Finding Community and
Joy in the Midst of Isolation and Loss
Mere months ago, who would have imagined the utterly devastating effects of the COVID-19 pandemic on life, livelihood, and simply on living? I recently lost a position I held for nearly 22 years, part of a career that has spanned considerably longer, if you factor in the years of undergraduate, graduate, and postdoctoral training that set me on my career path. The ending was abrupt, like a punch in the gut, even with indications that it might be coming. I felt I lost my identity, the essence of who I am – who I’d always wanted to be since my earliest memories, when I knew that I wanted to become an astronomer.
One day after being laid off, I experienced a personal revelation that left me with a profound, though fleeting, sense of peace, even joy, akin to the giddiness Ebenezer Scrooge feels at the end of A Christmas Carol, after being gifted with the Divine Grace that enables him to see the world through new eyes. I still agonize over what comes next, especially since, like many, I have family members whose futures depend upon my employment, but the transition has brought a degree of clarity and desire to share what I’ve learned about myself with others. What follows is a personal account that I hope will help those of you who may be experiencing similar feelings of isolation and loss. Much of this story will be told using religious language – specifically Christian, and even more specifically, Lutheran; however, I want to be clear that I’m writing for everyone, and you should read this narrative in the context of your own religious, spiritual, or non-religious perspectives and values.
For most of my life, I’ve struggled with feelings of inferiority and insecurity. My father left when I was an infant, and I was raised in a lower middle-class family by my maternal grandmother and mother, who was also my best friend. My mother “left me” by dying of cancer when I was 19. Through the help of dear family friends, I was able to return to college and go on to graduate school, but I’ve been dogged by “imposter syndrome” throughout my professional career. I’ve spent far too much time agonizing over whether I could live up to others’ expectations of what and who I should be. It took this transition in my life to bring the depth of how debilitating my self-image has been into sharp focus.
I spent the first 24 hours after being laid off agonizing over what I could have done differently. How could I have made myself more valuable to the institution? Long ago, my religious tradition taught me that my identity and worth come from God, not the judgments of others, and not from any human institutions. Using different words, a similar sentiment was expressed when the speaker during a recent webinar offered by the American Astronomical Society emphasized that having a job has nothing to do with your value - a lesson I never learned very well…
Low self-esteem has many similarities to its opposite - an over-inflated sense of self-importance. The commonality is that they both focus on the individual “self.” After I was laid off, a friend and colleague praised my ability to inspire others with my passion for astronomy, and I realized that my major successes, and the joy I’ve experienced in my career, have resulted when my focus has been on the benefit to others, not myself, and not to an institution. It’s why my most fulfilling research projects have involved working with the public as well as academic colleagues, and why many of my most gratifying moments have come from seeing the joy in the eyes of others – especially children – when I can share something of the sense of wonder I feel at being part of this amazing universe.
Of course, to some, the scale of the universe in time and space doesn’t impart a sense of wonder, but rather a sense of fear, despair, and insignificance. For many years, I’ve been on a mission to improve the image of science and scientists in the eyes of the “science apprehensive” public. I’ve felt – rather, I know - this should be a top priority; one that becomes ever more urgent in light of the multiple crises we face today. Ironic, isn’t it, that we cower in the face of immensity, but we’ve been brought to our knees by something as small as a virus? Size has little to do with significance or power.
Those of us who believe that science is for everyone (at least, that it should be for everyone), ought to recognize that preaching to the choir doesn’t fill the pews. How many people of diverse faiths feel excluded by science or experience a “chilly climate” in scientific circles? We claim diversity is good for science, and we laud attempts to ensure racial, ethnic, and gender inclusiveness, but how often do we consider how embracing religious diversity might benefit science? Unless we work to build bridges of trust with those who might never consider setting foot in a science museum, let alone consider a STEM career, we’re not doing our jobs, and we’re missing a critical opportunity to help mend divisions in our fractured, polarized society.
Many of the world’s great religious traditions, including my own, recognize science as a precious gift, although individuals within these traditions may not always hold such favorable views. Similarly, many scientists are active participants in communities of faith, although you wouldn’t necessarily know this from reading books written by some prominent scientists. Modern science has been around for a few hundred years, but religious thinkers have considered many deep existential and ethical questions that science can raise, but lacks the tools to address, for thousands of years. The path forward requires combining the insights of science with the wisdom of these traditions. It requires humility, not arrogance; concern for others above the self; and finding ways to foster understanding across different communities, whether scientific, religious, ethnic, or cultural.
Martin Luther is known by many as a leader of the Protestant Reformation. What fewer may know is that he was also a master of paradox. In his 1520 treatise, On Christian Freedom[1], Luther wrote, “A Christian man is the most free lord of all, and subject to none, a Christian man is the most dutiful servant of all, and subject to everyone.” Though not quite in the same sense Luther meant by “free,” and reading beyond the gendered language, my personal revelation was a recognition that I am currently free to reassess my priorities and to reflect on my vocation without being under any institutional constraints. Luther understood vocation to mean living out one’s calling in service to God and neighbor. As I think about what comes next, I am asking myself how I can best fulfill being “a dutiful servant of all,” or as St. Paul put it, a “servant of Jesus Christ.”
Could my former institution have implemented a solution better than a mass layoff in response to the economic crisis brought on by the pandemic? I don’t know – although part of my salary was grant-supported, I was never asked if I’d be willing to take a pay cut, or for any type of input for that matter. The type of position I held just went away, and immediate severance from colleagues, communication, and technology, ensued, in ways that my academic colleagues find incomprehensible. Of course, 22 years ago I knew that taking a “non-traditional” path above an academic position in my field entailed risks, but the allure of a career that enabled me to share my passion with the public was too great – it was a way of giving back to the community some of the blessings I’d received through my education.
Job or not, as a scientist, I will continue to foster positive engagement with science among those who may fear it, or who may feel left out. As a scientists and a person of faith, I recognize that Earth suffers - “creation groans”[2]- from the effects of human arrogance, short-sightedness, and a focus on individual gain at the expense of the most disenfranchised. My religious tradition would identify this with human sinfulness, painfully evident in our failure as free moral agents to exercise responsible stewardship of our planet, and to preserve and protect our non-human siblings with whom we share this world. I can’t clearly see the path ahead for me – I need “to walk by faith, not by sight.” In doing so, I pledge to continue, to the best of my ability, to help nurture understanding across diverse communities and cultures, to work to heal our world, and to help other human beings understand that their value is not defined by their circumstances, job status, ethnicity, race, sexuality, gender, gender identity, religion, or anything else that pigeon-holes them into categories that attempt to limit their uniqueness as fellow sojourners in search of truth and meaning.
Beautiful and moving reflections, Dear Friend.
ReplyDeleteBe Well!
God Bless!
V. V. Raman
16 June 2020
Thank you, my friend!
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