All this talk of innovation and change has got me thinking (again).
We always reward the ‘most’ or the ‘best’. The first, the youngest, the fastest, the largest, the better than everyone and everything else.
The push to innovate, to ‘be the change’ has created this near impossible ideal – we must not just do, we must do it all.
My challenge to you is to acknowledge, support and celebrate those who take the first step. Those who start. Those who are not afraid to try. Those who do.
I’ve been following some of the recent conversations around innovation in higher education with much interest over the past days and weeks. I am continually inspired by the brilliant ideas and unyielding passion those I follow & engage with on Twitter have in these discussions. There seems to be considerable desire for change.
Here’s the problem: How do we move from ‘wouldn’t it be cool if …’ to ‘look at this cool thing we did …’?
Here’s my challenge (and perhaps my fear): I don’t know if we can … yet.
While the dialogue is rich, engaging and full of good ideas, it is only, in reality, a small piece of the puzzle. Why can’t we get beyond the conversation?
The conversation, the dialogue, the ongoing discussion are creating a problem, and potential solutions, that is bigger than us. There now exists this almost unattainable notion of the problem and what could ‘solve it’. The idea that we need to ‘fix higher education’ is, for many, a large, daunting task. When faced with such a seemingly impossible task, where do we even begin?
We begin not by pursuing the solution, but by wrangling the problem.
I’m not going to make any attempts here to conceptualize what the ‘problem’ is with higher education today (if you follow me on Twitter you should have some idea of what I think already). What I’m getting at here is that until we can conceptualize a problem that is well defined and tangible, it becomes nearly impossible to create a ‘solution’. Much like I often do in my assessment work, we need to drill down this overarching goal into a measurable, manageable and meaningful challenge.
Why do we need to do this? We already know something’s wrong – let’s fix it.
We’ve known there’s something wrong for a long time. We’ve written about it, talked about it, hosted conferences about it and everything in between.
The more we talk, I fear, the worse it gets.
Talking about it, around it, in spite of it, through it, creates a larger and more amorphous, more intangible ‘thing’ that we need to work on.
Creating a problem bigger than ourselves is the problem.
Once the problem gets too big, the fear not only of change, but of any action is increased. This massive problem, we figure, requires a huge amount of work by people with intelligence, resources, time, etc. that we just don’t have (and, sadly, we think we never will).
We’re talking ourselves right out of any motivation to make change because we’re setting an impossible ideal.
So, what exactly is the problem? How do we talk about this challenge in a way that makes it something that we can overcome? I’ve got some ideas, but I want to hear from you.
Comment below or Tweet me. I’d say let’s keep the conversation going, but I’m not sure that’s what we need (this time).
This post, in various iterations, has been on my mind (and in my moleskine) for quite some time. I thought about it after #bfab, I was almost overwhelmed by it at NASPA 2012, and I alluded to a lot of this in one of the last #sachat discussions. Since when is community such a dirty word?
As a huge fan of people (meeting them, engaging with them, sharing in their stories, sometimes pushing them far out of their comfort zone), it always bothers me to hear people talk about feeling like they are excluded or ostracised from what they perceive to be an elitist ‘community’ where only the loudest or most influential are heard and valued. While these conversations seem to have grown out of online interactions, I quickly made connections between the perceived feelings of virtual isolation and those same feelings at a large national convention. In both cases, we champion the development of community as an important benefit of participation. In both environments, we encourage participation, dialogue and engagement. You get out what you put in.
Here’s where it gets tricky for me. The term ‘community’ carries with it an assumption of belonging. I’ve seen tweets about ‘joining’ #sachat (as if there’s some test to pass or initiation to go through), I have conversations with people about the advantages of participating in their professional community.
Community as an ‘in group’ must then, by default, mean that there is an ‘out group’. How can we define membership in something without simultaneously defining, and creating, what it means to not be included?
While I was working to make sense of all this, I came across an article entitled Look Beyond the Team: It’s About the Network. In the article, Jon Katzenbach argues against the assumption that creating teams is the most effective means for problem solving. This small group, he argues, has a beginning and an end. The work, and the group itself, is finite.
In it’s place, Jon calls for the creation of networks – “[a] larger, informal, loosely defined group of people with various expertise …”. This network is an important, and in today’s knowledge economy essential way of driving the conversations we want to have and pushing for the change we want to happen.
Within this network, we build distributed responsibility for a collective purpose.
Our networks are not limited. They do not discriminate by job title, level of expertise or even interest. As we build connections and create networks, we form bonds over our lived experiences and widen the impact of our ideas and actions. One thought, a few words, can create a powerful chain reaction (for good or for not so good). We then, collectively, live the consequences. Your experience is now linked to mine. We, together, live the impact.
I’ve been very careful in some of my new ventures (most noticeably the #saass chats) to not use the word community. There is no qualification for membership here – you can work full time in assessment or have a passing interest in survey design (and if you do, I want to talk to you) and still participate in our conversation. I have intentionally made my message be about ‘building your assessment network’.
In a culture often hyper-focused on individual responsibility and achievement, the notion of community is certainly appealing as a space to find support and validation. The danger, however, is that the process of creating these groups preys upon the individual need for collective belonging (that one notion sounds like a thesis topic doesn’t it?).
Building your network, however, means continually crafting a web of relationships, not only ending back with you but building branches, strands (any other nature metaphor other than trees and spiders) to connect others who may never had the chance to learn from each other. Within your network, you may never know what sort of lollipop moments you create (tip of the hat to my friend Drew Dudley for coining this one).
Let’s flip the whole idea of community. Let’s build networks. How far-reaching will your impact be?
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Those that know me (or those of you who follow me on Twitter at least) know that I tend to be … busy. I love life and have a genuine interest in being involved in multiple projects and activities. Just like it says in my Twitter bio – I very much dislike standing still.
Over the past few months, however, I’ve been thinking a lot about how this love of carpeing the heck out of every diem has (finally) caught up with me. Am I still as passionate about these activities and opportunities, or is it obligation alone that gets me out of bed in the morning?
Looking back, I see the trap I’ve fallen into. My passions create the initial spark that spurs my interest and eventual ‘yes’ answer to the ‘will you’ or ‘could you’ questions. Much like most sparks, however (my limited knowledge of the sciences is coming out here), that first almost intense reaction and desire to push forward will eventually burn out. Where does that leave me at the end of the day? What happens when that energizing passion becomes an exhausting obligation?
I’ve found that my passions are intimately tied to my perceived life’s purpose. I am passionate about not only pursuing those things that fulfill my purpose (supporting student success in any form, making life better, richer and more awesome for those around me) but in seeking opportunities that will help me learn, try out or discover what my purpose might be. In working to define both passion and obligation, both terms bring an imperative for action, a ‘must’. The difference, however, is subtle but important:
Passion creates the fear that something won’t happen, while obligation means that it will.
Carpeing the diem has often meant to me latching onto anything and everything that interested me, that could feed my passions, that (I thought) needed to get done. It meant a mounting fear of the finite amount of time available to live a life of purpose, and, admittedly, an overwhelming lack of patience.
Here’s the catch. Being involved in so much, sending my passion out in too many different directions, scatters my energies and efforts until there is no clear purpose left. Not only am I exhausted, but the meaning of the individual activities is watered down until my purpose becomes an obligation to fulfill rather than a passion to explore.
I think it’s time for a bit of a shift in my thinking. While I continue to have and feel obligations to others, I have now come to see an additional obligation … to myself. I am obligated to take care of myself, to safeguard and cherish my own energy so I can meaningfully share my passion and purpose with others. While I will always be passionate about what I do, I have a renewed obligation to myself to ensure my energy is focused on fulfilling that purpose. I owe myself, and everyone around me, that much.
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A few days ago, I tweeted this mini Lisa Life Update:
In part because there’s no way I can explain what’s been going on for me professionally in 140 characters (those that know me know I’m rather … verbose) and because it’s about time I got back to blogging, I wanted to share what’s been going on in the (professional) life of Lisa.
Most of you know that when I started my role at the University of Ontario Institute of Technology (UOIT) back in September 2011, I was put into a role and assigned responsibilities that I was initially hesitant to take on. My academic background and professional experience are rooted in leadership development and transition (e.g. Orientation), and it was with a deep breath and a frantic (but fruitless) search for water wings that I jumped into the career services deep end. For the past year and a half I have been working with a phenomenal group of students supporting them as they navigate the stormy seas (anyone else noticing a nautical theme yet?) of the job search and their own career/professional development. I learnt on the fly how to deliver 1:1 resume and cover letter appointments (I’ve now logged almost 200), gave my very first career services presentation to the Faculty of Education (I’ve now done the full cycle of these presentations twice to two different cohorts) and worked within the career services team to build programs and initiatives to help students define their own success and then go after it.
While an immensely challenging and ultimately rewarding experience, I will be the first to admit that I was terrified. My first hint coming into this role should have been the somewhat vague job description (the Student Experience Advisor will create programs to support student development, with people, doing stuff – I exaggerate but this is a pretty good paraphrasing) but spending the first year and a half in a new job in a role I wasn’t trained in and didn’t even know I were going to do has opened doors and given me new knowledge and perspectives I now see as invaluable. These lessons are coming with me as I start a new role working on developing student leadership programming, supporting the student transition through orientation and mentorship and, of course, leading the charge for more effective and more awesome assessment planning in our department.
So what have I learnt you ask? (You did ask right?) See below for my top three lessons from jumping into the deep end and learning how to swim (do all my ‘channelling my inner Nemo’ tweets make sense now?):
So there you have it. I’m coming back from NASPA 2012 to more changes, more opportunities, and a lot more swimming. In the words of one David Bowie:
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I titled this post after a question myself, my colleagues and my friends have been asking over and over again as it finally sinks in that September is upon us. With so many anniversaries and occasions for me to celebrate this month, including my one year anniversary at work and a celebration of another successful trip around the sun (my birthday), I thought it was time to do a little reflecting on some lessons learnt over the past 365 days. In true Lisa fashion, I’ve done a little word association to help me explain just how ‘awesome’ this past year has been:
A is for Accidentally on Purpose. As much as I could attribute my successes (and failures) and opportunities (and obstacles) to luck or chance, I’ve often used this phrase to describe where opportunity and hard work have met. As Thomas Jefferson said “I’m a great believer in luck, and I find the harder I work the more I have of it”.
W is for Waiting and Watching. I’ve been fighting my ‘E’ a lot this year. I’ve begun to see and appreciate the value in slowing down, being present, pausing and reflecting on where this amazing journey has taken me so far. While I continue to plan for the future, I am continually reminded that being present is one of the best gifts you can give others, and yourself.
E is for Engagement. Being present and in the moment to me means living life LOUD! Learning to revel in the present and dive in with both feet has brought me amazing experiences (another possible ‘e’ word candidate) and shown me that I’m capable of more than I ever thought possible.
S is for Surprise Good or bad, the surprises I’ve gotten this year have changed me for the better. I’ve had to let go a bit to truly love a good surprise (it very much goes against my need to plan) but it has never been more apparent to me that “life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans”.
O is for Open. Doors have opened for me, either when I turned the knob or someone else helped me unlock them. To walk through these doors, I also learnt to be open to new experiences and dancing as far along the edge of my comfort zone as I could.
M is for Mentor. I am continually in awe of all of YOU! Your passion, dedication, smarts and outright silliness are a source of inspiration I am truly grateful for. I have found support and love in the most unlikely of places and I’m a better person for it.
E is for Embrace. Hugs are my favourite adhesive. (It’s true, I even have the t-shirt). Getting to hug new and old friends alike this year has been, yes, awesome.
How about you? What’s made this past year AWESOME?
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Following another awesome #sachat conversation, one idea for Orientation programming that took hold was the idea of ‘My First Lecture’ – an abbreviated sample lecture that gives students a taste of what academic life is like at university. This idea caught on in the Twitter-sphere and I wanted to write a brief post to explain more about this program.
I first planned a My First Lecture session at new student orientation at the University of Toronto Scarborough when I acted as Orientation Coordinator in 2005. Our intent then was to combine information about the history and traditions of our campus with some good old fashioned ‘unintentional’ or, as I call it, ‘sneaky’ learning. In this case, we purposely chose a lecture style format (an information delivery method I now try to avoid where possible) to give students an opportunity to sit through a ‘lecture’ that they might see in one of their first year classes. While the topic was different, the delivery method of one or two people in front of the room talking and the (over) use of PowerPoint slides was the same. The intent here was to show students what a possible lecture could be like, so there wouldn’t be as much of an academic shock when they started classes the next week.
What was missing from this presentation, and what we’re trying to rectify at my current institution, are two things:
This past Friday, in one of my more reflective moods, I tweeted this:
I’ve been reading, talking, learning and sharing about work/life balance (or work/life negotiation as I’ve come to call it) for a while now. Given the number of frequent flier miles I’ve accumulated with all of these trips outside my comfort zone, learning to manage my time effectively to enjoy every new adventure without burning out has become something of a challenge.
One thing that always struck me when having these conversations, reading articles, or watching videos like this one (amazing TED talk on ‘making work-life balance work) was the very clear, almost dichotomous distinction between ‘work’ and ‘life’. It was never between ‘family’ and ‘life’ or ‘sports’ and ‘life’. Why was work being treated as this disembodied, separate entity, miles apart from the ‘rest’ of our ‘life’?
Work to me, whether as a 9-5 job or during the ‘under employed’ phases of my life, has never been separate from what I consider to be my life. My work in student affairs has influenced how I interact with friends and family just as those nearest and dearest to me have inspired me in my work with students. I have pondered work issues with friends over dinner, and have carried the excitement that comes from a successful student life event home for dinner (my poor little bro never knew what hit him those days).
When we make such a stark distinction between work and life I get worried that we’re also splitting up pieces of ourselves. For all our talk of the whole student and holistic student development, does it become inauthentic to create almost dueling personalities (the ‘work me’ and the ‘life me’)?
My current boss, who is phenomenally supportive and inspiring, once told me that she encourages her staff to ‘bring their whole selves to work’. My whole self is not just my role, my title or my contract. It is my relationships, my interests, passions and everything else that makes me who I am. If I’m encouraged to bring my whole self to work, shouldn’t I also bring my whole self to each day of my life? Creating this work/life distinction seems to be forming the very silos we in student affairs rail against. Following some great insights from @WildflowerMel perhaps a new view of balance could be:
What about you? Is work separate from life for you? Is there a separation at all?
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A couple of days ago I tweeted this:
My original intent was to find a person (or group of people) willing and able to help me stay on track with my own writing goals. I was becoming increasingly frustrated with myself for not putting fingers to keys and writing out a blog post that had been renting considerable space in my head for some time. As is often the case within our Twitter community, I was excited and a bit overwhelmed to see the quick and numerous responses to my tweet. In particular, this one caught my eye:
And this one too:
First off, a big thank you to Eric and Laura for engaging me in discussion and challenging me to think through what it really was I wanted out of that tweet. Behind the frustration and general grumpiness that tweet may have showed, I discovered within our #sachat community that there were others like me. Friends who needed inspiration, encouragement and yes, motivation, to start or continue blogging to share thoughts and ideas with the wider group.
While I am definitely in the ‘blogging because I want to’ camp, there can be a large gap between ‘wanting to’ and actually doing it. I even wrote a blog post about it. (Anyone else see the weird irony there?) My biggest blogging barrier (alliteration copyright pending) is trying to work out ideas that make sense in my head before writing them out. Being a strong E on the Introvert/Extrovert scale, my internal motivation is often sparked by external discussions and interactions. I experienced this awesome process originally through tweets with the amazing Bryce Hughes, who got me thinking about mentorship beyond 140 characters of inspiration. As we started commenting on each other’s postings, we found an almost organic process was developing. For every blog ‘conversation’ we had, I found not only more topics to explore, but those topics also found a space to be refined through Bryce’s suggestions and questions. Since I found this process so rewarding, I would love to share it with anyone else looking for some support as they continue on this blogging journey.
Instead of being motivated by the quantity of blogs I expect to publish, I’m looking for people who also enjoy working through ideas with someone else as a sounding board. I certainly don’t expect this will work for everyone, but I know it works for me and I’d love to find some like-minded friends to connect with. While I know not everyone will want to work this way, I’ve seen great things come from these conversations and idea exchanges. While motivation for blogging is best when it comes from within, that inner spark of inspiration can come from external sources, and that’s what I’m hoping this think tank will do. Please feel free to pass along this idea to other friends working through some blogging ideas. I’d also love to hear more from others who may not like or feel comfortable with this idea. What’s your creative process like? How do you work through your ideas? Just as we know there is no one size fits all learning and creative process for our students, I am open to exploring this and other ideas for helping us all write awesome, inspiring blogs.
Want to check out the group’s Google doc? Tweet me! Want to offer feedback, suggestions and ideas? Tweet me or comment below. This isn’t a perfect process, but I think it’s a good place to start.
I have a confession to make. Even though you may know me as one who (over) uses the word awesome on a regular basis, I have days where that word and all it entails is the furthest thing from my mind. As a self proclaimed Advocate for Awesome (t-shirts coming soon), I often feel almost duty bound to remain upbeat and positive, even in less than awesome circumstances. It was only recently that I realized that, while not ideal, a lack of awesome can be okay too.
Now don’t take this revelation to mean that I accept anything less than awesome. I still strive for and encourage awesomeness whenever and wherever I can. That being said, however, I have come to see those lapses in awesome as an opportunity, rather than an obstacle.
To illustrate my point, I have to make another confession. I, Lisa Endersby, (might be) a workaholic. I like to work. I enjoy the work I do. I seek out opportunities to work. I’m bored if I’m not busy. You get the idea. But one day this past week, I hit the wall. It wasn’t awesome anymore. It wasn’t fun. It was a chore to send another email, a struggle to even get out of bed. I wondered constantly why I even bothered. Making it worse, I kept beating myself up for not being positive and upbeat. I felt like a hypocrite when I smiled and told everyone how awesome everything was. It felt completely fake and inauthentic.
What’s changed for me now came after something an amazing supervisor told me recently. In a conversation about a presentation I didn’t think went very well, she told me I needed to own the energy in the room, to acknowledge and call out those unspoken feelings and assumptions. My light bulb moment came when I realized that this same concept of ownership can apply to my own energy and feelings too.
The idea of ownership brings with it a sense of power and control. While these can certainly be used for non-awesome purposes, they also work to frame my less than awesome state of mind into something infinitely more positive. Owning and acknowledging my feelings, however bad or scary they are, allows me to assert some control over them and ultimately gives me the power to change them. I can see now that it was that feeling of helplessness that did me in; I felt so completely out of control. Reassuming ownership of my feelings restored the power I know I have over my own thoughts and emotions, giving me the space to change. While changing how I think and feel can still be an uphill battle (third confession: still working on it), just knowing I have the power back, the control and ownership back, gives me hope.
So, will things always be 100% awesome? Maybe not. But now that I see in myself the power to own and acknowledge this lack of awesome and the ability to do something about it. A work in progress perhaps, but I’m willing to try. Things have been pretty awesome so far.
10 Points for anyone who can tell me how many times I used ‘awesome’ or any form of it in this post. Disclaimer: Points redeemable for high fives.
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