Thirty five years ago this month, I was drove across country from California to New Hampshire to start my Asst Professor gig.  Unfortunately, it only lasted for four years.

Since then, however, I've learned a lot of things that would have made that first appointment last a lot longer.

It is unbelievable how much you learn your first year as a professor, and it is also how many mistakes you make. 

I put together an infographic of some of the insights I've learned from people over the years.  Hopefully they'll help you leapfrog some mistakes and start like a star. 

Let me know advice you have gotten from others or discovered yourself that was useful to you.

A person I tremendously admire off-handedly once told me, "All of the work I did that made the biggest difference in my life was work I did while other people slept."

Extra effort is what made the difference in his career.  Instead of sleeping in, he started working, and it made the big difference in his success.

Summer's similar.  Twenty years ago, a colleague once told me "If I don't finish a summer project by the Fourth of July, it's probably not going to get finished."  

He went on to say that too much gets in the way after the Fourth of July:  Family vacations, long weekends off, projects around the home, kid stuff, outdoor BBQs, and so on.

Ever since hearing this, the Fourth of July high water mark has always been an inspiration for me to really turn on the gas for the rest of the summer so I can say I got as much done after the 4th as before.

Benchmarks can be good.  Especially if you think that what you do past the benchmark might be what makes the biggest difference for you.

On a late afternoon about 20 years ago, I stepped into a slow elevator with my college’s most productive, famous, and taciturn senior professor.  After 10 seconds of silence, I asked, “Did you publish anything yet today?” He stared at me for about 4 seconds and said, “The day’s not over.”  Cool . . . very Clint Eastwood-like.
 
Most of us have some super-productive days and we have some bad days, but most lie in-between.  If we could figure out what leads to great days, we might be able to trigger more of them in our life.  For instance, if you want to write a whole lot, there might be a way to set up your day so that this happens with a surprising amount of ease.
 
Think of the most recent “great day” you had.  What made it great, and how did it start?
 
For about 20 years, every time somebody told me they had a great day, I’d ask “What made it great? How did it start out?   About 50% of the time its greatness had to do with an external “good news” event like something great happening at work, great news from their kids or spouse, a nice surprise, or nice call or email from a grateful person or an old friend.  The other 50% of the time, the reason for “greatness” was more “internal.”  They had a super productive day, they finished a project or a bunch of errands, or they had a breakthrough solution to a problem or something they should do.
 
External successes are easy to celebrate with our friends.  Internal successes are more unpredictable.  What made today a great day and what sabotaged yesterday?
 
When people had great days, one reoccurring feature was that they started off great.  There was no delay between when they got out of bed and when they Unleashed the Greatness.  People said things like, “I just got started and seemed to get everything done,” or “I finished up this one thing and then just kept going.”  
 
One of the most productive authors I've known said that got up six days a week at 6:30 and wrote from 7:00 to 9:00 without interruption.  Then he kissed his wife good-bye and drove into school and worked there.   When I asked how long he had done that he said, “Forever.” 
 
About a year ago, I started toying with the idea that  "Your first two hours set the tone for the whole day."  
 
Think of your last mediocre day.  Did it start out mediocre?  That would also be consistent with this notion.
 
We can’t trigger every day to be great, but maybe we have more control than we think.  If we focus on making our first two hours great, it might set the tone for the rest of the day.
 
What we need to decide is what we can we do in those first two hours after waking that would trigger an amazing day and what would sabotage it and make it mediocre.  For me, it seems writing, exercise, prayer, or meditation are the good triggers, and it seems answering emails, reading the news, or surfing are the saboteurs.
 
Here’s to you having lots of amazing days.  One’s where you can channel your best Clint Eastwood impression and say, “The day’s not over.” ​​

A while back a former student told me he had just gotten married, had a daughter, finished his PhD, and got a tenure-track job at a university.   Busy day.   He also wanted to set up a time to chat about how to be a successful new assistant professor.
 
After thinking about this for a couple days, here was the most important piece of advice I was planning to tell him.
 
If you’re starting a new professor, the most important thing you need to do is to look at your next 40 years and decide who your main audience is going to be.  I think there are four types of audiences that you can have as a professor:  1) Your school, 2) your field, 3) your mission 4) yourself.  You might be thinking you can serve multiple masters and split your attention to all four, but this is very, very difficult.  People who try to satisfy two masters often end up to two unhappy masters.
 
1. Your School.  As a new professor, you can focus on your school.  If you do this, your audience is the administrators, students, and other professors at your school.  You can aim at being a charismatic teacher, a go-to committee member, a friendly-to-all colleague, and a tenurable researcher.  The upside is you can be very successful at your school and grow a strong and appreciated community around yourself.  However, most of your investment will have been in “institutional capital.”  The downside is you may not be especially movable to other schools.  
 
2.  Your Field.  Some professors can focus on their field.  Their audience is other professors in their same field.  As graduate students, we grow to admire the famous people in our field or the ones who wrote the key papers we based our dissertation on.  Some new professors want to mainly focus on their field and to contribute to it in our own way.  This involves doing the right types of research and publishing it in the right types of journals.  If all goes well, you will have opportunities to more attractive schools.  But sometimes this doesn’t have an end. That’s the downside of a field-focus.  Some people can really grind themselves down trying to publish more and more, but it might frustratingly never be enough to satisfy whatever's driving them.
 
3.  Your Mission.  Some new professors focus on a specific mission that involves changing something.  Some might be driven to  change the criminal justice system, social justice, how companies operate, what people eat, how children are raised, and so on.  This offers a very satisfying mission because you can focus your research, teaching, and outreach at activities you think can change a corner or your specific world, and you can become a go-to expert in that area. Also, the impact you can have is more unique and more permanent in many ways.  The downside is that a mission-focus takes a while before it starts getting traction and having impact.  As a result, you’ll probably have to move around and change schools to eventually find the right school that most appreciates what you’re doing. 
 
 
4.  Yourself.  Still other professors focus on themselves.  This “March to my own drummer” approach sounds like the perfect ideal of academic freedom – doing what you want, when you want, wherever your muse leads you.  The downside of this approach is that focusing on yourself doesn’t always lead to tenure, the next promotion, job offers other schools, or to being appreciated and valued by your colleagues. 
 
 
Choosing one of these four audiences usually isn’t a conscious decision by most new professors, but it will probably be the track you’re on until you retire.  It’s like choosing a North, South, East, or West road out of town from your PhD School.  Once you’ve driven on that road for few years, you can’t go back, and it’s super hard to change roads. 
​• “I’m going to focus on my field, then focus on myself.”  After doing this for the 12 years it will take to become a full professor, your values and your work habits will probably not let you change the road without losing your reference group or feeling like you’re now “dead wood.”  
 
• “I’m going to focus on my school and getting tenure, then I’ll focus on my mission.”  After you get tenure, then you’ll want to put it off until you’re a full professor, then until you finish your time as department chair, or as associate dean, or until you retire.  Once you lose your research or outreach momentum, it’s hard to get it back.  The immediate, short-term strokes you’re getting from your school will seem much more attractive than the delayed gratification of muscling up to pursue a perhaps faded mission. 
​To summarize these thoughts I had, when my former student friend got on the call, I was planning on emphasizing just three points:
 
1. Choose your audience carefully because you’ll probably have it for 40 years
2. Here’s the pluses and minuses of each audience
3. Realize it’s really difficult – either practically or psychologically – to change your audience down the road
 
 
That was the plan . . . but of course that wasn’t what happened during the call.   When I said the biggest piece of advice for a new professor is to carefully choose who your audience is going to be, he said, “Oh, yeah, yeah, that’s really important.”  Then we started talking and laughing about other stuff.
 
To then return and say “This is going to be a 40-year decision you make,” seemed like a heavy thing to say when we’re high-fiving each other about his new degree, new family, and new job -- and all in one day!
 
He doesn’t start his new job for another four months.  We’ll have time to talk again before he before he‘s shifting into fifth gear.

Some people love graduate school, but most of us want to finish it up and get started with our real lives.

About a couple years ago I met a nice guy from Utah who was finishing his thesis at a university about 5 hours away.  He had just moved here to take a job.  After only two weeks, he was totally immersed in his new job, and I asked him if he was concerned about being able to finish up his thesis.  He said, "Oh, no, not at all.  My university's only 5 hours away, and I've only got a couple months of work left on it."

The idea of starting a new life or a new job a few months early – say, before we’ve completed our dissertation – sounds pretty good.  After all, lots of people Zoom and Skype from home, so  it should be a snap to web-commute back to the university and finish up our dissertation away from the anxieties of campus.  For instance, you could now start your new gig (maybe as a professor) in June instead of August.  Your plan would be to move, get settled, wrap up the dissertation, and get two months of a tempting new salary.  

When I was a PhD student, someone told me that if you want to know how long it will take to finish your dissertation if you move away, you use a simple formula.  You take your best guess of how long you think it will take to finish, then you triple it and add three months.  So if you think you have 2 months left on your dissertation, and you move away in June, you won’t be finished until following March – in 9 months instead of 2 months (2 months x 3 + 3 months = 9 months).   


This is a rough rule-of-thumb, that varies across schools, departments, and people.  Still, when I heard this, I wasn’t going to take any chances.  My apartment lease with my two roommates was up, so I spent the last two months crashing at the apartments of different friends so I could wrap it my dissertation and graduate  before I move away to start my Asst Prof gig. 
​
What happens when you move is not only that it takes time to get resettled and you no longer have the support structure of your PhD program (and the “in sight & in mind” attention of your committee), but you also don’t feel the urgency to finish.  You’re settling into a new role, and everybody's happy to have you around.  You start to put off the uncomfortable pressure of you incomplete dissertation because it feels so much better to be treated as an an adult over here than as a sniffling child over there.  But in a few months when your new department chair asks whether you’re through with your dissertation, it’s going to be awkward to answer.
​
You might not have the option of completing a dissertation on campus, but if you can, it’s worth sleeping on couches until it’s done.

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The Rest of the Story: Four months after meeting the guy from Utah, I ran in to him again at the same boardgame cafe where we had originally met.   He was very excited about having moved, and he was very excited about his new job.   What's notable was that he never mentioned anything about his dissertation, how it was going, or whether it was finished.  His dissertation had been an enthusiastic 80% of our conversation during the first time we met.  Sine he never mentioned it, I wonder if he hadn't made the progress he had expected to make.