Learning to Earn

If you ask many students their reason for attending college, they'd tell you it was to get a good job and make more money than they would without. And it's true, one of the main ploys we use to entice young people to attend college is future earning potential. Self-improvement is simply icing on the cake to success and financial stability.

Yet with the job market as stagnant as it has been the past few years, and the proliferation of BAs competing for jobs that may not even require it, are we able to keep our promises of better employment and brighter futures?

The University of Regina in Saskatchewan is working hard to keep this promise. The university has started an employment guarantee program where students who fail to gain employment within six months of graduation can get another year of free tuition to pursue other certification and/or vocational training toward their chosen field.

Yet is more class time truly going to make someone more employable?

Paul Krugman discusses this in a recent column in The New York Times. He makes the argument that education cannot be the be-all, end-all to attaining livable, stable employment. Education is important, but can only be expected to do so much. The rest is up to us; if we value stable employment, affordable health care, and safe working conditions, we need to work as a society to make these greater changes. Providing more college degrees cannot directly solve greater market issues around labor and employment.

And there's the case for not attending college. Recently James Altucher, a well-known hedge fund manager and author, infamously implored parents not to send their children to college. He argued that entrepreneurial skills were far more important for young people to learn, that colleges were not teaching these marketable skills, and that the money parents spend on college could net much more if invested over their offsprings' lifetimes. While I am careful to take advice on matters of what to do with my life from a hedge fund manager, I do have to agree that the skills and attitudes learned through entrepreneurship--independence, self-motivation, confidence, to name a few--are extremely important for anyone looking to shape their own future to know.

So, if obtaining a college degree isn't about getting a better job, and a good argument can be made to not attend college, maybe we should be asking a different question. What is the purpose of getting a college degree?

This discussion about the purpose of college reminds me of conversations I used to have with classmates in my Master's program about the reason for our Master's degree. Many of my colleagues wanted more practical training in our grad program, such as budgeting, supervision, and other on-the-job skills, to be more marketable in searching for Student Affairs positions. I could appreciate my classmates' concern for a successful job search after graduation, but I also believed that if our program truly shifted in focus it would devolve into a professional certification program rather than a Master's degree level program of study. Much of this has gone into my reflection on why a Master's degree is important to our field--if it isn't about being "certified" to work in Student Affairs, it must serve some other greater purpose of relevance and importance to our field (see my earlier post on the matter).

Why did you go to college? If you pursued graduate study, why did you choose to continue your education?

Did you go to college to get a better job, or did you consider potential career fields because you wanted to get a college degree (and you wanted it to be relevant to your work)?

My answers to these questions may appear in future blog posts...

Bryce

The "White Male Gap" in Scholarship Funding

Laura Lambeth recently posted on Twitter that her most recent blog post "opens up [a] can of worms." As a student affairs professional in Texas, she posted her thoughts on a new nonprofit organization started by college students in Texas aimed at providing scholarships for White males. In her post, she ruminated over how she understood why organizations and institutions provide minority-targeted scholarships, but could also understand the frustration of the students forming the association. In particular, she mentioned students with whom she has worked who experienced the same issues with accessing financial aid, particularly the lack of knowledge on how to navigate the complex array of funding (and not just FAFSA) opportunities around the nation.

I don't think she herself "opened a can of worms." I went to school with students who had the same complaint, and I know I must have worked with students who feel the same way, though none have specifically shared this concern with me. Rather, the group itself, the "Former Majority Association for Equality," is the entity that has opened the proverbial can of worms. According to the group's website, their mission is "to fill in the gap in the scholarships offered to prospective students." And it sounds like a laudable effort. The fact that a group of students has identified a need and is taking the entrepreneurial step of forming an organization to meet is commendable.

But does the need, as the group has described it, truly exist?

This is not the first time White college students (particularly politically conservative students) have claimed that there is a lack of opportunity for them to receive scholarships for their study. Where I am skeptical of this, and others', group's claim is on what data they concluded that there is a "gap" for White male students in access to scholarship money. Was it simply based on their own subjective qualitative experiences that they felt like there were no scholarships available to them? Are White male students really suffering lack of access to college as a group because no one will provide them scholarship funding?

Based on the methods I assume they used to collect their data, I can tell you from my experience as a White male this lack of scholarship opportunity does not exist. I received two generous scholarships from Gonzaga University to attend the college, one due to my academic merit as demonstrated by my college application and one for being an alumnus of a Catholic high school, and then a Byrd scholarship (I think) for academic merit as well. In fact, I had to turn down a scholarship from the State of Montana given to all high school valedictorians because I chose not to attend in state. From my standpoint, my data, apparently collected in the same manner, contradicts their data, and causes me to question how real this perceived "gap" truly is. In fact, I believe my privilege as a White male made me more likely to access this money than many of my peers who also attended Gonzaga (and I could expand this idea much further, but that would be a much longer post). Which is why I decided to do some informal research to see if there are numbers that truly demonstrated this apparent disparity in scholarship awarding in the United States.

As it were to happen, I stumbled onto one of the best writers on the topic of White privilege in the nation. Tim Wise actually wrote a post on his blog about the topic around four years ago, and cited a study that was conducted by the General Accounting Office in 1994 on minority-targeted scholarships. (I wasn't able to find a more recent study, but I would argue the data may have only shifted minimally, if at all, and likely toward less money in minority-targeted scholarships.) The study found that 4% of all scholarship money considers race as a factor at all, and that 0.25% is restricted to just people of color. That means 99.75% (or 96%, if we use a conservative measure) of scholarship money is open to these students for whom there are, according to FMAE, no scholarship opportunities at all. And chances are, if White males are able to compete for this money, privilege will play a major role, and they will more likely be the recipients of this money than their counterparts. As for the impact of scholarships that are restricted by race, only 3.5% of students of color in college receive money from these scholarships. The truth is that scholarships restricted by race are a very small proportion of all the money awarded annually to college students, and very few students of color actually reap the benefits of these awards.

I will let you read through Tim's post more for his analysis of White privilege with regard to college funding as it is extremely insightful. As for me, after finding out that my suspicions were confirmed, I got to thinking about what the real issues might be behind this group's concern over college funding. Typically, when White people claim affirmative action or any other attempt to correct institutional racism is "reverse racism," often it comes from a place of not being aware of one's advantages in society. Sometimes there are other systemic oppressions involved, though, and when Laura highlighted the story of the student who had trouble navigating the financial aid process, I began to wonder what other experiences this student may have had. Is this student the first in his family to attend college? First generation students face unique barriers from not having the same guidance and information as other students have when they apply to college. Is the student from a lower socioeconomic background? He may be facing greater financial need than many of his peers who have parents contributing more to their education, and it can feel like he cannot access enough aid to cover everything. It doesn't help though to claim that the reason for a lack of resources are students of color disproportionately receiving scholarships and that he is simply being denied aid for being White and male without having rigorous data to support this claim.

Now, if a group of private citizens decides they want to contribute toward a need or a cause that they have identified and they believe important, they are free to do so. I actually believe the reason many of these minority-targeted scholarships exist is due to the hard work of those who broke institutional barriers and decided it was important to contribute to their own communities to promote similar positive outcomes. I have been involved with the Pride Foundation in Seattle for a couple of years, a group that has been giving scholarships to LGBTQ-identified and allied individuals for approximately 25 years. The Foundation was started by LGBTQ-identified people and their allies who believed in funding people and initiatives that worked to end discrimination against the LGBTQ community and promoted positive outcomes within the community and society at large. If this Former Majority Association for Equality believes this is an important cause to support and fund, it is completely within their right, but usually initiatives like this die out in the long run because it is hard to sustain support for a need that is difficult to prove (especially if that proof lies solely in those who started the initiative).

Typically though, White anger comes from an unacknowledged fear of loss of privilege in society. I usually wonder if the passion for issues like this comes from an suppressed awareness that as privilege breaks down, people like these with FMAE are not as competitive for scholarship awards (or other benefits) as they once believed they were...

Do you really need a Master's degree for that job?

As much as I love the field of Student Affairs, I would be willing to bet I'm not the only one in the field who can become cynical from time to time. The question which serves as the title of this post came back to mind as I was reading Stephanie Lynch's latest blog post. I loved her humorous cynicism as she recalled asking herself a similar question, toward the beginning of her foray into student affairs: "What? Why do I need a Master's degree to sing the fight song to new students?" I appreciated hearing it from a colleague this time as it echoed a feeling I've struggled with throughout the process of achieving my degree and getting my first job in the field. Do I really need a Master's degree for this job?

The main answer I hear from current grad students, and even some new professionals, is that in our programs we learn how to identify where students are in their development and how we can then cause them to grow through it. The reason hearing this statement causes the inner cynic I spoke of earlier to emerge is that, I think, many of us mistakenly believe that we need to buy that student development theory outlines very rigid, concrete stages of development--and that our goal as practitioners is to recognize these stages in our students in order to diagnose their development and prescribe an educational opportunity that pushes a student to the next level. I know finding ways to understand how theory translates into practice takes some work, but is the purpose of theory really diagnostic?

Honestly, I know most of us realize that it is not. Trying to make theory diagnostic would demonstrate the opposite of understanding how to put theory to practice, and we're taught to be critical of student development theory from the get go. Most student development theory emerged itself from critique of more foundational theories--most notably how Carol Gilligan's work on women's moral development emerged from her critique of her own professor William Perry's theory of intellectual and ethical development. Yet these questions still nagged me. Why do we learn theory? What is the purpose of all those classes we take? Why do we invest so much time and energy into papers, theses, and comprehensive exams? What is the purpose for our Master's degrees?

I don't think the answer lies in examining the question, "What have you done today that requires a degree in Student Affairs?" It does provide a great reflection on our work, but I don't think we're looking for particular moments throughout our workday or individual decisions we made where having the Master's degree would have made the difference. Taking the time to reflect on what what my role is on campus and the philosophy behind how I approach my work, looking at what I do from a broader perspective, led me to my answer as to why I need a Master's degree to do what I do.

The main conclusion I reached is that I am a better teacher in my role because of my education. Theory plays an important role in conceptualizing how we approach our work, so rather than being a direct diagnosis of how to help a student, it provides paradigms for framing our interactions. Steph hit the mark with her example of her former supervisor. She described how her supervisor's understanding of theory shaped how she worked with students, leading to more successful outcomes. While theory itself is not dogmatic nor prophetic with regard to how young adults develop, having engaged with research and study on that development provides us frameworks for leading students to learning and developmental outcomes, and causes us to approach our work as educators, rather than service providers. I do a better job teaching and facilitating learning because of my own education.

Bringing in student affairs staff with student affairs graduate degrees ensures the campus continues to be infused with scholars. The classroom does not need to be the only place students come into contact with people engaged in scholarly work. Co-curricular involvement has the opportunity to become more meaningful, educational, and impactful when grounded in research. A key component of a Master's degree is engagement with current, relevant research.

Having a Master's degree is also a way I express to my students how important I value my own education. Many of us know we become mentors to our students through our work with them; I would argue that having mentors who have achieved their goals and attained higher levels of education would foster in students a greater desire to do so themselves. I'm not trying to suggest we mentor all our students toward working in student affairs, but seeing how we reached our own goals might cause the spark which provides them the efficacy to establish and achieve their own. I can also advise them better in pursuing a higher education because I have done it and I understand how the system works.

Overall, I feel like I'm a better educator in my role due to my own education, which I think makes me more effective in my work. I've realized that someone, if needed, most likely could perform the essential duties of my job without a Master's degree, but I am more effective, my students achieve better outcomes, and our field is stronger as a whole because of the research and graduate preparation happening in Student Affairs.

Bryce

To Mentor...or to Navigate?

I posted on Twitter the other day that I had just presented to the student government budget committee asking for increased funding for the program I supervise. I work at Green River Community College where I oversee the Commencement Achievement Program, an initiative out of Diversity and Multicultural Affairs geared toward helping students independently navigate the college system. I received a response from Lisa Endersby, a student affairs guru out of our neighbor to the north, which led to an email conversation about mentorship. She asked me why we call my student staff Peer Navigators, rather than mentors, and how that structures the paradigm of their work.

Many of us work in some capacity supporting or supervising student mentors. This mentorship appears in various paradigms, such as student leadership, peer tutoring, or, quite often, explicitly defined mentorship. Each of these different titles describes the various roles and functions our students fill in our programs/departments/divisions/colleges/etc., yet each title was intentionally chosen to frame their work within a specific paradigm and provide them a framework for reflection on how they serve their peers. Our exchange got me thinking a little deeper about why our program chooses to call them "navigators" rather than something more common, like "mentors." It was a term I inherited, but my director and I built it explicitly into my program's mission statement. Why do we consider it such a unique and valuable title?

Over the past two years, I've worked with our Student Life graphic designer to come up with a graphic to use in our literature and our promotional materials. Because we call our students "Peer Navigators," and the program has a mission around college navigation, she recommended a compass. I loved the idea as it symbolizes navigation, and the concept of direction (North, South, East, and West) has cross-cultural meaning. It provides a conceptualization of the college environment as a stormy sea, and our program provides navigation and direction to help students keep afloat above the waves. We work with mostly first-generation, low income, and otherwise underserved students, for whom the college environment is terribly unfamiliar and very intimidating. Our students can become overwhelmed by the process of attending college itself, let alone their coursework to complete their degrees, and quickly feel strong feelings of isolation and the desire to return to "friendlier shore."

I train the Peer Navigators to be a mentor to their students, but also to guide their peers toward developing their own skills to independently navigate the college system. Since many of them had similar college experiences, they can empathize with the students who access our program and authentically guide them from that common understanding. Often if a student thinks a question she has is stupid, she begins to believe she is the only one with that question, and that college staff may belittle her for not having all the information needed to attend in the first place. Asking another student can be much more comfortable, especially if the response is, "Oh yeah, I had that same question. Let me show you how I got that information."

Transitioning from high school to college includes a huge cultural shift in how each institution functions. College requires a greater degree of independence and self-motivation on the part of the student, and also requires prior knowledge of the lingo and processes on which all the aspects of college attendance operate. For students who do not have access to this information prior to admission to college, the transition becomes a barrier to degree completion. The college becomes a stormy sea, and the student a solitary captain navigating the murky waters rising on all sides. We call our students Peer Navigators because they become a compass, map, and literal navigator to walk side-by-side with their peers relying on their own experiences to help navigate the storms toward calmer waters.

Bryce

Are there lessons to learn AFTER the consolidation vote?

I found myself in the midst of an impromptu discussion about the upcoming NASPA/ACPA consolidation vote this morning when I posted two items to my Twitter account: "What happens if the membership of one organization votes to consolidate, and the other no?" and "And are we prepared to break down votes by demographics, to see who's voting 'yes' and who's voting 'no'?" I had recently read a thought-provoking post by Kristen Abell on her Kristendom Talks Tech blog stressing the importance of an informed vote on the consolidation matter, and I think this is why it was still ruminating in my mind over the weekend. So I threw it out there to the Twitterati to see if it might catch a response, and possibly lead me to deeper thought on the issue.

And it did. In fact, Kristen and I engaged in a brief discussion about whether breaking down the vote by demographics or comparing the results between NASPA and ACPA would even be productive or lead to greater tension and discord (and thus my decision to expand my thoughts here in this post). Some other posts echoed my question about breaking down the results to get a glimpse of who voted which way on the matter, and one from Chris Conzen that read, "I heard 1 official say in this situation, org that votes no tends to lose members if the other votes yes," a post that resonated with what I had originally been thinking--what happens if one membership votes no and the other votes yes? What does that say about each group, their belief in their own organization, their belief in the other organization, and how collaboration moves forward in the future?

Currently my only active membership is in ACPA. As a graduate student, I joined both (since the membership was much more affordable). I had a glimpse into what a joint organization might look like attending the 2007 joint meeting, and attended regional and national NASPA conferences before graduating. I haven't had a chance to participate as much since I took my current position as a spending freeze went into place in the fall of 2008 that prevented any out-of-state travel on state funds.

My interest in the first question was me wondering some of the reasons people are voting one way or another, and how it relates to their perceptions of both organizations. Perhaps many want to vote "yes" on consolidation so they no longer have to pay two membership dues. Perhaps some are not as interested in consolidation out of concern about losing the identity of their professional association(s). For me, I'm semi-passionately in favor of consolidation--not particularly enthusiastic about it, but from what I've read it could be a move forward toward a unified voice/vision for our field moving into the future. I'd love to retain memberships in both organizations again, but without being able to travel to participate in either organization's professional development opportunities, it hasn't seemed cost-effective to maintain both memberships.

As for my interest in my second question, that comes from my background in diversity. Mostly I imagined the biggest difference in the vote would be along the lines of age or years in the field--newer and younger professionals would be more open to consolidation while older and more seasoned professionals might be more hesitant to charge forward with such a dramatic restructure. But I also wondered if we might see significant differences in opinion along other demographic lines. And Kristen made a good point that often these types of breakdowns can be used in harmful ways, but I also see exploring the "why"s behind these differences as providing some excellent information regarding how our associations--or association--move forward. Perhaps there are unmet needs that some people believe might be addressed through consolidation that, though it may not pass, are uncovered through the learning process after the vote. Research like this would have to be conducted skillfully, aimed at moving forward beyond the vote, and done in a way that respects the memberships of both organizations (whether still intact or combined).

What I found provocative about Chris's Twitter post was the thought that a discrepancy in the vote, one organization voting in favor of consolidation and the other voting against, might sway members of one or the other to switch memberships. Not that I've ever believed there is some sort of "competition" between NASPA and ACPA to bring in the highest number of members, but could it cause someone to view their professional association in a different manner? I'm not sure it would cause me to up and realign my affiliations, but a discrepancy between the two could be a surprising result.

And then, of course, we return to the question of what our reasons are for voting one way or another. Which is in the best interest of our professional development? Which is in the best interest of our students, our ability to serve them well? Which might be more fiscally responsible both for our associations and our employing institutions? Which is a more efficient system? Kristen hit the nail on the head in driving home the point that we need to approach this vote as informed as possible--and deeply reflect on our reasons for voting either way.

Should we examine the demographics of the vote, or should the ultimate decision be allowed to stand alone? Would the opinions of your colleagues on the consolidation issue cause you to reassess your professional association?

Discussing Politics in the Office

Saturday was the anniversary of the 1973 Roe v. Wade decision which made abortion legal in the United States. When I was an undergraduate at Gonzaga University, every year a group of pro-life students would place a cluster of small white crosses on one of our campus lawns to represent the number of abortions that have taken place since then. I was reminded of this as my Twitter timeline started to fill with posts regarding pro-choice blogging to mark the anniversary of this landmark decision. I remembered how much I tried as an undergraduate to help demonstrate that not only were there pro-choice voices at the university, but that there were many pro-choice Catholic voices both at the university and across the United States. Many of the students on our own campuses are just as active and passionate about controversial political issues, and perhaps as a student you even were yourself!

In my Master's program we were discussing whether or not we share our views on politics in the office around our students. As someone who was a student activist and spoke out often on controversial issues, I'm more inclined to share with those around me how I feel, but a classmate of mine disagreed. To her, it was important in a professional role to maintain a perception of neutrality, that taking sides would silence students who disagreed with you. Since you enjoy a position of authority and power in relation to the students with whom you work, you should strive to make sure all students feel safe and comfortable when working with you.

The two major professional roles I have had (which sandwich my time in my Master's program) have been in areas which engage controversial, political topics constantly. Before graduate school I ran an LGBT Resource Center at my alma mater, and since graduation I have worked in Diversity and Multicultural Affairs at a Seattle-area community college. I have worked with students from a wide diversity of backgrounds whose identities cross politics on a regular basis. For many of these students, their ability to attend college has been the result of political deliberation and legislation, which means for me, it is much harder to remain silent on how I feel about issues that directly impact my own students.

One example of this is immigration reform, particularly the DREAM Act. For those of you unfamiliar with this piece of legislation, its purpose is to create a path toward residency and citizenship for undocumented youth who were brought to this country at a very young age. In Washington State, undocumented students are legally allowed to attend state colleges and universities, and can claim state residency under specific guidelines to pay in-state tuition rates. We work with many of these students (whether they disclose to us or not), and the DREAM Act is a very important issue for them. As a fervent supporter of the DREAM Act myself, and a believer that involvement in political issues is an important piece of civic engagement (an important educational outcome from college), plus knowing that my support for this legislation shows my commitment to these students' success, I am more than happy to be open about my beliefs on the issue with my students.

How about when political issues impact our own identities? Recently, there was a proposed referendum in Washington State to vote on our expanded domestic partnership law that granted the same rights under state law to lesbian and gay couples as married heterosexual couples. Not only have I worked in LGBTQ student affairs before, I currently am an advisor to our Queer and Allies Club and am one of very few openly gay staff members at the college. I obviously cared deeply about the issue, and I engaged in many passionate conversations with students who wanted to know what they could do to support passing Referendum 71 (which would uphold the law). Again, I was more than happy to share my feelings on the issue, and as an openly gay role model felt it important to affirming many of our LGBTQ students for me to take a stance on an issue important to our community.

Now, there are obviously limitations to discussing politics with students. I work at a state-funded institution, and there are ethical guidelines around "promoting" political issues during the work day. As a state employee, I can not engage in activity on state time that is intended to impact a ballot issue one way or another. I knew I could not advocate voting on the referendum one way or another, but I could help students learn about the issue and find ways to express their voices on campus. The same applies to discussing the DREAM Act--while I could not do activist work on the issue while in my professional capacity, I can help students who want to learn about the issue find information, and I can educate my colleagues on the experiences of undocumented students achieving higher education. I also believe sharing my views on a matter is a completely different issue than trying to influence how my students think about said matter.

My classmate had an important point though--how can we make sure that other voices are not stifled if we are open about our political beliefs? How do we ensure that students who disagree with us know that their views are valued on campus and their beliefs validated? I would hope that someone who feels differently than I do knows that just because I, as a college staff member, may feel one way on an issue, does not mean I do not believe in their freedom to pursue higher education and their right to express their views. But I know there is a power dynamic at play when students hold views that differ from those with authority.

As a former student activist, I remember not being satisfied with the idea that a plurality of perspectives were all good and valid. I wanted everyone to agree with me! As I have matured (I hope) and grown into a student affairs professional, though, and as I have reflected back on my interactions with other students, I've realized that I need to do the self-work to allow other views to be true and valid. I need to be able to understand that a perspective different than mine is not wrong, just different--and that the viewpoint holder's experiences, beliefs, and values all played a role in shaping that perspective just as mine did for me. Some of my self-work in cultural competence, like understanding my background and discovering my lens, has made a tremendous impact on my ability to tolerate--even appreciate--the tension of uncertainty, of holding various and often contradictory viewpoints as equally valid. Yet at the same time that same work has helped me hold stronger to my own values and beliefs.

The most important skill a student affairs practitioner would need to utilize to discuss politics with students is empathic listening when students express their views. We need to remember the education taking place is the student's process, and that our focus is on the student's growth as a result of the conversation. It's okay to share our perspective to either validate a student's opinion or to help a student examine her or his views more deeply. It's not okay to use our opinions on topics to shut other students down or to establish "acceptable" points of view in our offices.

One model/theory that I think should become a more integral part of student affairs work is Patricia King and Karen Kitchener's Model of Reflective Judgment (King & Kitchener, 1994). Their model looks at cognitive development in college and how young adults learn determine what it means "to know" something. Reflective judgment deals with ill-structured problems--often the root of contemporary political issues--that have no clear solution and the ways we develop our beliefs on how to address those problems. If we plan to discuss the important issues of our times with our students, we need to make sure we're giving them the tools to truly analyze the complexity and synthesize their opinions on the matter. This model is a great tool for structuring these learning opportunities.

How do you feel about this issue? Are you open about your political beliefs with your students? Why or why not?

Reference: King, P.M. & Kitchener, K.S. (1994). Developing reflective judgment. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass Publishers.

What do you demand from yourself?

"The hope of the world lies in what one demands, not of others, but of oneself." -- James Baldwin

This was the content of my 2000th tweet on Twitter. I decided to follow the lead of many of my #SAchat colleagues and try to post a substantive tweet for this milestone in my usage of the social networking site. And it did warrant a couple of mentions and RTs! I was thrilled that indeed, my 2000th tweet was "epic."

Immediately after posting the quote, as happens to many of my #SAchat colleagues, a blog post started to formulate in my head. All I really had done was use a Quotionary to look for a nice inspirational quote, and in fact, the topic "hope" was the third or fourth topic under which I was looking for a quote. Yet as I began to ponder the implications of Mr. Baldwin's statement, there was so much more that could be said about it.

One of my goals for 2011 (besides this blog) is to run the Walt Disney World Marathon in January 2012. My partner suggested it in December as he is always looking for an excuse to visit Disney, but for me, I have always been looking for a good excuse to get active. For some reason, for me, it's difficult to simply be motivated to be active by the sheer enjoyment of activity; I do a much better job when I'm reaching a goal. And working with someone I care about keeps me that much more motivated. Plus, I know this is a goal that very few people reach--which makes it all the more enticing for me to be able to say, "I've done that." But, as I'm prone to do, I needed to read a up a little first to make sure this is a realistic goal and that I could actually accomplish it.

I purchased a copy of Marathoning for Mortals. I mainly needed to know what it took to be ready for a marathon--and if a year would be a reasonable amount of time to train. So far, I'm about four chapters into the book, and it looks like we've given ourselves more than enough time to build up our endurance and train for what seems to be a fairly "easy" marathon. (Not that 26.2 miles is ever easy, but running a course that is near sea level and is fairly flat is much easier than something high in the mountains that is uphill the whole way.) The book explains that if you can take account of your ability before training, commit to completing the training as prescribed, and make sure you arrive at the starting line prior to the start time prepared as best you can, you will complete your race. But you can't expect anyone else to do the work for you--you have to require that commitment and persistence from yourself. We all have the same physiology--but what are you demanding out of yourself to be competitive, determined, and confident?

That same "demand" that you need of yourself to sustain your commitment to finish a marathon is the same "demand" you should have of yourself on a daily basis. This is a crucial piece to goal-setting--that raw, uninhibited desire to do great things. I've seen it in many of my colleagues: classmates from graduate school, coworkers at the college, acquaintances I've met through #SAchat, out in the world doing amazing work with students from every walk of life. We strive to foster that "demand" within our students as well, particularly our student leaders whose eagerness to serve their peers so resembles our own which brought us into the field from the start. Why not celebrate the fact that we want so much more out of life on a daily basis?

There is a lot more that goes into training for a marathon besides wanting to finish the race. There's the schedule and regimen you put yourself on to enhance your abilities, and there's the rest and recovery your body needs in order to adjust to expanding its physical limitations. I'll probably come back to "discipline" and "self care" at some point in the future, especially if my training continues successfully. But in the meantime, ask yourself, "What do I demand of myself? How am I setting ambitious goals by demanding so much of myself? What am I demanding of myself that will also contribute to the overall common good around me?"

I think I may have my "one word" for 2011...

Bryce