Many years ago, I decided to make a major career change, and, oddly it was just when I finally began my career as a professor. At the same time, two life major events happened. First, my mother suddenly passed from away colon cancer – the deadliest of cancers. She was diagnosed and died three months later, marking the exact day of the doctor’s discovery.

On top of that, and, as the cliché goes, my big “3-0” was right around the corner. Like most vain woman, the mere thought of turning thirty made me frantic, and despite my youthful appearance (I was still lucky enough to be carded for cigarettes!), I was resigned to the idea that Botox would soon be part of my regular regime for maintaining my present natural beauty.

At least I could claim to be happily married, a rare gift that I possess to this day, so I knew there were other qualities besides my looks that I had going for me. And, despite my looks, I am not the most exciting lover. Nevertheless, I knew that my new job, that of being a junior professor, meant that I’d be drowning in more work than I had had previously.

I was in the first stages of becoming a young scholar, but given my mournful state, which was becoming an ever increasing strain on my personal life, I had serious doubts about this chosen career path. Up until that time I had always planned on becoming a scholar. After all, my own mother had been a leading scholar in feminist studies, and she had made it clear that I too was destined to become a professor, just like her. She was my goddess, so why would I have ever doubted this plan that she’d laid out for me? Read More »