NDSL #153 Publication Announcement

Dr. Josie Ahlquist and I are so excited to share that our edited publication, Going Digital in Student Leadership is released!!

When we started this process in the Spring of 2015, we had a vision for what this publication could be, but that vision only became a reality with the hard work and dedication of a fantastic team of authors. Writing about technology and leadership is challenging because of how quickly things change; yet, our authors represent some of the most innovative group of faculty and administrators committed to exploring how technology has, does, and will continue to shape the role of the leader both inside the classroom and beyond the walls of the institution. Our own writing was particularly informative as both of us are continuing our own research in technology and leadership development, for publications, presentations, and (for one of us) that elusive dissertation.

This volume (#153) of New Directions for Student Leadership focuses on ways educators and administrators can purposefully engage students in the complex process of leadership development as it is continually shaped by the advent of emerging digital tools and technologies. The seven chapters in this volume cover topics such as:

•  Remixing more traditional definitions of leadership with the considerable impact of technology on how leaders are recruited, taught, assessed, and supported
  ·  Explore the idea of leadership in the digital age, playing with definitions, examples and curriculum especially for college students.
•  Recognizing the unique opportunities and challenges inherent in the influence of technology on student leadership activities, including new considerations of digital citizenship and the rapid rise in student activism on and off campus
•  How students, faculty, and administrators respond to working with and within digital teams, including how leadership is newly conceptualized at these virtual tables
•  The crucial need for our career services pedagogy and practices to keep pace with evolving trends in workplace technology

This NDSL volume is a call to action for our colleagues to inspire new and uniquely innovative ways of both challenging and supporting our emerging student leaders. For those in graduate programs or new to the field seeking a text to help augment their leadership development pedagogy focused on technology or for those practitioners ready to incorporate digital tools to enhance student leadership curriculum and practices, this book is for you!

The chapters of Going Digital in Student Leadership are as follows:

Chapter 1: “Remixing Leadership Practices with Emerging Technologies”, by Dr. Ed Cabellon and Dr. Paul Gordon Brown

Chapter 2: “Leadership 2.0: The Impact of Technology on Leadership Development”, by Dr. John Hoffman and Cara Vorhies

Chapter 3: “P-20 Model of Digital Citizenship” by Dr. Marialice B.F.X. Curran and Dr. Mike Ribble

Chapter 4: “Digital Student Leadership Development” by Dr. Josie Ahlquist

Chapter 5: “Student Activism in the Technology Age” by Dr. Adam Gismondi and Dr. Laura Osteen

Chapter 6: “The Virtual Table: A Framework for Online Teamwork, Collaboration, and Communication” by Lisa Endersby, Kirstin Phelps, and Dr. Dan Jenkins

Chapter 7: “A Mindset for Career Curiosity: Emerging Leaders Working in the Digital Space” by Mallory Bower and Dr. Peter Konwerski

Order Your Copy Today From Jossey-Bass or Pre-Order on Amazon

We are grateful to all our chapter authors for their willingness to work with us on this project and to Dr. Kathy Guthrie and Dr. Susan Komives for their support along the way!

We hope you’ll check it out and would love to hear your feedback!

Lisa & Josie

NDSL #153 Co-Editors

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Proper volume citation:

Ahlquist, J., & Endersby, L. (2017). Going digital in student leadership (New Directions for Student Leadership, No. 153). San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass.

Proper chapter citation:

Author(s). (2017). Chapter title. In J. Ahlquist & L. Endersby (Eds.), Going digital in student leadership (New Directions for Student Leadership, No. 153, pp. ___ – ____). San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass.

For example:

Cabellon, E., & Brown, P. (2017). Remixing leadership practices with emerging technologies. In J. Ahlquist & L. Endersby (Eds.), Going digital in student leadership (New Directions for Student Leadership, No. 153, pp. 9-20). San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass.

I’ve only just returned from ACPA 2015 and will be headed to NASPA 2015 in just over a week, but the conference hangover is real. The learning hangover is real. The too little sleep and too much rushing hangover is very real.

The vulnerability hangover is real, friends. So real.

I’ll be writing a separate post about my most vulnerable moment at ACPA (which might just be, coincidentally, the most vulnerable moment in my professional career), but I first wanted to share some thoughts about social media and the highlight reel, both at conferences and in our day to day lives.

Attending an event as big and as diverse in potential experiences as a national higher education/student affairs convention is, to say the least, an overwhelming experience. The program guide is full of activities, sessions, and experiences to choose from, and this once a year gathering of friends and colleagues in (often) a new city and/or state also encourages opportunities for face to face interactions and awkward conversations that begin with “I think I know you from Twitter …”.

The FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out) is real, friends.

I remember one of my first conference experiences, eagerly scanning the program guide looking for sessions to attend while wanting to connect with everyone and do everything. Of course, a passing hello or a short excursion wasn’t enough. I wanted the in depth, insightful, meaningful conversations, the inspiring learning experiences, and the “so much fun!” touristy adventures.

And I wanted everyone to know about it. Immediately.

A simple scroll through the conference hashtag bombards us with experiences that seem better, more fun, and more interesting than ours. For everyone conversation we have, someone has already had two. For every meal out by the water, someone else has discovered a bar with great live music. For every session I attend, someone has already presented three times today.

Beyond the typical thieving of joy created by these quick and dirty comparisons, I’m also fascinated by how easily we can create a ‘must do’ list out of these 140 character snapshots. As a recovering Psychology major, I can still remember reading about the availability heuristic. If we can call something to mind immediately, we will assume that thing (winning awards, presenting several sessions, meeting everyone, courting multiple offers for consulting or speaking) must happen frequently … to someone else.

This availability heuristic leads to what I’ve loosely coined (trademark and patent forthcoming) celebrity syndrome. We believe that because we know so much more about these ‘other people’ (and let’s pause for a minute to talk about ‘othering’ and how harmful it is to separate people from our collective humanity) than they know about us, they must be better, smarter, fitter (don’t worry – Daft Punk just popped into my head too). We conflate and confuse ‘popular’ or ‘readily available’ with ‘best’ or ‘what we should aspire to’. If everybody’s doing it, and getting validated for it, shouldn’t we want to aspire to be rockstars too?

I’ve been learning (note that I haven’t learnt this fully yet – I’m human and that comes with all the mess of emotions to gum up the works on the logical side of my brain) that posting something on social media doesn’t suddenly make it real. My beautiful, vulnerable, authentic, and hilarious conversations with dear friends on my board of directors did happen, even if there is no ‘selfie’ proof on Facebook. I still made some great connections with new colleagues, even if they didn’t tweet about how awesome it was to meet me. I still got on that damned treadmill and ran again, even with my somewhat irrational fear of busting up my knee again. (To be fair, I did tweet about running, but mostly because I was watching weather reports about winter storm warnings while staring out at sunshine and a pool. This Canadian was in some sort of endorphin and sunshine included bliss so her judgement was a bit clouded. I make no apologies).

Tweeting about what we’re doing, what we’ve done, or what we’re going to do doesn’t make it real. (Tweet This!)

Getting a retweet or like doesn’t make what we’ve done better, or more important.

For every 140 characters you see, there are over 140 emotions and ideas you haven’t seen, yet. (Tweet This!) You have not failed to achieve or inspire, nor are you a failure in what you have or haven’t done. We suffer not from an individual failure in action, but from a collective failure in awareness.

We cannot be present for ourselves, and so instead rely on others to show us the way.

We look up, instead of around, and it keeps us from moving forward. (Tweet This!)

Stay present to learn. Stay present to understand. Stay present to live within these moments we won’t get back. Someone, someday will thank you. You may just be the only two people who know about it. And that’s more than okay.

I love everything about having ‘things’ and ‘stuff’ to do. I love the feeling of accomplishment that comes with striking an item off of my to do list. I love being caught up in the excitement of a new project or initiative.

I love being asked to take something (else) on because it must mean I’m smart and someone noticed.

I love feeling productive, rather than stagnant, and revelling in the forward momentum of progress.

I love being caught up in emails, meetings, and projects so I feel like I’m, at the very least least, doing.

Hi, I’m Lisa, and I use busy as an escape, an excuse, and a substitute for self confidence and compassion.

Choosing a one word for 2015 was a revealing and deeply reflective process. It was telling, as most things are with the benefit of hindsight and well earned wisdom, that my three words for 2013 (Breathe, Believe, Battle) were rearranged in order of priority to Battle, Battle, and Battle. It is even more telling that I carried words like “Yes” and “Now” with me through 2013 and into 2014, chasing after something, anything, that would keep me moving.

In 2015, I’ve decided to slow down.

I write and speak a lot about the purposeful pursuit of progress (say that 5 times fast) over the unnecessarily lofty ideal of the finished, perfect product. While still committed to forward movement and momentum along this winding path we call life, I’ve begun to seriously wonder, as Thoreau so eloquently asked, “What are we busy about?”.

Perhaps in part a “turning 30 and what does really mean and do I have to be an adult now?” crisis, but more likely the result of a collision of happenstance, good advice, and experience, I have chosen to commit to being, and believing in, enough.

Enough means submitting a single conference proposal you truly believe in, rather than 3 or 4 just because you want to feel ‘on par’ with others who do. It can mean going to the gym 3 days in a week and feeling just as good about the week you went 5 times, or only once.

Enough means in this moment, right here and right now, you are whole, worthy, and wonderful. (Tweet This!)

Enough means walking my own path, at my own pace. There is no race to run, lest we miss the moments that matter most. (Tweet This!)

Enough means uttering one of the most courageous phrases in the English language: “I’m going to try”. (Tweet This!)

What I love most about Enough is that it is uniquely and fiercely personal. There is no comparison or status attached to being or doing enough. Your enough remains your own, and is not influenced or designed by others. I can celebrate those farther along the path than me, and reach back to lend a helping hand to those struggling along a particularly tricky bend in the road I have navigated before. Their Enough is not mine, nor should it be. My Enough will also change as I continue to fill the backpack of skills, ideas, and inspiration I take with me on this journey. As I grow, so too will my goals, desires, hopes, and achievements. I will do more, and be more, but through and in it all, I will always be Enough.

What about you? Do you have a One Word for 2015? Join the conversation on Twitter at #OneWord2015. You can also see some of my Enough inspiration on my Pinterest board. 

Over the past several years, I have met monthly with an extraordinary group of people. We come from many different backgrounds and have a diverse set of goals for our futures. What we share, however, is especially unique. We are all siblings to children and adults with special needs. This often isolating experience has drawn us together, and when I was asked to write about the group and my own role as big sister to Sean, I saw great potential in reflecting, more publicly, on something us ‘sibs’ are often hesitant to and ashamed of sharing. I offer you a glimpse inside our world, and, hopefully, a lesson in love, acceptance, and a little bit of faith.

Being a sibling of someone with special needs can be very  isolating, frustrating, and overwhelming. Your ideas of ‘normal’ are quickly and forever skewed, and the typical teenage refrain of ‘nobody understands!’ carries over well into adulthood. For a long time, I felt alone and lost in trying to forge a relationship with my younger brother – I never quite knew how to interact with him, and struggled with how to ’explain’ him to my friends (or even other family members). There is a tremendous sense of guilt and shame that can follow you as a ‘sib’ (as I now get to call myself), and you can very easily feel like the only one living in and working through this life. Finding the Sibling Support Group was like a life preserver being thrown while I was barely treading water. If I had a nickel for the number of times I’ve exclaimed or thought ‘Me too!’ in a session … I would have a very large number of nickels.

There is indescribable comfort in knowing you are truly not alone in the struggles and challenges you face as a sib; there is a sense of normalcy that you didn’t think was possible. As a group, we have created our own ‘new normal’: a safe & brave space to share the good, bad, and the ugly of our unique family situations. We laugh, cry, high five, and hug with people who get it. They understand, truly and completely, who we are and what we go through. There is no need to justify or explain in a place with no judgement. We can be messy, ask questions, share stories, and, finally, feel like our experiences, feelings, and thoughts matter. I have found a new niche and home for something that always felt so ambiguous and strange, a part of my identity I always knew was there but never truly understood as important or valuable until now. I love coming ‘home’ to the group every month, and take such joy and pride in helping other sibs along their unique journeys. We truly are our own group of siblings in the support group, and I love my new family.

As some of you know if you follow me on Twitter or read my blog, I created a 30 before 30 list about two years ago to light the proverbial fire under my butt. I wanted to stop saying “someday I’ll …” and, for me, a list with a deadline was the best way to do that. Very quickly, the list became much more than a series of goals. It became a way for me to create a community, to motivate myself & others, to learn more about who I am (and who I want to be), and, most surprisingly, the first hit that comes up on Google if you search “30 before 30”. How did THAT happen?!

When my 30th birthday came around on September 26th (complete with bouncy castle celebrations, because that’s what adults do), I had managed to complete 20 of the 30 things on my list. What both fascinated and frightened me about the ‘end’ of my 30 before 30 (I’m sure you can tell by the quotations what’s coming later) is how quickly I mentally shifted from celebrating my 20 accomplishments to bemoaning my 10 apparent failures. With that in mind, I wanted to share some lessons learned from my 30 before 30 experience as you begin thinking about your own goals and resolutions for the new year.

Crossing it off your list feels good, but the journey to that final pen (or key) stroke is what counts.

This was an especially insightful lesson after completing my 52in52 book project. While initially an opportunity to start to make a dent in the (very) long list of books I wanted to read, I found myself, at times, reading to finish. Like most things with a deadline and quantifiable criteria for completion, I frantically treaded water, lost in a sea of pages and page numbers. Instead of reading to learn, grow, reflect, and be inspired, I was reading simply to say that I had.

With a list and a deadline comes, almost automatically, a sense of urgency. Motivation, however, is not synonymous with speed. Yes, there is a real and fixed deadline for a 30 before 30 list, and an ultimate target date 364 days after January 1st. The goal, however, is not to get there first, or even fast. The goal is to travel the path, learn its winding curves, its valleys and its hills, and to reach back when you’ve reached your destination to light the way for the next traveller. To be a guide along resolution road, you must learn each stone, each piece of dirt, and each signpost. To do anything less is to forfeit more than half of what makes the goal worthwhile.

Ask for help, and give help in return.

Do I sound like a broken record? Stop me if you’ve heard this one before.

But it needs to be said again.

Posting your list publicly is not for promotional purposes. This isn’t a competition, or a race. No one is waiting at the finish line to hand you your ‘I achieved more faster than you did’ ribbon or the ‘Most 30 Before 30 Items Completed’ trophy. So stop it. You do not need to be validated for your list, for what goals you choose or how you choose to achieve them. If you share your list because you want status, recognition, or praise, you haven’t written a list of goals unique to you – you’ve collected a set of standards decided by someone else.

A few magical things happened when I posted my list. I said I wanted to ride in a hot air balloon (#2), and a friend sent me a Groupon deal. Several friends shared their own reading goals and challenges, so we shared book recommendations and reading motivation.

This is your chance to be brave in asking, and our chance to be courageous in reaching out. No goal is achieved alone, but I would rather my journey be travelled alongside those who inspire and support me to share in achievement, rather than on the backs of those I have pushed out of the way or trampled beneath me to make my accomplishments feel worthwhile, or somehow better, by faulty comparison.

This list, or goal, is yours. Set your own standards for success.

This was probably my biggest, hardest, and sadly, still least enduring lesson. I made it to Prince Edward Island (PEI) for item number 14, had an awesome time, came home, unpacked my (several) Anne of Green Gables souvenirs … and promptly turned green with envy as friends posted pictures and status updates about travel plans to far flung corners of the globe. Let me say that again. I had just gotten back from a trip I had waited almost my entire life for, and I was already disappointed I wasn’t going somewhere else. Why?! Why did I already want to get up and leave after just coming back? Why wasn’t I thrilled with my ‘done’ instead of solely focusing on what I wanted to be ‘doing’ next?

My lesson learned here flies in the face of a lot of what I shared in my first TEDx talk. While I still advocate for and find beauty in the doing, I am learning that my ‘done’ is also enough. More than enough. My enough. My 30 before 30 list wasn’t subtitled “Cool Stuff Other People Are Doing That I Should Probably Do Too In Order To Appear Successful”. Aside from being horrendously awkward, that subtitle simply isn’t true. The list was mine. The goals were mine. I may have been inspired by what others have done, or are doing, but I chose what I wanted to do because each item was a piece of kindling lighting my own personal fire. The mere act of writing the list was an achievement for someone so energetically (and charmingly, I’m sure) erratic as me. Remember, this list is not a series of accolades or achievements you hope to obtain at a young age that you can put on your resume or post to your Facebook profile. This, or any list of goals, is the spark, the catalyst, and your permission, to yourself, to dream, to act, and to do.

As an aside, while completing a 30 before 30 list (i.e. crossing off all 30 items before you turn 30) is the ‘standard’ for success, it’s far from the ideal. Making a list of goals is huge. Putting pen to paper, or fingers to keys, and actually showing yourself what you want? That takes work. Publishing the list and sharing your goals with others? That takes guts. Going after what you want? If that isn’t courage, I don’t know what is.

So what about you? What’s on your list? What’s your new year’s, new month’s, new week’s, or new day’s resolution? I’d love to walk with you, if you’ll let me.

How are you?

What brings you here today?

Where are you from?

What do you do?

The inevitable question. The dreaded query. There’s so much weight, so many assumptions, and so much at stake riding on the answer. What will people think when I tell them? What will people think if I have nothing to say?

I’ll be one of the first to argue that you shouldn’t answer a verb question with a noun. But, we’re all (myself included) caught up in chasing the ideals of identity, making a verb answer terrifying and a noun answer, at least in the short term, safe.

When we answer “what do you do?” with an “I am …” statement, we are doing more than naming an occupation. We are declaring who we are.

Saying “I am” implies identity. It provides a safe, simple, and concise way of proving our worth based on a standard that, frankly, I’m not sure we closely examine anymore. Doing good work is something a value; doing ‘work’ is not. Being busy can no longer be a measure of worth, being busy about something can begin to uncover the purpose behind our quest for progress.

Saying “I am” also declares finality. We have accomplished something. We have arrived, we have made it, and we are successful. There is no mess in a title or a category – it, like us, is neatly defined and well-packaged. We are not a mess. We have it figured out; we know where we’re going because we’ve already gotten there.

Wrapped up in our quest for finality in our identity, is a great fear of uncertainty. We crave certainty for ourselves, and want to appear certain in the eyes of others. How do we explain transition without discussing failure? How do we tell tales of trial and tragedy without sharing missteps, errors, and embarrassing moments?

We all know the stories. Great tragedy = great triumph. It’s the easiest equation (and this is coming from someone who runs screaming at the sight of a math problem – who really needs to buy all those watermelons? Shouldn’t the company just be happy the trains are moving at all, even in opposite directions?), but also the most misleading. That tiny equal sign hides a huge mess – tears, bruised egos (and sometimes real bruises too – ask me about the time I fell down the stairs), doubt, fear, and a whole slew of questions, the least of which being “What the heck am I doing?!”. Titles are almost a reprieve from the mess, the metaphorical broom that sweeps away self doubt and gives us something to hold onto, that metaphorical life preserver in a sea of “what now?” and “what next?”.

I’m all for great conversation openers. Tell someone you’re a circus ringmaster, they’ll raise a somewhat dubious eyebrow and want to know more. Tell someone you’re a doctor, lawyer, or professor, and they may listen to everything you have to say in hushed reverence and awe. There is great power, prestige, and privilege in titles.

And I want none of it.

Yes, it takes longer for me to explain what I do when I meet someone. Yes, I have to share this explanation over and over again, in different ways, using different words, to help people understand what I love and why I love it. Each time I share my story is a new opportunity to present my narrative, not to perfect it. I tell my story because it isn’t just mine – its the silent story of so many others trapped behind the wall of expectations and staring up at the pedestals of success. Titles build pedestals, stories build paths. Which one will be your answer?

So much can start with 140 characters. Ideas are shared, conversations can begin, connections can be made.

But it’s only the beginning. And sometimes I think we forget that. 

I’m always surprised by which of my tweeted thoughts will resonate with my friends and followers. In this case, I take resonate to mean the number of times the tweet is favourited, retweeted, or replied to. While not a perfect measure, I can assume that if an idea is shared or kept for future use, I may just be onto something.

The tweet I captured above was in response to several concurrent conversations happening in and around the #sachat. As a growing and thriving weekly Twitter chat, the #sachat has created a sociological and anthropological bubble – a community where rules for behaviour and inclusion are assumed, shared, and reinforced almost without us noticing. The use of Twitter as the community’s preferred method of communication adds unique and often frustratingly complex dynamics to the interactions of the group, many of which came out during a ‘rouge’ conversation outside of the regularly scheduled chat day and time.

The call for ‘real’ conversations was repeated, loudly, both during and immediately after the chat. What struck me most was the apparent definition of what a ‘real’ conversation could, or must, look like. There are, as always, many different topics of conversation that can be great fodder for discourse on the hashtag. What makes one more ‘real’ than another?

Deeper conversation about more difficult topics could be more real for most but, as I tweeted, every conversation, every dialogue, every idea or issue is real to someone. 

Even the seemingly innocuous topics of student staff training or summer projects represent challenges, obstacles, and fears that are just as real as the ‘deeper’ conversations about what we value and who we are as a profession. Just as a connection with someone over Twitter is just as ‘real’ as meeting in person, so too are all of these conversations valid and important. There should not and cannot be a break in reality between Twitter and the boardroom, between tweeting and catching up over coffee. Dismissing topics of conversation is not real or not as profound dismisses the secret struggles our colleagues may be having. We are no less brave, our words and ideas no less important, when we talk about training student leaders than when we talk about the future of our profession.

The notion of realness, however, is particularly alive and well given the medium in which we share, connect, and communicate. Twitter offers several easy ways to quantify status and celebrity, notions I am particularly uncomfortable with in this digital space. Those who tweet more are seen more, and those who are seen more are asked to share more. While one can argue that many of those who tweet more tweet high quality information and ideas, opinion is not currency and knowledge is not a commodity. I am not trading my information for status or my stories for celebrity. The vast, scrolling bulletin board of Twitter is a place where we throw anything and everything against the virtual wall to see what sticks. It can get lost in the echo chamber or picked up and shared across countless other boards until the paper grow thin and dog eared from use. Who, then, sets the standard for what is shared and what is cast aside? What rules are there for retweeting; what standards do we set for status? We preach that no one can make you feel inferior without your consent, but in this space, you can be made superior without your consent as well. In this mini-society, do we need leaders to start the conversation, to make it okay to speak up and speak out? Do we need someone to follow into more dangerous, deeper ground?

Those who we choose (whether they know it or not) to lead us to the more difficult conversations are often thought of as sharing in the ‘safe space’ Twitter provides, where our traditional hierarchies are flattened and everyone has the same 140 characters at a time. If, then, Twitter is such a safe space for disruptive and difficult conversations, why are there still cries of protest that these discussions don’t happen? If we are so safe in our sharing, why the rallying cries to step out of the perceived shadows and have the ‘hard conversations’ no one is having?

I humbly submit that these conversations are happening. Daily. All the time. In our own heads and with others.

We just can’t always see them, or share them.

Twitter masquerades as a safe space because of this created, shared community where we are quick to connect and even quicker to validate. A retweet or a thoughtful reply feels good, and that’s okay. It does not, however, make the medium safe. Even with our real name and photo right there in our profile, Twitter and similar online mediums create an illusion of anonymity – in a place where we fight to be heard we still censor what we say, and in a place where we celebrate authenticity only small pieces of our identity are chosen to be shared.

For the same reasons Twitter is a fantastic opportunity for connection and conversation, it is also a highly unsafe, sometimes volatile identity laboratory. There are very real concerns about privacy, image, copyright, and branding that, while we may bemoan as constricting or antiquated, still impact what we say and how, or if, we say it. We can (some would argue must) rail against these restrictions on authentic, deep, provocative conversation, but we must also stop to wonder why we also dismiss conversations that we cannot see. If we teach students and ourselves to ‘manage our online reputation’ and to ‘be careful of what we say’, why is it such a surprise that these ‘real’ conversations aren’t happening in a public place? Yes, a public forum means these ideas can be debated and shared with the goal of real change and reform. Yes, a public space creates more brave people who light the way for others who may not be ready or able to share their voice. Yet, we must work to stop only counting what we can see, and only validating what is shown to us.

Twitter is a snapshot of a larger, much richer and deeper conversation. It does not represent what is, but rather what is shared, validated by, and interesting too a breathtakingly small segment of the people who will impact your worldview and change your life. Start here, yes, but don’t stay here. Twitter is the 140 character catalyst. Take it and run.

To know failure, we must know success, and know it often. To know success, however, we must never know failure. We must work hard to succeed, but emerge not only victorious, but pristine and unscathed from our struggles. It must be difficult, but look easy. It must be complex & complicated, but completely perfect.

I have had the incredible privilege of creating a space for 21 student affairs colleagues to share their deeply personal and profoundly inspiring stories of failure as part of the #SAFailsForward blog series. You can read each of their posts over at the Student Affairs Collective. Each of these 21 people said yes when they could have very easily said no, and stepped right into the centre of the arena to show off battle scars and the often less than perfect side of what it means to be a professional (and a person) in the field. I owe each of them a debt of gratitude for taking not just a risk, but their risk – in each of their stories, they have dared greatly, and I thank them for it.

As the collector and curator of the #SAFailsForward posts this month, I have read each post with an almost clinical eye, providing feedback when asked and ensuring posts are formatted correctly and shared appropriately. Ultimately, lessons and inspirations have snuck in, many of which I hope to continue to reflect on and share in the days, weeks, and months to come.

What struck me immediately, even before I had read the first post of the series (thanks Sean!), was how failure is defined, described, and discussed. Much like my musings on the definition of community, in order to understand one concept it seems necessary to clearly articulate its opposite. One cannot have an in group without creating, by extension, an out group that is different, unique, and, often, undesirable. The same, then, seems to be true for our definitions of failure and success. We create what success is (what it must be) in order to know what it isn’t.

How we define success, however, ultimately sets us up for failure. Success is perfection. It is being like everyone else, or, at least, someone else. It is being different, but acceptably so. It is being the same, but only the same as a select few. We create ideals and idols that we look up to, a goal set too high on a pedestal kept safely out of reach. Success is attractive, but impossible. Despite the stigma and shame of failure, there remains a fascinating need for it, as success can be just as terrifying. We are comfortable as lifelong learners, especially in this field, and by never reaching the lofty heights of success, we can continue to learn in our own, often narrow, comfort zone.

Success is just as scary as failure. When we fail, we find more proof of what we always thought we weren’t. When we succeed, we suddenly have evidence of what we never thought we could be.

But it doesn’t have to be this way. This fear can be fuel.

Success, just like failure, is personal. Climbing the mountain is success for some, but making it to the base is a huge accomplishment for others. On bad days, answering emails is a struggle, and on good days my emails have too many exclamation marks. The standard of success is something we (read: you) create. This means you get to decide if you’ve failed, and you get to decide when, and if, you are successful.

Success is transient, personal, and dependent on too many things to be a single, universal construct. Don’t let yourself fail by someone else’s standards of success. 

Mental health, unlike some other topics of conversation in student affairs and the wider professional community, is littered with land mines buried under good intentions and blissful ignorance. Many of these explosives are set off by the intricacies of vocabulary and language, an area we are still only beginning to understand. As a recent contributor to the #SACommits blog series, featured on the Student Affairs Collective, I was touched by a recent post by Charlie Potts discussing the use of the word ‘Commits’ as the tagline for this campaign.

Charlie offers a thoughtful perspective on the use of the term in this conversation, noting that “Too often we excuse the use of language when it benefits us.” There is an innate privilege in working toward reclaiming a word or term that we find offensive or upsetting. Often, we are not directly subject to the labels and assumptions the word contains, so we can maintain a safe emotional distance from the term while battling alongside our colleagues on the intellectual frontlines.

In conversations about mental health, privilege is particularly salient. Those who do not or cannot identify as struggling with mental health challenges are in a privileged position to engage in dialogue from 16 000 feet – above and at arm’s reach from the more complex nuances that arise from a conversation that attempts to be reasoned, focused, and logical about a topic, and with people, that sometimes feel anything but.

There is, however, another side to the privilege used in these conversations – the privilege of being on the ‘other side’ of the mental health conversation. For the sake of this discussion, the other side, to me, means those of us who intimately know the struggles associated with poor mental health, because we live them ourselves. It includes those who have written and will write for #SACommits, and the many others who read or comment on these posts to share their own stories. Living in this reality provides privilege that gives a different weight to seemingly inconsequential terms, creating a conversation, as Charlie rightly points out, ” [that is] attempting to spread the message to the widest possible audience,[by using] a term … that is most often connected to the negative stigmas around mental health to the broadest audience of people.”

There are many words, including ‘commit’ and ‘committed’ that I struggle with in this arena. One of my trigger words for as long as I can remember has been ‘worry’, as in “Don’t worry!” or “There’s nothing to worry about!”. As someone living with anxiety and who only recently has been able to truly shine the spotlight on what it is and how it impacts me, worry means far more than being preoccupied with the ‘what if’s’ of life. Worry can be a tormenting, tumultuous burden that can paralyze any attempt at positive, forward action. Worry is what led me into my darkest hours and is what continues to follow me around, albeit it (after some very hard work) a few steps behind these days.

Commit is, perhaps, a more common or obvious offensive term in this conversation, one that speaks more broadly to those who fight these battles, those who stand alongside their allies, and those who learn by watching a documentary style view of mental health played out in the media and on neighbourhood streets. What fascinates and frightens me about this and other terms is the extra layer of danger involved in invoking these terms, for whatever purpose, in these conversations. ‘Worry’ may trigger intense despair in me, while for others it may be another string of letters tucked safely between ‘don’t’ and ‘about it’. With such a vast field of vocabulary littered with the possibility of emotional missteps, it is no wonder that any and all conversations about mental health can lead to potentially explosive consequences, both for those in the arena and those hit by flying emotional shrapnel on the sidelines.

Dodging land mines and walking on proverbial eggshells is no way to live and no way to advance these important discussions. While Charlie raises a vital point about the use of language that can, and one can argue should, be offensive, the answer isn’t always as simple as removing the word from our lexicon or swapping one word for another. Using terms like ‘health’ or ‘fitness’ for example, carry their own assumptions, often related near exclusively to physical health. While I continue to engage with the #safit conversation, celebrating my push up progress or lamenting the existence of staircases, I remain especially conscious of my privilege in this arena – both in being able-bodied and, at times, being able to see health as a uniquely physical state. Perhaps a topic for another post, but the almost exclusively corporeal focus on fitness and health in these conversations begs the question as to why it is so easy to navigate the conversational landscape of building muscle, losing weight, or training for a run when these and all other physical exercises are so intimately tied to our emotional and mental well being.

Charlie’s post speaks for many of us who have, at one time or another, struggled with what to say and how to say it in what are, without question, demanding and challenging conversations. In a conversational landscape riddled with these language land mines, it is inevitable that something will explode. We will be offended. We will shrink back, and we will be bloodied and bruised in the arena. There is, however, no progress without pain and no movement away from what we know without being uncomfortable in leaving behind what we know and trust. We must enter the arena not with a dictionary, but with compassion and a willingness to make mistakes, the humility to learn from these missteps and a resolve to do better next time.

After indulging in some fantasy about a police escort, loud music, and cheering fans accompanying my (semi)regular cardio routine, this wonder of modern bike modification made me think about life, leadership, and the pursuit of biggest goals.

In case you were curious, this giant machine has a name; aptly, the Big Bike, ridden in support of the Heart and Stroke Foundation. It is fitting that a fundraising venture to support an organization that advocates for healthy living is a physical pursuit, relying on the collective physical endurance of a team of volunteers. The cycle won’t run smoothly or straight without everyone pedalling together. Each person relies on the other to move forward.

Stop me if you’ve heard this one before.

The power of all is seemingly too much for the power of one. There are numerous quotes, sayings, platitudes, and words of advice that promote the great power of the collective and the great importance of community. A nearly impossible task, like pedalling a comically large, bright red bicycle, becomes almost effortless and even exciting when everyone joins in, giving freely of their time and energy (not to mention their soon to be aching calf muscles).

In the same breath, however, we share, pin, tweet, and post quotes and sayings that promote and celebrate the individual. One everyone else goes left, you can go right. When you want to keep going, others may tell you to give up. We are unique, special, perfectly imperfect, free to go our own way.

Can we do both? Should we be both?

When I think about who I walk with , the path isn’t always wide enough for us all to walk together. Sometimes I walk much slower than those ahead of me, and in other moments I’m the one setting the pace. Looking at the Big Bike and its riders lined up and ready to pedal together, I thought about those moments where I feel like I can’t pedal, or much less climb onto the bicycle seat. Would the bike still move without me? Would the others resent me for not carrying my ‘fair’ share of the load? Would they stop and let me catch my breath if I couldn’t keep up?

The power of the bicycle, much like the power of a community, is the collective power put toward a common goal. What happens, though, when we feel like we are merely along for the ride, our strength and skills perhaps only accidentally contributing to the pursuit of the vision; a vision we’re not sure we can see clearly or want as badly?

Together, then, doesn’t always and shouldn’t necessarily be synonymous with uniformity and unison.

The big red bike works, and only works, when everyone works in unison, expending nearly uniform effort and enthusiasm for a single, common goal. Mechanically, the bike forces everyone to move together, as one. If one of the many want to change direction or stop, their effort alone wouldn’t be enough to sway the group. How often do we feel this way, swimming (or pedalling) upstream (or uphill), being swept along by the current of progress wrapped up in the energy of forward momentum?

There is, of course, power in collective progress. When sweeping change is needed, a large group pedalling steady forward will achieve a goal faster than a lone rider. There is a time and place for the big red bicycle, but even the biggest bike does not take up the entire path we walk. We may move more slowly, but, together, we can walk the path smoothed by those who pedal ahead. Together, we can more readily see the unique strengths of our fellow travellers. Some of us can slow down, some can speed up, and some of us can stand still, all without being left behind or flattened by the steady, expected speed of life. The big red bicycle reminded me today that life seems to move at one constant speed, and any deviation from the path seems impossible as we attempt to furiously pedal along. If we learn to walk together, instead of in unison, we can show the way, follow a path carved by others, or simply keep pace with someone to share in their story. Let’s walk, run, or pedal along this path; not all at once, but all together.