When I was younger, I wanted to grow up to be 5 feet 11 inches tall. That didn't quite work out. I also had an assortment of eclectic career goals. I stumbled from veterinarian aspirations to tornado-chasing dreams — until, aged 17, I went to a public neuroscience lecture and fell in love with both the subject and the idea of research. Suitably inspired, I spent the next 10 years striving to become a fully fledged researcher, relieved that the pressure of deciding my future was lifted.

Or so I thought. Now, more than a year into my first postdoc, the spectre of uncertainty arises again as the doubts and hesitations associated with a prospective academic career begin to materialize. Will my experiments work and get published? Will I secure funding? Will I ever get tenure? Do I even want tenure? Running off to join the circus sounds pretty attractive at times.

The current job market in academia seems increasingly difficult. As a special issue of Nature pointed out this year (see http://nature.com/phdfuture), the world is producing more PhDs than ever before. But what is to become of them? The paucity of both funding and faculty positions for those who want to continue in academic research — and there are compelling reasons to want that, including intellectual freedom, flexible working conditions and cool conferences - means that many potential future academic powerhouses may end up looking elsewhere.

Having a PhD does equip one with handy 'soft' skills, such as time management, budgeting and human-resources experience, that make long-term unemployment unlikely. But it is simultaneously exciting and unsettling that, for the first time in many years, I find myself unsure of what I want to do and achieve. I'm starting to look for alternatives to publications and 'prof-dom'.