Earning Tenure After 25 years: Looking for Other Unicorns

 

My travels in the world of academia has not been a simple, straight line from one destination to the other. There have been a lot of detours along the way. Some of it had to do with being a single parent and raising my two children in New Mexico. I was away from family and so had little to no support really. My primary concern after earning my Ph.D. was to simply get a job and keep that job. I did not want to leave New Mexico to take a college position anywhere; I had children who were rooted in New Mexico. So I detoured into high school teaching. That went on for so many years. Too many years.

Finally after my son graduated from high school, I was ready to accept a tenure track position at a university. I left high school teaching and have not regretted it. I do miss the younger students who seem to make an emotional connection to you in the classroom or with the subject matter, but I don't miss the lack of respect from some administrators, parents, students, and even other teachers. I don't miss the emotional drain and stress of having to be responsible for approximately 120 students a year, and the feeling that at the end of the day you still have piles of work to get through before tomorrow. I don't miss going a year or two without writing a poem. I was just so tired all the time.

It was never enough--never enough time, never enough support, never enough money, etc. My hours were long--working seven days a week. And no one cared if I published another word anywhere. I needed to be in that classroom at 7:30 in the morning or else.

This summer during a time of eclipses (solar and lunar) I received the letter I have been waiting for. The provost sent it stating how they (the people who evaluated me every step of the way) were impressed with my accomplishments as an educator, scholar, and poet. Suddenly and finally it was enough.

I just read a poem, "Astronomers Added The Unicorn to the Orion Constellation Family for Completeness," by the poet Jennifer Martelli. In the poem a character, Olivia, claims, "We're unicorns, you know, Italian women who write, we're rare." I held my breath for a second when I read that. Yes, that is true. Wandering through the woods, trying to find other unicorns can be a difficult business, but I am ready to walk into that darkness and ask "Where are you?"