What matters?

I'm living in a city dealing with racial tension head-on.  A university campus two miles away is closed under threat of violence.  Colleagues on campuses across the country are facing difficult questions about the balance of free speech and rights.

But, what is on my agenda today:

1. Edit information describing our academic programs for the university bulletin
2. Review a faculty member's materials for promotion and tenure and start drafting a letter of support
3. Meet to discuss leadership initiatives on campus
4. Meet with a student appealing a grade
5. Begin budget planning for next fiscal year with my budget director

Some days I wonder what difference these things make.  Does it matter? Do I matter? Am I accomplishing anything?

Let me look at each of those more closely.

Bulletin info: This is where I state the purpose of our college--to bridge the gap between technology and people.  The goal of our program is to help people understand the role of technology in their lives and how to make sense of it, to encourage students to think broadly and critically about the future, to encourage students to pursue these as serious areas of study.

Promotion and tenure:  Here I have a chance to shape the face of academia, to show the value of scholarly work in new areas, to reward collaboration and interdisciplinary efforts, to support the role of diverse voices in our institution.

Leadership: how do we prepare students to be thoughtful, informed citizens?

Grades:  Helping a student understand the value of honesty and hard work, while still respecting a student's point of view and balancing the need to learn from mistakes against the need to maintain standards.

Budget:  What is important? How do we support our mission?  How can I help faculty members achieve their goals?  How do I engage alumni and friends?

When I start to wonder if what I'm doing matters, I remember one day from second grade.  It was late spring and I sat at my desk, head bowed over my paper, pencil gripped tightly in my hand. I don't know what the subject was that had my attention, but I remember the feeling of intense concentration, the warmth of the afternoon sun through the windows, the quiet of the room.  As I worked my teacher came by, placed a hand on my shoulder, and said, "Good job, Chris."  She probably said those words a hundred times a day, year after year, student after student.  Why did they mean so much that day?  I don't know, but they have stayed with me for over 50 years.

I'm sure there are days she wondered if it made any difference, if what she was doing mattered.  I know she did make a difference, and it did matter.

Some days I think what I'm doing matters very little, other days how much it might matter scares me.