Something I realized.

I've been dealing with a lot of stress - mostly internal, self-imposed - lately, which makes me less tolerant of the behavior of my fellow humans.

I was trying to think exactly what it was, to see if I could exorcise it. I knew it had to do with the fact that I'm planning on applying for Full Professor this fall, and all the stress related to that, and the fact that I never feel I'm *quite* good enough (or not *quite* as good as I think I should be), that other folks have done so much more than I have, and it doesn't help that there is a rumor hanging around that because of bad budget matters, "they" may be looking for reasons to turn down people for promotions (it carries a small increase in salary with it, which would come into play next fiscal year - when our budget is supposed to be even worse than now. And apparently they can't give the promotion without the raise for some reason; I'd happily accept the promotion without a raise if it came down to that).

And I thought about it and thought about it. Did a Target run because (a) there was stuff I needed and (b) I needed to get out of town or I felt like I was going to lose my "stuff." (less-gentle readers may substitute another word beginning with s there).

Driving back, it hit me. Hit me hard enough that I actually teared up and started to cry - not hard, not bad enough to compromise my driving - but actually crying:

A lot of the stuff I've done over the past years won't count in the tally. What's more, a lot of the stuff I did that was important to me, was stuff that might even actively count AGAINST me (because I wasn't spending that time working on Innovation In Teaching, Research, or Service to the Profession). And the old Inner Critic sprang up: You should give away your yarn and fabric, and most of your books, so you won't be tempted to relax. You should have been writing more grant applications, doing more research, writing more article manuscripts. Dammit, you should have tried to write a BOOK. Instead, you goofed off knitting and quilting and you went to visit family and all of that. You should go in every Saturday, and probably most Sunday afternoons as well. You'll never get that promotion because you're a slacker.

And I felt bad. Really, really low. Like, "The things I think are important aren't valuable, and I didn't value the things that really were important enough, and now I might wind up paying for it."

I tried, after I got home, to do some of the review-reading for a class I teach next week (I finally did get it done). I was midway through the reading when my mom called. (She and my dad and I - they both take an extension and we all talk at the same time - had just called a couple days ago, but I think she wanted to talk again seeing as where she had been.)

She had just gotten back from the "visitation" (down here, we call it "Family Hour," and I have come to think of it as such) for a woman she knew and was sort of friends with. Mrs. T. had fought cancer for a while (Lymphoma, I think) and had finally succumbed. My mom was talking about all the things - Mrs. T. had been a talented amateur artist, and so they had some of her drawings and paintings on display.

And then she told me the thing that kind of got me thinking and ultimately pushed me out of the mindset I was in.

She was talking about Mrs. T.'s granddaughter, who works as a hairdresser. She asked, and got permission, to go down to the funeral home and wash, dye, and set Mrs. T's hair (what she had left; she had been undergoing chemo) one last time.

I found that breathtakingly touching. Instead of just burying her as she was, or instead of putting a chemo cap on her, or even instead of having one of the funeral home employees do it - her granddaughter did. (I'm tearing up now thinking about it). My mom said many people talked about how kind it was, and how Mrs. T. would have been so happy to know that her hair had been taken care of - especially by her granddaughter.

I mean...I can't think of any kind of performance evaluation anyone could receive for any position where that would "count." But ultimately, it's an important thing - being able to do that one last loving act for another person - ultimately, it's probably one of the most important things.

And I know, I'm kind of an idiot about this sometimes. I get too caught up in the tiny picture frame of campus life, the weird hothouse atmosphere.

But I realized something, after signing off and hanging up: Even if whoever is evaluating me doesn't value some of the things that I do, even if they don't think they're important, they still are. Just because one person's or one group's judgment says they aren't doesn't make it so.

And I also realized something: Even if I do not make Full Professor, that will not make me any less compassionate. It will not make me any less able to help my graduate student finish her degree. It will not make me any less good of a teacher (however good I may be). It will not make me less loyal or less responsible or less able to do stuff well on short notice when asked. It doesn't make me any less important to those people who love me, it doesn't make me love the people I love any less.

It's just a silly piece of paper (and a slight raise, but as I've said before, it was really more the title and the piece of paper that mattered to me). Ultimately it does not matter.

I'm going to have to remind myself of that regularly this fall, in order to keep my balance and good cheer. (And you do remind me of this, if I start nattering about how I'm No Good and I Won't Get This Thing Which I Now Have Blown Out of All Proportion of What It Actually Means in My Life.)

Because, I actually said the other day: "This is the only thing I have going for me - I don't have a spouse or kids, I've not written a book, the only papers I've published have probably been read by five or fewer people - and so if I don't get this, I don't have anything." And that's so patently untrue. But it's so easy to get sucked into that mindset, especially listening to some people talk.