Last night I was on the phone with a friend who’s trying to decide whether she should stay in her relationship. “What do you think I should do?” she asked me.

And I had to admit that I had no idea. Because I’m not her, and I’m not God. And even if I were her or God, I still might not know. Because the answer might not be clear yet.

Go back to bed, Liz

There’s a scene in Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat, Pray, Love that I return to in moments like this. In this scene, she’s sobbing on the bathroom floor, paralyzed in her own struggle to figure out what to do about her marriage and her happiness. Should she leave her husband? Should she stay? And as she’s sobbing on the floor, she hears the voice of God (her description), and that voice says, “Go back to bed, Liz.”

It was so immediately clear that this was the only thing to do. I would not have accepted any other answer. I would not have accepted a great booming voice that said either: You Must Divorce Your Husband! or You Must Not Divorce Your Husband! Because that’s not true wisdom. True wisdom gives the only possible answer at any given moment, and that night, going back to bed was the only possible answer. Go back to bed, said this omniscient interior voice, because you don’t need to know the final answer right now, at three o’clock in the morning on a Thursday in November. . . . Go back to bed, because the only thing you need to do for now is get some rest and take good care of yourself until you do know the answer.

What does this have to do with the topic at hand?

I have conversations just like this (“What should I do?“) with people struggling with academia, because it’s much the same — a huge, overwhelming, complicated question that calls into question both identity and your everyday everything. Where will you be, who will be around you, what will your daily routine look like, who will you be? It depends. On the answer.

And oh, people want that answer more than anything. They want to know. And of course they do. We do. Because not knowing is really painful.

But it’s entirely possible — likely even — that the answer isn’t here yet.

Maybe some part of you is still hoping against hope that something will be different — that perfect job will come through, or your institution will suddenly recognize that you’re a total research rockstar (because you ARE) instead of patting you on the head and deciding you’re really a teacher, or you’ll find your teaching groove.

Maybe some part of you is convinced that it’s not that bad, or that there’s nothing better out there, or that no one will care if you try to make changes where you are.

Or maybe your choices are equally shiny and equally terrifying.

For whatever reason, the answer may not be coming out to play right now.

And that’s okay

Yes, it’s uncomfortable. Yes, it’s terrifying (“What if I never figure this out and I’m stuck here forever?!).

And it’s still okay.

It won’t be forever, I promise. It can’t be forever, because things are always changing, and whatever is getting in the way of the answer will somehow be changed. We just don’t know how, yet.

But I can tell you this: When the answer comes, when it finally shows up, you will know it by the peace it brings you, even if there’s also grief or frustration or anger or sadness. When the real answer (not our attempts to force an answer) comes, something in you will know it in a deep way that can’t be budged.

If you’re not feeling that sense of peace right now, if you’re at the sobbing-on-the-bathroom-floor stage, I beg you: Go back to bed.

The answer will come, and when it does, there will be plenty of hard work to do, and the best thing you can do right now is to treat yourself with as much kindness and compassion and curiosity as you can while the answer emerges.

So get sleep, and eat well, and let go of any to-do list items that aren’t actually absolutely necessary right now, and spend some time doing something that feeds you, whether it’s hanging out with your kid or going dancing or reading trashy magazines in front of cheesy movies. And know that I’m thinking about you.