I was young when I fell in love, and like all those involved in youthful love affairs, I was filled with passion and idealism. I was sure that my love would defy the odds, and last forever. The object of my affection wasn’t movie-star handsome or rich, but was intelligent, sophisticated, and noble. I knew when we met that our values were in alignment. In my undying devotion, I worried constantly about whether I was good enough; it never occurred to me to wonder if my love was good enough for me.
The love I am referring to is academic life. And I was so enchanted by the promises it held of a rich and satisfying marriage to the ideals of the ivory tower that I embarked on the long courtship that is the pursuit of a Ph.D. I wanted it all: the husband (academe), the marriage (tenure), the house (a modest little office, lined with books and maybe a nice Windsor chair), and lots of babies (books, students). I thought I was a pretty good prospect, and I worked hard at making myself attractive for the love of my life. <Read more.>