This little book is based on a series of “Working Life” articles I wrote for Science magazine. Most of these came about as I reflected on my early career and the mistakes I made along the way, and on the advice I would give to my younger self if I somehow had that magical power. Many ideas too came from mentoring my own 75 or so graduate students and postdocs over 30 years and helping them launch their careers, something that was deeply rewarding for me.

My story is perhaps similar to many: I was the first in my family to go to university. But going to grad school and then navigating the transition to a faculty position left me without a frame of reference for the journey, not even a white‐collar connection to link my experience with that of my family. In my early faculty years, I felt like an explorer in a foreign land, my degrees were from Canada and New Zealand, making the start of a U.S. based academic career a bit mystifying. I had no mentors. While everything turned out well in the end (I think!), I followed a path that was perhaps bumpier than most. I like to think that this gives me a useful frame of reference for telling these stories; figuring it out by myself, for better or worse, has given me perspective and empathy for the plights of others. There is no doubt that I have been exceptionally lucky and the beneficiary of the extreme kindness of senior colleagues along the way. My hope is to pay this forward here in a small way by sharing my journey in these bite‐size reflections.

My goal with this small book is for it to be read in a couple of hours. While my examples come mostly from North America, I hope that many of those examples and much of the discussion transcend geography. I should state here that this book is not comprehensive. It does not get into issues of teaching, committee work, nonacademic career tracks or the killing fields of university administration.¹ Many are more qualified than I to discuss these topics, and there is a long list of recommended reading at the end of this book for those interested in these topics. This book is written from my perspective, which is limited to the many unearned advantages of my gender and nationality.²

This book aims to help its readers to navigate life in academia, and, like any good sailor, the student, postdoc, and new faculty member should know how to plot the course to steer. I have no special qualifications to write such a book,³ only the experience of a sailor who has gone adrift once or twice and has been blown off course many times.

I hope my advice will help others as they launch and then navigate their own academic careers.

Jeffrey J. McDonnell was born in Toronto, Canada, and has a BSc (Hon) from the University of Toronto and an MSc from Trent University in Canada. He earned his PhD in 1989 from the University of Canterbury, New Zealand where he was a Commonwealth Scholar. He then moved to the United States and was Assistant Professor at Utah State University (1989–1993), Associate and Full Professor at SUNY College of Environmental Science and Forestry (1993–1999), and Richardson Chair in Watershed Science and University Distinguished Professor at Oregon State University (1999–1912).

Since 2012, he has been Professor of Hydrology and Associate Director of the Global Institute for Water Security at the University of Saskatchewan, Canada. Jeff is an elected Fellow of the Royal Society of Canada (Canada's National Academy of Science) and Fellow of the American Geophysical Union (AGU) and the Geological Society of America.

He was the 2016 winner of the International Hydrology Prize from the International Association of Hydrological Sciences, UNESCO, and the World Meteorological Organization. He has received the Dalton Medal from the European Geophysical Union and the Birdsall‐Dreiss Distinguished Lecturer Award from the Geological Society of America. Jeff is past President of the AGU Hydrology Section, a Visiting Distinguished Professor at Tsinghua University, Beijing Forestry University, and Ludong University in China, and a Visiting Chair of Water Sciences at the University of Birmingham, UK.

As an undergraduate, I worked in a professor's lab, and I saw him as a workaholic without a life. I also viewed the academic life as something I would never aspire to, given that so many of my other professors could be similarly described. Now, as a professor myself looking at 60, I wonder what I would say to my former self, how I would explain why I did it (academia, that is), and why I continue to love it?

All this self‐reflection was prompted by discussions in a monthly postdoc mentoring lunch that I lead at my institute. Some postdocs openly ask, “Is it worth it,” just like I did back then. They wonder why someone would subject themselves to a life so driven.

Admittedly, I do have a spasm of guilt when I try to “sell” the idea of university faculty track. It is certainly something to go into with eyes wide open and with as much information as one can gather.

What drives the decision to pursue an academic career? For most of us, it is great curiosity and passion for our science. After my masters program, I spent a year working in the consulting industry. I hated the structure of organizational rules and I found the repetition and narrowness of the scientific tasks boring. I spent a year after my PhD working at NASA. It was thrilling on many levels, but again, I chafed against the bureaucracy and my limited scope to study what I wanted. I simply hate rules. I love freedom.

Beyond professors' love of their science, the rejection of the conventional workplace structure is perhaps the most common reason that academics love academia, despite its adverse effect on work–life balance. My life could be described as “always working; never working,” but I like to frame it and think of myself as an “engaged workaholic.”⁴

This was different when I had young children at home. Then, it was an either‐or situation, work at work or be home at home. Now, as my children reach adulthood, my work life blends into my personal life, but my wife and I try to combine my research and conference travel with add‐on trips of our own. I was rarely able to do this years ago when a speedy return to parenting obligations drove my travel decisions.

Freedom, of research topics, travel destinations, is a drug. The deadline‐driven life that I see my friends in the consulting industry still living (even in their later career) is mostly a self‐imposed one in academia. It is that freedom to set your own schedule that is also so appealing. At the same time, however, academic work–life balance becomes most clear over the course of a career, rather than during one's first few years. There is almost no work–life balance in the pre‐tenure years. Saying otherwise is simply misleading and untrue. For my first five years as an academic, I worked most nights and weekends. But, overall, and during a 30‐year career, I can attest that one can indeed achieve a work–life balance to rival that of many other PhD‐level occupations.

Apart from the often‐discussed hubbub of faculty and committee meetings, an academic working life is the ultimate selfish pursuit: It's a curiosity‐driven life, which is also addictive. Then there is the fact that even as you age, your incoming PhD students and postdocs will always be young with fresh minds. As they run with your ideas, this added inspiration is a significant bonus of the job. Plus, basking in your former students' own academic‐career success is perhaps the ultimate reward. I relish attending conferences and workshops where I can watch my former students and postdocs lead the field.

But if work–life balance in academia deeply worries you, ask yourself if you would truly work 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. outside academia. As a PhD student, you are probably already wired to overachieve. If you were to work in a 9–5 environment,

Ultimately, an academic job is not 9–5. But it is never, ever, boring. And, as with other professions such as emergency‐department doctor, travelling salesperson, or police officer, the hours and the nature of the work are not for everyone. And that's okay because there are a multitude of things one can do with a PhD outside academia.

But this book is not about that. It's about demystifying the academic career track. Taking that track is a willing assumption of risk.

But for those who take that risk, it is often well worth it. So, in the words of David Bowie, let's now “turn and face the strange!”