Sunday, October 22, 2017
"Dear Faculty Search Committee,
I am writing you to apply for the faculty position at the rank of Assistant Professor at..."
Wow. In all the movemovemove and pressure and necessitated punk rock nostalgia, I just need to take a second and say, holy shit! I'm applying--and qualified--for professor positions.
Sure, I've had 7 years of graduate school. Sure, I've been expecting to go down this road since I was 21. Sure, I've carefully constructed the methodological skills and substantive knowledge necessary to engage in productive research. Sure, I've taught several graduate courses.
But, you know, holy shit, dude! How did this happen? Maybe it was the 8 years of poverty, the near-abandoning of close friends and relations, the totally undeserved commitment and tenacity of my love, a complete destabilizing of mental and physical health. And some hard work.
It's been all that, but mostly a great, great deal of privilege. And that privilege will just...continue... as I will get to learn and share knowledge for a job. That's nuts. That's so nuts.
Hopefully, I'll knock this degree out this year and then spend my life repaying everyone.
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