If you attended a college or university, you probably remember a few of your professors, the ones that made an impact on you. Maybe one of them helped you figure out what you wanted to do with your life or supported you through a hard time. Maybe you remember these professors’ names, the titles of their courses, the readings that mattered most to you. I’m sure you don’t remember their rank — assistant, associate, full professor, lecturer, clinical assistant professor, visiting assistant professor — or whether or not they were tenured. You remember how they spoke to you, how they made you feel, what you learned from them.

When I was in college, I remember being confused that one of my favorite professors was leaving because her position was only temporary. She was brilliant — an incredible instructor and a perfect fit for the student body. I was too young and naïve to understand what she was up against: a system that demanded her full and unwavering commitment to “the profession” while offering only temporary, part-time work in return — or, if she was lucky, a grueling tenure-track position in a state where she had no family or friends and probably didn’t want to live.

When I graduated college, I applied to graduate school on a whim, thinking only of how much I admired the professors I had gotten to know at my small liberal arts college. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do next, but a master’s program seemed like a safe place to land and figure it out. I rolled into graduate school like a tumbleweed in the wind, and I kept rolling straight through a PhD program, through my second master’s degree, through field research and dissertation writing.