One of the occupational hazards of being an academic is that we often reach for the analytical tools of our discipline to make sense of our own and others' lives. I saw this in my dissertation research as interviewees who were academics in both the US and UK used concepts like microaggressions to explain their experiences. I also recognize this tendency in myself, thanks in part to my sister who first pointed out how I constantly critique movies, commercials, and even my daughter’s 2^nd grade worksheets.

Academics often write our critiques and analytical observations for Op Eds, think pieces, on our own blogs, on social media, or in other “public facing” outlets. I hypothesize, though, that if we took a tally, we would see that it is disproportionately non-precarious faculty who are doing this.

This is a loss to public discourse because, make no mistake, adjuncts have just as insightful of takes on the latest movie or current event as tenure-track and tenured professors. However, when one is driving hundreds of miles every few days to teach in a neighboring state, or when one has five different classes of papers and exams to grade, there is usually not time. A couple of times while I was an adjunct, though, current events so directly related to my research and teaching that I penned an essay analyzing them sociologically despite having no time. Those were some of the days that I just didn’t sleep.

To be clear, I don’t say this to promote a 24/7 work ethos. I say it to demonstrate how the workload that many precarious academics are under precludes them from full participation in the public discourse on their topics of speciality.

I decided to write this post last week while drafting up my thoughts on Meghan and Harry’s interview with Oprah in advance of talking with The Washington Post and BBC World News for their coverage of the story. As I wrote my notes, deciding that whatever was not touched on I could polish and pitch as an Op Ed later, I felt a familiar pang of guilt and dread. Guilt that I was not working on what I was “supposed” to be working on (e.g., grading, class prep, an R&R); and dread at how late I would have to stay up to make up for it. Then, as often happens in these moments, I realized that that was no longer my life.

As a tenure track assistant professor at an R1 university, I have the time now to take a day or three away from my quotidian teaching, research, and service to do a bit of free writing. The hours spent drafting last week didn’t push my grading into the wee hours of the morning. They didn't mean I had to leave my daughter to have dinner with her iPad as I prepared for class while eating my own food. I no longer have to pick between extemporaneous writing and sleeping.

I am happy I now have time to sit with and share my thoughts on real life events that connect to my work. Even if my eventual Op Ed pitch is rejected, I can save the text and maybe use it in my next article or book. And even if it never sees the light of day, it was nonetheless practice; and as the old adage goes, the best way to learn to write is by doing it.

But I remember a time when taking an unscheduled few days to free write was usually not possible. Adding in extra writing back then meant working to the point of almost damaging my health. It’s a hard fact that that is still the reality many of our brilliant colleagues face. And all of those unwritten essays are a great loss, not just to the individuals but also to public discourse.