A project I was assigned recently involved analyzing a set of grant applications. The proposals were centered on using technology to enhance student success. My job was to determine commonalities and missing pieces across the proposals. From a list of 20 or so findings, here are the four takeaways I believe are pertinent to our work:

1. Even in a fairly well-defined grant program, definitions for common terms differed greatly across the 81 proposals.
2. Many authors used buzz words in their application narratives, but failed to back up those words or concepts with knowledge or examples that showed they knew anything about the terms.
3. Risks and obstacles associated with the implementation of the project almost always dealt with resistance to change in other areas of campus.
4. Student affairs units were woefully absent among the collaborators in proposed initiatives.

In an era of fiscal responsibility and budget cuts, relevance matters. In era of accountability, meaningfulness is important. In an era of continued alteration, adaptation is key. In an era of “do more with less” (whether you ascribe to that theory or not), collaboration is necessary.  So, I ask you to consider the following as you plan for the upcoming academic year:

1. Does everyone on campus understand what you do? If not, why not, and how will you address that this year?
2. Do you use buzz words so you can be a part of the conversation, or are you driving the conversation because you and your area are the buzz of campus?
3. How are you addressing change head-on and helping others realize its usefulness and necessity?
4. Are you collaborating with non-student affairs offices to learn about their work and efforts, enhance their programs, and impact your campus’ students? If not, why not, and who’s at the top of your list for contacting?

It’s a new year, with new possibilities and new opportunities. How are you going to make this the best year yet? Not ever, because that implies you’ve no way to improve from now. Just yet… better than years past, setting a solid foundation for the years to come.

Matt Pistilli is a research associate in Information Technology at Purdue University. Connect with him on twitter.

Sunshine, lollipops and rainbows everywhere…

There are times that I believe that this song must be the mantra of student affairs staff members.   So often on Twitter or Facebook, in meetings, or at trainings, I hear the phrase “choose your attitude.”

Choose to be positive, not negative.
Choose to look on the bright side, not the dark side.
Choose to be happy (or at least content), not sad.
Choose to be something other than pessimistic.
Look for the unicorns!  Look for the puppies! Look! Choose to see them!  They’re there if you look!
Choose.

Generally, I’m ok with this.

Sometimes, however, I’m not.
Sometimes things are difficult.
Sometimes things are challenging.
Sometimes things are just downright awful, and, sometimes, there is not a happy-go-lucky, cheery, paint-a-smile-on-your-face feeling to be found.

And yet what do I hear?

Choose your attitude.  Or, to put it in FiSH philosophy terms, choose your ’tude.

To me, this is largely disingenuous.   Why, exactly, are we putting on a happy face when things legitimately are not happy?  What service are we providing by pretending to be OK with whatever is going on when we actually need support and the ability to be not happy.

We encourage our students and coworkers to be honest. We discuss authenticity with our colleagues and supervisors.  We have open doors and welcome the opportunity to talk to whomever about whatever whenever.

We should reserve the right to have crappy days and to not be forced to look/feel/act otherwise.

I admit… I can be a proverbial bucket of sunshine at times. I can exude rainbows and look for the silver lining in situations with the best of them. But sometimes things suck, and that’s that.

In my mind, it boils down to this.  I have the right to be upset, angry, annoyed, pessimistic, sad, dejected, or whatever other negative feeling there is.  I have the responsibility, though, to give others a heads up about what they might encounter should they choose to engage me in conversation.  I also have the responsibility, after an appropriate amount of time (dependent on the situation), to move on, get over myself, and revert to my unicorn-loving self.

In the interim, though, let me be.  And let me show a genuine side of life to my students – because if they can see me being productive and tactful even while harboring a less-than-stellar attitude, maybe they, too, can learn to channel negative energy positively.

Matt Pistilli is a post-doctoral research associate/educational technologist for Information Technology at Purdue University.

It’s that time of year again… no, not spring (though it is), not tax season (already taken care of, refund received and spent), not baseball season (I am SO excited for my Cubbies, knowing full well that my hope for a strong season is likely misguided).

No, it’s time for performance evaluations.  Love it or hate it, the end of the year evaluation rolls around every April (or so).  And you deserve to have one. And to give them to those you supervise.

Personally, I dislike having these pro forma discussions every 12 months.  I don’t like having them with my supervisor, and I don’t like having them with those I supervise.  Further, having to review the last twelve months of my calendar, one-on-one meetings, agendas, etc., in an effort to account for major accomplishments, contributions, collaborations, or milestones, is a daunting task.

Then, to have all of those things summed up in a two-page, circle-a-number-and-provide-some-detail form, seems like a lot of effort driven by some anxiety and hope that I’ve done everything expected of me.

I do not like the yearly performance review.  I do not like it, Sam-I-Am.

What I do like, however, is ongoing performance feedback.  When those I supervise do a good job, I recognize it right then with the person, and then again at a staff meeting (to me, public praise, while possibly embarrassing, gets people the recognition that they so rightly deserve).  When something has gone awry – say, a poor attitude, work ethic, or programmatic debacle – I address it immediately.  It’s the only way that changes and growth can be made in the short-term and have results for the long-term.

The department in which I work uses a three meeting approach to the formal performance evaluation process.  In June I meet with my supervisor and go over personal and professional goals for me for the next academic year.  We discuss what I want to be doing, what my supervisor would like to see occur, my own development, and new things that I can do for the organization.  In November, we meet again, and we revisit the goals we agreed upon, add to them, change them, update them and otherwise see how things are progressing.  Then, in April, I receive my two-page form and have a long discussion about what I’ve done well and areas I need to focus on so that I can continue to develop.  This is a fabulous formal process.

Informally, I invite and welcome feedback all the time, and I freely give it as well.

So, as you prepare to give and/or receive your feedback for the year, some things to think about for the next year…

• Positive feedback should be given early and often, privately and publicly.
• A problematic behavior should not be discussed for the first time at the end of the year evaluation.
• Keep a running list of accomplishments, presentations, publications, collaborations, committee involvement, etc., so that when you need to account for the work beyond your work, you can do so pretty easily.  I do this for me, and I do it for those I supervise as well (in case they don’t), and it is a great conversation piece.
• Use the performance evaluation as an opportunity to expand skills and to prepare for the next step in your career.

To me, it boils down to this: everyone deserves feedback.  Yes, we need it.  Sometimes we don’t want it.  But it is owed to us as professionals to know how we’re doing at any point in time, to be recognized for the wonderful things that we do, and to have shortcomings brought to light so they can be addressed, remedied, and reconciled.

What other tips do you have for approaching the performance evaluation?  When do you prefer to receive feedback?  What’s the most effective feedback you’ve received, and what did you do with it?

Matt Pistilli coordinates evaluation and administration for Student Access, Transition and Success Programs at Purdue University.

In recent weeks, Liz Gross and Cindy Kane wrote eloquently about how to leave a position and how a supervisor should help their supervisees leave an office. These are wonderful examples of how we, as professionals, should act under these circumstances.

The reality of the situation, though, is that we also have students leave their positions… and as students come back to the campus on which I work, we will actually be saying goodbye to several of them. Some of these students will leave of their own volition – the demands on their time are too many, their classes too rigorous, their focus or passion has changed. Many of these students, however, will be losing their positions because of poor performance in their coursework during the last semester.

I have no qualms about dismissing students from a position for academic reasons. A student leader on academic probation honestly doesn’t help me achieve the goals associated with my programs – if I ask them to work on something for the program, I know outright that I’m taking time away from them that could be used for studying. (After all, they are in college to focus on their studies, right?) In removing them from their position but continuing to provide support to them, I believe that I’m helping that student achieve more – as well as giving them the opportunity to return to the previously held position upon successful completion of the semester.

The challenge, though, is helping students see that I’m actually helping them. Too many times it’s seen as punishment by the student, when it really isn’t. What’s really happening is that the minimum requirements set forth in their contract to hold their positions are being maintained, and they’re being held to that standard. In holding them to the standard they agreed to, I’m holding up my end of the bargain. In supporting them through their academic struggles, I’m continuing to honor the contract (which states that students struggling with their academics should see me to figure out a way to be successful), even if they’re not in the position.

Not every student wants my support, though, after I’ve removed them from their position. I respect this, but I struggle with it. I know I’m not just being mean. I know I’m doing what I know is best for them as well as our shared program and department. But no matter how I frame it, my sentiment of care and concern falls on deaf ears.

So I work with the students who want assistance, and I continue to reach out to the others and offer assistance. And in the end, some students are able to step back into their positions, and others aren’t able to do so.

How do you help students understand the ethical aspects associated with meeting program requirements? What do you do when your most actively involved students are the ones having the most academic trouble?

Matt Pistilli coordinates evaluation and administration for Student Access, Transition and Success Programs at Purdue University.

Recently I read an article about the unwritten rules of baseball.  In it, the author provides several examples of these rules:

• You don’t bunt the ball to break up a no-no (no hits made, no runs scored)
• You can expect to have someone on your team hit by a pitch if your pitcher intentionally hits someone on the other team
• You don’t steal a base in a game where your team is up by an insurmountable number of runs.

There are more examples in the article, but the general gist is that there are rules that are not in the official MLB rule book that are generally followed by most, if not all, of the players.  And to fail to respect one of these rules means instantaneous attention from other players and outrage from many fans.

Now, most of us have jobs, and with them come job descriptions.  But there’s always that ubiquitous “other duties as assigned” at the end of it.  And never mind the “opportunities” that are presented to us that we opt to partake in because it falls into the realm of “professional development” whether it really develops us or not.  In short, our job descriptions provide the rules, if you will, of how we do our jobs.  But so much of what we do is either incompletely described or not listed at all.

So as I read the article, I began wondering about the unwritten rules of being a student affairs professional.  A few that I could think of – or things that have been said to me – include:

• While most of our job descriptions include something like “requires some night and weekend work,” we all know that “some” is usually “lots of” and can be equated to 3-5 nights a week and 2-3 weekends a month in many cases.
• We don’t say “no” when asked to do or be involved with something – especially if it is directly related to the students with whom we most often work.
• We routinely go above and beyond to enhance the student experience on our campuses.
• Students are our deal, our jobs, our lives, our passions, our raison d’etre.

While I have some concerns about the efficacy of some of these (I, and others, have learned to say “no” and have worked to create more balance in our lives so that our office is just that (and not a second home)), in general I believe that these unwritten rules serve as the basis for our existence within our academic institutions.  Further, I know that my failure to do any of these things (particularly the first three, and to acknowledge and fully appreciate the fourth) results in (a minor level of) outrage from my students.

To that end, what else do we do that isn’t reflected on paper?

As you develop them (and I encourage you to write them down, provide them as comments here, tweet about them, etc.), I challenge you to get them worked into your job description, or, at the very least, include them in your self-evaluation at the end of the term/academic year (however your institution does performance appraisals).  Failing those two things, find ways to show the unwritten things that you do in your resume, vita, blog, or website.  But write them down.

Unwritten rules have a way of being forgotten, not passed down, or simply ignored.  For us to not have documentation of how we impacted the lives of students would be a travesty.

Write down the unwritten.  Make your rules written.

Matt Pistilli coordinates evaluation and administration for Student Access, Transition and Success Programs at Purdue University.

I snore. Loudly. Incessantly.

My wife would often spend hours in another room or on the couch because of my ability to create a great deal of noise while I slept. At some point it became problematic enough for me to seek the advice of my physician.  Two sleep studies later, I’m the proud owner of a CPAP breathing machine.  Now I don’t snore… I wear a mask at night and that helps me breathe.

At this point you might be wondering to yourself, “Self, is this another post about balance, cleverly disguised as a post about Matt’s breathing issues?” Well, no. It’s not. While breathing is important (and I do suggest that you take or make time to breathe every day (not just in and out, but deep cleansing forget-about-work-for-30-or-60-seconds breathing), I’m not writing about that. I’m writing about asking for help. Out loud. Verbally. Directly.

It took me a long time to ask for help with this.  I figured that my condition was something I could just handle and with which I could simply deal.  My wife felt otherwise, and pleaded with me to talk to my doctor. Finally, I did. I asked for help. And what a difference it made.

I had no idea that my failure to ask for help with this issue was preventing me from doing so much.  Before I got my CPAP, I’d wake up tired and headachy.  This, in turn, left me largely useless at work until the Tylenol or ibuprofen kicked in, and, I’m told, didn’t really facilitate my having a positive attitude.  Beyond that, I’d be super tired by the middle of the afternoon, so my productivity waned.  So, I took a 9 hour work day (if you include the lunch hour) and could really only utilize about 6 ½ hours of it productively, 5 ½ with a break for lunch.  Beyond that, in not asking for help external to my job, it made my relationships with my coworkers that much more challenging because of my attitude and attentiveness.

But it took me directly asking for help with this thing that I thought I could handle.  And I couldn’t just hint that I needed help.  I had to directly ask my doctor for assistance.  I realize in retrospect that I was just dumb for not having asked for help earlier, but it really felt silly to me to ask for help with what seemed to be such a common problem.

This also helped me realize that I was the creator of much of my own demise at work.  I took on work because I was expected to take on work.  However, it was never said to me that I couldn’t ask for help.  However, in not asking for help, I would constantly feel stressed at work.  I would make deadlines, but just barely.  I would go home stressed at night and be short with my wife, toddler daughter, and newborn son.  Once I figured out that I wasn’t the only person in the office who could do some of the things that I did – and trusted that others in the office could make my life better and do a good job on certain tasks without greatly impacting their own productivity – then all of a sudden I was a happier, less stressed co-worker and supervisor.  I’m not saying that I don’t do any work any more – I just involve my peers in the things that I can and on the tasks I know they can do better than me.  I still do a lot, but I do a lot more with help.

But it took my directly asking for assistance to make this happen.  I couldn’t just hint that I had a ton to do, because my colleagues had much to do themselves.  Passive-aggressively dropping the fact that a report needed to get finished wasn’t going to get it done, nor would it get me assistance.  Once I cleared this hurdle of asking someone else to help me get part of my work done, the change was instantly noticeable.

And, lo and behold, I had time to breathe.

Matt Pistilli coordinates evaluation and administration for Student Access, Transition and Success Programs at Purdue University.

Author’s note: Snoring is no small matter. Sleep apnea is a serious condition that can lead to heart disease and other health issues.  If you or someone you care about snores a lot – and, more so, stops breathing in his/her sleep, please suggest that they see their physician about getting help. More information on sleep apnea can be found at http://www.nhlbi.nih.gov/health/dci/Diseases/SleepApnea/SleepApnea_WhatIs.html.

A few weeks ago I was driving home from staff training for our orientation leaders and I noticed that there was a grasshopper on my windshield.  A large grasshopper.  Clinging to the glass. for. dear. life.  As I drove to my house, this intrepid insect stayed with me – even as I exceeded 50 mph.

As I pulled into my driveway and shut off the ignition, I watched as the grasshopper leapt off my car into my wife’s flowers and went about his business – five miles from where he had started.  Now, five miles for me is no big deal – I could walk it if I had to.  But this grasshopper, while large, was still only two inches long and now was over 317,000 inches from where he had started.  He was, essentially, in a brand new environment, and was there because he hung on as I made my way to my house.  He appeared happy, jumping through the lilies and daisies, but he was in a brand new place, vaguely aware of where he was, with little knowledge of how to get back to where he started… much less where to go from there.

Jump back to new student orientation.

Last week we welcomed over 5,200 students to campus for orientation (our first-year class will be closer to 6,400 when all is said and done).  While our student leaders were exceptionally trained by my colleagues, I get the sense that many of the new students in their groups ended up being along for the ride, despite the best efforts of the leaders to teach students to fend for themselves.  The university where I work is a large, land grant institution that enrolls students from all 50 states and over 120 countries.  Many of our students are far more than 5 miles from home, and, as such, it is easy to get here and simply be along for the ride.

So it got me thinking.  How often do I work with students or colleagues and bring them along for a ride versus letting them get to the same destination on their own?

I get asked a lot of questions, and most of the time I answer them outright… essentially driving someone to their answer.  But could I have helped that student or colleague get to that answer on their own?  Guide them, rather than drive them?  Probably.  The end result being that if I can teach them to find the answers on their own I can be the consultant/guidance they need, not necessary the driver/provider that they currently see me as.

My goal this year is to help people get themselves to where they’re going, rather than just get them there with a simple answer.

It’s going to be an adjustment – for me because I’m used to providing answers, and for them because they’re used to me just giving them the answer. But lest they become like my grasshopper passenger and end up a long way from where they started with no map in hand, it’s an adjustment I have to make.

What adjustments do you have to make to ensure that folks just aren’t along for your ride?

Matt Pistilli coordinates evaluation and adminstration for Student Access, Transition and Success Programs at Purdue University.