Resources

Part 2: “Love”I will admit that it’s much easier for me to write about the downsides of being a teacher-administrator than the upsides.And I wouldn’t say that I love being a teacher-administrator any more than I would say that I hate being a teacher-administrator. There are gives and takes on both ends.As much as I loathe to admit this in the midst of an incredibly satisfying sabbatical, there is deep joy in getting to know and work with students in spaces beyond the classroom. Theological field education—which exists in the form of internships or specialized chaplaincy training (called Clinical Pastoral Education or CPE)—serves as a kind of in-between educational space. There might be a class component where students meet regularly with an instructor, but in my role I mostly engage with students through the processes surrounding the classroom and the field site. In this more liminal space, I really get to know them—the good, the bad, and the ugly. Sure, some personalities might arise in the context of the classroom. Faculty generally know the students who collectively engender the most joy and the most challenge throughout their courses and the degree program or school as a whole. Some individuals, however, try to model particular behaviors in a course because they know they are being evaluated. The rest of us who work with students beyond that space often have a little bit more insight into how those individuals show up differently when they aren’t being evaluated formally, and we often have more chances to engage in personal conversations about students’ lives and experiences that may not be surfaced in the context of a graded course. Sometimes, I’d rather not know a few of the more personal details that I have learned over time. Other times, I’ve developed lasting relationships with individuals over our shared experiences or affinities (especially guinea pigs, who are the greatest pets a human could have). In some instances, I’ve held my tongue in faculty meetings where a majority of my colleagues want to award a particular individual with the title of Student of the Year because they displayed exemplary intellectual skill or agreeable behavior in classes, yet I have encountered them as completely different (i.e., less agreeable) persons in the field education process. In other settings, I’ve marveled at the deep wisdom and maturity with which students have navigated very difficult internship or CPE situations, yet my colleagues would consider them to be fairly average students intellectually or otherwise. I suppose we all know different aspects of students, in the same ways that they know different parts of us as educators. I would argue, however, that my knowing individuals both within (as a teacher) and beyond (as an administrator) the classroom space grants a level of joy that I wish more faculty could experience. Not joy in the sense of ephemeral happiness or elation but, rather, as a process of both knowing and being known. This itself cultivates a profound sense of fulfillment, constituting education as relationship rather than content or container. Relationship is certainly messier and more frustrating; it results in more meetings and more emails than I care to count. As an introvert who would rather spend every waking moment either reading or writing books, I am easily depleted by the continual interactions required for relationships. Some students treat our exchanges as merely transactional and, many days, so do I. They want me to fix their problems or change some policy, and the technicalism of it all can be wearing.But if I hold on to the capacity for dynamic knowing, if I dare to open myself up to what might unfold in the in-betweenness of our vocational conversations and at the edges of the paperwork needing to be completed, I might actually love being a teacher-administrator. It’s not for the faint of heart and requires some true grit, as my teacher-administrator (especially field educator) colleagues know. Also, I can say with confidence that it is more work than that of my faculty colleagues with no administrative responsibilities. It is hybrid, holy work. And I feel honored to be doing it.

Part 1: “Hate”I came into academia sideways. At a slant, you might say. After seminary, I worked in multicultural student affairs at a small, private liberal arts college by day and attended classes in an educational leadership, research, and policy PhD program for working professionals by night. After earning my degree, I served my church denomination as a researcher and was happy in that role, but the constant travel was taking a toll on my health.I longed to find a vocational path that could ground me within a particular community, a place where I might have a day-to-day impact on others and vice versa. I also knew I didn’t want to pastor a church (I never did) but desired to continue engaging in relevant research for the church and community. This is when I saw a job announcement for an administrative faculty position at my alma mater to direct the school’s internship program and decided to apply.Little did I know what I was getting myself into. I quickly realized that “one of these things is not like the other.” My daily activities of running an internship program, overseeing adjunct faculty teaching seminar courses, and planning trainings for intern supervisors and students was quite different from the daily labors of my faculty colleagues. Sure, I taught half the credits that a tenure-track colleague taught, but this was far eclipsed by the kind of work that I and my staff—yes, I also have the responsibility of hiring and supervising staff—faced regularly. Think student affairs/academic dean type of work, with less responsibility but more external accountabilities.My first year was especially difficult. I was asked to conduct a review of the program’s curriculum and the department as a whole, and there was staff turnover during that time. While much of it was not unlike the administrative and supervisory work I had done for the denomination, it was a very different rhythm and workload from that of my peers.Because I came into academia at a slant—from the church, and with a non-religious doctorate from a non-ranked state school—I felt honored that the faculty had chosen me to join their exclusive club. I still feel honored. As a Latina and first-generation college graduate from a poor, rural background, working at a graduate theological school was beyond my wildest childhood dreams. Many of the faculty had been my seminary professors more than twenty years before. They, along with the administration, saw my gifts as a teacher and researcher and nurtured those gifts through various avenues of support and camaraderie. They are now truly my colleagues.Eight years into the life of a teacher-administrator, however, I am feeling the wear and tear of administrative work on my body and my spirit. Having earned a sabbatical (for which I am very, very grateful), I have tasted the sweet nectar of being only a teacher—someone who maintains a certain amount of autonomy over their own schedules for course planning, research, and travel. They are not beholden to staff or adjunct faculty supervisees, leaders in churches and nonprofits, or even students in the same ways. Even though there are committee and guild responsibilities for full-time teaching and research faculty (I have those too), there is more space to read, to think, to write. I realized early on that if I wanted to pursue a research and writing agenda, I needed to adopt a bivocational mentality as a teacher-administrator. Unfortunately, what this has led to is possessing two full-time jobs. Sabbatical affords me the luxury of holding just one full-time position, committing with gusto to research and writing. Adding the teaching of one or two classes and a few monthly meetings to that schedule seems pretty manageable compared to the pace at which I had been running. (I know boundaries are important, and so on; but I needed to produce scholarship at an accelerated pace in order to even be considered for tenure, which is a story for another time.)I don’t really have a “hate” relationship with the role of teacher-administrator because I do not ascribe to the action itself. But with each passing year, I find myself wanting to live more fully in one world or the other. Having now established myself as a scholar in the field, I want to explore further where my research and academic pursuits might lead. Institutions are demanding more from all of us these days, so many are feeling the tensions of the teacher-administrator conundrum in this era of scarcity and rapid change. These pulls often remain unacknowledged in academia, but if we begin to talk more openly about them, we might be able to imagine more sustainable paths forward (and more equitable compensation models).I came into academia sideways. At a slant, you might say. I still feel honored to be here. Might I dare to want more?