The Pancake-maker and elites, part 44b

So off I went to the Elite Research Institution. The weather was surprisingly warm and I found myself overdressed and sweating, but enjoying the blue sky all the same. I arrived at the place way too early and spent a while sitting in the sun.

Exclusive Eden
I step in, following two young, cheerful and bubbly female researchers who are coming back from their lunch break or a walk. The doorman explains to me how to get to the office of the Hiring Woman, and I step out again, this time on the other side of the building, into the green, grassy inner-garden. The terrace on the other side is covered with further cheerful bubbly academics who are enjoying the last of their sunny meal in communicative clusters around little round tables. They have coffees, capucino. Two women are sitting on the steps and talking casually and pasionnately. It looks more like a scene from a cafe than a work place.
I cross the lawn and walk among these talkative people, then step into the Long Building. The Hiring Woman is standing in the corridor, I recognise her from her internet picture, she perhaps recognises me from my work internet picture too. We walk towards one another uttering the other one's name and greet. I'm still early. She looks friendlier and younger than on her picture. I probably look less a drunken mess than on mine.

She asks me to wait in the kitchen - an orderly and roomy place with a sofa, tables and chairs, and space for about 10 people to enjoy expressos in the same communicative manner as the people outside. She comes back with a bottle of water and a glass, and leaves again. I finally understand that the glass is meant for me and not for decorative purposes.
A young guy comes in, I smile and say hello, so does he. I'm not sure what language he speaks, he stutteringly offers me an expresso. I thank and refuse and understand he's probably not part of the job interview team.
The Hiring Woman comes back and says she's sorry to have to make me wait, but the union person and the woman's rights woman also need to take part in the interview, and they haven't arrived, which is why we can't start yet. Lovely Germany. I say no problem. Drink water and read my draft paper.

Eventually she comes back with the union woman, and we go down to the office of Casual and Soft-spoken American Phd. There, the woman's rights person is also waiting, and the five of us sit down around a table, me at the end, position of honour.

After I've introduced myself in German, American Phd tells me about the position, asks questions. We talk in English. It's very clear that we have very different academic perspectives - realist vs. constructivist, quantitative vs. qualitative methods, political economy vs. political sociology.
He asks if I'd want to work more than the 15 hours a week they offered in the add, I say ideally 16 for more money. That had been my plan all along - my mantra over the last days. Only take the position if they give you 16 for more money. 16 for more money. 16-more money. The idea was to work less than presently, but not lose too much money and get the same amount I would get now if I were to work 16 hours.

The union woman cuts that short and says the Institution is flexible on a lot of issues, but not on the hourly wage. The hourly wage for students working in academia is fixed by a union contract. I'm all for the union-contract for students. It's great. But still, I'd always understood these contracts to set minimal wages, not maximal. She sticks to it, I reply I'd have to think about it.

There is more talk with American PhD. Am I scared of statistical data? Would I accept to work with annual reports of companies, or did I have a marxist perspective forbidding me to use such data? Am I not scared by statistical software? And mathematical symbols? What else do I do besides working and studying?
Eventually, he passes the floor to even softer-spoken women's rights woman. She sweetly but unpassionately tells me about the advantages of working in the institution, even if I only get union-contract wages and I have a different focus than American Phd- access to the large library, to contacts, to events... She sounds like she's doing her best to get me in, she wants to convince me it's good for me - now I realise it's because she probably needs/wants to ensure more women are taken on.

Eventually the interview is over, we have no more questions for one another, I leave with Hiring Woman. They will get in touch tomorrow. I walk once again across the sunny lawn, this time empty. Further away, two young people are sitting at an isolated table, having a large cream coffee and half reading the paper, half chatting.
I exit the communicative researchers' little paradise.

Fine line between controlling and being controlled

A few weeks ago, I applied for this position at the Elitist Research Institution and hadn't heard from them since. It wasn't a big deal for me, because I didn't really fit the job, but it had helped me feel better about my present position, giving me the impression that IF I REALLY WANTED IT, I could get another job and leave this place (So there! nanananana!) - so I felt in control (and hardly childish at all). It made me feel more comfortable at work, and eventually I reached the Level of Neutrality again when thinking about it.
As I was eating with a fellow student at the uni-restaurant today, a call came through on the mobile I still have. I was going to cancel it, as I've never liked it when people I'm talking with suddenly give all their attention to a phone. But I didn't recognise the number, so I apologised to Fellow Student and answered.
It turned out to be the Hiring Woman for the position I'd applied for. She sounded very nice and asked me to come over for an interview. We made an appointment for next Thursday, and that was the end of the conversation. As I put the phone down, I looked at Fellow Student, who had guessed it was about a job interview - and I didn't know what to think or how to react anymore. She seemed more excited about it than me. I had totally forgotten this application and felt taken aback, unprepared. Even uninterested. The surprise is so great that I feel I've lost control once again.
What if I end up getting the job? Taking it is a risk of sorts - possibly less money, unless I manage to make my case for a higher salary, and less security, as the contract is only for one year. But also: a different working environment, different methods and techniques, more contacts and in any case something nice to put on my CV if I change my mind about hating urban elites.
Me puzzled.

Deconstructing my identity, reconstructing the meaning of life

I find it disturbing that I can be so attracted to the language of constructivist sociology and at the same time despise its total abstractness. I despise first, enjoy second. I read and feel something vibrating in me with excitement, some little voice squeaking "yeeha, that's the truth of it all!" while the rest of my body struggles to scrape any meaning from the texts. Could it be that my sub-brain is cleverer than the rest?
It resonates in part because I admire the skills with which social scientists juggle with language in order to give the impression of meaning. The skill to meaningfullly express and thus effectively hide vacuousness.
I also relate to it because it is connected to my first academic interest, linguistics, and one theory of linguistics in particular - the first theory to get me excited for academic research - that regarded language as a filter through which we perceive (part of) the world. The Sapir-Wolf hypothesis has long been discredited - I was sorry to find that out during my first year at uni - but continues to play a role in shaping the questions which guide my learning process. Perceptions, interpretations - and ultimately their impact on political action.

As my interests move further away from institutions as a subject matter of political science, so do my ideas of my future. Closed-off institutions, be they State or other, repulse me. I drift away from the urban concept of career, life and happiness. I am repelled by words like Leistung and Zielstrebigkeit. Or even work.
To put it in this lovely identity-theory jargon: I have deconstructed my identity as a potential member of Europe's protected urban elite and am gradually consciously defining myself anew to give my life meaning, guided by conceptual categories (for the most part rough dichotomies along the lines of city/countryside, meaningless/meaningful, illusions/reality, delusion/ clarity) that help me interpret and respond to the world. (I'm still not very good at naturally juggling with social science talk.)

I recently read about the Travelling School of Life and find the concept appealing. I have developped a need for grounded, concrete knowledge, skills that can enhance a community. I was amazed by the many people at the Longo Mai commune in Forcalquier learning from others throughout the region, or even Europe, e.g. the skills to make goat's cheese, or special honey, grow certain seeds, build houses from natural material or according to traditional techniques etc. The commune was a node in a lively network of knowledge, a thriving place of life learning, learning that could be put to productive use for the good of the community, keeping knowledge alive and ready for diffusion.

Although I do not necessarily think I would feel good in this already tight community, life in such settings appeared to me more meaningful than in the city.