What We Should Do

Graffiti near our flat that says, Bad Wolf

I'm not sure whether I believe in signs, but I feel that there are times in our lives when perhaps they appear more than others, and those moments push me to believe in them more than not. When I first arrived, I was terrified I had made a horrible decision. The first ten days were rough, uncertain of where I might live, what I would do, and where we would call home, having to carry our luggage from one spot to another because I didn't want to book somewhere for too long. And then, I received a message from one of the places, a private owner (something that is hard to find but incredibly valuable here in Spain for short-term rentals) who was interested in renting to us as he wasn't sure about renting to the previous inquirer. I went to the flat, and we loved it. When we walked out, we walked down the street a little, and some graffiti was scribbled across from where I was standing, saying, "Bad Wolf." This may mean nothing to most folks, but as a Doctor Who nerd, this was fascinating to me and felt like a "sign," so to speak.

A critical quote by Bad Wolf is, "I am the Bad Wolf. I create myself. I take the words. I scatter them ... in time, and space. A message to lead myself here."

This is crucial to the trajecotry of where I am now, how I got here, and why I feel that I am exactly where I am supposed to be. So, let's travel back in a time a bit.

Successful defense

Today, two years ago, I was landing in Belize. Flying into Ladyville, where their Phillip S.W. Goldson International Airport is housed, I then hopped onto a smaller plane to start my travels in San Pedro, Belize. This would be only the second time using my passport, with the first being when I traveled to Toronto for the 2019 AERA conference. This trip was essentially a gift to myself as I had just successfully defended my PhD dissertation three days prior. Of course, being who I am, I was terrified I'd fail and then cancel my trip because that was absolutely something that flashed across my mind multiple times during this period. Alas, I did not fail, so the plans were still on.

Bear street art riding a tricycle under an overpass in Toronto

I remember the first time I was alone in Toronto, wandering the neighborhoods where my accommodations were, exploring small shops, and settling into a local restaurant for some dinner. I spoke with the individuals behind the counter, and we discussed why I was there; I asked them about themselves, and though I'm an introvert, I'm also really committed to being connected with humans. It's quite the conundrum for me at times. I then went back to my room and lay in bed, feeling almost liberated in a way because I had never flown somewhere unknown before that day on my own and had never really ventured into unfamiliar spaces in this capacity. Instead, I'd explored some delicious Thai food, the various neighborhoods, and cozy coffee shop/bar combos. I remember feeling sad that I was away from my children but also feeling a sense of excitement and happiness; this was my first international flight and second trip only to Tijuana and Rosarito, which isn't far from San Diego. I met up with colleagues, friends, and mentors, sat with intellectuals at the conference, and walked an average of 22,000 steps at the convention center. It was a great experience, but still very familiar.

My first-night accommodations in San Pedro, Belize

Photo of a fish captured while snorkeling

Belize was completely different; I wasn't going to take an Uber or a Lyft, but relied on the taxi drivers there. I had no knowledge of the area, no friends on the first island, and I wasn't there for a conference, where I had as an anchor spot, so to speak, where I could go if I had nothing to do or didn't want to venture from my plans. This was the longest trip planned away from my children, which would be 6 days and 5 nights, and many water-based activities were planned; let me be clear: I know how to swim enough that I will likely not drown in calm water and taught myself to get to that point when I was 21. So, I had never snorkeled in my life and certainly never swam with sharks, something I would later do (and a manatee); I had left my computer at home for the first time, and there was a lot of uncertainty in many ways.

When I told people that I had received an award to go to Spain for 5 months, many people were supportive, while others were both supportive and confused, with one good friend from years ago saying, "The Charlene I knew 15 years ago would never!" And while he was correct for some reasons, the reality is that living abroad and never settling in one place was always my hope and goal, but life took a bit of a turn, and that's okay because I would not change things the way they are because life could be drastically different, and while I would likely know no different, I am content overall with the way things are. But, one of the things that has come up time and time again for me, and especially with living in Spain, is that for much of my life, I have somehow been stuck doing the things I "should" do and not the things that bring joy to my heart and nourishment to my soul.

However, I believe the path I am on is one of the paths I am meant to be, and I will explain a bit more, ultimately leading back to a few "Bad Wolf" moments.

One of the commonalities I've experienced in Toronto, Belize, my summers in Illinois, and here in Spain is that whenever I have some sense of time away from the daily grind, I write poetry in a notebook I carry and capture photos of the day-to-day and views of beauty that might otherwise seem dull to some. I delve into fictional worlds, and I imagine beautiful possibilities. I find myself crafting narratives and stories and dedicating time and energy to writing what is buried deep underneath the piles that academia has left behind. In Belize, I had a notebook tucked into my bag, and unfortunately, I had left my camera battery behind. I recently revisited that notebook as I brought it with me to Spain, and the vivid poetic descriptions of pain, anguish, love, fantasy, wander, and more are present, representing the depths of my soul that I sometimes feel are too vulnerable to share outside of written form. I found stanzas of angst from my time in Toronto, depictions of lightning and nature from my travels across the United States, and now, in Spain, I have submitted two poems, photographs, and a short story to a few literary journals.

Since Fall 2022, just before my defense, I have applied to over 80 tenure-track or postdoc positions. Yes, over 80. All but one were met with silence or rejection letters. The one where I had a second interview was canceled. There was even a position where the chair reached out personally to me, asking me to apply because of my qualifications, research, and the database I was in, only for yet again a rejection. The only other interviews have been for instructor and lecturer roles (which, don't get me wrong, are still wonderful, but not quite what I have been looking for or did not work with the decisions for my family.) One might ask if I have had my cover letters reviewed, statements edited, or have had anybody look at my CV, and the answer is yes, I have. These rejections are exhausting, but that's not the problem; the bigger issue is the expectations related to each application, having to craft individual cover letters, a diversity statement, teaching philosophy, and evidence of work relevant to each position, all of which should be rigorous and tailored. And while this would make sense, the reality is that I may just not fit the right niche in higher education, something I have accepted.

I love teaching, which is why I have continued to do so. I love seeing my students thrive and watch their work and scholarship develop, but for that mentorship to not be as accepted as endless publications in journals that are not read by the general public and valued more than the knowledge our students develop can be disheartening. My work often intersects teaching, public scholarship, and creativity, which does not exist in most social science positions. And as I sit here in Málaga, I cannot help but see that perhaps the reason I am here, in Spain now, aligns with the possibilities and what could be.

Centro Histórico de Málaga

Since being in Spain, as I mentioned, I have been focusing on my poetry, literary writing, and photography. Of course, I have been doing my research, and I have found ways to merge the two together in different capacities, having a book chapter accepted as well that blends academics and creativity, but I think perhaps this has been a consistent sign that the experiences I am having here should recenter me, not just to do simply what I think I "should" do, but what I need to do, what I want to do, to do the things that bring me genuine joy. I've been doing the "shoulds" long enough, but maybe now that school is done, it's time to explore the other avenues I put aside for so long, and I cannot help but feel that my time here in Spain is part of that journey.

When we first found the flat I mentioned earlier, the timing felt almost too perfect. It officially became available on February 1st, and our temporary lodging ended on January 26th. When I explained this to the landlord after he asked when we needed to be out, he nodded and told me the previous tenants, a group of students, had just finished finals and moved out on the 20th. He offered to let us move in four days early, free of charge. It wasn’t something he had planned—it just worked out that way. He even purchased us groceries as a gift, I might add, simply as a welcome. Several days after we settled in, I received an email from another Fulbrighter. We had never met, but he teaches on the East Coast and is in the same department at Universidad de Málaga. We even shared a letter writer for our applications. His name sounded familiar, and then it clicked: he was good friends with someone I knew in San Diego. Shortly after, I struck up conversations with someone who works at the restaurant next door. He has family in Los Angeles and Riverside, in neighborhoods I used to spend time in, and we’ve been able to share stories about those places. One evening, as I ran out for a quick food pickup wearing my San Diego State hoodie, something I rarely do these days, another person stopped me and asked (in Spanish) if I had gone there. He lit up when I told him I worked and previously attended school there, and he told me how much he loved SDSU. These small moments felt meaningful as if the universe was quietly stitching together fragments of my past and present to make this unfamiliar place feel a little more like home. So much so, in fact, that I am not prepared to leave in a little over two months as this place has felt more like home than San Diego in many ways.

Overlooking the ocean from Cueva de Nerja; likely Maro, España

As two years have passed since my dissertation defense, I sometimes feel that I have not been as successful as I could be. I do not have a tenure-track position; I have only managed to have book chapters published, with a potential book offer as well, but no articles, and even without a tenure-track position, I have had single-digit interviews. But what if this isn't my measurement of success? What if I'm simply measuring success by the idea of what "should be" and not what could be? The possibilities, the journey and adventure, my moments of joy and celebration? I have long rejected traditional modes of success when discussing these things with important people in my life, my students, and my family, so why should I have to hold myself to these same standards? My children are cared for, I have a roof over my head, and I enjoy teaching; what if, now, it's no longer time to dedicate energy to this direction but instead to focus on the creative endeavors and artistic avenues that feed my very being? And I think that, as graduate students and academics, we forget these things because we are so bound by the conditions in which we are "raised" in our careers and professional journeys that we sometimes struggle to see that there is much more than climbing a ladder, achieving tenure, and maintaining that label. For some, this is the goal, and that's wonderful! Truly. I think this is an admirable goal. But what if it doesn't need to be the goal, and what if we can continue telling our students that they can be happy doing something than what we think they "should" do with the PhD, and instead to see the possibilities beyond the walls of strictly academia?

I know for me that should I manage to achieve a tenure-track position, I will be incredibly happy, of course. It is a source of stability that one does not have as a lecturer, however, I refuse to define myself any longer by that label. I'm creative, I'm a writer, a scholar, and a lover of photography, and I will continue venturing into the depths of this journey because, after all, as Bad Wolf says, "...I create myself. I take the words. I scatter them ... in time, and space. A message to lead myself here."

Every photo in this post was taken by me, and each entry is crafted with care to offer insight, reflection, and connection. I’m also working on launching a light novel and building my writing portfolio — one story at a time. If you’d like to support this journey, consider buying me a coffee: https://ko-fi.com/wanderlust_threader ☕✨