Despite how universities love to tout their long histories and continuities (Florida State University included), I have always been more enamored with the ways in which universities feel like they’re in flux. I find that universities have a unique, optimistically frenetic atmosphere that is pretty addictive to a certain kind of person. New and old students are coming and going, professors are publishing, every semester there are new courses being offered, and the experience of walking through campus on any given day is usually an exercise in sensory overload. To me, every day in academia feels simultaneously like you are on the cutting edge of something great and also like you’re on the verge of a complete breakdown. It’s a stressful and chaotic place, and I love that aspect of it. From the moment I began college, I immediately knew that I wanted to stick around for as long as possible.

It is for this reason that I am thankful for the opportunities FSU’s History Department gave me over the years. My first and most vivid memory of the department’s generosity came just a few weeks before the start of my first semester in their Master’s program. At the time, I was working two jobs, one at Waffle House and another delivering pizzas, and I fully expected to have to continue to do so over the course of my time as a grad student, as I lacked any significant savings or scholarships. However, one Friday afternoon, while slinging hashbrowns for $2 tips, I received a call from the department saying a small amount of money had become available, so they could offer me an assistantship to help fund my master’s education, thereby freeing me from the torture of the modern service industry. The only stipulation for the assistantship was that the paperwork had to be submitted that afternoon, and they would need me to stop by the office immediately. Thankfully, Waffle House is one of those workplaces where employees are regularly driven to abandon their jobs mid-shift, because otherwise my frenzied sprinting out the door that afternoon might have looked out of place.

That assistantship would not be the last time I relied on the generosity of FSU’s faculty and staff. Over the course of my first year of grad school, I only survived my assistantships and courses due to the saint-like patience of my mentor professor, Charles Upchurch, and many other professors who would see me through to the end of the graduate process. For every accomplishment I achieved as a grad student and as a young professional, I can point directly to multiple professors who helped make that achievement possible, providing me with the skills I would need long before I knew I needed them. For example, Laurie Wood’s grant-writing seminars were the only reason I was able to acquire a fellowship at the Huntington Library, and the compassionate critiques of my public speaking given by Suzanne Sinke and Ben Dodds allowed me to become a better instructor and gave me confidence going into my job interviews. These professors, and many more, became an invaluable resource to me as I tried to navigate my way through the arcane systems of academic advancement, seeking a position where my tenure in academia was not restricted by a graduation date.

Last fall, I managed to achieve just that, accepting a job as an assistant professor in History at Castleton University (soon to be Vermont State University). And I’ve been pleased to discover that the optimistically frenetic atmosphere that I loved about FSU is found here in quaint, small-town Vermont as well. While not all parts of the move have been easy (Vermont’s bone-chilling, seven stages of winter have certainly been a hurdle for someone who has lived his whole life in Florida), I’ve nonetheless been surprised at how many of the new challenges at my job engage skills I learned at FSU. I believed as I came into this new position that transitioning from student to teacher would be the hardest part of the job. After all, good mentorship is something that is rarely taught formally. And for the entirety of my first semester as a professor, I was often questioning whether I was doing a good job. My strategy had been to simply mimic the language, advice, and demeanor of my favorite mentors from FSU, hoping that I could channel the skills that they had developed over a decade or more of experience in just a single semester. And while I was not successful in that task, I’m also not displeased with the outcome. In attempting to emulate my mentors, I came to appreciate their influences even more, and by the end of the semester I felt like I had finally started to understand why they had given me the advice they did at the time.

In my first semester teaching at FSU, I was asked by my mentor professor how I felt like I was doing. My uncomfortable response was, “I feel like a parrot in a suit,” referencing the fact that I was simply mimicking the lecture styles of my favorite professors up to that point. In all honesty, I still kind of feel that way even now, four years and many new job responsibilities later. However, I have stopped feeling uncomfortable with that metaphor and have instead grown quite comfortable with my ‘parrot-ness.’ If I had to provide some advice to students who want to pursue a career in academia, it would be to take seriously the examples provided to you by your peers and mentors. The naturally chaotic atmosphere of the university system often gives the impression that you have to find ways to stand out, that your scholarship has to be fresh, your teaching style unique. However, this impression does not correspond to how academia has always worked. New scholarship builds upon the examples and narratives of those who have come before, and every professor will tell you that they have a favorite teacher from their past who has left a mark on them. There is no shame in embracing your professional influences and emulating them in a new location. At least in my experience, this is the one area of academia where no one is asking you to cite your sources.