People often ask me why I pursue a career in physics. After all, failure is inevitable. That dream career as the next Einstein isn’t really going happen. And there are so many other (much better paid) options. Why do I stick with studying the universe when I could be a Master of it instead?

Posing the above to friend earlier this week I got (with a little paraphrasing) the following answer:

“It’s like dating a really hot girl who won’t sleep with you. You know there’s no point. You know you should walk away. But somehow you can’t, you have to wait for her to do the breaking up.”

And, you know, I think he’s on to something.

(I should point out at this juncture that I’m only guessing that the analogy works — I really have no personal experience of the scenario in question.)

We’re driven by the illusion of hope. The fantasy that, despite the enormous amount of evidence to the contrary, it’s all going to be alright.

As it happens, this particular problem with my life has been brought into sharp focus recently. I’ve been starting the process of trying to find a job; my days are currently filled hunting down potential postdocs, requisitioning recommendation letters and filling in forms.

The process is long, arduous and ultimately futile. While I suspect it won’t be a complete washout (fingers crossed), I can’t help but feel that this journey is going to end up with me alone and miserable, teaching Physics 101 to wannabe farmers in the middle of nowhere.

You see, I, like most folk who enter this game, probably am not good enough to succeed. The people that make it through the academic assault course to tenure are really damn smart. They kinda scare me with their general smartness, hard work, superhuman stamina, etc.

I am not smart, hard working or superhuman. In fact, I fully expect to fail. I go to sleep dreaming of greatness, but with the sure knowledge that it is poorly-paid, ill-respected mediocrity that awaits me in reality.

So, why bother? Why stick with it? It’s not like there aren’t any other options? What’s more, those other options are better-paid, less stressful and more likely to afford you a social life. You know what typical back-up careers are for my peers? Finance or Google.

Let’s think about that for a sec: We choose to continue being miserable, despite the fact that, should we choose, we stand a better chance of being ridiculously wealthy or working for THE free food company (and you know how we feel about free food).

Well, it’s like the man said: You just keep hoping she’s gonna put out. You can’t let go, because if you do the 0.000001 percent chance of success hits zero proper. You’re following your dream. It may be miserable. Each day might feel like walking on razor blades. Each failure might seem like a poke in the eye with a blunt pencil. But tomorrow, tomorrow you could Figure It Out. You know, one day you could just Get It. For every story of a child genius, there are a dozen more about someone who was mediocre until they were halfway through a postdoc in Alaska or until they hit junior faculty status at some third tier college.

If it ever happened, I’d stick with that chaste supermodel for a hell of long time. In fact, given the smallest possible chance of success, I’d be like a damn barnacle. Hope, for all its misleading tendencies, is still the greatest drug on Earth.