Anthropology: 2, Love: 0

I love my job. I get to learn new things, almost everyday. Things that no one knew yet. And then I get to tell other people by writing about them. That’s pretty awesome. And what makes it even more awesome is that the things I learn are about people: about their history, their current context, what they do, what they think, what they feel, and hopefully, why all of that is true. A lot of my job is just hanging out with people. Sometimes they are fascinating. Sometimes they are terribly boring. But there is always a story to tell. And I get to be the one to tell it. I get to travel to amazing places: the highest national capital in the world, the driest desert in the world. Sometimes the places are impoverished and it’s both hard to watch people suffer, and hard to live there myself. But in the end, it always feels worth it, especially if I can help relieve some of the suffering through my work.

But there’s something that’s not worth it. As of last night, I am single. My job requires movement. And that’s not good for relationships. This is the second time (a conservative estimate, a few other situations could count if I were assessing very liberally) anthropology has snatched a relationship away from me. The first time, I was so excited to spend a year doing dissertation fieldwork, but that kept me from making a commitment to a person who wanted and deserved someone who could promise they wouldn’t run away to South America for the long haul. In the end, that’s exactly what I did, and though I still deeply love and admire that person, we both know it wouldn’t have worked. The second, and more recent circumstance involved me falling madly in love with a person who lived where I researched. He was endlessly giving of assistance with research and with simply being an emotional support for someone living in a foreign country under difficult circumstances. But when I left the field site to move to the national capital for a year of analysis and writing, the distance was too much. With me planning to eventually return to the US, and him firmly rooted in his small city, we just didn’t have a workable future.

And I sit here, questioning, is it all worth it? I wouldn’t say that “settling down” is in my plans for the near future, but I would relish the opportunity to build a life with a person who I love and inspires me. I crave the kind of security that comes with knowing exactly how your head fits on their shoulder and exactly the joke that person is going to make when something goes wrong. And I wonder, is it impossible to have both? To have a partner and thrive as an anthropologist. I look at my fellow postdocs across the office, both of whom are bright young stars in their fields. Both of whom have partners. Partners who have followed them on their journey, and no doubt have at least a little sacrificed their own dreams for that of their partner. And both of my colleagues are men. Now of course, I know plenty of women who are anthropologists and have life long partnerships, but I wonder if being a woman makes it a bit harder, particularly in a context like Latin America.

In falling in love with this field, and in sacrificing so much to attempt to succeed as a scholar, have I all but given up my rights to love? I know that I am selfish. Is it possible that there is a person out there who could give up just enough to follow me on (or wait for me during) my anthropological adventures, yet is still invested enough in their own passion that they inspire me as well? The outlook is not bright, but I remain hopeful. Just as the academic job market is not bright, but I remain hopeful. Hopefully, at least one will eventually work out.