Sometimes the hardest thing and the right thing are the same… ~ The Fray
Anyone who attended college with me probably had the dubious pleasure of taking Euclidian geometry. Others may know the principles of this discipline from your own study. Remember propositions? They were statements you would go on to demonstrate the truth of (proofs, they were called), and, once proved, served as the basis for your next proposition and proof. Propositions were building blocks of sorts, and without understanding the fundamentals, you’re completely lost by the time you actually have to prove the Pythagorean theorem.
In many respects, life is the same way. You and me and everyone else are working off a certain foundation composed of a set of principles, propositions, whatever you want to call them – they are the constituent parts of your noetic structure. And should you forget the truth of any one of these propositions, things that never came into question before are suddenly flung into uncertainty.
Take, for example, the challenge of being involved in something new. In many respects we are a society that has long valued the pursuit of new things. It’s why we venerate pioneers – whether they crossed the prairie in covered wagons or took the first step on the moon. We applaud entrepreneurs (at least, until they become billionaires – and then they’re the bad guys. See Bill Gates, Gordon Bowker, Jerry Baldwin, Zev Siegl, Fred Smith, et. al.). We respect revolutionaries. And why? Because we recognize new undertakings as extraordinary. We know that starting your own business, moving to a new town, pulling one up by one’s bootstraps is a hard proposition.
Without even trying, I’ve ended up in a number of new things. New programs. New college. New congressional office. To me, there is something intoxicating and invigorating about being involved in something on the ground level. You see possibilities. You influence the institution by your very existence, whether you mean to or not. You see change – sometimes very fast. You get frustrated, because things don’t come easy when you are blazing a trail. It’s hard. But that’s the nature of the thing.
I have been frustrated with my new job from time to time, because going from a senior Member who sat on the committees of jurisdiction of the issues I worked on to a brand new Member who is not as well-versed on the intricacies of my portfolio is hard. I have had my moments of feeling like my knowledge is being wasted, like I have learned and developed a passion for healthcare policy for nothing. But it makes it worthwhile when my boss recognizes an acronym he didn’t a few weeks ago, when he asks what the SGR is and how we can fix it. He wants to be involved. And sitting around with my coworkers last night as boss conducted a tele-town hall, I looked around the room at the smiling faces and realized we all had gotten on the ground level with a great guy who may very well go places. There will be maddening moments. I may fear for my job come next November. I will continue to long for an appointment on E&C or W&M, but to know that I get to help start someone’s national political career is exciting. The risk is worth it.
Similarly, there was a certain quality of person attracted to a certain college that opened its doors in 2000. There were no dorms at the time the first students arrived, only a handful of faculty. We made sacrifices. We staked what we had in terms of our academic reputation on an idea yet to be tested. Recognizing the college was not accredited, we recognized this idea, the notion that this was possible, was worth what of our future would be sacrificed by attaining a degree from an unaccredited institution. Some had to fight tooth and nail to graduate because of unfair, ever-shifting requirements or to save the major they had come for.
Perhaps we expected it to be easier than the normal stuff of life because it seemed like such a simple idea. But who has longstanding experience of starting colleges? Who makes that their profession? No one. It’s hard stuff, no doubt took many people affiliated with its founding out of their comfort zones. There were months far away from beloved family, pay cuts taken, nights up late with a crying baby while trying to edit papers or grade midterms. Perhaps not extraordinary sacrifices to some, but they were sacrifices made, for us.
We left. Many of them left, too. Some seem to be of the opinion that we were never there – or might as well not have been given the current state of things. But every one of the five hundred or so of us made an impact by our very existence. Perhaps a tad of Newton’s third law (for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction) has come into play. But we assume that one swing of the pendulum will find it eternally stuck on one side. History does not show this to be a valid assumption. Institutions change with time and people. One cannot expect an entire college community – from board members and parents to students and alumni – to agree on every intricacy of a college’s operations only seven years into its existence, where things are fluid almost by definition. This is not for lack of wanting a sense of permanence, but it is the nature of new things. (Would we really want the first of everything to be carved in stone?)
And even if the pendulum were to get stuck, is it so awful to be thankful for the moments we did have of innocent hope that it was possible?
For you, the perilous journey, the twists and turns of fate, may be worth it. It may not be. That’s not mine to say. I only remind you that new things are hard, and we should not wilt at the first sign of alteration or even altercation. Sometimes the hardest thing and the right thing are the same.
