Navigating Detachment: Reflections from ICDAR 2024
September 8, 2024“What is the unique selling point of your research?”
Years from now, if I remember one thing from my first academic conference, it will be the moment that question was asked. It didn’t occur during a formal session or a carefully moderated panel discussion, but rather in a casual setting—a bar, on the second day of the International Conference on Document Analysis and Recognition (ICDAR) 2024. Surrounded by the murmur of conversation and the clinking of glasses, I suddenly found myself the focus of an inquiry I was unprepared to answer. My thoughts raced, but the best I could produce was an awkward chuckle, followed by a pause that felt endless.
“That’s a good question.” Nervous laughter. Long Pause.
The truth was, I didn’t have a good answer. It wasn’t due to a lack of thought or because my research lacked significance; rather, it was because my presence at the conference felt like a colossal mistake—one that began long before I boarded a plane to Athens with my former research group.
Until this point, I had been moving through the experience feeling lost and overwhelmed, struggling to find my place amidst my shifting interests and uncertainties. That question was perhaps the first moment I truly confronted the reality that I was at an academic conference: I had been too consumed with my internal conflicts to pay attention to my surroundings.
It didn’t help that the question came from the mentor of my recently ex-advisor, who was also standing beside us. The pressure to justify my presence—both to this esteemed academic figure and to my former advisor—was palpable. And my response? It was nonexistent. My ex-advisor stepped in to answer for me, which only made the situation more excruciating. It felt as though my uncertainty had just been laid bare for everyone to see.
The Lead-Up to ICDAR 2024
The conference took place in early September in Athens, Greece—a city renowned for its rich history and culture. Yet my journey to Athens had little to do with excitement or a desire to engage with the academic community. It was, instead, the result of a complicated series of events that made me feel like I had been swept along by forces beyond my control.
I flew out with my former research group from Germany on August 29. By that time, I had already decided to leave the group, but preparations for the conference had begun well before my departure, and withdrawing felt impossible. My former advisor had strongly encouraged me to submit a paper for a workshop at ICDAR, confident it would be accepted. The plan was simple: if a paper was accepted, the research institute would cover the expenses for the trip. It was a convenient arrangement, though not one that I was entirely comfortable with. Despite my reluctance to attend this conference, I decided to go along with the plan to avoid conflict—a pattern of behavior rooted in my tendency to please others and my discomfort with confrontation.
The paper itself was an extension of research I had done during my Bachelor’s degree on signature verification—a topic I had not touched in five years. Yet there I was, revisiting old research and co-authoring a paper with a colleague from my (now former) group. The paper was accepted for publication at the Document Analysis Systems (DAS) workshop, and I found myself presenting a poster on our first day there. Despite my absent-mindedness, the presentation itself went quite well. I was familiar with the topic and able to handle questions effectively. However, that same detachment, which had been briefly suppressed during the presentation, resurfaced during the social event the next evening.
A Reluctant Return to the Past
The DAS workshop marked the beginning of my ICDAR experience. On the surface, everything went smoothly. I stood by my poster, explaining my work—work that I had reluctantly revisited after five years—to those who stopped by. But internally, I was acutely aware of a profound disconnect.
As I stood there, answering questions, I realized that the issue wasn’t the presentation itself—it was the people I was traveling with. I did not belong in that group. This wasn’t about the topic of my research; it was the disconnection I felt from those around me. I was presenting this work out of a sense of obligation, adhering to expectations placed on me long ago. I was merely going through the motions, and my heart simply wasn’t in it.
A Moment of Realization
The question that exposed my internal conflict came during an informal gathering the following evening. We had gone to a bar where everyone else seemed at ease. For me, it was a tense setting, not because I was dreading the inevitable question, but because I had barely registered that I was even at a conference. I hadn’t let myself think about what was happening around me or why I was there.
And then it happened. A fellow researcher whom I had just met asked about the unique selling point of my research.
The words reverberated in my mind as I struggled to respond. The truth was that my current research wasn’t about signature verification. My work had shifted to human-centric AI, mobile applications, and neural networks. The project I presented felt like an artifact of a previous life—something I had pursued out of obligation, not genuine interest. At best, my work published here felt like a side quest I never asked for.
I muttered something vague, laughed awkwardly, and changed the subject. But the underlying conflict remained. The remainder of the evening passed with a deepening sense of detachment. I felt like an outsider, not because I lacked the ability, but because my research no longer reflected who I was or where I wanted to be.
Disconnect and Lingering Doubts
As the conference progressed, my sense of disconnection grew stronger, overshadowing everything. The instances of awkwardness and uncertainty accumulated, leaving me wandering through the conference halls, attending talks that only loosely connected to my shifting interests. I had co-authored a second paper from our group and helped another colleague prepare for her presentations, which should have been enough to justify my presence there. And yet, I continued to feel like an outsider—or at the very least, as someone who no longer belonged there.
The internal conflict was unrelenting. I started to dwell on questions about my place and purpose at this conference more frequently. I could no longer deny that my enthusiasm had faded. Each day, my engagement dwindled, and I found myself merely biding my time, waiting for the conference to end, feeling increasingly detached from what was happening around me and spending less and less time with my colleagues. When it was time to head back, I left two hours earlier than everyone else, taking the long train ride back to the airport all alone, because I no longer wanted anyone to talk to me.
Reflection Without Resolution
Reflecting on ICDAR 2024, it was a realization of where I stood in my career. The conference wasn’t about triumph or failure—it was about understanding how my recent decisions had affected my motivations and my connection to the work I was doing.
Perhaps the point wasn’t to feel comfortable or to have all the right answers. Instead, it was about recognizing that my interests had shifted and that it was acceptable to feel detached from past commitments. Showing up, even with uncertainties, was still progress.
ICDAR 2024 forced me to confront uncomfortable truths, but it also highlighted the importance of acknowledging my own evolution. Not every experience will reignite passion, but being there—navigating through the discomfort and examining my own feelings—was still valuable. This reflection is less about providing lessons and more about capturing a moment of transition, understanding why I felt detached, and accepting that change is a part of growth.