Crowdsource my life

UPDATE 1/29: The college is flying me out for a second interview in a couple of weeks. Though I'm not a fan of the full-day interview, and even less so with jet lag, I'm fairly calm about the prospect. I mean, I don't need this job; I'm not even sure I want this job. In fact, I think I'm going to adopt the novel and incredibly risky strategy of being myself (more or less). That way, if they want to hire me anyway, I can be confident in surmising it'd be an improvement over my current gig. If they don't, I can rest easy knowing it wouldn't have been.

UPDATE 1/28: "Wedding Singing Beta" has been definitively taken off the table. Grrrr.

Escape on. But to where?

Lemme back up: escape maybe on. But on enough to do some serious thinking this weekend.

In a rather tumultuous day yesterday, I got a morning phonecall from -- well, hell, one of the huge pros associated with the caller is that I can actually talk semi-openly about it -- from a small, selective, liberal arts college in a clean, progressive city. And they were calling because I'd applied for a job as an Associate Dean with them. (Six months ago, but nevermind.) And they wanted to know: could I do a phone interview for it tomorrow? (That is: today.)

I very nearly said no. I thought of my future weekend trips to Prague, and I came so very close to thanking them but pointing out that six months is a lot of time for things to have changed (for me, especially, a lot of time). But then I thought: Y'know? Half an hour for me; another practice interview under my belt...what the hey. Probably time well-spent.

Readers, how many misadventures have begun with the words "what the hey"?

But I get ahead of myself.

So, perhaps an hour later, I got a call from the escape plan referenced at the end of the post below (let's call it Wedding Singing Beta). They, too, wanted me but also wanted assurance that I could indeed get out of my current gig. Which, naturally, I didn't want to bring up with Thorn et al unless I knew that I had something else firmly in place. Delicate little dance, that. At the end of the conversation, however, I was persuaded to raise the topic with upper management. Long story short, they conceded, but there was no way to make this particular omelet without breaking more than a few eggs. Feathers were ruffled; feelings were hurt. I realized I would henceforth likely be not so much making a jump as being pushed.

Today, a big fat silence from the folks at Wedding Singing Beta despite a prodding or two. Yikes.

And then the interview for the Dean's job, which went really, really, horribly, terribly...well.

Somewhere roundabout discovering that I'd get to design research and analyze data again (without the pressure of publishing; sort of like being told I'd get to be paid for solving crossword puzzles) or my tossing off a little joke about a cognitive development theorist and having them get it, I started thinking "y'know...I believe I want this job." And when we got to the end of our very flow-y, easy conversation, some 45 minutes later, I was left with the belief that they, too, wanted me to have that job.

Which could be a totally mistaken impression. I'm notoriously awful about gauging these things. In either direction.

And, heck, part of me hopes I am wrong, because, holy moley, what a decision.

Let's review:

The status quo is to suffer enormously for the next year and a half -- because of my own doing, natch; but, still: truly suffer -- and then have a great time in Berlin for the next three or possibly four years, and then suffer again for 4.5 to 5.5 years, and then take early retirement, which isn't enough to live on but would help subsidize a less lucrative line of enjoyable journalistic work.

Wedding Singing Beta is the same as above, but cuts down the first period of suffering to six months, followed by a year of a pretty cool-sounding training gig before going to Berlin.

The Dean job is simply a whole different kettle of wax. Suddenly, we're talking about factors like "putting down roots." (Do I want to put down roots? No idea. Possibly.) We're talking about things like my once again being able to write letters to editors. Hell, about writing anything under my own name again. About, really, getting my voice back.

K thinks I underestimate how important that really is to me.

I fret about taking myself out of the game -- that I'll hear the bell and ache to run. Even in the interview, they started by saying "you have such a cool job -- why do you want this one?" A year from now, when the traumatic memories fade (and there's no hope of early retirement nine years thence), will I ruefully ask myself the same question? (K thinks I'm being ridiculous on all those counts, except for the one about retirement.)

But the Dean job offers a quality of life so good, it's almost French. Humane hours. Humane HR policies. A focus on personal development. Daily contact with ideas. Freedom. An unhurried approach to the tasks at hand. Affordable housing (yes, there's a pay cut involved. But it's potentially close to the cost of living differential between the two cities). The reasonable expectation of a more satisfying social life. An actual arts and culture scene, and prime access to some of the best pinot noir on earth. It isn't Berlin, but, in a way, isn't it just as European, and for longer?

Ok, and you wanna make the decision trees really fun? I hadn't mentioned this, but K's angling for a wedding singer job himself. And he's already made it through half the hurdles to get there (with, granted, one really big one remaining). Which would make the lifeplan the awfully compelling one of "suffering (or training); Berlin; globetrotting wedding singer-spouse who quit to pursue creative endeavors." There is, of course, no chance that we'll get the outcome of his attempt before I'd have to make a decision about the deaning.

Much to think about. Icky issues of identity and values in play. Head swimming. Willing to submit it to a majority vote. The lines are open.