For years I've had people tell me that I need to say "no" more, that I need to find balance, and that I need to not work so much. I've been trying to figure out what that all means. To me, it sounds like people are saying that something I'm doing isn't working, that there's a better way to be in the world, and that I need to work less. Usually folks are telling me these things around the same time that they're asking something from me. It goes like this, "Megan, will you do X?" "Love to, but can't. I'm already booked at that time." "You're so busy!" "Am I?" "Yes, don't you ever say no?" The subsequent conversation that ensues in my head looks like this, "Ya, I just did to you, and now you're saying I'm unbalanced."
I think that I'm just now seeing the twinkle of what balance means, and that it doesn't mean the same thing for everyone.
Balance for me is not two hours watching Netflix after work. Balance for me is not throwing myself down a mountain on two wheels because everyone else does. Balance for me is neither enforced boredom nor enforced challenges. I strove to fill time with things so that I wasn't bored, and then strove to empty space so I wasn't stressed.
What I've learned is that I need to take a longer lens than 24 hours or 7 days for balancing.
This means that sometimes it looks like I'm frantically busy with a million things on the go, throwing balls in the air, and breathing in with some near misses, and sometimes like I sleep a lot and read a lot and wander in the woods a lot. Sometimes it means that I'm really calm, and feel pretty great about the world, and sometimes it means that I'm sobbing sitting on the edge of the tub holding my head in my hands.
The difference, I've learned, is that it isn't about what I'm doing, or when I'm doing it, or how much I'm doing it. It's about being authentic in what I need to be doing right then, and being right there when it happens.
I strive to do less sometimes. I strive to do more of some things at some times. I strive to do the right things at the right time. And overarchingly, I come back to what makes me feel like I'm authentically being me.
Somehow balance got wrapped up in schedules, and calendars, and apps, and this weird oneupmanship about who is busier. Somehow balance lost the sense of me, and being me, and being me right now.
As a wise woman once told me, "No is a complete sentence." This is true. And sometimes "Yes is a complete sentence too."
Tuesday, 6 December 2016
Sunday, 20 November 2016
Why my first math conference is important
I'm in Seattle this weekend attending my partner's topology conference. He gave the first talk on his current research. His research has found -- within the context of a particular way of understanding and representing shapes in a set -- asking a question whether a particular shape is part of that set is an easy problem to solve (you can do it, and you can do it fast: a p problem); however, asking what sort of shapes belong in that set is a hard problem (you might be able to do it but it takes a really long time: an NP problem; or you might just not be able to do it ever: an NP hard problem). This is like asking if a particular number can divide evenly into another number vs. whether a particular number is prime. R's work extends this to another problem (these are called NP Hard problem for the initiated), and demonstrates that they can be used to map onto each other.
I went to the conference to see R's talk because I've never seen a math talk before, and because I think he's brilliant and I like to hear about what he thinks about. I didn't expect to be so drawn into the conversations about the topics, and about the ideas. Topologists are really interesting folks with broad knowledge bases, and lots of heart.
I am not a mathematician by any stretch of the word. I love statistics but apparently that isn't really math (I think because you can do something with it so it isn't a beautiful way to understand a pattern, which I think is actually the real definition of math, although I think stats is a beautiful way to understand a pattern, so this is all up for debate.). What I saw this weekend were a lot of people who are curious about the world and trying really hard to understand how it works. They were folks engaged in ideas that they loved. One person showed me his journal -- with writings, and jottings, and drawings, and pop ups -- that was so enchanting that it felt like the sort of book you wish to find in your great aunt's attic in a dusty old trunk. These people embodied the habits of mind I want for students.
I want students to fall in love with ideas that are beautiful, well thought out, and lifted away from the dark side of reality. For me, this happens with study designs and theories about humans -- that moment when I recognize the elegance of an experiment, and how seamlessly it fits with the theory it interrogates.
Being here has been such a breath of fresh air, and being invited so graciously to the table to see the beauty in patterns is rejuvenating in a way I hadn't expected. I leave with so many ideas to bring back to my own classes to facilitate this sense of wonder and awe.
Getting out of the way for growth
I've been hit in the face by many "growth opportunities" this fall. Some of these lessons have come in the form of administrative changes and renegotiating the terrain, and some as personal betrayals by colleagues. Others have appeared when individuals have left (or are planning to leave) for other places due to the changes in our community. And still other lessons have popped into my path when watching the treatment of students, and colleagues.
Underlying these growth opportunities has been one big learning.
I have been learning the power of getting out of the way to allow people to take ownership for the consequences of their actions. This goes against my nature -- I believe the light fights the dark whenever it appears; however, sometimes that fight looks non-aggressive, or -- this bit hurts -- like giving up and walking away.
This lesson has come home to me again this week in the form of a strong protest by our students against the Office of the President.
One of the core heart places on our campus is the Music Bay. In our first few years, this small university supported both students with immense talent, and those who had never strummed a guitar or banged a drum. The first few classes produced CDs of original music -- for fun, and as part of their academic requirements for graduation. I have two of these compilations on regular rotation in my car.
As I read through the eloquent and thoughtful testimonials written by students -- some of whom graduated in 2012 -- I remembered the thread of music that ran through our campus. I lived in the residences one year, and was woken up in the wee hours of the morning to an incessant pounding above my head. I wandered the corridors, seeking the source, and ended up in the room next door, where about 25 students were drumming away, singing, and laughing. It stopped -- when my bleary-eyed self appeared -- with apologies and hugs. One student showed up with apples for me the next day as way of apology. This was how our students created community, demonstrated their connections, and expressed their creativity. I remember visiting our former president's condo (he lived on campus above the gym!) where the walls vibrated when students practiced in the Music Bay, and laughing about the terrible sound transfer in the buildings on our campus. I remember our moustachioed minstrel, walking barefoot, with a hat and a guitar, welcoming new members to our community.
Without consultation, the Office of the President took away the Music Bay to make space for an on campus day care initiative spearheaded by a small group of faculty parents for their children. I want to be clear that this is not a faculty initiative that has come through the Academic Council, but a business proposition put forward by an interested group of people.
In response, students organized. They held a drum circle at lunch time. They collected comments from other students, including graduates, about the role of the Music Bay in their experience at the university. They held a talking circle where they could hear each other. They invited the Office of the President to discuss these issues, to attend the drum circle, to come to the talking circle. And the Office of the President chose not to.
The following few days, I hosted students through my office who are seeing what it feels like not to be heard, to be ignored, and to be silenced. They are standing up for themselves, and in the process, are growing.
My instinct is to get in the middle and help, protect the students, and explain other ways of being to the people making these decisions. What I'm learning is that the avenue for growth doesn't involve someone getting in the middle and "helping." The avenue for growth is about feeling the uncomfortable feelings, and learning how to process them to move forward. The avenue for growth is about not being heard, and taking that very experience to become self-authoring. The avenue for growth is about failing, and then getting right back up and moving on with more tools in your arsenal.
This is important right now because I'm describing a microcosm of what is happening around Canada and the US with Trump's election. It behooves those of us, who are watching in horror as Trump is tweeting about a statement made by the cast of Hamilton, to get out of the way. Let people feel what they feel, and learn resilience. Let people take responsibility for the consequences of their actions. Let people understand that they are responsible for themselves. Let people speak their truth, and support them when they do this -- no matter how much you disagree with their truth. This takes vast stores of courage because speaking up when someone in power says that you are wrong, or powerless, or out of order, or sabotaging something dear to you is scary, and hard. And that is exactly why we must do this -- to ensure that everyone is heard and that knowledge is not controlled and used to bolster up power by those holding all the cards.
I hold out hope that the students will be heard, will get a space to practice, and that our little community will start working together again. I suspect students will have some more big lessons ahead of them, and I trust in their strength and skills to handle them all.
I hold out hope that all people will be heard, will get space to be, and that our little planet will start working together again. I suspect that we all will have some more big lessons ahead of us, and I trust in our strength and skills to handle them all.
Underlying these growth opportunities has been one big learning.
I have been learning the power of getting out of the way to allow people to take ownership for the consequences of their actions. This goes against my nature -- I believe the light fights the dark whenever it appears; however, sometimes that fight looks non-aggressive, or -- this bit hurts -- like giving up and walking away.
This lesson has come home to me again this week in the form of a strong protest by our students against the Office of the President.
One of the core heart places on our campus is the Music Bay. In our first few years, this small university supported both students with immense talent, and those who had never strummed a guitar or banged a drum. The first few classes produced CDs of original music -- for fun, and as part of their academic requirements for graduation. I have two of these compilations on regular rotation in my car.
As I read through the eloquent and thoughtful testimonials written by students -- some of whom graduated in 2012 -- I remembered the thread of music that ran through our campus. I lived in the residences one year, and was woken up in the wee hours of the morning to an incessant pounding above my head. I wandered the corridors, seeking the source, and ended up in the room next door, where about 25 students were drumming away, singing, and laughing. It stopped -- when my bleary-eyed self appeared -- with apologies and hugs. One student showed up with apples for me the next day as way of apology. This was how our students created community, demonstrated their connections, and expressed their creativity. I remember visiting our former president's condo (he lived on campus above the gym!) where the walls vibrated when students practiced in the Music Bay, and laughing about the terrible sound transfer in the buildings on our campus. I remember our moustachioed minstrel, walking barefoot, with a hat and a guitar, welcoming new members to our community.
Without consultation, the Office of the President took away the Music Bay to make space for an on campus day care initiative spearheaded by a small group of faculty parents for their children. I want to be clear that this is not a faculty initiative that has come through the Academic Council, but a business proposition put forward by an interested group of people.
In response, students organized. They held a drum circle at lunch time. They collected comments from other students, including graduates, about the role of the Music Bay in their experience at the university. They held a talking circle where they could hear each other. They invited the Office of the President to discuss these issues, to attend the drum circle, to come to the talking circle. And the Office of the President chose not to.
The following few days, I hosted students through my office who are seeing what it feels like not to be heard, to be ignored, and to be silenced. They are standing up for themselves, and in the process, are growing.
My instinct is to get in the middle and help, protect the students, and explain other ways of being to the people making these decisions. What I'm learning is that the avenue for growth doesn't involve someone getting in the middle and "helping." The avenue for growth is about feeling the uncomfortable feelings, and learning how to process them to move forward. The avenue for growth is about not being heard, and taking that very experience to become self-authoring. The avenue for growth is about failing, and then getting right back up and moving on with more tools in your arsenal.
This is important right now because I'm describing a microcosm of what is happening around Canada and the US with Trump's election. It behooves those of us, who are watching in horror as Trump is tweeting about a statement made by the cast of Hamilton, to get out of the way. Let people feel what they feel, and learn resilience. Let people take responsibility for the consequences of their actions. Let people understand that they are responsible for themselves. Let people speak their truth, and support them when they do this -- no matter how much you disagree with their truth. This takes vast stores of courage because speaking up when someone in power says that you are wrong, or powerless, or out of order, or sabotaging something dear to you is scary, and hard. And that is exactly why we must do this -- to ensure that everyone is heard and that knowledge is not controlled and used to bolster up power by those holding all the cards.
I hold out hope that the students will be heard, will get a space to practice, and that our little community will start working together again. I suspect students will have some more big lessons ahead of them, and I trust in their strength and skills to handle them all.
I hold out hope that all people will be heard, will get space to be, and that our little planet will start working together again. I suspect that we all will have some more big lessons ahead of us, and I trust in our strength and skills to handle them all.
Tuesday, 8 November 2016
When is someone going to say the "s" word?
Watching CNN and election results on NYTimes. I wonder when someone is going to say the sexism word?
Wednesday, 19 October 2016
Monday, 17 October 2016
Subtle communication in the halls
Over the summer, faculty moved offices. This has a long, involved history that I'm uninterested in documenting, but suffice it to say, it was three years in the making, took many meetings, much discussion, and generally, resulted in a lot of grumpy faculty.
Until we moved.
Then it was interesting, invigorating, and fun. We have new neighbours, different conversations because of different composition, and new views. I lost my beautiful view of the Tantalus mountain range, but now look over smaller hills, with deeper colour and more wilderness. Students say my new office is cozy. I think it's because the closer hills make me feel held whereas the Tantalus range made me feel stretched. Whatever it is, I'm having different quality of conversation in this new office.
Our previous university president always had an office with the faculty, always had an open door, and was always available for a chat in the lounge, or by the Xerox machine. This is important to our faculty. The current president began speaking of moving to the Executive Suite in another building, with special key card access to the floor, within weeks of taking up his role. Regardless of all that signifies, in doing so he took with him the Director of Facilities, VP of Development, VP Exec, and the Admin Assistant who has been effectively keeping us going since the beginning. This move has severed easy contact with faculty and each of the individuals in these roles.
Here's why this is interesting, and not the "same-old-same-old-capital-A-administration" problem that every university on the planet faces.
Because we don't see each other through out the day, we don't communicate as well. I'm seeing -- in mistakes over meeting times, double booking residence rooms, problems with sign out of equipment, miscommunication with visitors -- just how much communication we do informally, and why that informal communication is so important for making an organization work. Where the role of personal contact, relationships, and social cognition used to be the way our university operated, this move has demonstrated the failures of our systems when the "people" piece is taken out. Our systems aren't very good; they've only lasted as long as they have because they are so well supported with informal communication. Remove that element, and we have a pretty broken system.
This leads me to wonder how many systems are facilitated by informal communication? My classes certainly are. I have main points laid out in the syllabus, but I supplement this regularly with email and Moodle News additions. I also see my students for at least three hours a day, am available for several hours outside of class, and they all have my cell phone number and email for other questions. I sent out a "How are you doing with the project" email this weekend, and received nine follow up emails (half of the class). This informal communication allows me to check in on them in a way that builds community, supports their learning, and allows me additional information that helps me develop the class to their learning needs.
I wonder then what we do? Do we accept that we have lost our informal communication -- and by extension, our community -- and figure out how to formalize communication in our systems? Perhaps the next step is forms filled out in triplicate, and sent to various departments around the university in interdepartmental mail.
We'd have to set up an interdepartmental mail system first.
Until we moved.
Then it was interesting, invigorating, and fun. We have new neighbours, different conversations because of different composition, and new views. I lost my beautiful view of the Tantalus mountain range, but now look over smaller hills, with deeper colour and more wilderness. Students say my new office is cozy. I think it's because the closer hills make me feel held whereas the Tantalus range made me feel stretched. Whatever it is, I'm having different quality of conversation in this new office.
Our previous university president always had an office with the faculty, always had an open door, and was always available for a chat in the lounge, or by the Xerox machine. This is important to our faculty. The current president began speaking of moving to the Executive Suite in another building, with special key card access to the floor, within weeks of taking up his role. Regardless of all that signifies, in doing so he took with him the Director of Facilities, VP of Development, VP Exec, and the Admin Assistant who has been effectively keeping us going since the beginning. This move has severed easy contact with faculty and each of the individuals in these roles.
Here's why this is interesting, and not the "same-old-same-old-capital-A-administration" problem that every university on the planet faces.
Because we don't see each other through out the day, we don't communicate as well. I'm seeing -- in mistakes over meeting times, double booking residence rooms, problems with sign out of equipment, miscommunication with visitors -- just how much communication we do informally, and why that informal communication is so important for making an organization work. Where the role of personal contact, relationships, and social cognition used to be the way our university operated, this move has demonstrated the failures of our systems when the "people" piece is taken out. Our systems aren't very good; they've only lasted as long as they have because they are so well supported with informal communication. Remove that element, and we have a pretty broken system.
This leads me to wonder how many systems are facilitated by informal communication? My classes certainly are. I have main points laid out in the syllabus, but I supplement this regularly with email and Moodle News additions. I also see my students for at least three hours a day, am available for several hours outside of class, and they all have my cell phone number and email for other questions. I sent out a "How are you doing with the project" email this weekend, and received nine follow up emails (half of the class). This informal communication allows me to check in on them in a way that builds community, supports their learning, and allows me additional information that helps me develop the class to their learning needs.
I wonder then what we do? Do we accept that we have lost our informal communication -- and by extension, our community -- and figure out how to formalize communication in our systems? Perhaps the next step is forms filled out in triplicate, and sent to various departments around the university in interdepartmental mail.
We'd have to set up an interdepartmental mail system first.
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