After quitting my job, I crafted my own position as an independent researcher
Six paragraphs into the corporate newsletter, I learned that my job at a major energy company, like those of more than 100 other earth scientists, was moving halfway across the country. It would be a win for us, we were told—a chance to boost our careers by interacting with new teams. I had just come off maternity leave and didn’t see it that way. Our young family loved where we lived, and after 5 years at the company I had settled into a productive work routine. Plus, my job had solved our family’s “two body problem.” I knew I’d need to find a new path.
Before moving to industry, I’d held an assistant professor position for 4 years. My teaching load had left little time for research, and the faculty job was far from my spouse’s. Working for the company offered a solution. As a younger geologist I had not dreamed about a career in industry, but I enjoyed getting back to research, tackling applied problems, and interacting with my industry colleagues.
I realized I should not get too comfortable, however. Not long after my start date, it became clear that the company expected us to demonstrate a warriorlike enthusiasm for change. One manager recommended I write in my annual review that I wanted to transfer to other offices every 2 years, even though I did not want that at all. So the relocation announcement wasn’t a complete surprise.
Once I’d made the decision to quit, I found myself at a fork in the road. As I saw it, I could apply for the few geology jobs in the area, none of which was a good fit—or I could leave my scientific career behind. Both options made me sad. I loved geology, and I was trained in something I knew was of value. On the other hand, I didn’t want to take a job that didn’t interest me. As I stared at these two paths, up on my periphery came a third. Could I keep doing research, I started to wonder, on my own?
I knew of groups that received grants to carry out research outside academia. I contemplated whether I could compete for some of that money, too—a path that would enable me to continue to do what I love without any pressure to move.
- Angela Hessler
- Deep Time Institute
I decided to give it a try. But before I could apply for funding, I knew I had to start publishing again, something I’d largely set aside during my time in industry. I started with a low-hanging fruit, getting an old data set ready for publication. I soon ran up against the stigma of being “unaffiliated.” During the submission process, my generic email address was rejected. I set up a nonprofit organization and resubmitted using a “.org” email address—that time without issue.
After the paper came out, one of my former industry colleagues pointed me to a government program that invests energy revenue into research, which is how I got my first grant. Soon I was back to the hands-on study of rocks, examining them under a microscope I’d borrowed from the state geological bureau and sending samples to a commercial lab for geochemical analysis. For the first time in a long while, I was being paid to answer my own questions.
Setting out as an independent researcher was tough at first, with no guarantee of income. It has also been challenging to navigate the grant proposal requirements of many private foundations and government entities, which can exclude small nonprofits like mine. But over the years, I’ve been able to grow my research portfolio and continue publishing. I’m lucky that in my field, I can outsource some lab work and otherwise carry out research without institutional resources. I’ve also been fortunate to collaborate with researchers in industry and academia who shared funding and insights.
On the home front, the flexibility of my position has had its benefits. Our family relocated, on our own terms, taking my work with us. And with three school-age kids, I have appreciated the freedom to scale back my work during periods of sickness or during summer vacations.
The disruption at my industry job, unwelcome at first, propelled me in a new direction that has turned out to be the most creative period of my career. There is always uncertainty, and I might never declare victory, but at least I am not running (and losing) someone else’s race.
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