Shifting research focus is rarely neat, and almost never easy. After years of building expertise in one area, it can feel unsettling to acknowledge that priorities have shifted—funders, institutions, and entire fields evolve, and scholars must evolve with them. The process can bring with it a strange mix of guilt and solitude: too bad, so sad, now move on.
I want to name that sense of dislocation honestly. It is not unique to me, though at times it feels that way. My own career has required several reinventions, each prompted by changes outside my control. Each time, I’ve had to wrestle with uncertainty, let go of projects that once defined me, and step into the unknown.
So how does one decide what to pursue next? There’s no perfect formula, but here are some touchstones I’m leaning on:
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Take stock before leaping. Mapping the through-lines of a career—those persistent themes and values—can reveal continuity even amid change.
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Anchor opportunism. New invitations and openings can be exciting, but I’m asking myself: does this deepen what I care about, or simply distract me?
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Experiment small. A paper, a talk, even a blog post can serve as a low-stakes trial balloon. Energy and resonance often reveal themselves early.
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Leave the door ajar. Past research never really disappears; sometimes it resurfaces in surprising ways.
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Name the weirdness. That lonely, guilty feeling is easier to bear when spoken aloud—and I’ve learned many others feel it too.
If you are also navigating such a turn, know that you are not alone. Scholarship, like life, is not a straight path. The very act of continuing to inquire, to learn, and to reshape our questions is itself a form of persistence—and perhaps even a kind of courage.