Dispatch Four: Need-to-Know

As I noted in Dispatch One, it's challenging to form bonds of trust between supervisor and subordinate in my workplace environment. There's high turnover among assistants, and in an academic setting like ours, there aren't many mid-level managers to mediate between faculty and their support staff. And while I feel I've developed good working relationships between the Prince and the Archbishop, after eighteen months at this desk, I'm still easily unsettled by the Dame. 

There are many symptoms of my anxiety over our interactions: hesitation in decision-making; fear about change in plans; and, most negatively, mounting resentment. I've been muddling through as best I can for a while now, but I've recently had a minor epiphany as to the root cause of my stress.

Simply put: we have unclear boundaries.

The boss/worker dynamic contends with all sorts of limits, many of which are healthy and productive. In my experience, these fall into categories of decreasing clarity:

• Fundamental: These set the foundation for basic expectations. Many are simply reflections of my contract. For example, I do not have to answer work emails after 5:00 pm or on the weekend, since that falls outside the 35-hour week set by my union. Similarly, it's explicitly stated in my job description that I should not be running anyone's personal errands; I'm not there to pick up dry-cleaning or fetch coffee.
• Stated: These boundaries are the most helpful for my day-to-day tasks. I know I should not answer the Archbishop's phone line, but I can answer the Prince's if he's out of the office. I should put the Dame's mail on her chair, but the others prefer the mailbox outside their offices.
• Implicit: Others might be the result of more tacit understandings--like, I keep my cell phone on vibrate during work hours, but will still pick it up if doing so doesn't interfere with a pressing assignment. No one's actually said whether I should or shouldn't, though plenty of my colleagues don't seem to silence their phones; this just felt like the reasonable middle ground. 
• Contextual: These are the fuzziest, requiring situation-specific judgment. Should I interrupt a meeting if someone calls? What if that "someone" is her husband? Or the SEC Chairman? 

You might expect an inverse relationship between the clarity and difficulty of these scenarios: "less clear, more challenging" would seem intuitive. But I actually encounter the most issues with the second and third types--the Contextual situations, at least, might support a variety of justifiable actions. (Even if I don't do exactly what my faculty would've preferred, as long as I have a decent reason for my decision, they will acknowledge that.)

Rather, the Dame and I tend to have rather different interpretations of both the Stated and Implicit boundaries. After a year and a half, I am almost no better at guessing her preferences than when I started. When she asks me to find a good place to order flowers, is she really asking me to go ahead and order flowers? No idea. Should I write something on the card, or ask for her input? Does she need these by close-of-business, or can they be delivered over the weekend?

This is just an example from today. I want to show initiative, but I've been burned too many times in the past when I've tried to guess what she'd like. The flowers are for a close colleague; I'm sure she'd like them to be "just the right thing"--but I also know the Dame doesn't have time to pore over bouquet catalogues. I'm in a no-win situation. Maybe she doesn't care as long as the flowers are nice; maybe she cares a great deal, and wants to see a bunch of options before placing the order. No way to know without asking... which I've done, without response. Does her silence mean that I've crossed some unspoken line? Or what? There's just too little information, even though I've respectfully told her what I need to know to complete the task.

Multiply those questions by a hundred daily assignments, and you'll get a sense of where my anxiety comes from. How am I to guess that your hair dresser's appointment supersedes a tête-à-tête with the Dean? Or that you'd demand final editorial approval over the school's memory-book for a retiring professor, to which you'd contributed a single photo? Her expectations fluctuate so wildly as to defy developing real coping strategies. There are very few patterns to her behavior, other than not liking to schedule meetings before noon. (I learned that one quickly.)

Worst of all, I can tell that the confusion goes both ways. About eight months ago, while we were working on a PowerPoint, the Dame asked me point-blank: "Do you get what I'm trying to do at all?" Obviously, we're coming from very different places, and speaking radically different languages. How can you establish good, clear boundaries when you're barely living in the same universe?

A few weeks ago, another professor mentioned over lunch how lopsided the faculty/assistant relationship is. An assistant will know intimate details about her bosses: we have their credit cards, social security numbers, restaurant preferences, and medical information at our fingertips. We know their email passwords and spouses' cell phone numbers. We know that they like aisle seats for short flights, windows for long-hauls, and not to bother asking for a kosher meal. On the other hand, they know very little about us. One has never even seen my resume. Another asks me repeatedly where I went to school. They'd never know I have a significant other, or family overseas, or a master's degree if I hadn't mentioned it in passing, and I doubt they remember.

All of that is fine. I don't know if I'd do my job better if my faculty were more invested in my life, but I certainly couldn't do my job at all without knowing these facts about theirs. I know the onus is on me to learn the faculty's language, to adapt to their habits, in order to form productive ground rules... but I'm hard pressed to believe that they bear no reciprocal responsibility whatsoever.

Dispatch Three: Disappointments

My week--already projected to be insane--got off to a truly terrible start on Monday afternoon, when I found out that I'd been passed over for a promotion. It would've only been a temporary assignment, but it would've let me travel somewhere exotic for two weeks this coming winter, and I was really invested in the project. The rejection stung, in a way I haven't felt in years.

Now, at the end of the week, I find I'm... okay with it. It still not happy with the outcome, but I'm feeling a calm resignation. Understanding that feeling, however, is proving a challenge--I'm not sure whether this is a mature composure, or if it's a naive delusion.

The Prince likes to tell me that I'm too optimistic. He's definitely a Murphy's Law kind of guy. Any time we come up against a bureaucratic road block, or technological snafu, he likes to say "What'd I tell you? You should expect things to go wrong." He predicts, and therefore is equipped to deal with, unfortunate outcomes. Come to think, that's probably a quality you'd want in a CEO who's responsible for vast sums of other people's money. If disaster strikes, you'll know that he can handle it--even if he blows up at the person responsible.

I see his point. Bright-eyed, bushy-tailed optimism is not a valuable trait in the business world; it can be downright irresponsible. That being said, a can-do attitude is expected of people in service delivery roles like mine. If I were to tell the Prince, or any of my faculty, "What you want isn't really possible," then it looks like I'm unwilling to try. According to my job description, I am not in a position to make negative strategy decisions at that level--I am supposed to make my bosses' wishes a reality. This is not the same thing as developing contingency plans for failure: rather, I should go above and beyond to ensure failure doesn't happen in the first place. That kind of stance demands unlimited hopefulness.

But more and more, I'm finding that I'm expending my "hope reserves" fulfilling my supervisors' requests, without much left over for my own personal projects. This means I need to develop better back-up plans for myself, in anticipation of things not working out. After applying for a job I really want, I shouldn't then waste my time mooning over it until I get a response. I should be doing what I can to create new opportunities.

The Prince does this really well. He's got irons in a dozen fires, and somehow doesn't lose focus on any. (That's where it helps to have an exceptional mind.) He tackles Item 1, then moves on to Item 2 immediately, while he's waiting for the Item 1's other participants to respond. And so forth down the line to the Nth Item.* If one doesn't pan out--well, he's got a bunch of others. 

Though I can't operate at that level quite yet, I've decided to start applying this approach to my broader professional goals. Waiting for job applications to be processed? Then work on this blog. No post ideas? Then do some background research for my long-form pieces. Look at syllabi for courses to take this fall. Update my resume. Write a book review. 

In short, stop sitting on my butt. That's the surest route to disappointment.

*This strategy isn't really multitasking, he'd say. He doesn't believe in that. Rather, it's giving your undivided attention to each task, until your responsibilities have been executed. You just work on something else while the other, less efficient folks on the project do their part.

Dispatch Two: Building Character, Building Brands

In most senses, I work for three faculty members. In another very particular sense, I work for three products. Any Ivy League professor can be transformed into a valuable commodity, lending expertise and prestige to a given enterprise, in exchange for a more glamorous lifestyle than most academics can afford. This is especially true at business schools; there's no shortage of CNBC segments or BusinessWeek column inches or Fortune 500 in-house presentations for these folks.

Each of my faculty takes a different tack when marketing him- or herself. In observing them, I've learned a great deal about the possible benefits (and drawbacks) of these approaches. All three are in the late stages of their careers, and can trade on a lifetime of experience and reputation-building; but I think there are lessons here for folks like me, decades away from retirement.

The Prince

Of my three bosses, the so-called "Prince of Productivity" is the most energetic when it comes to self-promotion. A former CEO and state treasury secretary, he's always looking for projects that will enhance his stature even further. He's likable, respected, and philanthropic... but also blunt and impatient. This combination makes him dogged in pursuing new levels of visibility in almost every field. 

• Pros: Strengthens one's professional network; gets involved in an array of interesting projects; cultivates productive relationships with diverse parties
• Cons: Occasionally burns bridges; many opportunities to become frustrated by lack of progress
• Takeaways: Persistence often means getting what you want, but has the potential to backfire, leaving others with a negative impression. If you're going to adopt this approach, it helps to balance it with friendly social interactions and any available charisma.

The Dame

As my principal, supporting the Dame takes up about 70% of my time and energy. But she can be quite the enigma, even to me. I'd call her a study in "quiet power." Like many professionally successful women of the early Boomer generation, the Dame got to where she is by being better--and infinitely more diplomatic--than her male counterparts. She's extremely poised, exhibiting an attention to protocol that borders on obsession. This makes her an ideal Senior Associate Dean: she will never embarrass the school, and mediates between constituencies like none other. That quiet power approach has served her well, since her unimpeachable reputation makes her suited for all manner of consultations and leadership opportunities. She doesn't make the same kind of bank as the Prince; if she were to promote herself that heavily, it would tarnish her carefully-cultivated respectability.

• Pros: A well-protected reputation is a desirable asset, and many groups seek to associate with it
• Cons: Can only be achieved after one has a proven track record; efforts to remain diplomatic make it difficult to turn down invitations
• Takeaways:  Learning to give a polite but firm "no"--or proposing a workable alternative--can help maintain a reasonable workload and preserve good relationships

The Archbishop

The third person I support has developed a best-of-both worlds strategy. (This is not surprising, considering he's a marketing professor.) The Archbishop travels a lot of the time, so I do not see as much of his daily operations... but when he's at the office, a steady stream of colleagues and entrepreneurs waits to be received. He has the Prince's breadth of appeal, but exercises a quiet power similar to the Dame's. He treats himself as a luxury good: exclusive, yet welcoming.

• Pros: Fortifies an extensive network without compromising an aura of selectivity
• Cons: Frequent, time-consuming meetings and travel requires efficiency in other areas to compensate
• Takeaways: Let your priorities determine your strategy

Each approach is worth emulating, depending on one's circumstances and goals. On a practical, day-to-day level, I cannot adopt any one of these wholesale--they're simply not suited for someone in an assistant role. (It would probably not be wise, as their "face to the community," to be as blunt as the Prince or as selective as the Archbishop.) But the broader lessons are still applicable, and I've identified several areas I should work on:

• Maintain level-headed persistence in the face of obstruction
• Maximize efficiency where possible, to free up time for more complex or interesting projects
• Diplomacy is only effective if you can also express an opinion respectfully--don't give equal weight to all proposals

I am planning to track my progress in each of these areas, and see if my output is enhanced. Let's see what happens for Brand Erin!

Dispatch One: How She Does It

This is not said lightly: I work for the world's most productive people. I mean this quite literally. One has recently been dubbed the "Prince of Productivity" by various cable news pundits. He makes my annual salary each time he delivers a 90-minute efficiency exercise to corporate and public entities. Not to mention that he teaches at two top-tier universities, sits on a bunch of boards, and is a major philanthropic figure in our city. This Prince isn't some fluffy motivational speaker; he practices what he preaches. And he preaches it consistently. Maximize your output while reducing your hours! Be the best version of yourself! Work smarter to pursue your goals! Doesn't that sound like exactly the person you want as your direct supervisor? Right?

But even that guy is in awe of my other boss. Everyone is. At least once a week, I'll hear a senior faculty member whisper conspiratorially, "I don't know how she does it." Then he or she will laugh good-naturedly, punctuated with a rueful sigh.

Let me be up-front: I don't know how either of them does it. But I do know how it looks from the desk outside their office door.

When I was hired as their assistant, the job was primarily described to me as "taking things off their plate." In theory this would free them to focus on deep-thinking stuff. In practice, this is not what happens. They may let me take on certain burdens, but both of these professors know--or want to know--exactly what my plans are for dealing with them. The smallest detail will not likely escape their notice; if it does, they will not be pleased about it.

Instead, both of these highly productive people manage to operate on multiple levels simultaneously: they are extremely detail-oriented, but also driven to execute ambitious, big-picture goals. I wouldn't say they strike a balance between these two characteristics, because to me, balance suggests relinquishing elements of both sides. And while compromise might be part of their vocabulary, they aren't ones to give up an inch of ground when it comes to control over their own projects. Over the course of a long career, utilizing micro and macro lenses simultaneously has given them an edge. So why would they rein in either quality now?

That's not to say they don't delegate. Of course they do. They've each had lots of assistants over the years, and we've kept busy. But the nature of academic administration, at lower echelons like mine, is not structured to create the kind of trust that would maximize assistants' effectiveness. This deficit has a number of causes:

• Low or no incentives:  Though I earn a pretty good salary, with a decent benefits package, there are absolutely no merit-based raises or bonuses that I'm eligible to receive. It's also very unlikely that I'd be promoted, as there are vanishingly few management positions in my department. If I want to advance, or be otherwise rewarded for going above and beyond, I will have to look elsewhere. It also means that I don't have much motivation to excel, except wanting a recommendation letter when I leave. 
• High turnover:  As with many entry-level positions in large organizations, there's a high turnover rate for faculty assistants. (This is especially true for those who've sat in my chair. In the last six years, there have been at least six assistants assigned to this desk.) This fact just doesn't allow enough time for a trusting relationship to develop. Some assistants who have worked here for decades, but they are typically of an older generation, and are comfortable bringing home the same steady paycheck until retirement. But they also generally support undemanding or emeritus faculty, who don't ask for advanced technology skills or complex multitasking. The majority of new hires are recent graduates at the beginning of their careers, and they won't stay long.
• Bureaucratic obstacles:  Again, like any big institution. our school features an enormous bureaucracy. By turns, its day-to-day impact on my workload can seem baffling, capricious, and cold. For instance, rumors are swirling that I will reassigned from the Prince to another professor at the end of the month. Have I been given official word? No. Has the reasoning been sufficiently explained, to myself or the faculty involved? No. Does anyone, anywhere want me to be reassigned? Not that I can see. And yet, it appears inevitable, now that the wheels have been set in motion. I've come up against countless administrative impediments--usually on a smaller scale than this example, but all have prevented me from doing my job as efficiently as I'd like. And if I take the time to explain to my bosses why, precisely, they haven't received that book from the library yet, it just sounds like I'm making defensive excuses.

I don't want to blame the system for my personal failures. There have been many days when I've known that I could've done more, could've been better. That's on me. And of course, the very successful people I work for have had to deal with these same institutional failings, though from the other side.

The lesson I'm taking away is this: I need to be more aware of multi-level operations, personally and professionally. Which details are important enough to warrant focused attention? What bigger goals should I be working toward? And someday, when I'm in a position to suggest institutional changes, I'll ask: How can I  ensure more productive working relationships between superiors and subordinates?

Nowhere, Fast

Marking my first anniversary at this job, I've resolved to begin again.

In my former life, I was paid to say what I thought about things, and I rather miss it. When I abandoned my hopeless slog up the Ivory Tower in favor of the Moving Sidewalk to Nowhere that is higher ed administration, I should've seen this coming. Before, there was the constant possibility of someone mistaking me for an authority, and asking me to expound! with persuasive reasoning! and sources! Now, I relish the smallest opportunity to offer an opinion. The most exciting thing I'll be asked all week is whether Slide A is more readable than Slide B.

So. How to make my brain useful again? How to feel like I am contributing the slightest thing to the world?

Introducing: Dispatches from an Ivy League Business School

I've learned a lot in the past year. Not much I could list on an academic CV, perhaps. And obviously quite a bit can't be shared; I work with proprietary and confidential info. But I hope some of what I've observed over the last twelve months--time spent with the world's foremost experts in finance, ethics, marketing, and education--can translate here.

Those experts' ideas are already out there; Ivy League faculty have many platforms for sharing their insights, and I wouldn't be doing much by simply repeating them here. (My bosses would also be annoyed.) The value-added of my approach: I interact with diverse constituents within and without the institution, in ways those experts cannot. I am an Ordinary Person, which they ceased to be long ago, though I speak their language.

This blog won't have a particular agenda beyond exploring the business of academia from my personal vantage point. More than just deciphering what I've gleaned for a nonspecialist audience, I'll offer my own perspective on what these lessons might mean. What is it like to work directly under one-percenters? For the top female academic in her field? With the most driven students on the planet? And most importantly, how can I learn and grow from considering such questions?