I Lied

In my last post, I lied. This week I want to set things straight.

The post was about a dream that encouraged me to try for a full-time faculty position at BYU. In the dream, the flight of stairs to the full-time offices was missing, but I just pretended they were there and I was able to make the climb. The dream inspired me to act as though I were full-time--even though I wasn’t--and, eventually, I was hired in a full-time position. All of this is true.

This is the lie:

When a 3-year full-time appointment became available for non-PhDs, I applied. And I didn’t get it.

No problem. The next year, I applied again.

“No problem.” That was the lie.

It was definitely a problem when I didn’t get the position. I was devastated. I knew—I thought I knew-- I was the most qualified. I couldn’t imagine why I wasn’t chosen. I felt betrayed by the hiring committee--colleagues whom I had felt were my friends, who I had assumed would appreciate my hard work and clearly want to choose me. I’m pretty sure I went home and pulled the covers over my head. I wanted to just give up.

The lie I want to correct was the impression I may have given that the journey up the invisible stairs was easy. It wasn’t.

It wasn’t easy to try to figure out a professional discipline without classes or professors to help me along.

It wasn’t easy when my proposals to present papers at conferences were rejected. Nor when I sent articles to journals for publication and they weren’t accepted. I didn’t understand what was wrong. I felt like I didn’t know the rules, but I was trying to play the game anyway.

It was not easy to take over a tutoring program and make changes that were not totally popular with the tutors. It was not easy to deal with budget cuts and unhappy teachers and ineffective tutors. It was not easy to create workshops that were initially poorly attended. It was not easy to keep reading and learning and researching when it didn't seem to get me anywhere. It was hard work.

Just like every worthwhile thing anybody has ever accomplished. It’s hard to be a mom. It’s hard to be a good friend. It’s hard to go to school. It’s hard to become an accountant or a doctor or a mechanic. It's hard to clean the toilet. It’s hard to do stuff that matters and makes the world a better place.

But in all the hard things, there are joys. For me, in each difficulty, I found support and encouragement to get through. I had mentors to help me, generous colleagues. I had students and tutors who believed in me. I had a wonderful family: My husband and children helped me with my work, were patient when I couldn’t complete home responsibilities, and, especially, comforted me when I was discouraged. With all this help, I kept trying and learning, and there were many more times of joy than sorrow. Along the way, I found friendships and experiences that I would never trade.

Just like all of you, as you have climbed your own staircases. Climbing that staircase is hard, but it is worth it. The invisible steps hold.