I’m writing this during fall break at Yavapai College, and I’m tired. The last four weeks have been a lot. A lot of activity, a lot of travel, a lot of people, a lot of things that needed my attention. And honestly, a lot of things I really enjoyed doing. But I barely made it. I only made it because I had to start throwing things overboard to keep from sinking. Now on the other side of it I’ve been taking some time to rest. I skipped the HETMA Board of Directors meeting. I skipped our monthly Higher Ed AV Media meeting. There are other things I’m not getting to, people I’m not responding to, and things I’m just letting sit for a while.
And I don’t feel particularly good about that.
This is a pattern for me and I think I need to do something about it. I love possibilities. I love the excitement of a new idea, an interesting opportunity, an invitation to participate in something, or the chance to help make something happen. One of my favorite things about being involved in professional communities is how often those opportunities present themselves. There are so many interesting people doing interesting things, and when somebody asks if I’d like to be part of something, my answer is usually yes.
And I mean it. I really do want to be part of those things.
The problem is that there’s apparently a limit to how many things I can be part of, and I don’t seem to be particularly good at recognizing that limit until I’ve passed it. I take on more, get busier, become overwhelmed, and eventually reach a point where I just need to stop. I pull back, get some rest, and gradually start feeling good again.
And then something interesting happens. When I feel good, I get excited about things again. All those possibilities are still out there, and now I’ve got the energy to pursue them. So I start saying yes, and before long I’m right back where I started.
I’ve done this enough times that you’d think I’d have figured it out by now.
If I’m really honest I probably figured it out a while ago, but I wasn’t willing to actually accept it.
If I’m really honest I probably figured it out a while ago, but I wasn’t willing to actually accept it. I’m resting, I’m starting to feel better, and I’m already recognizing that familiar excitement about what’s next. Except this time, instead of just enjoying that feeling and following wherever it takes me, I’m wondering what I need to change.
It’s not an entirely comfortable question, because the things I might need to give up are things I genuinely enjoy. These aren’t just obligations I’d rather not have. They’re experiences I want, relationships I value, and opportunities to contribute to a community that has become an important part of my life. And there’s something else I probably ought to acknowledge. I like being asked. I like knowing that people value my participation, that they think I have something to contribute. I like being relevant.
What happens to that relevance if I start saying no? If I’m not at the meeting, participating in the discussion, volunteering to help, or showing up at the event, does somebody eventually stop thinking to invite me? Probably. At least sometimes. And I’d be lying if I said that doesn’t bother me.
There’s also the reality that I have a job, one that I care about and that pays the bills. Those responsibilities aren’t optional. So when everything gets to be too much, it’s often the things I’m doing because I love doing them that have to give. Which is frustrating, because those are also some of the things that make my professional life so fulfilling.
But here’s the part of this that I’m having a harder time reconciling.
When I burn myself out and retreat to rest, I abandon people.
At the college, there are people who depend on my leadership, my attention, my availability, and sometimes just my willingness to listen and think through something with them. In HETMA and Higher Ed AV Media, there are friends and colleagues who count on me to participate, to contribute, to follow through on things I’ve agreed to do. And at home, there’s my family, who deserve my time and attention regardless of how many exciting things I’ve managed to put on my calendar.
When I reach the point where I need to withdraw, those people don’t stop needing those things. They don’t necessarily have the luxury of stepping away because I’ve exhausted myself. They’re left without whatever it was I had committed to bringing to the relationship, the project, or the responsibility.
Its time to be honest about how I’m choosing to betray my own values
I don’t like that. It’s not the kind of person I want to be. Its time to be honest about how I’m choosing to betray my own values…
And I don’t think the fact that rest is necessary makes that consequence disappear. Of course I need to rest. We all do. There isn’t anything wrong with recognizing that I’m exhausted and taking care of myself. But if I’m repeatedly putting myself in circumstances where I become so overwhelmed that I have to abandon commitments, isn’t that something I have a responsibility to address before it happens?
I think I’ve spent a lot of time measuring my capacity by what I want to be able to do, rather than by what I can actually do. When someone presents an opportunity, I can imagine myself doing it. I can see the value, the excitement, the people involved, and what might come out of it. And in that moment, it all seems perfectly reasonable.
But imagining myself doing something isn’t the same as having the capacity to do it. Especially when I’ve already imagined myself doing another dozen things.
I’m starting to wonder if I’ve had my understanding of responsibility a little backward. Saying yes feels generous. It feels like being engaged and supportive, like being somebody people can count on. But if all those yeses eventually make me unavailable, how generous was I actually being?
Maybe honoring the people who depend on me requires being more honest with myself about what I can reasonably give them. Not what I wish I could give them, or what I’d be capable of if everything went perfectly, but what I can sustain.
Sustainable presence.
I don’t want to be someone who shows up with tremendous enthusiasm, takes on all sorts of things, and then disappears when it becomes too much. I’d rather be someone whose participation is dependable, whose commitments mean something, and who is consistently available to the people who count on me. Not just when I’m feeling energetic and enthusiastic, but over time.
And maybe there’s another opportunity in all of this that I’ve been overlooking.
Professional communities are full of people looking for chances to contribute, to develop relationships, to learn, and to find their place. What if, instead of automatically imagining myself pursuing an opportunity, I started thinking about who else might benefit from it?
I could introduce someone. Recommend someone. Encourage someone who hasn’t yet had the chance to do the kinds of things I’ve been fortunate enough to experience. And maybe I could find some of that same excitement in watching someone else discover an opportunity that might otherwise have come to me.
That’s not an entirely new idea. I’ve believed for a long time that strong communities make room for people, and that leadership should create opportunities for others. But there’s a difference between believing in that principle and being willing to give up an opportunity you really wanted.
And I have to be careful here, too. If I turn every opportunity I pass along into another thing I need to coordinate, mentor, manage, or oversee, I haven’t really changed anything. I’ve just found a different way to fill my calendar. Sometimes I probably need to be willing to let someone else do the thing, get the credit, build the relationships, and have the experience without my involvement.
Am I comfortable with that? I think I want to be. I’m not sure I’ve always been.
There are a lot of questions here that I don’t have answers to yet. How do I decide which opportunities to pursue? How do I distinguish between something I really want to do and something I want to be associated with? How do I learn to decline things before I get overwhelmed rather than after? And how do I become comfortable with the possibility that being less involved in some things might actually make me more valuable to the people and communities I care about?
I suppose there’s also a question about whether I’m willing to accept that I can’t do everything I want to do. That sounds pretty obvious when I write it down. Apparently it’s been less obvious when I’m making commitments.
I’m not writing this from a place of having figured anything out. I’m writing it while I’m resting, having just missed a couple of meetings I would ordinarily want to attend, knowing there are people and responsibilities that aren’t getting my full attention right now. And recognizing that I’ve been here before.
I’m not interested in becoming less enthusiastic about life or about the possibilities I see in the communities I’m part of. I don’t want to stop being curious or getting excited about what we might accomplish together.
I just want to figure out how to keep showing up.
And I’m not that comfortable with the apparent truth that I need to be less ambitious about how many places I try to show up in the first place.
