The love for my job disappeared at the end of 2023. So, although it didn’t – and still doesn’t – feel like it, being forced out of that position turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Try telling that to most people, though. If you’ve ever been fired or had your contract extension declined, chances are you judged yourself more harshly than anyone else ever could. I know I did. I still do. My internal monologue transforms into a corrupted Supreme Court judge, sentencing me as guilty no matter the evidence. 

Now, although I wasn’t actively job-hunting in early 2024, my wife and I had already made tentative plans to leave both my position and New York City in 2025. It felt like a necessary step for the next chapter of our lives. Personally, I thought New York was a total cesspit. How people spend their entire lives there, when the world is full of incredible places, completely baffles me. And yet, many New Yorkers puff their chests like silverback gorillas, declaring it the greatest city on earth. To fuck it is. It’s not even the best city on the East Coast. 

Don’t get me wrong – it’s fun. But so is London. And New York has nothing on London. So, I wasn’t sad to be leaving. Still, our timeline was suddenly accelerated, and we found ourselves in an uncomfortable position right after returning from our honeymoon. We had to work together to make the transition easier. 

One thing that was easier this time around: saying no. As I have mentioned before, guilt about taking time off had followed me from graduate school into both jobs since. But once I realized that all that sacrifice and loyalty wasn’t valued, it became easier to let that guilt go. Like pulling ancient roots from a sequoia tree. For the first time in almost a decade, I felt a small sense of freedom return. 

During my Ph.D., especially the final year, I regularly worked 80 hour weeks. Late-night experiments, overnight thesis writing. Weekends blurred into weekdays, fuelled by coffee and squeezed-in gym visits. I didn’t mind at the time; it felt like a necessary sacrifice. 

But that same pattern followed me to New York. Weekends gone. Late nights unpaid and unnoticed. In hindsight, I’m grateful the job was taken from me. That’s not a life. 

We had been casually discussing a move back to Arizona since early spring. We loved it there. Good people, beautiful landscapes. It was like living on Mars, in the best way. During one of those chats, I realized I hadn’t updated my LinkedIn in nearly a year. I gave it a refresh, updated my publications, and had a quick browse through open positions. 

Then I saw it: Assistant Professor in Biomedical Sciences at Midwestern University, Glendale. If you know U.S. geography, this might confuse you – Glendale isn’t in the Midwest. But the university’s original site is in Downers Grove, Illinois. The Glendale campus, which opened in 1995, is their second medical school. Even though I felt underqualified due to my age (31 at the time), I applied immediately. 

What many don’t realize is that academic job applications are monstrous. It’s not just a cover letter and CV – you also need a detailed research proposal, a teaching philosophy, and a diversity/inclusion statement. The latter often feels like an afterthought under the current political climate, making it even more important. In total I sent six documents totalling over 20 pages. 

To my surprise, I was invited for a Zoom interview. It was scheduled for June. These searches usually happen in stages. First, a screening interview. Next, a campus visit. I thought the initial interview went great. But about a week later, just two weeks before my wedding, they told me I wouldn’t be moving forward. They had found two candidates they considered more qualified. They did say they’d keep me in mind in case something changed, but that seemed unlikely. At the time, it stung a little, but I had a “secure” job in New York… or so I thought.

After the news a few days before my wedding that I would be dismissed in November 2024, I sent out those same application materials – tailored every time – to over 40 universities. Each one had to reflect the specific research and teaching priorities of the institution. It became a part-time job. That free time I gained back from overworking? It got swallowed up here instead. Not exactly the self-care I had envisioned. But none of those jobs stuck out like the one at Midwestern. That one felt right. It validated my sense of readiness for something new.  

Our honeymoon was unforgettable. Kenya, the Masai Mara, wildlife everywhere. A spectacle of nature in its purest form. Nature remains my ultimate escape, if I can forget – even temporarily – that we’re destroying these habitats and their inhabitants. 

Then came Zanzibar. Paradise. I didn’t think about work once, which surprised me. I applied to a couple of roles during the trip only in response to LinkedIn alerts, and I was able to remain emotionally detached – a necessity when outcomes are uncertain. Some websites said it could take up to six months to get hired as a professor in the U.S. Six months?! That’s not even taking into consideration visa processing times.

Perhaps I was fucked.

On the final day of our honeymoon, we were happy and relaxed despite having no idea what our future held. We were headed back to the UK for one of my best friend’s weddings, and I was looking forward to letting off steam. 

Then, in the cab back to the airport in Zanzibar, I got an email:

“Dr. Wickstead – I’m back in touch sooner than expected. We would like to offer you the opportunity to interview on-campus for the position if you are still interested. One of our two candidates accepted a competing offer before interviewing with us. The interview would be approximately a day and a half. We would like to fly you to Phoenix, put you up for two nights, and cover your expenses. The interview would take place in early fall, ideally September.”

It took the entire ride to the airport to process it. Of course, I accepted. Ironically, we had already booked flights to Arizona for Labor Day weekend – which eventually turned out to be the weekend before the interview. Two trips to my favourite place in the U.S. within two weeks? I wasn’t complaining.

Then, it got more interesting. A few days after confirming the interview, I spotted a second faculty job opening at the same university. Same title, but in the Department of Pharmacology. I applied immediately. 

August became a month of tunnel vision. I pulled all focus from work and slammed it into interview prep. I researched every faculty member: what they taught, where they trained, what lab research focused. It gave me an edge – I could ask relevant questions and anticipate theirs. I never half-ass anything, especially not something that could reshape our future. 

Five days before my flight, just after returning from our Labor Day trip, I was invited to interview for the second faculty position. During the same trip, with the same format. 

Two interviews. Two presentations… each an hour. Meetings with twenty faculty members. Two university deans. Two faculty dinners. The stakes? Our entire personal and professional lives. No pressure.

When it was all over, my friend came to join me for the final night in the hotel. I needed that. 

Then, silence. September passed. Then October. By early November we started packing up our New York apartment, increasingly anxious about what the next six months would bring. Then an email arrived. It was from the university. I was terrified to read it. However, I eventually gave in. Unfortunately, I had not been selected for the Biomedical Science position – the one I had prepared for most. I assumed Pharmacology would follow shortly with the same outcome.

We decided to travel through December. Neither of us had seen the European Christmas markets properly before, so we set off on a three-week trip through Estonia, Latvia, Germany, and Poland. It was magical – even for a Grinch like me who thinks Christmas is wildly overrated. 

The trip will stay with me forever, mainly because of the email I received. The Pharmacology Department wanted to offer me the position. I was in genuine shock. I had a selection of potential start dates. After some quick salary negotiation, I accepted. Now, it was cause for celebration. However, I received that email the night before our planned excursion to the Auschwitz-Birkenau Memorial. It felt extremely inappropriate. So, those celebrations were halted for 24 hours, wherein we decompressed with a bottle of prosecco on the final night of our trip. 

2024 was the most stressful year of my life. But despite the despair, the overarching theme was growth – both personal and professional. I got married, which I think remains a shock to even some family members. And, at 32, I became an Assistant Professor in Pharmacology.

What a ride this life can be. 

“Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes courage is the little voice at the end of the day that says I’ll try again tomorrow.” – Mary Anne Radmacher.