1. You’ve made a deliberate, dedicated, planned decision to be considered for promotion to “full professor,” right? Because if you haven’t, the whole process might not be worth the effort. Figure out why you want this—and then make a choice.
2. Although it’s not usually discussed in such raw terms, a lot of colleges and universities aren’t going to give you much of a raise, more of a jolt in terms of respect, or more sway in terms of political maneuvering because you’ve made this final step. When I told my best friend, who had offered comfort and support through the entire process, what I actually received in terms of additional pay for the promotion, she laughed for an entire two minutes—red in the face, sputtering, eye-wiping laughter. She apologized, of course, but then started up again because she couldn’t help herself. The amount of cash was so small that this woman, who herself worked for a nonprofit (adding piquant insult to the hilarious injury) was nearly apoplectic because she simply could not bring herself to believe that I’d put her—or my other loved ones—through this rigmarole for what amounted to $1.36 a day. $1.36 before taxes, mind you. She was banging her fist on the table in the coffee shop. And she is still my best friend.
3. If your institution is a place with strictly enforced guidelines concerning what’s necessary for that next step, and you haven’t completed these tasks—a second or third book, a series of articles receiving national attention, above-average teaching scores or heavily-weighted committee work, for example—the fact that you can continue “coming up” for Full doesn’t mean you should throw your hat in the ring just because the ring is there, year after year, unless you’ve done the work. It’s not like your colleagues, or those outside readers you need to lasso into the process, have nothing else to do.
4. Having said all this, I’ll confess that getting the promotion to full professor can be seriously and hugely gratifying. For me, it felt like a vindication. That’s not a pretty thing to admit, but it’s the truth. There was a deep and glorious sense of “Yee Ha,” even more satisfying than the one I felt at tenure. The reason for this, however, is probably the subject of another post.
5. It’s harder to find another job unless you’re a superstar. If you’re a superstar, I can only imagine that you’ve been a full professor since you were a sophomore in college anyhow, and that in your world such pesky things as titles mean nothing. For the rest of us, however, it is often easier to move as an assistant professor than as an associate, and as an associate than as a full professor.
6. You can now move into all kinds of administrative positions, such as the “lunge pose” or the “side rocking flow.” Many of them involve reclining postures, warrior motions, inversions, or twists. Oh, sorry, those are yoga poses. But the idea is much the same. Inhale, exhale; inhale, exhale, thereby guaranteeing that you get a bigger office and larger retirement.
7. You can say you’re a “professor” without any other words in front of or around the term.
8. At many institutions, you’ll find yourself doing a great deal more work with graduate students because they recognize that it’s important to have the most senior scholars on their dissertation committees. A committee made entirely of assistant or associate professors might not appear as rigorous or demanding to those doing the hiring when the candidate enters the market, no matter how exacting they were; students often want at least one full professor on their committee.
9. Encourage and offer practical assistance to your junior colleagues. Don’t only tell them stories about how you got to where you are; show them the paperwork. Let them read your book proposals. Give them—the ones you like, I mean—access to the letters you wrote when you were coming up for tenure and promotion. Explain, in gory and specific detail, what is really expected of them and from them, and then help them figure out how to achieve it.
10. Write. You’ve got a room of your own, yes? Or a least an office where you can have a few hours a week on your own? Congratulations. It’s what you’ve always wanted. Write. Sit yourself down and do the other work—the work you’ve put off. The fun, or fun-ish, stuff. Write articles, books, papers, op-ed pieces, and essays for The Chronicle. We’re hoping to hear from you, and soon—because time is one of the other things they don’t usually give you much of when you get promoted.
