Monday, January 08, 2007
Depression and drudgery..
Or, at the very least, sleeplessness. It’s 3:30am on Monday, and I have not had a good weekend. I’ve been completing my proverbial navel, and I am wondering about the price one pays to achieve one’s station in life. I just finished reading Rolf Potts’ newest blog entry, and I’ll say he had a kick ass year. Aside from a few highlights listed above, I did not. I realize there is little profit to be made from comparing one’s life to life of another, bit Potts seems to having a lot more fun than I am, and I can comfortably state we are fairly similar creatures. Essentially, he has found his passion and muse, and I have not. I invest a fair degree of passion in financial aid, but to date I am not seeing a personal payoff. My friends, used to seeing me at Starbucks drinking coffee and get huge amounts of vacation would probably disagree.
I understand that some of my malaise is a result of Friday’s meeting, but it is more than that. My job, however great, is a means unto an end, not and an end unto itself. I looking ever more at other opportunities and I may need to move faster than originally thought. All I know is this: I cannot expect anything more than passing happiness from work. This is both obvious and counter-intuitive. On one level, I am little more than a snarling bureaucrat dedicated to the ruthless application of obscure and often contradictory rules and regulations. On another level I am an educator and facilitator, striving to serve and guide both my students and the community at large. The extent to which I am one or the other is the key to the debate. In a more positivist light, one could say I am dedicated to preserving the public trust and preventing abuse of public funds, stopping fraud and correcting misapprehensions concerning higher education. All three views are correct depending on the situation (and whether or not I’ve had a decent breakfast).
More often than not, I am the pencil pushing bureaucrat that would make the French stand up and salute. I cultivate this to a certain extent, and I have fun wallowing in the perks of my station. I am fair, although not flexible. Generally, I don’t have the room. Some of the fairness is based in inflexibility. If I make an exception for one person, I would need to extent this to others as well. Eventually the exception becomes the rule. This gets expensive, and suddenly we’re getting audited. (I’ve been audited three times, and passed all three.)
With my status as a standard uncivil servant cemented, I can’t wonder too hard while I get flack from students. I sense an undercurrent that if they complain hard enough, they’ll get what they want. That never works with me, and by God it never will. If that means people complain, so be it. I can and will change my tactics, but I cannot change the rules. I will not worry any more, and although I’ll be a zombie today, I’ll go out and whip ass the way I always do. Should the shit really hit the fan (it won’t), I’ll hit the road. My main concern is kitty, but I may even have a solution for that. More, as always, later
I understand that some of my malaise is a result of Friday’s meeting, but it is more than that. My job, however great, is a means unto an end, not and an end unto itself. I looking ever more at other opportunities and I may need to move faster than originally thought. All I know is this: I cannot expect anything more than passing happiness from work. This is both obvious and counter-intuitive. On one level, I am little more than a snarling bureaucrat dedicated to the ruthless application of obscure and often contradictory rules and regulations. On another level I am an educator and facilitator, striving to serve and guide both my students and the community at large. The extent to which I am one or the other is the key to the debate. In a more positivist light, one could say I am dedicated to preserving the public trust and preventing abuse of public funds, stopping fraud and correcting misapprehensions concerning higher education. All three views are correct depending on the situation (and whether or not I’ve had a decent breakfast).
More often than not, I am the pencil pushing bureaucrat that would make the French stand up and salute. I cultivate this to a certain extent, and I have fun wallowing in the perks of my station. I am fair, although not flexible. Generally, I don’t have the room. Some of the fairness is based in inflexibility. If I make an exception for one person, I would need to extent this to others as well. Eventually the exception becomes the rule. This gets expensive, and suddenly we’re getting audited. (I’ve been audited three times, and passed all three.)
With my status as a standard uncivil servant cemented, I can’t wonder too hard while I get flack from students. I sense an undercurrent that if they complain hard enough, they’ll get what they want. That never works with me, and by God it never will. If that means people complain, so be it. I can and will change my tactics, but I cannot change the rules. I will not worry any more, and although I’ll be a zombie today, I’ll go out and whip ass the way I always do. Should the shit really hit the fan (it won’t), I’ll hit the road. My main concern is kitty, but I may even have a solution for that. More, as always, later
