Publish and Perish, part 13: “Sometimes My Job Feels…”

[Context: read the previous part or start from the beginning. TW: bad amateur fiction!]

“Before we go any further,” said Morris Schwartz, “we should discuss the rules of these group sessions.”

“Obviously,” he continued, “as your therapist, I will treat you all with respect and will treat our interactions as confidential, as compelled by professional and personal standards. But you three may not be used to operating under these specific constraints, which are similar to those for advising students, but not identical. So let’s clarify them now.”

Morris bounded out of sight for a moment and returned with a flip chart. Large handwritten letters said, “Aims: 1. Be PRESENT. 2. Be POLITE. 3. Be PRODUCTIVE. 4. Be PROTECTIVE OF PRIVACY.”

Morris led them in a discussion of these expectations, which everyone found reasonable (though Gerald noted to himself that, in academia, aim #3 was often synonymous with “get things published,” which here would contradict aim #4).

“I think we’re ready to try a game,” said Morris. “This game is called ‘Sometimes My Job Feels …’ Each of you takes a turn completing that sentence, and then the others speculate freely but sympathetically about why you might feel that way.”

He waited a beat. “As I understand it, each of you is here for work-related concerns, so this game will help us start thinking about those, but in a loose, associative way. We’re not going to identify problems and pilot possible solutions in a linear manner, as you might do with some silly science experiment,” he said with a half-smile at Gerald. “Now who would like to go first?”

Gerald glanced at his neighbors, then raised his hand.

“As the chief practitioner among us of silly science experiments, I’ll give it a try,” he said.

“Great,” said Morris. “Please stand up and complete the sentence with a word or two: ‘Sometimes my job feels…’ Don’t overthink it — don’t worry about impressing us — just say whatever comes to mind.”

Gerald rose. “Sometimes my job feels … inconsequential,” he said, articulating the final word carefully but otherwise maintaining his usual flat affect.

“Excellent,” said Morris. “Not excellent that you feel that way, of course. You may be seated.” He turned to Hector and Cissy. “Now let’s take a shot at imagining why someone like Gerald might feel that way. Since you barely know each other, there’s no expectation that you should have him all figured out. The goal is just to generate ideas, really. So who’d like to kick off this phase?”

Cissy and Hector both started to speak.

“OK, Cissy first, then Hector,” Morris directed. “Gerald, you should listen, but don’t respond just yet.”

Cissy resumed. “Perhaps you worry that your research is only of interest to a small number of people,” she offered. “And that relatively small audience might make you wonder, at times, whether the research deserves the time and energy that you pour into it.”

Uh-huh, thought Gerald.

“Also” — Hector jumped in — “you work hard to teach your students effectively, using evidence-based practices and so on, but when you teach the seniors that first had you as sophomores, they seem to remember almost nothing from that earlier course that you worked so hard on. Why knock yourself out creating such a great course if its long-term impact is so tiny?”

“And furthermore,” Cissy resumed, “when you dip your toe into the waters of campus governance, your brilliant colleagues turn territorial and irrational, making reforms seem impossible. You wonder why you spend your time on this rather than, say, your family or your friends, whom you see less of anytime there’s a fake crisis, like a student getting caught cheating, or a student needing a letter of recommendation in three days…”

“And finally,” Hector added (Boy are they into this! Gerald thought), “as you think ahead to the final years of your career, and your retirement, you wonder whether you will be remembered in the way that you want to be remembered, or whether you will be remembered at all. Whether you deserve to be remembered, and whether you will get what you deserve … And whether anyone gets that, or whether we all are destined for oblivion….” He trailed off, his eyes moist, and reached over to pat Gerald’s back lightly. “Sorry, Gerald, this has nothing to do with you. I clearly have some issues of my own…”

He shifted his gaze to Morris. The others did likewise. Morris looked back at them.

“Well. That didn’t take long, did it?” Morris said at last, still animated but serious.

“Gerald,” he continued, “your colleagues have just done some great work imagining what it might be like to be you. Again, they can’t know what that’s really like, and that’s not their job here. Still, they have generated some scenarios and ideas that you might relate to at some level, perhaps metaphorically if not literally. So, did any of their comments resonate with you?”

Gerald nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Every word.”

[Update: the story continues with part 14.]