One door closes and another opens

I often start posts like this, but the last few weeks have been crazy. This time, I’m not just being dramatic. After 9 1/2 years in my current position (you can read more about my work here), I finally decided to move to a new job. The transition for me is huge! Almost a decade in one office is a long time nowadays. I am a mixture of sad, excited, and nervous. Going through interviews alone was a massive shock to my system. But after a bumpy start, I got my mojo again and was offered a new position in a great office with different responsibilities and fresh avenues for growth. They made an offer I couldn’t refuse, and another page turned in my life.

I wouldn’t say the decision was necessarily hard, I was ready for a change, but it is still bitter-sweet. I was the first hired in a newly created role in a small but mighty student-focused office. I built much of my role from scratch and set trends in fellowship advising years ahead of our peers. Over the decade, I was promoted twice, advised more than 10,000 graduate students, built initiatives and programming, doubled the fellowships we administered, handled a budget of over $50 million, and expanded the office to include more staff. I had a hand in institute-wide policies, made flourishing connections with many offices, and met billionaires and celebrities. I had great successes and many trials by fire. Change, mainly for the positive, was abundant. I learned so much and had the opportunity to help out so many. I became known institute-wide as the fellowships guy (or the wizard of fellowships, as one student recently called me). I was an expert in what I do and an authority in graduate student finances. More and more, upper administration came to me for answers, and I found myself in meetings with the very top of the institute, helping make decisions that affected thousands.

But, over the last few years, this meant 70-hour weeks, almost no vacation (because too much was going on), disappearing work-life balance, and constant stress. Sometimes if you do a job too well, people forget that you’re doing it, or worse, they pile on more work because they know they can count on you. That is until you reach the breaking point, and you crash and burn to your own detriment. I don’t know if you’ve noticed (of course you have), but the world is falling apart, and recent tests have been many. Everything translates into higher education in some capacity. COVID, crazy national politics, wars, student unionization, government audits, high staff turnover, and lack of resources all culminated in just getting worn out, disenfranchised, and, to be frank, I started to lose my passion for the work. I have nothing left to learn in this role, and all that is on the horizon is more workload for no more pay or experience. Instead of becoming more bitter than I already am and perhaps making a gross slip in judgment, I thought it best to move on.

I think my office, peers, and superiors will miss me in the short term, but I’ve been around the block long enough to know they will mostly forget about me and my work in this role within a year or two. Sadly, large organizations lose sight of how much someone pours their soul into their work. They will never know the sleepless nights, the hairpulling (I don’t have much left), the struggles, or the full impact I’ve made this last decade. It’s easy to get melancholy as you struggle to find the purpose of it all, but ultimately, if they will forget about me, I should focus on the future. There will be many challenges ahead, which is terrifying at times, but everything will be different and new, which adds thrill to the adventure. Goodbyes are tough, but hellos are sweet. As I approach my last day, I also approach my first. Doors close, and others open. If I’ve learned anything from my characters, it’s all a journey, and mine, like theirs, will continue.

Cheers!