Academic Minimalism

doing less with more

Minimalism in the Office

Today I moved offices. I moved out of the GIANT office I had as Chair of my department. I am still technically Chair until July 31st but I was at the end in a long line of moves that needed to happen this week.

My new office is much smaller. It is much smaller than my last 3 offices. It is, of course, a perfectly normal-sized office, however, my last few offices were rather on the large size. As Chair, I could have forced someone out of a larger office but that is really not my style.

Offices, both their size and their location, convey power. Four years ago, I moved into the Chair’s office a couple of months before officially becoming Chair (academic moves generally happen in May – appointments in August) and instantly became the de-facto Chair. So today’s move felt really really good. While I’ll continue to have responsibilities (mostly signatory) and I will assist the incoming Chair, it felt like a weight had lifted off my shoulders.

I really thought I had done a good job of keeping the amount of “stuff” I had in my office to a minimum. I really thought it would all fit into an office a third of the size of the Chair’s office. I was really wrong. It turns out I’ve been moving with a lot of old files and equipment. Unfortunately, I have to sort through all of it to see what can be recycled and what needs to be shredded. In academia, we have to protect both participant and student information. This means data and student files need to be shredded. I have a lot of both. So Memorial Day weekend is going to be spent making bags and bags of confetti.

It feels great to be minimalizing my office and my position. My husband and I do most everything together. I know that doesn’t work for a lot of couples, but it really works for us. For the last 5-6 years, our jobs have been on completely different schedules. We have had to fight to have any time off together. As Chair, even a long-planned vacation weekend could be interrupted with an emergency. Simplifying my role and going back to a regular faculty position means I have more flexibility and far less demand on my time.

While packing for the move, I was reminded of so many events that happened over the past four years. For the first time in a long time, I was able to look back and appreciate all the good parts of being Chair. I was able to appreciate what I got right and not just regret what I got wrong. I can’t say it wasn’t a good run. It was good for me personally and for my department. But in the end, it was not sustainable.

Conference Minimalization

I just got back from my first IIQM conference. I was excited to go and I wanted to get the most out of it. At this point in my career, I have gone to and presented at a LOT of conferences. I have to admit I’m not very good at them. I vacillate between trying to do everything and wearing myself out and doing as little as possible, other than my actual presentation. Even when I do everything, I am exceptionally poor at the networking aspect of the conference experience. So I wanted this experience to be different and it was. Here is what I did to prepare.

Last summer I listened to Priya Parker’s fascinating book, The Art of Gathering. While the book is primarily about hosting events, in a related podcast Parker discusses applying the concepts when you are attending events. This piqued my interest and I decided to try it. The starting point of Parker’s method is to deeply and honestly ask yourself why you are attending (or hosting) this particular event. She urges her clients away from descriptive answers, or answers that merely restate how the event is defined (for conferences that might be: to present my research and learn about research related to my area). I decided that what was important to me about this particular conference was to connect with other qualitative researchers and to re-energize my work as I prepare for my next academic endeavor: stepping down from the Chair role.

Luckily I was listening to the book at the same time I needed to register for the conference. Therefore I forced myself to register for the pre-conference workshops (something I’ve never done before) and the conference networking event (something I’ve never even contemplated before). Once all of the fees were paid, I felt committed to attending these events.

The next step for me was to engage with what others have described as effective conferencing. Afterall academics aren’t really happy unless we engage with the literature. So I read a series of blog posts by one of my academic sheros: Raewyn Connell. I also found an article written by the conference’s organizers on strategies for effective conference attendance. Both of these sources recommended taking a minimalist approach: don’t try and see everything but pick your events based on your priorities.

When the conference program was published, I went through it with a fine-tooth comb and picked those sessions that spoke to my current interests: knowledge translation, opioid use, and arts-based methods. Because this is such a fantastic conference, that left me with a pretty full, but not impossible, plate. I found myself highlighting sessions that would be of more interest or importance to some of my students (who unfortunately were not attending) and had to go back and delete them from my list. My priority for this conference was re-energizing my research. It was not related to my role as a teacher or mentor.

This conference is exceptionally conducive to conversations and networking so, once I got there, I pushed myself to engage. At each meal I tried to sit with someone I didn’t know and engage in conversation. Some of these ended up being friendly interludes and some became invigorating and conversations that gave me new ideas. The networking event (which was a twilight ride on a tall ship) wasn’t until the third night. By that time, most of the people on the ship no longer felt like strangers. While the boat ride was great, I was too busy talking to really take in the sights.

So the moral of this tale is: Parker is 100% correct. When you impose limits on an event you end up getting a lot more out of it.  I came back from the conference feeling connected and excited to get back to being a full-time researcher.

 

 

 

Change and Efficiency

Our university is going through a few changes. Of course, that is nothing new – for our university or any university these days – but the changes I want to discuss here all involve software. Our infrastructure has been grossly out-of-date for quite a while and there were many systems that needed a reboot.

Overall I believe our administration has taken a thoughtful approach to installing, replacing, and updating software that run major systems within the university. However, there is a significant tension between the needs of the end-user (think faculty or chair) and the needs of high-level administration in both the university and the larger school system. Even when the input of the end-user has been gathered, the resulting software interface is more likely to benefit administration (at least I hope so). Many of these changes are being done in the name of efficiency. We are told there are financial benefits as well as time efficiencies in how the data is collected and the different ways the data can be used.

In the past year, we have had a major overhaul of our institution’s student registration system (affecting registration, advising, and graduation), our financial system (affecting departmental accounts and faculty grant funds), and our graduate school application system. Coming up this year will be a new centralized system for faculty annual reviews, promotion, and tenure as well as a new system for data storage. They have decided to wait another year before they introduce a software system for tracking curricula changes across the university. All of these new software systems require training. All of the systems have “kinks” that can’t be fully anticipated and show up at inconvenient times (like clearing students for graduation). All of the software is managed by a vendor and all of the vendors periodically update their software, which often changes how the end-user actually interfaces with the system. This can mean additional training but almost certainly means confusion.

Chairs are part faculty and part administrators. This means we are required to use these systems a bit more frequently then faculty but far less frequently then administrators. Any software system can become burdensome when you use it infrequently. Systems designed for a different user (think a student or full-time administrator) can be particularly confusing for a faculty member or chair. So training, when it does occur, is usually forgotten by the time you are actually called upon to use the system. This means that any efficiencies if they exist, are not occurring at the chair or faculty level.

 

Minimalism in a Department

My tenure as Chair is coming to a close. I still have more than 10 months before I can regain my regular faculty status but I can definitely see the light at the end of the tunnel. I’ve learned a lot of things as Chair, many of them are things I never wanted to learn and now can’t “unlearn.” I suppose it will make me a better faculty member as a whole but it has definitely dampened my view of academia.

One of the major struggles I have had as a Chair is applying principles of minimalism. There are tremendous pressures in academia to not only always do more of what you already do but to also take on new initiatives. The way these pressures play themselves out in the faculty role is frequently written about on academic blogs. Faculty never feel they have enough time for any leg on the tripod stool of the academy (teaching, research, and service) no less time for themselves outside of academia. Both internal and external expectations of giving time to students, completing scholarly products and providing meaningful service to the department, school, institution, and to your field continually increase over the course of your career.

We hear less about expectations of expansion from administrators, particularly Department Chairs (or Department Heads – as they are sometimes called). This lack is attributable to a number of factors. A major factor is the complete and total lack of time Chairs have for any type of reflective thinking and writing. It is amazing how quickly and how completely your energy is taken up handling other people’s problems. Of course, that is the nature of the job you are taking on but it is still surprising when it so completely wipes out everything else. Another factor for many academics in administration is that your story is no longer your own to tell. You are privy to insider information and using that information as evidence or examples on public blogs is just not okay.

Like most things in middle management, expectations of expansion come from above and below. Soon after becoming Chair, you understand the rules of the game in a much more upfront and personal way. Higher-ups in the food chain have to care about numbers. Like everything else in a capitalistic society, there is a need for continual growth. This means serving more students (enrollment, enrollment, enrollment) with fewer resources. The quest (and obtainment) of more students means more services for students, which require more resources. The harder times are and the leaner budgets need to be, the more likely the faculty role will be suggested to pick up the slack on new initiatives. Chairs spend a great deal of their time trying to protect their faculty from these “add-ons” and, when unsuccessful, trying to distribute the additional work in an egalitarian fashion.

Rewards follow growth but those rewards never actually equal the growth obtained (and often come years late). Many years ago (way before I was Chair), my department made a decision to “right-size” our workload. Our majors were growing at a rate we could not sustain without additional resources and resources were nowhere to be found.  We ended one program, significantly revised another, and developed secondary application criteria that allowed us to control the number of students entering our major. I was in charge of the committee that developed the plan and facilitated faculty discussion on whether we should implement it. I believed it was the right thing to do and so did the majority of the faculty. I still believe it was the right thing to do but, as Chair, I have seen how it has affected our position in the institution.

There is always an expectation of more. No one is impressed with a department that just meets its metrics, even if it does it really well. “More” can be more students in your programs, more student credit hour production (more students in your classes), more degree programs, more certificate or add-on programs or minors or it can be some combination of the above. “More” can be more programs that achieve high rankings within your discipline. “More” can be the number of research dollars your faculty brings in. “More” can be press releases about the good work your faculty/students/programs do in the community. “More” can be awards and accommodations your programs/students/faculty receive. “More” is usually all of that and so much more.

Expectations of expansion also come up to Chairs from their faculty. While I know “dead wood” faculty exist, in my experience they are a very small minority. The majority of faculty really do want to have the best programs. They really do want to do the best by their students. They really want to grow their own research agendas and help other faculty grow (hopefully collaboratory) research agendas. What this means is that when you assign faculty to committee work that requires them to assess a program and make recommendations for its improvement, most of the time you are going to get really great ideas that require a big effort to implement. Our training is really useful for identifying problems and suggesting creative solutions. We are good at it. Unfortunately, most of us are not as good at actually seeing these ideas through to a successful fruition. And if we are good at it, we are continually asked to do it. Eventually, we get tired and, if we have enough privilege, out-right refuse or “opt-out” in meetings.

Faculty push expectations of expansion up to the level of the Chair even when you don’t assign them to committee work. Brilliant faculty come up with brilliant ideas on their own. Some of these ideas pertain to their own research agenda and they see ways of connecting their research activities to the department’s infrastructure through special initiatives and/or through revising or developing new programs or courses. Some of these ideas are developed because they recognize a problem and want to help fix it. Some of these ideas develop when they recognize an opportunity and are itching to take it.  While these faculty members are often willing to do the work they think it will take to make this idea a reality, in reality, they can’t do all of the work. The amount of work is often more than they anticipate because they have not been exposed to the multiple bureaucratic levels it takes to get even one thing accomplished in academia. The work also tends to require expertise from different types of university employees (including administrative staff) that are already overburdened. Often faculty members are willing to help get an idea started but underestimate the amount of work that will need to occur in an ongoing fashion. Once an initiative is up and running both full-time faculty and full-time administrators hold the belief that it will run itself. Chairs know that it will not.

I hope I can use the knowledge I’ve obtained as Chair for the good of my department when I’m back in my regular faculty role. I hope I can share my experiences with the faculty and the new Chair (whomever that may be) in a way that helps us make informed decisions on which efforts we are willing to take on as a department. I hope I can remember to remain quiet if my input is not helpful.

I’m also hoping I can take what I’ve learned and apply it to my own work as a faculty member. My time as Chair has forced me to limit my research time to one project. While it has been frustratingly slow work, I know this project better than any of my others. The products are already much richer than my usual fare. I hope I can continue in this vein.

#createmoreconsumeless

My department is embracing a work/life balance theme this semester. Several lively discussions have already ensued as we figure out what work/life balance is/could be in academia and how we want to approach it. At the end of the last discussion we decided to start with each of us setting our own intention. We also discussed different ways to share this intention as well as a potential #hashtag campaign for our theme.

I’ve never done well with New Year’s Resolutions and prefer to use a word theme to guide my year. This year my word is Create. I want to create more and consume less and when I consume I want to be more mindful of what and how I’m consuming.I want to create photographs, bread, and poetry. I want to create experiences and memories. I want to create time and space. I want to create community. I want to consume that which helps me to create and not what inhibits creation.

What does it mean to create in academia? The easy answer lies in our products: books, articles, presentations, grants, studies, scholarship. While these certainly seem like ways to create, often they feel more like obligations.  Applying the theme of “create” suggests allowing myself to be more creative–more playful–with these products. Create can also be what we do in the classroom and what we do with students. It can be creating a learning experience; creating a course; creating curricula. It can be creating opportunities for yourself and others; creating relationships with students and mentees; creating a safe space for learning to occur. Create can also occur on the department level. We can create meaningful experiences for ourselves, our colleagues, our students, and our community. We can create the environment in which we want to work.

But to create more we need to consume less. In academia we struggle with our consumption. We believe we need to consume ALL the literature before we have something to say. We believe we need to consume the ENTIRE model to answer our question. We believe we need to consume ALL the material to learn the subject. We sometimes have difficulty starting and, even more frequently, have difficulty finishing because we can’t stop consuming. We also have a bad habit of consuming negativity: negative thoughts, negative beliefs, negative talk. We consume negativity about ourselves as teachers, scholars, researchers, administrators (#impostersyndrome) as well as about the functionality of higher education; the worth of academia.

We need to be mindful of what and how we consume. Consume in moderation. Consume that which enables creation. Avoid consumption that inhibits it.

Simple.

#createmoreconsumeless

#academicminimalism

 

Searching for Minimalism in Academia

What is academic minimalism? I am still searching for the answer, both conceptually and practically. What does it look like? How can I apply it to my life/work? How can I use it to lead a department? To help develop junior faculty? Generally I like to start with definitions and minimalism itself has several. The definition I like best is: being or offering no more than what is required or essential.

But in academia it is often difficult to know exactly what is required or essential. There is no magic formula for calculating the required number of publications, presentations, and grant applications. Instead we are told: more. As for teaching we are told: do more with less. We are assigned more classes, more sections, and/or more students but are given fewer resources and advised to spend less time doing it. Certainly class prep and grading can take all your time if you let it but where is that sweet spot that allows you to only do what is essential for students to learn? How do we even know what that is?

There is plenty of advice floating around to not engage in “too much” service (especially if you’re a woman and/or person of color – since you’ll be asked at least twice as often) – and, in the pre-tenure years, to pick the “easy” service. But how much and what kind of service is really required? And what of service that is essential to the successful running of a department or university but is deemed the “hard” kind, who should do that? As department chair you could spend your entire life trying to figure out what is truly required and what is not.

Stanley Fish, many many years ago, made a rather long-winded attempt to apply minimalism to academic administration and summed up his advice as follows:

Answer the question as precisely as possible and then stop. Don’t complicate, don’t explain, don’t pontificate, don’t muse, don’t speculate, don’t be reflective, don’t be creative, don’t take offense, don’t be defensive, don’t take anything personally, don’t take anything in any way.

Just stick to the point conceived as narrowly as possible so that it can be said of you that you added not.

While I appreciate the satire, this is not the type of academic minimalism I am espousing. I think, at some point (and that point may well be post-tenure), you need to define what is essential to you. There are many times, in my teaching and my administrative duties, that I answer precisely and offer nothing further. But as a full-time strategy it doesn’t build relationships and building relationships is an essential aspect of academia for me.

So I am slowly exploring what is essential, and therefore required, for my academia. I hope to continue this exploration on this blog, as writing is definitely one of my essentials. The bigger question becomes, once I identify my essentials, how do I eliminate all the rest?

Minimizing the Work Week

I just read this article on the myth of the 80-hour work week in academia. It is an interesting read and worth taking a few minutes out of your 11.43-hour workday to read it. Go ahead, I don’t mind waiting.

It makes some important points. One is the idea of posturing. The correct response in academia to “how are you doing?” (or the academic version: “how is your semester going?”) is something along the lines of: “I’m crazy busy” or “I’m way behind” or just plain “busy…as usual.” Now part of that can be explained by the insanity of being expected to crunch the equivalent of 12 months of work into two 4-month semesters. But part of it is also posturing. Academics are supposed to be working too many hours and are always supposed to be “super-crazy-busy.”

I’ll confess. There are times (even now as Chair) in the semester when I’m not “super-crazy-busy.” There are even times when I’m (mostly) caught up. But when I’m asked, I don’t offer this information. Instead I say something to the extent of “well, you know,” with a knowing look and a chuckle. Is this posturing? Partly. But it is also a defense mechanism. In academia everyone wants to volunteer you for additional work. Our first line of defense is to be “just too busy” to take that on right now.

But I think the more important point to take from the article is that we are not actually working as many hours as we think. I agree with the author that if we were to count our hours of actual work it would fall far short of our expectations. In part this is because it is difficult to work 8-10 hours in a row nonstop. There are natural breaks, social breaks, and procrastination breaks. Some of the ramifications of this knowledge is that you can be more efficient with these breaks.

As Chair I find myself in more meetings and, because of how meetings are scheduled, with smaller units of “free” time. When I find myself with 15 free minutes between meetings it is easy to use them up with socializing or scanning emails. Neither of these are an “efficient” use of my time. On my good days I identify simple tasks that can be done during the in-between times. On my bad days I just feel overwhelmed. I know that I can write with only 15 minutes of free space. While I’ve done this many times before in my life, I haven’t managed to pull it off yet in my new role.

But I would also ask the author – what is work in academia? If all of my small pieces of time were used socializing I’d get nothing done but socializing is an important part of any work environment and great ideas can come out of brief hallway conversations. In academia we are paid, in part, to think. So if I’m thinking about teaching or research while hiking with my dog, am I working or not?

I am not a proponent of counting hours of work. It seems like adding another task onto what seems most days to be an endless list of tasks. Neither am I a proponent of working 80-hour weeks (for me or any of my faculty). As the author suggests, I believe 40-50 hours most weeks is not only adequate to getting the work done but more than that (except in rare circumstances) is detrimental. Honestly I think 50 hours a week is pushing it, unless you count thinking on hikes and in the shower.

But even if you are working 40-50 hours a week, it doesn’t help you if you feel like you’re working 80-hours a week. In the not-too-long run, you’ll feel burned out. So I think we should strive to be honest with ourselves about not only the hours we work each week but what we can reasonably expect to get from those hours. Of course, if you ask, I’ll still say I’m “super-crazy-busy.”

On Using Science Fiction In The Classroom

I’m teaching one of my favorite courses this semester: Gender and Health. I’ve taught this course many times and several years ago I started using a chapter from Ursula K. LeGuin’s The Left Hand of Darkness to start the class. The chapter I use is called “A Question of Sex” and it is meant to represent an anthropologist’s field notes from a first contact with another world where there is no gender. Or at least the people of this world have a neutral gender until they go into estrus and then can take on either male or female reproductive organs.

The chapter has helped me introduce the concept and structure of gender in our own world. It is still extremely hard for us to conceive of a world without gender and sometimes equally hard for us to see where we, ourselves, are still “gendering” the world and its subjects/objects. Science fiction, especially speculative fiction, is an excellent vehicle for asking questions we can’t really answer in our world or time or space. Authors, like LeGuin, who ask these questions provide us with an opportunity to explore our own assumptions and biases.

I have a doctoral student who is writing her dissertation on the use of science fiction in the classroom. Her work has revolved around Young Adult (YA) novels and reading her proposal pushed me to go further in my own classroom. However I did not go as far as my student. I did not pick a novel or set of novels in which to hinge the entire course (although one day I might). Instead I introduced three “book club” assignments that used science fiction to focus on an aspect of gender and health. The first book club covered the LeGuin chapter I’ve used before. I introduced the class discussion by having everyone read a fabulous essay LeGuin wrote (Is Gender Necessary, Redux) about twenty years after the novel was published. This essay updates an earlier version (written approximately 10 years post-publication). Instead of revising the essay she keeps it intact and provides italicized “explanations” of her original explanations of the role of gender in the novel. It is a fascinating look at how both our individual and our societal constructions of gender change over time. It made for a very lively discussion.

Last night we had a discussion around our second reading. This was a YA novel (suggested by my doctoral student) called 5 to 1 by Holly Bodger. It fits the current genre of YA dystopian literature and I am sure it is the first book of an eventual trilogy (a trend I am quickly tiring of). It takes place in a world where son preference has permanently altered the ratio of men to women and the solution was to form a matriarchal society where eligible young men must compete for a bride. To introduce the discussion I showed the trailer of the documentary “It’s A Girl” as well as had them read a description of the unexpected consequences of China’s One Child Policy. Another lively discussion ensued and many points were made that related directly back to my lesson plan on reproductive justice.

Our last reading will be Octavia Butler’s short story, Bloodchild, and it will be paired with the class on childbirth. So far I am really pleased with the depth that science fiction has brought to our explorations of the intersection of gender and health. I am currently reading a great science fiction novel by Nnedi Okorafor, called Who Fears Death. It explores the issues of race, gender, and the use of rape as a tactic of war. I could certainly see incorporating this, and other novels, into the course but considering my reduced teaching load as chair I’m not sure when (or if) I’ll teach this class again.

I’m looking forward to seeing my student’s dissertation results and would certainly encourage other instructors to embrace the world of science fiction to bring to light many of the challenges facing us in the world today.

The Minimalist Chair

Last year I was an Associate Professor and an Associate Chair in my department. My husband was working long hours at a job neither of us liked. In the midst of all this we got another puppy. My days were spent juggling work and home in a way that was reminiscent of early motherhood. While technically manageable, it wasn’t pleasant and it wasn’t the life we wanted.

This summer brought a complete turnaround. I reached a milestone age and was promoted to Full Professor (not to imply causality….age alone doesn’t get you promoted). I became Chair of the department. My husband resigned from his position and went back to his previous work but in a half-time capacity. The puppies and the house are being cared for without my constant vigilance and I can concentrate on figuring out the business of being Chair. I am happy.

But what is the work of a Chair? I think most faculty don’t really know the answer. I got a glimpse as Associate Chair but, like parenting, it doesn’t become real until you’re in the middle of it. As Chair you are caught between the responsibilities of being a faculty member (scholarship, teaching, and service) and a middle manager (answering to faculty and administration). Your faculty responsibilities are regulated to 50 percent of your time and your administrative/managerial/leadership responsibilities comprise the other half. Since both of these are full-time jobs in-and-of-themselves, it is by definition, a recipe for failure.

Of course there is a reduction in the number of classes you teach (although your departmental average pays the price since bean counters don’t recognize this reduction) and students you advise. However the reduction in your research, doctoral student advising, and professional/community service is left for you to decide and manage. As for the managerial/leadership half, neither administration nor your faculty will ever place limits on the amount of requests you need fill or the number of problems you need to solve. They are endless. It is a position that truly requires a minimalist approach. Every day I find myself asking “What can I let go?” and “Does this really need to happen?”

There are several new Chairs in my school this year. We meet regularly. At least one has said they are working 14-15 hours a day. That is not a sustainable model and it is one I refuse to emulate or buy into. So far I’ve managed to be home most nights before six (except when I’m teaching). I’ve kept up my morning runs/work outs. I don’t work every weekend and when I do I limit it to a few hours each day. I am in the office every day and when I am there I am completely present.

I’m learning what is essential–to the role, to the department, to me–and making my mistakes along the way.

Less is More, More or Less

As cliched as it is, I do believe that less is more. It certainly is true of presentations. There is nothing worse than sitting through presentations that consist of thousands of Powerpoint slides. Except of course sitting through thousands of Powerpoint slides that are jam-packed with text. I believe “less is more” is true in writing as well, although I have a harder time following my own advice.

But while I may embrace the idea that less is more, I have grown quite tired of being asked to “do more with less.” The first few years I believed it was possible and it was. Academia, like many organizations, suffers from bloat and trimming some of the fat is not a bad idea. However after several years of budget cuts the efficiencies have been identified and enacted. At this point we are just doing less with less. I suppose one could argue we are doing “more with less” in that we are teaching more students with fewer faculty. However we are doing this with less quality. A lot less quality.

Of course academia is still bloated. The fat trimming has not been done as strategically as one would have liked. At least not one who has educating students and engaging in cutting edge research as the critical goals of a university. I understand others are working off quite a different model and the cuts may have been executed perfectly by their standards. At the faculty level what we are left with, however, is fewer resources to conduct the activities that reward both our students and ourselves. In the meantime the expectations for us to spend our time on assessment issues has grown substantially.

None of this is new or earth shattering to anyone living in academia these past several years. The question is, what do we do about it? Personally I am starting to pitch the idea that we “do less with more.” I would like to do less busy work and have more time to do the essential activities. I would like to teach fewer students with greater quality. I would like to produce less “product” with more thought.

What about you?