I’ll jump right in today, as revisions await. I will note, however, that these recommendations arise from fresh starts of my own as well as some advice offered by peeps and persons of interest. That makes them no more authoritative, of course, but I hope a bit less parochial.
1. Cultivate space. The two tenure-track positions I’ve held seem strikingly different in a variety of ways, but they both have at least one thing in common: my colleagues then and now wanted some early evidence that I planned to stick around. I’ll contextualize more fully in a moment, but at Gig 1 I was prompted on several occasions to stock my office bookshelves for the sake of the seeming alone, while at CMU I have been teased time and again for my bare walls and barren desk.
Since I was/am intent on keeping my job at both places, let me clarify. At Gig 1 I had a fine office and nice hall neighbors, but the computer provided by the college was, if memory serves, a Zilog Z8000. While I stocked a shelf or two in my office with teaching texts, I left most of my oft-used books at home, where I kept my mightier personal PC. There was no careerist subtext behind the decision, just a will to convenient research.
I learned that lesson about impressions, of course, and duly stocked my shelves upon arriving at CMU. The folks who rib me here about my lack of office decor, however, have never seen my apartment. I will sometimes kid about my Spartan lifestyle, but that austerity is no joke: in my home I have no pets, no plants, no pictures, no wall hangings, and precious little furniture. The only non-functional items on display are a) two award plaques and b) gifts from friends and students. That’s it. My office walls are only bare because all my walls are bare.
Even so, I recognize and accept the pressure to demonstrate commitment, and I think it’s a decent idea for folks with new tenure-track appointments to do the same. I surf the blogs every now and again, and I’ve come across a few writers who conceive of gigs newly-landed as stepping stones. Some have hinted that they don’t even plan to unpack half their stuff, and that’s perfectly fine. I would nevertheless urge all newcomers to do a bit of office nesting, whether doing so stems from a genuine desire to cultivate space or from a bit of casual calculation. A little legwork can go a long way toward setting the minds of your new colleagues–you know, the ones who just spend six months searching for you, the ones who set a tenure line aside for you–at ease.
2. Mend your fences. If you’re like me, you make dozens of enemies wherever you go. (I kid, I kid; everyone knows that I’m just a great big hug waiting to happen.) I think it’s worth noting, however, that the range of initial responses to newcomers tends to be fairly small. While there may be some inevitable coverage collisions and minor points of resistance (it’s not unreasonable to assume that some folks on hiring committees might have preferred another candidate, but that preference seldom translates into active animosity), most established faculty will fall along the receptive end of the spectrum. Some will be neutral and indifferent, but the majority will be more inquisitive. They could be working with you for 20-40 years, after all, so they might as well kick the tires.
Given that curiosity, I recommend performing predilection in a process not unlike Frost’s negotiation with his neighbor in “Mending Wall.” You’ll have plenty of opportunities to interact with new colleagues one-on-one, and during that time you will have countless opportunities to carve out your collegial identity. That sounds a bit crass and calculated, I know, but the process of defining interests and laying down boundaries tends to be much more spontaneous and organic: your new peers will learn about you from the decisions you make, the mantles you take up, and the obligations you dodge.
Please note: I am not advocating/would not advocate fertilizing your local grapevine, hoping that your hopes and dreams make it to the right ears. What I am encouraging, however, is a measure of forthrightness in owning up to your professional interests and inhibitions. Since arriving here at CMU, for example, I have made it abundantly clear that I’m a sucker for student advocacy. New faculty are exempt from service obligations in year one round these parts, but nevertheless I took part in a panel on graduate school preparation and helped to judge an essay contest. Those choices were by no means definitive, but they were indicative; since then, colleagues who don’t know me especially well have opened up comparable opportunities for me. In like fashion, most folks here have figured out that I’m a peculiar introvert: I’m by no means unapproachable or unfriendly, but I have fairly finicky sensibilities. I will pass over general invitations and solicitations (one of my less endearing idiosyncrasies), but I always answer those addressed directly to me. You’ll find that most folks have similar inclinations and limits. Over the course of your first year, you’ll have plenty of time to suss out the stylistics that inform their decisions and to make them aware of the proclivities that influence your own. The more open you are willing to be, the more vivid those proclivities become.
3. Get a head start. This is essentially the logical extension of Item 2, but it’s double true if you have accepted a post that treats new faculty with kid gloves. CMU, as I noted above, absolves newcomers from service obligations during the first year, and it’s easy for us to finagle contracts that come with a course release or comparable perquisite, the kinds of incentives intended to get young’uns off to a running start with their scholarly projects.
I would by all means encourage those who enjoy such benefits to take advantage, to get articles in circulation or to beef up their teaching. At the same time, I would also advocate keeping one eye on the long view. It’s easy to keep your nose to the grindstone, and heaven knows I’ve exfoliated my own nosecone thoroughly during my years on the job. A little foresight, however, may allow you to make a stronger case when it comes time to pile up your paperwork.
In the English Department, for example, our bylaws spell out in great detail the kinds of professional activity that will be weighed in the scales when it comes time to talk tenure and promotion. All the items one would expect to see are represented, but there are also a number of less obvious ways for new faculty to prepare for those pivotal decisions. Making use of that extra time in the early going–wisely, of course, and not at the expense of other irons you’ve got in the fire–may simplify your life over the long haul. Had I picked up a committee during my first year, for example, my third might have been a bit more leisurely. Those early efforts might not prove to be game-changers, but if you plan on tackling a manuscript or anticipate plans that might eat into your research time (I hope to be buying a house next summer, which tells me I probably shouldn’t bank on madcap productivity), it’s not a bad idea to invest the time while time is on your side.
If you’re searching for major revelations about the profession, this may not be the best place to look. Natheless, I hope these suggestions will make life a bit easier for those who find themselves gainfully employed in the professoriat and who hope to clear professional hurdles a little more readily farther down the line.
