I'm eligible for promotion review this year. I'm tenured, so it's completely optional, but I'm someone who likes to go for the bonus round if I feel the odds are at least even. If I get the promotion, it's over and done with and I don't have to worry about it ever again. If I don't, my reasoning goes, at least I'll have feedback on what to fix the next time I apply. It's not like the last time, when if I didn't pass I would be out of a job, so there's considerably less stress this time through.
All of this has meant the last few weeks have been interesting, and intense. You learn early on in academia that you never throw anything away that could possibly have future use in a tenure/promotion portfolio. The flip side is you have a ton of stuff through which you must sort, determining what's worth including and what's just junk. Making things more interesting is that we have to submit these in electronic format this time around, so I've also had to do a ton of document scanning, and I've also had to root through my various electronic archives. Thankfully, 98% of my syllabi still exist in their original word processor formats, so it was just a matter of importing them into InDesign. Right now, after several long evenings' work I have an electronic portfolio that's probably, in total, about 600 pages spread across five massive PDFs. There's also supplemental materials; half a CD-R full of film projects, a bunch of PowerPoint shows I developed for various purposes, and a few other things. All this is in addition to the introductory essays you have to write, in which you outline everything, reflect on what you've accomplished, and subtly build your case for promotion. Everything's just shy of being burned to a CD-R and submitted to the higher-ups, and there will be a definite sense of relief when that beast of a project is handed in.
But the portfolio isn't enough. You also have colleagues sitting in on your classes watching you work. And as good as you may think you are, as comfortable as you are on any other day...when there's a colleague back there watching your every move, you get self-conscious. Little flubs you'd just laugh off any other day become huge, at least in your mind. Even though every time in recent history I've been peer-evaluated has turned out well -- indeed, they've generally said extremely generous things and told me that some things I've worried about in my classroom style aren't things I need to worry about -- I still get the butterflies in my stomach. You're doing this in front of someone who's been doing this longer than you have, most likely has won a few awards for teaching, and generally has had a distinguished career in the classroom. And prepare as you may, and as much as you try to pretend it's just another class session, the presence is still on your mind, and at least once I got halfway through a presentation, felt I was getting no traction with the students, and thought "Oh, man. This is going downhill fast. I'm doomed." (Oddly enough, the post-class evaluation was full of praise, and the observer was very impressed. Go figure.)
The nice thing is, win or lose, the process for this year is about to be over. The in-class observations will soon be finished, the electronic portfolio will be turned in, and I will be able to get back to a reasonably normal (whatever that means) professional life. I'm hoping it will go my way, but I'm also not getting my hopes up, and I'm prepared for either outcome. As it was in the classroom that day, I'm too close to the immediate situation to see its true perspective and therefore I can't tell you how it looks to others. And, as I've reasoned, if I don't get it this time, at least I'll find out what to fix for next time.
But there's also the chance it'll work -- and, after all, you can't win the lottery unless you buy a ticket.