Love and work

I asked a colleague today if he remembered loving his work...if he could remember a time when he looked forward to coming to work and enjoyed it enough to wonder why it was called work.  Though he could remember a time, it was long ago.  We commiserated about the short-lived gift of loving our work.

It's on my mind this summer, as my daughter describes her first summer job with phrases such as "Every day is a Saturday" and "I love being here" and "I can't believe they pay me to do this." She's one of the lucky ones who followed her heart to a job that seems in every way a perfect fit for her skills, her temperament, and her personality.  It warms my heart to hear and see this idyllic match between someone I love and the work that she loves.

And as I ponder the role of parenting and education, I wonder where individuals and institutions find the balance between economic viability (earning enough to support oneself and, perhaps, a family) and nurturing a soul.  I often tell my students that no amount of money makes miserable, life-draining, soul-deteriorating work palatable.  They rarely listen, surrounded as they are by salary surveys, advertising campaigns, and a consumerism mentality.

The gift of loving our work may not have to be short-lived.  But there are few enough who seem to know how to nurture and sustain the gift (assuming they find it at all) as to make one wonder how they continue to hear their drummer on that less trodden path.

Endings are beginnings

I just walked out of the classroom, down the stairs, and across the courtyard to the building where I office.  It was the final session of the summer for the Managerial M.B.A. program for full-time professionals.  It's the end of their two-year program.

I don't know how they do it, these students with jobs and families, many of whom commute from other cities for the Saturday classes.  It's not just the effort required to attend class, it's also the level of effort they put into their work, which translates to high-quality finished products.  These highly-motivated students want to be in school and want it enough to work hard.  They are a joy to teach.  And, as with the bright, motivated teams with whom I've worked, these students challenge me to work hard.  In some ways, it doesn't feel as though I'm teaching at all.

And the last sentence is the shadow side, perhaps, of this experience.  The students who need teaching the least are the ones who are the easiest to teach.  Instructors love the self-motivated high performers.  Part of why we love them is because they make us look good.

The structure of this capstone course means that I lectured very little and spent the majority of class time with small groups of students engaged in work; as a result, I was fortunate enough to be able to know them far better.  And I will miss them.

Food for the soul

I'm in the midst of another (new) course and find myself richer for the experiences I had and the risks I took with the phenomenal students in the Spring.  In Innovation and Creativity, for example, the final assignment was one of four options:

1. Provide a course review (what I have learned, what was most/least beneficial, what I will use, etc.).
2. Write a personal assessment (my Myers-Briggs type, my strengths/weaknesses, etc. and how/whether those attributes will contribute to or hinder my ability to be creative and drive innovation in my job).
3. Create a presentation (Prezi, cartoon, poster board...anything other than PowerPoint) that expresses my view of (a) what it means to be creative and (b) the value of innovation.
4. Research and package/present the best sources to nurture and support your personal and professional creativity.

I received things that made me laugh.  A few surprised me, either in content or in sheer creativity.  Some made me think.  Others touched me on a personal level:

Although many of the assignments were frustrating at first, as I was completing them I found that I actually enjoyed completing them. My favorite assignment was the “thinking about thinking” assignment. I honestly did not realize how routine and unnecessarily stressful my daily life was until I completed that assignment. By doing something different every day I found myself feeling more accomplished and comfortable with more creative efforts. It has motivated me to make a conscious effort to incorporate change in my daily routine, and aim to try new things whenever possible.

Similarly, despite the fact the class constantly forced me to work outside my comfort zone, the days when we sat on the floor or listened to music were among my favorites because it was a refreshing change from the typical class. I enjoyed the class session focused on design and the utility of Google reader and blogs. I have discovered a new love for blogs. I use Google reader on a daily basis, and I find that I know have started seeking and searching for information in a completely different way. I feel more connected to the world and informed about current issues.

The most important thing I am leaving the class with is that I have a need to be creative. I discovered that many of the class assignments were the only source and outlet of creativity in my life. After completing many of the assignments I felt satisfied, almost like a feeding a hunger pain. The class reconnected me with my creative side, which seemed to be buried underneath all the accounting curriculum and the “hustle and bustle” of everyday life. It has inspired me to start a blog and even extend my creative efforts to the kitchen. Being creative has become a release from the tasks that consume my every day, and it is necessary to my well-being and future happiness.

There's really nothing else to say...

Standing firm, awash in ambiguity

I'm beginning to get more questions about what my daughter wants to study in college.  The questions, you'll notice, assume that she will go. They also assume she knows now (well before her senior year in high school) what she wants to study.  And right below the surface is another assumption--that there is a direct correlation between college major and profession or career.  

And yet, from a recent New York Times article...

According to national surveys, (employers) want to hire 22-year-olds who can write coherently, think creatively and analyze quantitative data, and they’re perfectly happy to hire English or biology majors. Most Ivy League universities and elite liberal arts colleges, in fact, don’t even offer undergraduate business majors.

The article, a collaboration between The New York Times and The Chronicle of Higher Education, describes many business schools as the last hope for students who are unable to perform elsewhere and questions the rigor of the typical B-school education.  And it gives me pause, for reasons personal and professional.

My undergraduate education was obtained at a private liberal arts college. I was well-prepared for the career choices I've made, most of which had little to do with my undergraduate major.   In contrast, however, is a comment I overheard a student in my class make to a class-mate; he was indignant that his instructor "doesn't even have a Ph.D. in business."  This assumption that the undergraduate major is of more value than demonstrated ability (regardless of degree field) is intriguing...and flies in the face of reality.

We look for easy answers.  We assume a simple linear model, starting with high school subject matter excellence, then early career choice, selection of the college major aligned with that career choice, and a happily-ever-after model for success.  The only problem with this model is that it rarely works.  

I teach at a B-school in the hope that it matters.  Some days, I wonder.

  

Perspective and meaning

This week, in the course on innovation and creativity, we talked about meaning, which is the sixth of Daniel Pink's essential aptitudes for success and fulfillment.  Viktor Frankl's work was used to introduce the final chapter:

The search for meaning is a drive that exists in all of us--and a combination of external circumstances and internal will can bring it to the surface.

I found myself wondering during our in-class discussion about the role of age on ones perspective about meaning...what it is, what it's worth, and why it matters.

I read Frankl's Man's Search for Meaning when I was about the age my students are now.  I was deeply touched by one man's ability to find meaning in the midst of suffering and loss.  The images I created while reading have stayed with me, in one form or another, informed to some degree by a visit to Dachau when I was an adolescent.  But the lifetime--one full of learning, loss, love, and laughter--between the adolescent I was and the adult I am has imbued the concept of meaning with shades and textures that may only come with living.

About the time I read Frankl's book, I also read The Phantom Tollbooth, a delight of allegory and word play.  One of the many snippets of the book that have inexplicably remained with me is the little boy whose feet don't touch the ground.  He explains that people in his family are born where their head will be in adulthood, and their feet grow down, to avoid the pesky problem of having ones perspective change as one grows.  This is, of course, delightful nonsense...but thought-provoking, delightful nonsense.

Our perspective does, of course, change as we grow, whether measured on a height chart or by some less tangible method.  The places we remember as grand are often small; the skills we struggled to acquire have the ease of habit.  We've grown and our perspective has grown with us.

Daniel Pink and I are age cohorts, which may help to explain my resonance with his assertions that we need to take our spirituality and our happiness seriously.  I wonder if my students recognize that many of their actions are mortgaging the meaningful and fleeting moments in their lives for the possibility of future gains.  I also wonder if I'm walking in the footsteps of my own teachers.