Words That Changed My Life

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My college was a small school, small enough to hold exit interviews for graduating seniors. In my case, they invited me into a conference room in the main faculty building during the week of graduation. Several of my professors were there, along with my faculty advisor, the academic dean, and the head of the music department.

I'd had most of these professors multiple times over my four years as an undergraduate. They knew me fairly well, having had classes as large as fifty students (in general required classes) and as small as three (in specialized music classes). This was their last chance to give me guidance.

Though most of their advice wasn't surprising, it was odd to realize exactly how much a professor can learn about his or her students by watching them in class or reading their papers. Of course, having already been through adolescence and having lives of their own, it was probably much easier for them to understand their students.

Over and over, my professors complimented me on my intelligence and hard work (graduating as top of the class) and leadership skills. (Of course, the reason I was the graduating class speaker was because as senior class representative, I had to work with our faculty advisor to choose a speaker and everyone else refused to do it.)

Then it came time for the academic dean to speak. He was a longtime friend of the family, he and his wife having known my mother for several years. He is one of the two most intelligent men I'd met until that point, the other being my faculty advisor. While my advisor was a detail main, capable of immersing himself in research to understand every tiny point possible about a subject, the academic dean was a big picture person. I don't mean to say that either excluded the other's point of view; they are both brilliant, dedicated men. I mean only to say that the dean was very capable of focusing on and remembering intricate details, but preferred to step back to give an overview of the entire process.

He had three points for me to remember.

First, he told me to choose my battles carefully. He recognized that I have a strong sense of justice and a strong desire to bring order as I see it to the world. He also recognized that I spent a lot of time fighting battles that didn't really matter. For example, during the fiasco of my sophomore year, Mike and I spent too much time challenging the student dean's authority at the expense of fighting for student body funding.

He explained that there are many battles to fight. Though many are trivial and not worth the effort (something that I've had to learn over and over while dealing with other people), some would be worth fighting. Being right doesn't mean that I'll win, though. There would be some battles I would have to fight knowing that I'd lose.

He was right.

His second point was that he always saw me living in a big city. I don't remember if he said that my dreams or ambitions were greater than what my hometown afforded. I suspect but can't prove that he thought that my potential exceeded what my hometown could provide.

He was right about that too, though I wouldn't realize it. I took a job in my hometown after graduation and stayed there for longer than I should have stayed. I was comfortable but stagnant; I didn't have enough challenges to make my own life on my own. When I realized that I needed a change in late 2001, I set my sights on something bigger.

It wasn't easy, but it was good for me. I sometimes miss my hometown, though it feels very different now. I recently attended a high school reunion in the coolest club in downtown Boise. It wasn't very cool at all — and I don't often go to clubs in Portland! Downtown seemed so small and empty as I walked to the car at midnight. Was that all there was when I grew up, several cross streets and then suburbs for miles and miles? Compare that to downtown Portland, with blocks and blocks full of restaurants, clubs, bars, shops, and people everywhere, even at midnight.

Most of what keeps me in Portland now, though, is my nephew. I remain convinced that he needs a strong sense of family and hope that I am a good influence.

Finally, the dean told me that he always thought I would be a writer. That amused me then; I'd just completed a degree in music performance, though the other major meant that I'd spent a lot of time writing papers, and had just taken a job with a technology company.

Of course, he'd taught the history class where I wrote my junior thesis, the study of the historical development of the view of Mary in Roman Catholic theology, so he knew that I was capable of detailed research and analysis. He'd even mentioned in class one day that he saved my papers to read for last.

It amazes me now how insightful he was, though given the amount of respect I have for him and the myriad ways he'd demonstrated his insight, it shouldn't. In my first job after college, when I wasn't programming or playing with new technology, I was chasing down and devouring books about it.

In my second job, when I wasn't fixing problems or setting up new equipment as a system administrator (and toward the end, I didn't have any of that to do), I was programming, reading, and writing about it — especially to people who were just starting out.

During the year I spent freelancing, I wrote almost every day, whether news articles to sell, a book proposal, two books, or pieces of contract work. I also wrote several thousand words of musings about the human condition and the nature of relationships between people. I don't like to think about those pieces anymore.

I had turned to writing for entertainment and comfort. Still, I hadn't thought that my talents and desires would draw me to writing until I had the opportunity to make writing my work. Only then did I realize the dean's insight; he'd seen that my purpose is to use words to explain, to cajole, to convince, to inform, and to illuminate.

Now, I do too.