I applied for a full-time instructor position in December. It was a long shot. I hadn’t thought about applying – didn’t want to just go through the motions when I knew the job wouldn’t be given to me. There were too many people in line ahead of me. Too many people more qualified.
People began asking me if I was applying…. suggesting that I should apply. “I don’t know,” would be my reply. But after enough people (voices of the universe) added light, support, and unshakeable momentum to the conversation, I started thinking it might be worth at least going through the process. By this point, I knew that teaching – in some capacity – was part of my path, and maybe it would be good to get familiar with this difficult, time consuming, and anxiety-ridden process for whenever I felt like a viable candidate for such a position. With the students who deserved the option of having a compassionate, black male professor in mind, I gathered my application materials and applied for the position.
I was selected for a first-round interview. I was selected for a second-round interview. I met with the president of the college, who offered me the position. Starting in the fall, I will be a full-time professor.
This is almost unheard of. It’s not supposed to happen like this. This is not normal.
This is now normal.