So it was, on this mostly lazy day, that Teller wondered what could conceivably happen next. Just when he believed that things would certainly settle down on the Cascadia College campus (it was late December, final exams were over, and his faculty had scattered to the four winds, after all), stuff kept happening: events that were, unfortunately, consistent with the perpetual, overwhelming feeling of trying to function in a totally whacked-out (to use a technical term) environment. Sadly, Teller’s experience of the current “holiday break” seemed to be a continuance of the end-of-term craziness that he had just lived through.
For, even before the current semi-lull, there had been increasing intensity surrounding the conversations (that is to say, expressions of extreme doubt) about the institution’s leadership. One afternoon, for example, after the Thanksgiving holiday, Cascadia’s president distributed, to all staff, a draft version of the position description that would be used to recruit for the provost position sometime after the beginning of the new year. (Dr. Mennace, the current provost, was, at present, occupying the job on an interim basis.) Several of Teller’s faculty members had criticisms of the document, some of whom forwarded their concerns to the president. Many were just plain terrified that Dr. Mennace would not only apply for the job, but eventually secure it on a permanent basis. This prospect caused a huge amount of distress among Teller’s faculty, who, as noted previously, had significant distrust for just about everybody in the current administration.
Following the document’s distribution, Teller was approached by faculty members, often several times a day, about his intentions. Practically every single one of these interactions was not only to engage in a conversation about the status of his thinking, but also to encourage Teller to submit an application for the job. For although Teller was a member of the current administration, he had something that others in instructional leadership apparently did not: the trust of the faculty.
Naturally, Teller was flattered by all this attention. But he was not as elated as might be expected. The feeling of being wanted was, of course, exceptionally wonderful. However, the chaos that was the Cascadia College campus was not something Teller was convinced he could positively affect, even from the senior academic officer post: if he had the skills to provide assistance, to facilitate the change that was required, did he have the will? Did he have the energy?
Teller had become even more convinced of the continuing downward spiral of the institution during the previous twenty-four hours of this “break,” when one of his department chairs, a very talented person in the sciences, informed him that she was leaving Cascadia at the end of the current academic year. She had just accepted a teaching position in a neighboring state. This would be the second major loss to that department during the year, and Teller interpreted the development as yet another sign of the institution’s decreasing viability. When an organization keeps losing its best and brightest (and this was part of a pattern of continuing massive turnover, with three top-level administrators also leaving during the Fall quarter alone), when anyone who has an escape route uses it, then there is something definitely very rotten, as they say, in the State of Cascadia.
Of course, Teller continued to have his own struggles with the college’s leadership. For although Dr. Mennace was the chief instructional officer on campus (at least for the time being), he bore little similarity to Teller with respect to education, experience, philosophy or interpersonal skills. In terms of both personal and professional background, Teller and Mennace came from vastly different worlds. Whereas Teller was (among many things) a researcher, scholar, intellectual, therapist and consensus-builder, Mennace embraced a military model, viewing himself a field commander in a theatre of action. While Teller listened, Mennace gave orders. The following relationships seemed to apply: Teller/Mennace = comedy/tragedy; yin/yang; order/chaos. In other words: an obvious mismatch (given that there seemed to be no way to “complement” the Mennace paradigm).
Not surprisingly, the matter of leadership-style differences manifested themselves on a regular basis, and this had happened again during the holiday hiatus. In the case of a faculty member who was apparently skirting some safety rules, Mennace (being “the decider” that he is) expressed an inclination toward summary dismissal. Teller was nothing short of appalled, as he argued for a more (humane) developmental, due-process kind of approach.
Teller was extremely grateful that the holiday was finally here. Perhaps he could put these struggles aside for a bit. He was going home, to stay away from the office and the instability of the campus for an entire ten-day stint. Teller wanted to relax. To breathe. To spend some time with friends. And to prepare his own escape: he had some job applications he intended to complete.
I recently provided some observations about the Four-Fold Way and the difficulty level associated with the concept of surrender. Now, don’t get me wrong: I continue to think that letting go of outcome is truly a hard thing to do. Wow, yes, of course.
However, recent events have me thinking a lot about the difficulty of, and price associated with, maintaining one’s integrity – and what it means to continue to speak one’s own truth in the face of remarkable resistance. That’s what it feels like I’ve been doing lately, and, frankly, I’m exhausted.
In a meeting two weeks ago, I found myself, unexpectedly, on the hot seat. Our CEO dropped by, sat down (as a result of an impromptu invitation), and joined us in a group discussion; as fate would have it, I wound up being the featured attraction. I was asked, at least a couple of times, for my views regarding some of our challenges, and, since I was specifically prompted, I answered directly and honestly. I told about my personal experience of trying to function at the nexus of two warring factions (i.e., with great levels of difficulty and stress); of an organization that lacks trust in its leadership (two individuals specifically); and of a place that is “stuck” and in dire need of a focused, protracted healing process.
I spoke for almost an hour on this occasion, in front of a small group that included a handful of the organization’s leaders. I received verbal support from only one other person, and even that was quite tentative. I felt very much alone. Isolated. And somewhat afraid.
Just that one hour totally drained me. To speak out loud a reality that is in opposition to a group’s is very hard work. It reminds me a lot of the “obedience to authority” social-psychology experiments, conducted in the 1960s by Stanley Milgram. The primary value of Milgram’s work was documentation for the willingness of individuals to engage in activities contrary to their own consciences, simply upon the command of an authority figure. Of course, I feel the desire to conform to the press of the environment and “go along” – who among us does not want to live in harmony with others around them? Especially our “bosses?” Certainly I am not immune to such forces.
I would love to be able to tell people what they want to hear. To be able to do what they want me to do. To conform. To fit in. To belong. Who doesn’t want that?
To resist. To persist. Steadfastness. To remain true to oneself. Honesty. Integrity.
Aptly entitled “AZDUCK,” this huge, somewhat unsightly (but still colorful), ceramic (I think) sculpture now resides in the Oakway Mall in Eugene. I snapped this with my new little Nikon COOLPIX S7c while up there last Friday. Although I currently “live” in Roseburg, since I moved here in July I have spent an inordinate amount of time on I-5 between the two cities.
As the new job search season begins to heat up, I find I keep thinking about the position at the University of Oregon that I’ve applied for. Could I possibly, possibly end up back in Eugene? Wouldn’t that be just ducky?
I’ve previously written about my struggles with “fitting in.” This has been another one of those weeks, and especially one of those days, when I’ve re-engaged with that issue. I’m in a pretty much “glass-half-empty” kind of space tonight as I contemplate a few indicators of a life that’s not working all that well at the moment. So, here they are: how you might tell your life could be in better shape…
Losing a job that you’d had for nearly a decade. Being ignored, unappreciated and unceremoniously dismissed in the process.
Spending the best hours of every day on the downhill side of life working and looking for work. (Well, and writing the occasional blog entry.)
Worrying about health. Worrying about safety, security, and stability. Worrying about worrying to death.
Finding work that is merely temporary. Being treated like a temp.
Having (or at least taking) no time to stop and smell the roses. Having no time to produce art. Having no time to read a novel.
Barely enough energy to get out of bed, lots of times, just imagining the difficulty level of the day ahead.
Constant, chronic myofascial pain, accompanied frequently by headaches and symptoms of irritable bowel syndrome. Other strange aches, pains & afflictions and occasional infections.
Coming home after work and always finding that it’s another evening alone. And, consequently, anticipating that dying and death will also come very alone.
Spending part of every evening taking a hot bath, trying to soak away some of the pain. Easing into the hot water, being overwhelmed with hopelessness. Feeling, fighting, the inclination to sob.
Feeling the large part, of most every day, like a misfit.
We’re just two days shy of the third anniversary of Governor Kulongoski’s announcement (on November 13, 2003) that he was asking for the resignations of several members of the Oregon State Board of Higher Education (OSBHE). Also part of his action was to express a desire that former Governor Neil Goldschmidt be appointed to the OSBHE and installed as its president.
That Fall day in 2003 was one that not only changed the lives of the Board members involved, but mine as well; as a staff person in the Oregon University System Chancellor’s Office, the OSBHE was my direct employer. On that fateful Thursday, I was attending the annual conference of the Association for the Study of Higher Education in Portland, and I heard the news, first, as a “rumor.” Somebody mentioned to me that the Governor had “fired the Board of Higher Ed,” which, of course, was unbelievable; no chief executive in our state had ever done such a thing since the department of higher education had been established in the late 1920s. I knew all of the Board members quite well, and there had been absolutely no behavior on their part that could, or should, have led to such a wholesale action by the Governor. The Board members were, all, dedicated public servants, doing the best job they could for higher education in the State.
However, as the course of the day wore on, the information became increasingly more clear. I went to my room in the Hilton late that afternoon, watched the early edition of the evening news on KGW, and discovered the rumor was actually fact. There were a couple of main topics with my dinner companions that night: speculation about what this action would mean for Oregon higher education, and a rather wild story about a recent internet dating experience of mine. We entertained ourselves quite well over that meal, as I recall, with lively conversation on both topics.
Of course, the next few months brought about many changes for the higher education landscape here. New Board members were appointed, and the Governor got his wish by having Goldschmidt elected as the president. However, the Portland media broke the story, a mere few weeks later, that the former Governor had had a sexual relationship with a 14-year old girl during the time he had been mayor of Portland years ago. Amid huge headlines, he resigned in disgrace and Kulongoski himself assumed the role of Board president for a couple of months. The Oregon University System Chancellor resigned, after less than two years on the job, upon assessing the political environment and reading the handwriting on the wall regarding his future. The Board, at the direction of the Governor, started a process (billed as a study to examine the “structure and function” of the Chancellor’s Office) which ultimately resulted in the elimination of the Office of Academic Affairs (and the jobs of the Vice Chancellor and several staff, including me).
My life has really not been the same since that day in November 2003. I was thrown completely off-balance and have been struggling to regain it ever since. I have gone on countless interview trips, and had two “interim” positions at Oregon community colleges, of course, but have had neither predictability nor stability in my life. As the current calendar year begins to fade away, the new job search season begins again for me. I hope to secure a permanent position in higher education (somewhere!) by next June 30.
