Hello from Menomonie,
Over the last two days I had the opportunity to reconnect with a family who has blessed my life since I taught here two decades ago. When I arrived in this Western Wisconsin town, I was completing a dissertation, unexpectedly hired after a one-and-done tenure-track process, and had minimal understanding of what I had signed on to do. There was little in my graduate program that prepared me for all the elements of being ABD, of teaching a 4/4, or what a first year of 80+% new preps would require. Looking back now, my graduate program, which was one of the best RTC programs in the country had managed to prepare me very well intellectually, theoretically, and I believed I was prepared for the rigor of the daily demands, but I wasn’t. I might even go further and assert that even six years in, things occurred that I was not able to overcome. What might be most important was not how much I grew during that period, but what it helped me realize what I needed to do differently as I left.
Leaving and feeling like you failed at your profession, which was a second calling (and that word is used intentionally) of sorts left me a bit disillusioned and even more frightened. And then there was Lydia, the elderly neighbor I had cared for – and her care spanned 2/3 of the time I was living in the little town on the Red Cedar. The day I left to move to Bloomsburg, I cried as she and a new caretaker waved from my driveway, and I began the 1,000+ mile trek on my Harley. My belongings were already deposited in my new apartment, and I had enough with me to manage the expected week of travel I would take on my 2009 Fatbob. While moving to a department which required more writing and used more technology than my present department, the struggles I had adapting to the larger expectations of program directors, chairs, or deans were, by this time, a prominent issue for me. In spite of some significant progress in a number of areas, early missteps on my part, regardless the realities, could not be overcome. Though much was learned, it would, and could, not be enough. However, the learning proved to be invaluable. Menomonie had laid a more helpful foundation than realized as I headed East.
As I look back at the two decades of work post-Houghton, the number of things done to manage expectations are too numerous to count, but it raises an important question. How much of our lives are determined by forces outside ourselves? And what or who decides when it is too many or too much? As I look at the window at the clock tower, the people who mattered the most to me here were not those who had the most power over me. Those local people, ones who still hold significance in my life, who I care about, made little difference in what finally occurred in Harvey Hall. The oxymoron that seems to explain my life here, however, is probably quite common. This is the dichotomous nature of the professional and the personal. And that is something that I have almost always struggled to not only handle, but to understand. Not in whether or not I comprehend it, or are aware of it, but perhaps more aptly to accept it. Perhaps the most important thing I realized was that I can be quite adept at self-sabotaging myself based on my perception of principle, my idealistic desire to believe that good can succeed. And yet, there was my own profound struggle to get the personal and professional to align in a more chronological way.
Much is currently written about generational trauma. Certainly, there were points in my life (e.g. CPE, counseling after my mother passed, counseling through my doctoral program, and even here in Menomonie, a DUI, which occurred in a six-block drive, deaths of both a father and sister, a brother and beloved grandmother, numerous health issues, divorces) were I should have stepped back more intentionally to make sense of things, but I merely rolled on, not necessarily believing I was okay, but more likely running to avoid. I unwittingly chose to keep going because I thought that was what was expected. Like Katharine Hepburn’s line in On Golden Pond, when she says to her lamenting daughter, played by Jane Fonda, “Life marches on, Chels, I suggest you get on with it.” As I have gotten on, what happened, often without my realization, is the various aspects of myself, those often out of what I noted as chronological alignment, have fallen into place. The consequence is I have become more grounded, more content, and both of those things have allowed me to be more honest with myself concerning both my strengths and weaknesses. It has allowed me to set boundaries that are healthier both professionally and personally, which has created a more harmonious daily life. I should note the professional has, of course, changed with retirement, but I am still a professor, that does no go away, it is just not as apparent, particularly when I am not in a place where I held that position.
The ability to manage my own schedule, to decide my own path, allows for the setting of expectations in a different manner. From where do those suppositions come, and are there presuppositions? I think there are. I remember when my mother passed away the intense inner-struggle that enveloped me as I tried to come to terms with the range of emotions I felt. While I was still a serving Lutheran pastor at the time, I felt anything but pastoral as we stood in her room. One of my first thoughts was about the freedom I felt because her assumptions about me, her judgments of me were gone. Unfortunately, in my piety, the second thought was more disconcerting. I believed she could now always see me and that was terrifying. The point of this is I had succumbed to her demands, and the reckoning that always seemed to occur whenever I considered her. However, more far reaching was how those demands continued even after her passing. The power I gave her post mortem was palpable. It would take a quarter century to free myself of that. Some might believe she still has that power, but I would assert that is incorrect. The influence maintained (and there is some) is a healthy influence at this point because I see good in some of those things. As I finish this post and this calendar year, the road is ahead, and that is an understatement. The possibilities are determined first and foremost by my choices. The expectations are decided by what I am willing to do, the chances I am willing to take. The next 5 months will require discipline and learning. It will include taking chances, probably making some mistakes, perhaps some stepping back and recalculating, but it will be an adventure. I will visit new places and return to previous ones. The year did complete as expected for the most part. I moved from working to working in a new way. I realized more things about the person I have become, the person I am. And yes, I am still in process. We are moving into a year that will complete 1/4 of the 21st Century. That is stunning to ponder. The changes in my life during that time have been beyond anything I could imagine. Managing expectations are essential to success it seems. Taking control of your life is possible. I pray that your new year will be one of blessing and peace.
Blessed New Year and thank you for continuing to read my posts,
Michael
thewritingprofessor55 