Jack of All Trades

Last week, I went to the national conference of the American Musicological Society. If you are a musicologist or a musicology grad student, the AMS national meeting is the place to be. I've been to about five or six of these things so far, both when I was a grad student and after I got a full time job. When I was a grad student, in the midst of figuring out my dissertation topics, I went to all different kinds of papers to see what other folks were researching. I thought about music and sociology, music and semiotics, and just about everything else that sounded even remotely interesting. As I was finishing up my degree, I went to AMS meetings to schmooze with people at schools where I applied for jobs. This was a very big deal. I chose my wardrobe with extreme care, wanting to seem professional, but also approachable. I went to all the parties and tried to meet all of the people whose names I had seen on book covers. I talked to people after their papers and asked questions, exchanged information, and sent follow-up emails. I was desperate to make connections. My grad school buddy and I tore through the University parties like two women on a mission, making it rain business cards in our wake.

AMS meetings, post-doctorate, post-job, and post-tenure are an entirely different affair. The stress is gone. I dressed nicely, of course, but I didn't worry if I looked like I was trying too hard. If a set of papers seemed interesting, I went. If I didn't care about the paper topics (because I've already chosen my research area and written my dissertation), I didn't go. I met some people at parties, but I could be so much more casual because I didn't have to meet them. In short, I moved to a different place in the hierarchy. I sat back a bit and watched the grad students jockey for position in the party clusters. I chatted with my former professors in a purely social way. They were happy to see that I'd gotten myself a job and tenure, and I was happy to see they were thriving as well. No awkward questions about how many interviews I'd snagged in the previous year, no wondering about what next year's crop of jobs would look like.

One afternoon, my grad school buddy--who I never get to see except at these meetings--was going to a study group meeting for Music and Philosophy. I was intrigued, so I went along. After listening to the discussion for a while, I knew that I wanted to stay in my own area of study rather than branching out into this realm. When the sign-up sheet for an internet discussion group came around, I passed it along instead of putting my email on it. Now, that might not seem like much to you, but to me, it was huge. And it was a testament to how far I had come. I didn't have to throw myself into this. I realized I already had a career, an area of expertise, and I could (and can) pick and choose how I want to spend my time.

As a grad student, the range of options to specialize in is so vast, it can be paralyzing. And besides choosing something you actually like to learn about, you also wonder if you're choosing an area that will be popular for years to come, or if it will fall out of favor with the general community. Most of us start out putting our eggs in many baskets, or betting on more than one horse, if you prefer horse racing metaphors. We make a big decision when we choose our dissertation topics because they define us, but only temporarily. The dissertation, daunting as it may seem, is just one research project in a career that will hopefully be full of them. It's so easy to get lost in the choosing and the schmoozing that it's hard to foresee a time when every choice and interaction won't be such a big damn deal.

It happened, though. It happened for me. I might one day go back on the job market, looking for a musicology job somewhere, but until that time, I remain one of the lucky ones. In horse racing terms again, since I have my degree, a job, and tenure, I feel like I won the Trifecta.