yet undiscovered teaching approaches that are going to radically improve the learning experience–I do believe strongly in the cumulative impact of many small nudging in the right direction. I think this is the right platform for that kind of nudging.
  • Data. Lots and lots of data. Enrollment in PsyHorns this year is about 1,500 students, and previous iterations have seen comparable numbers. As part of their introduction to psychology, the students engage in a wide range of activities: they have group chats about the material they’re learning; they write essays about a range of topics; they fill out questionnaires and attitude surveys; and, for the first time this year, they use a mobile app that assesses various aspects of their daily experience. Aside from the feedback we provide to the students (some of which is potentially actionable right away), the data we’re collecting provides a unique opportunity to address many questions at the intersection of personality and individual differences, health and subjective well-being, and education. It’s not Big Data by, say, Google or Amazon standards (we’re talking thousands of rows rather than billions), but it’s a dataset with few parallels in psychology, and I’m thrilled to be able to work on it.
  • I like doing research more than I like teaching** or doing service work. Like my current position, the position I’m assuming at UT-Austin is 100% research-focused, with very little administrative or teaching overhead. Obviously, it doesn’t have the long-term security of a tenure-track position, but I’m okay with that. I’m still selectively applying for tenure-track positions (and turned one down this year in favor of the UT position), so it’s not as though I have any principled objections to the tenure stream. But short of a really amazing opportunity, I’m very happy with my current arrangement.
  • mmm, chocolatey Austin goodness...
    Austin seems like a pretty awesome place to live. Boulder is too, but after four years of living in a relatively small place (population: ~100,000), my wife and I are looking forward to living somewhere more city-like. We’ve opted to take the (expensive) plunge and live downtown–where we’ll be within walking distance of just about everything we need. By which of course I mean the chocolate fountain at the Whole Foods mothership.
  • The tech community in Austin is booming. Given that most of my work these days lies at the interface of psychology and informatics, and there are unprecedented opportunities for psychology-related data mining in industry these days, I’m hoping to develop better collaborations with people in industry–at both startups and established companies. While I have no intention of leaving academia in the near future, I do think psychologists have collectively failed to take advantage of the many opportunities to collaborate with folks in industry on interesting questions about human behavior–often at an unprecedented scale. I’ve done a terrible job of that myself, and fixing that is near the top of my agenda. So, hey, if you work at a tech company in Austin and have some data lying around that you think might shed new insights on what people feel, think, and do, let’s chat!
  • I guess sometimes you just get the itch to move onto something new. For me, this is that.

University of Texas Austin campus at sunset-dusk - aerial view

 

 

* Okay, it was an amazing place to live until the massive floods this past week rearranged rivers, roads, and lives. My wife and I  were fortunate enough to escape any personal or material damage, but many others were not so lucky. If you’d like to help, please consider making a donation.

** Actually, I love teaching. What I don’t love is all the stuff surrounding teaching.

what I’ve learned from a failed job search

For the last few months, I’ve been getting a steady stream of emails in my inbox that go something like this:

Dear Dr. Yarkoni,

We recently concluded our search for the position of Assistant Grand Poobah of Academic Sciences in the Area of Multidisciplinary Widget Theory. We received over seventy-five thousand applications, most of them from truly exceptional candidates whose expertise and experience would have been welcomed with open arms at any institution of higher learning–or, for that matter, by the governing board of a small planet. After a very careful search process (which most assuredly did not involve a round or two on the golf course every afternoon, and most certainly did not culminate in a wild injection of an arm into a hat filled with balled-up names) we regret to inform you that we are unable to offer you this position. This should not be taken to imply that your intellectual ability or accomplishments are in any way inferior to those of the person who we ultimately did offer the position to (or rather, persons–you see, we actually offered the job to six people before someone accepted it); what we were attempting to optimize, we hope you understand, was not the quality of the candidate we hired, but a mythical thing called ‘fit’ between yourself and ourselves. Or, to put it another way, it’s not you, it’s us.

We wish you all the best in your future endeavors, and rest assured that if we have another opening in future, we will celebrate your reapplication by once again balling your name up and tossing it into a hat along with seventy-five thousand others.

These letters are typically so warm and fuzzy that it’s hard to feel bad about them. I mean, yes, they’re basically telling me I failed at something, but then, how often does anyone ever actually tell me I’m an impressive, accomplished, human being? Never! If every failure in my life was accompanied by this kind of note, I’d be much more willing to try new things. Though, truth be told, I probably wouldn’t try very hard at anything; it would be worth failing in advance just to get this kind of affirmation.

Anyway, the reason I’ve been getting these letters, as you might surmise, is that I’ve been applying for academic jobs. I’ve been doing this for two years now, and will be doing it for a third year in a row in a few months, which I’m pretty sure qualifies me a world-recognized expert on the process. So in the interest of helping other people achieve the same prowess at failing to secure employment, I’ve decided to share some of the lessons I’ve learned here. This missive comes to you with all of the standard caveats and qualifiers–like, for example, that you should be sitting down when you read this; that you should double-check with people you actually respect to make sure any of this makes sense; and, most importantly, that you’ve completely lost your mind if you try to actually apply any of this ‘knowledge’ to your own personal situation. With that in mind, Here’s What I’ve Learned:

1. The academic job market is really, really, bad. No, seriously. I’ve heard from people at several major research universities that they received anywhere from 150 to 500 applications for individual positions (the latter for open-area positions). Some proportion of these applications come from people who have no real shot at the position, but a huge proportion are from truly exceptional candidates with many, many publications, awards, and glowing letters of recommendation. People who you would think have a bright future in research ahead of them. Except that many of them don’t actually have a bright future in research ahead of them, because these days all of that stuff apparently isn’t enough to land a tenure-track position–and often, isn’t even enough to land an interview.

Okay, to be fair, the situation isn’t quite that bad across the board. For one thing, I was quite selective about my job search this past year. I applied for 22 positions, which may sound like a lot, but there were a lot of ads last year, and I know people with similar backgrounds to mine who applied to 50 – 80 positions and could have expanded their searches still further. So, depending on what kind of position you’re aiming for–particularly if you’re interested in a teaching-heavy position at a small school–the market may actually be quite reasonable at the moment. What I’m talking about here really only applies to people looking for research-intensive positions at major research universities. And specifically, to people looking for jobs primarily in the North American market. I recognize that’s probably a minority of people graduating with PhDs in psychology, but since it’s my blog, you’ll have to live with my peculiar little biases. With that qualifier in mind, I’ll reiterate again: the market sucks right now.

2. I’m not as awesome as I thought I was. Lest you think I’ve suddenly turned humble, let me reassure you that I still think I’m pretty awesome–and I can back that up with hard evidence, because I currently have about 20 emails in my inbox from fancy-pants search committee members telling me what a wonderful, accomplished human being I am. I just don’t think I’m as awesome as I thought I was a year ago. Mind you, I’m not quite so delusional that I expected to have my choice of jobs going in, but I did think I had a decent enough record–twenty-odd publications, some neat projects, a couple of major grant proposals submitted (and one that looks very likely to get funded)–to land at least one or two interviews. I was wrong. Which means I’ve had to take my ego down a peg or two. On balance, that’s probably not a bad thing.

3. It’s hard to get hired without a conventional research program. Although I didn’t get any interviews, I did hear back informally from a couple of places (in addition to those wonderful form letters, I mean), and I’ve had hallway conversations with many people who’ve sat on search committees before. The general feedback has been that my work focuses too much on methods development and not enough on substantive questions. This doesn’t really come as a surprise; back when I was putting together my research statement and application materials, pretty much everyone I talked to strongly advised me to focus on a content area first and play down my methods work, because, they said, no one really hires people who predominantly work on methods–at least in psychology. I thought (and still think) this is excellent advice, and in fact it’s exactly the same advice I give to other people if they make the mistake of asking me for my opinion. But ultimately, I went ahead and marketed myself as a methods person anyway. My reasoning was that I wouldn’t want to show up for a new job having sold myself as a person who does A, B, and C, and then mostly did X, Y, and Z, with only a touch of A thrown in. Or, you know, to put it in more cliched terms, I want people to like me for meeeeeee.

I’m still satisfied with this strategy, even if it ends up costing me a few interviews and a job offer or two (admittedly, this is a bit presumptuous–more likely than not, I wouldn’t have gotten any interviews this time around no matter how I’d framed my application). I do the kind of work I do because I enjoy it and think it’s important; I’m pretty happy where I am, so I don’t feel compelled to–how can I put this diplomatically–fib to search committees. Which isn’t to say that I’m laboring under any illusion that you always have to be completely truthful when applying for jobs; I’m fully aware that selling yourself framing your application around your strengths–and telling people what they want to hear to some extent–is a natural and reasonable thing to do. So I’m not saying this out of any bitterness or naivete; I’m just explaining why I chose to go the honest route that was unlikely to land me a job as opposed to the slightly less honest route that was very slightly more likely to land me a job.

4. There’s a large element of luck involved in landing an academic job. Or, for that matter, pretty much any other kind of job. I’m not saying it’s all luck, of course; far from it. In practice, a single group of maybe three dozen people seem end up filling the bulk of interview slots at major research universities in any given year. Which is to say, while the majority of applicants will go without any interviews at all, some people end up with a dozen or more of them. So it’s clearly very far from a random process; in the long run, better candidates are much more likely to get jobs. But for any given job, the odds of getting an interview and/or job offer depend on any number of factors that you have little or no control over: what particular area the department wants to shore up; what courses need to be taught; how your personality meshes with the people who interview you; which candidate a particular search committee member idiosyncratically happens to take a shining to, and so on. Over the last few months, I’ve found it useful to occasionally remind myself of this fact when my inbox doth overfloweth with rejection letters. Of course, there’s a very thin line between justifiably attributing your negative outcomes to bad luck and failing to take responsibility for things that are under your control, so it’s worth using the power of self-serving rationalization sparingly.

 

In any case, those vacuous observations lessons aside, my plan at this point is still to keep doing essentially the same thing I’ve done the last two years, which consists of (i) putting together what I hope is a strong, if somewhat unconventional, application package; (ii) applying for jobs very selectively–only to places that I think I’d be as happy or happier at than I am in my current position; and (iii) otherwise spending as little of my time as possible thinking about my future employment status, and as much of it as possible concentrating on my research and personal life.

I don’t pretend to think this is a good strategy in general; it’s just what I’ve settled on and am happy with for the moment. But ask me again a year from now and who knows, maybe I’ll be roaming around downtown Boulder fishing quarters out of the creek for lunch money. In the meantime, I hope this rather uneventful report of my rather uneventful job-seeking experience thus far is of some small use to someone else. Oh, and if you’re on a search committee and think you want to offer me a job, I’m happy to negotiate the terms of my employment in the comments below.