Sliding labs

“With the rising competition for funding, securing a grant has become less about advancing science and more about staying in science.”

↪ Mentioned recently in a Nature News article. 

As you may know, a starting grant is a multi-year grant that allows a researcher to set up their own lab. It often includes their own salaries and those of 1-3 PhD students/Postdocs, as well as funds for running costs. Getting one of these is extremely difficult as the process is selective and there aren’t many to go around.. And success depends just partly on ideas. 

It goes without saying that a grant of this caliber combined with its rarity/exclusivity can make or break a researcher’s career. Countless scientists are faced with this fork in their life, and the path they end up on depends greatly on luck. Because while there are many smart and talented researchers, it’s the resources that are scarce.. And luck is certainly an explanation that is hard to accept after more than a decade of studies and devotion.

This luck element makes it so that there is a version of this story where the grant is awarded. And one where it isn’t.

Right up to the email, both outcomes feel like reality. 

She gets it

The subject line has that heavy word in it: “Decision…”. Some people have decided your fate: we will now share that with you. She has a good feeling though. As she opens the email, she sees that word, right in the middle of the screen: “...pleased…”.

She wins. She gets the starting grant. That life-altering, committee-vetted grant. And suddenly, she’s a PI. 

There is a new type of pressure in the air. And for the first time, she can pursue questions without filtering them through someone else’s agenda. She tells her mentor, who is genuinely happy for her but also relieved (as a PI themselves, they also have limited funds, you know..). She tells her parents, who just act like that was the normal course of her career and there is nothing special here.

It does feel like something has lifted though. It definitely has.

Then comes the avalanche of questions. The two dozen decisions she had been deferring until this precise moment. Who to hire.. Which reagents to buy.. What service to choose.. Surely, these are decisions for another day, but these questions are here to stay. They are embedded within the PI job. And they will reappear almost as soon as they are solved. 

She’s already thinking about the end of the funding period. What will she do then? This does not feel like a permanent relief. Instead, she feels as though she has been “cautiously” permitted to stay. The system has extended a conditional yes. She knows it can be revoked at any time.

She just feels like a very expensive imposter now.

She doesn’t get it

Without even reading the email, she can see that she lost. There are way too few lines in this text. She still reads it slowly, as if pacing might change the message. And then it all comes to a halt as she sees that word, right in the middle of the screen: “...regret…”.

It’s very unnerving to feel both numb and humiliated at once. She tells no one for a few hours (or days..). It’s not easy to face people’s reactions. 

She still has her multi-year project ideas that will probably never see the light. All those experiments that will never be done, until the next person thinks about them. Because what happens to these research plans that come very close to being awarded grants? How many ideas are already there, written in detail, but will never be investigated? 

This wasn’t just a grant. It was her shot at a lab, at bringing her original ideas to life. Without it, she’s available again: an eternal postdoc, stuck in limited contracts, too experienced for some things and too inexperienced for others. 

Her academic old age prevents her from applying again. As many before her, she thinks about leaving and opening a bakery. 

She will still build something. Eventually.

Beyond the email

In both versions, the doubt in herself is present. That is surprisingly unmovable, no matter how many successes come her way.

This gamble dressed up as merit can seriously affect our mental health. It teaches us that our worth is conditional. That an assessment, a panel, a few people who have barely read our ideas can decide if they are worth it.

But it’s not true. Even if the system stops treating her like one, she doesn’t stop being a scientist. 

That’s the part that cannot be revoked.