Battle for the Faculty's Soul.

Abstract

As we interviewed faculty candidates, each asked a similar question: What was the most challenging part of becoming a faculty member in an academic medicine setting? I know the answer without having to think because the scar from the battle for my faculty soul is still relatively fresh. Forming my identity and a picture of what I wanted my work as a member of the faculty to be and mean was (and is) the most challenging aspect of my life as a faculty member. From my first day, I heard rumblings that the institution was embarking on a mission to place a greater emphasis on scholarly work from all faculty—including those in the school of health professions. I observed that the faculty were uncomfortable with this transition and argued the importance of teaching as the focus of being a faculty member. A natural helper at heart (I am a physician assistant after all), I committed myself to teaching and education and labeled any and all other pursuits as distraction and noise. Scholarly pursuits were selfish—existing solely for the game of self-advertising that is promotion and tenure. The game of academia. I eschewed these pursuits as beneath the nobility of being an educator. But as I developed in my facultyhood, I grew increasingly curious about pedagogy. Like a young wizard discovering Diagon Alley, I could sense a world beyond this one that called to my sense of wonder. That call was too strong for me to resist. I started to explore the science of teaching and learning and as I embarked on writing my first manuscript, I noted creative parallels to my teaching practice that ignited flow states and left me wanting to practice the craft of scholarship. I began to take on more projects and explore issues outside my designated work time. Several times, colleagues warned me I was taking on too much and that it was a recipe for burnout, and I worried they might be right. Simultaneously, the rumble between faculty and the leadership push for scholarly work reached a nadir. The conflict over scholarly work felt almost oppressive to me. So too did the conceptualization of my work as a 3-legged stool with education, scholarship, and clinical work as the base—as distinct entities that require siloed time and attention. So often, we are pushed to imagine opposite forces in our lives being in balance. We are often confronted with the notion of work–life balance, for example. And here specifically, I was confronted with the notion of balancing my educational practice against my scholarly work. The premise I perceived was that one would take from the other and that they could not both exist in harmony. Further reflection made me think about reframing this battle of balance. Why a battle at all? Why not conceptualize our work as academics as a garden with scholarly work and educational excellence as inhabitant plant species? The garden will have seasons where one of the inhabitants will need more attention than the other or be more prevalent than the other. But the 2 exist in the space in symbiosis. If a faculty member works to ensure that one nourishes the other, the garden is that much more resilient and beautiful. Thus, the real work of a faculty is in that space of intentional craftsmanship. Six years after the start of my journey as a faculty member, I arrived at this peaceful overlook. During those 6 years, I felt torn in 2 by what was presented to me as a battle for the 2 parts of who we are as educators in an academic institution. What I realized was the noise was not the battle, the noise was outside forces trying to dictate what should be planted in the garden of my work. When I listened to what inspired me, I heard what truly mattered and was able to plan what I thought the garden should look like and how each part might synergistically contribute to my overall well-being and satisfaction as a faculty member. More importantly, I learned that this synergy could be my contribution to making the world a better place. When faculty members open themselves up to the idea that the work we do in seemingly different realms can actually enhance our practice, we arguably do our greatest service to the development of others’ gardens.