At the end of my postdoc, I thought I knew exactly what I wanted.

This was what I’d been working toward for the past three years — every paper, every late night, every choice building toward this moment. So I went all in.

I applied to 140 faculty jobs — in chemistry, physics, biology, engineering, and other interdisciplinary departments in between. That’s how I ended up with such a ridiculous number of applications.

Out of those, I got six interviews and, eventually, two offers.

On Valentine’s Day, at 6 PM, the chair of one department called. He sounded cheerful and congratulatory.

"We’d like to offer you the position," he said. "We can give you everything you requested in your startup package. Can you let us know your decision tonight?"

I told him I needed some time to think about it, hung up the phone, and sat there in my office smiling — at first. This was what I’d been working for, wasn’t it?

But as I walked home through the cold February streets of New York, climbed the six flights of stairs to my apartment, and closed the door behind me… I completely broke down.

Not from happiness.

It felt heavy — suffocating even — like I couldn’t breathe.

I didn’t understand at first. But deep down, I already knew: this wasn’t what I really wanted.

When the second offer came later, I still felt the same knot in my stomach.

So I sat down and really thought about what mattered to me. I asked myself what my life would look like in each of these roles — day to day.

Teaching big undergraduate classes at 7:30 in the morning? Writing endless grant proposals? Juggling admin while trying to squeeze in a little research?

Or staying where I was — building software, mentoring students, working on projects I loved — without all the extra noise?

When I’m faced with an impossible choice, I usually do what I do best — make sense of it on paper.

I built a decision matrix, comparing the two faculty offers with staying in my current role — where my advisor was already supportive of me transitioning into a research scientist position.

I started listing what really mattered to me: the department culture, the city, the cost of living, the environment, how well I’d fit in, what my day-to-day would actually look like.

Once I laid it all out, the answer became clear. The score from the decision matrix just confirmed what my gut had been telling me all along: staying was the better fit.

It wasn’t easy to say no — but it was right.

If you’re facing a big decision right now — especially one that feels more confusing than it should — listen closely.

What does your day-to-day look like on the other side? Does it feel like freedom, or does it feel like a cage?

Your gut often knows before you do.