When I was in graduate school, I worked in the gifts department of the university library. My job was to process, sort, and acknowledge all books donated to campus. Late one afternoon, I was stacking books on shelves deep in the expansive chambers of the building, alone – or so I thought.
At the time, I was wrapping up my master’s degree. One of the hallmarks of my program was that it allowed graduate students a two-year hiatus between the MA and PhD. Master’s students who were unsure about pursuing doctoral work could leave for 24 months and petition to reenter the department without having to fully reapply. In hindsight, it was a brilliant sorting mechanism, as most MA students did not go on to pursue their PhD, despite initially entering the program thinking that they would.
I was struggling with the decision of whether to spread my wings a bit outside of academia or whether I should stay “in my lane,” so to speak, as I lacked the confidence that my training in philosophy would qualify me for any professional position beyond the ivory tower. Just prior to stacking books that afternoon, I shared this conundrum with my boss. As it turns out, however, somebody else was listening.
All academics have at one point stood alone in the cavernous recesses of their campus library. The lighting is usually poor, the books a dull palette of dusty browns, greens, and blues. As I stowed away the volumes, a sudden faint whisper emanated from behind a nearby shelf: “Don’t do it,” the ghostly voice warned.
With my stomach at my ankles, I darted looks left and right. It felt a bit like that early scene in Ghostbusters with the floating woman terrorizing visitors at the New York Public Library. “What?!” was all I could summon for a sheepish response. “Don’t do it,” the voice repeated, “don’t stay for the PhD.” Then, through the books in the aisle opposite, I saw the slight figure of young woman hurry away, vanishing down one of the endless library rows.
Though we never formally met, there was an Italian linguistics doctoral student who worked in the library as well. Ironically, despite her degree program, she hardly ever spoke. In fact, these were the only words I ever heard her say.
She was well into her PhD at the time of our encounter. When I returned to my desk, I asked my boss how long this linguistics student had been at the university. “Seven or eight years,” he said.
As a rule of thumb, if an untalkative linguistics student decides to haunt you in the campus library for the sole purpose of warning you about a potential decision – namely to insist that you not follow in her footsteps – I have found that it’s best to heed her advice.
Her circumstance is a common one for a countless number of doctoral students, captives in an other-worldly realm that parallels our own for an unknown eternity; held in limbo between the earthly professional world and the heavenly comforts of tenure-track professorships.
I cannot say with any certainly what motivations led her to pursue a PhD but, spooked by the experience, I quickly realized that the motivating force behind my own inclination to stay for doctoral work was rooted in fear. I was afraid of the uncertainty that came with the “real world,” especially as a graduate student in philosophy.
In the years since, I have spoken with hundreds of students in the humanities and even social sciences who all ask some variation of the same question: how does one get a job outside of academia given their degree program? In a sense, what they’re asking is: how did I avoid – and now how can they avoid – becoming a ghost in the university library?
When I returned to my dorm that evening, I was possessed. I had to figure out how to market myself to a professional world that generally mocks the value of studying philosophy. It was after some searching that I came across a small federal initiative called the Presidential Management Fellows program (PMF). It allowed for recent degree recipients from graduate programs to join a federal agency of their choosing.
The skill requirements listed on the application were traits like being able to process complex information (I’ve read Kant), use sound judgment to solve complex problems (I had three semesters of formal logic under my belt), and write in a concise manner depending upon the intended audience (concise might be a stretch but I certainly had plenty of experience writing for an intended audience… mostly whichever professor was leading the class). As I read through the list, the same thought looped through my mind at each checkpoint: I could do this.
So, I applied and was fortunate to get accepted. I spent my first year as a special assistant to the Chairman of the Export-Import Bank, traveling the world to help support American jobs. I then switched over to The White House, working as a performance manager for the Office of Management and Budget. OMB is basically the management consulting firm for the Executive Branch, and so it was only natural that after leaving government I joined a consulting company before co-founding my own firm a few years ago. Our book, Think Talk Create: Building Workplaces Fit for Humans, was just published in September 2021.
Perhaps as a nod to my linguistics colleague from the library, whenever I am asked the key to making the leap from academia into the professional world, I respond by saying the secret is a matter of translation.
For those old enough to remember the Highlights magazines that you’d find in waiting rooms as a kid, there would often be a word association puzzle inside. Column A would contain a list of words and then column B would contain a shuffled list of synonyms or related terms. Your job as you waited for the dentist was to match the words in column A with the appropriate term in column B. Moving from the humanities into the business world is a lot like that exercise: dialogue = communication; logic = strategy; ontology = mission.
Whenever I read resumes of newly minted PhDs, they often forget that a bank’s hiring manager cares very little about the nuances of 17th century epistemology. Employers are interested in learning what you can do for them and how you can help their organization thrive. I therefore encourage any student of the humanities to follow three key steps when applying to jobs:
- Study the language of your destination – figure out the specific buzzwords your potential employer uses, as each organization has a unique way of speaking. Maybe one company says “collaborative” while another prefers “teamwork.” Though seemingly trivial, these differences matter. (Think hero vs hoagie vs grinder vs sub).
- Match the vocabulary to your own – complete the Highlights exercise and draw those lines between the synonyms of your transferrable skills. Are they asking for somebody who is purpose-driven? What concepts can you translate from the Stoics or Aristotle?
- Articulate with clarity the value you bring – if you are unclear as to why you’re a good fit for an organization, you can’t expect the recruiter to be clear as to why they should hire you. Whenever you sit for an interview, always try to leave the room having clearly stated an answer to this question: how is having you onboard a win for the organization?
It takes some practice, and not every job application will be a homerun. Plenty of organizations will see the philosophy degree and say, “no thanks.” But the tide is turning in the professional world, as more and more employers are open to unconventional hires thanks to the unique perspective these newcomers bring. Why not, then, give it a shot?
Nevertheless, there’s no harm if you decide otherwise. There may just be an opening at the university library.
Ryan Stelzer
Ryan Stelzer is co-founder of Strategy of Mind, an executive coaching, consulting, and leadership development firm rooted in philosophy and psychology. Prior to consulting, he served in the Obama White House as a presidential management fellow, where his team was responsible for improving and sustaining high levels of performance across federal agencies. His writing has appeared in the Washington Post, Quartz, and Fast Company, and he pens a weekly newsletter for LinkedIn. His first book, Think Talk Create: Building Workplaces Fit for Humans (Hachette: PublicAffairs), was published in September 2021.
