Zen and the Art of E-mail Maintenance
When you send an email to somebody do you expect an answer?
If you send an email to colleagues at work do you expect an answer?
If you send an email to colleagues at work asking them for help do you expect an answer?
I can’t speak for others, only for myself, and the answer to the above questions is YES.
My current reflection arises from an observation about the ethics of email etiquette in professional settings. Some time ago I sent an email to a colleague in another institution offering to provide a workshop on contemporary policy developments. This wasn’t just any random person but somebody responsible for professional development. Hopefully I am not so arrogant as to presume that simply because I made this offer that it should be picked up joyously. But, I had run a number of successful seminars on this topic so it wasn’t complete fantasy to think that my offer might be at least considered. That was three years ago. I am still to receive even a confirmation of having received the email.
I would like to say that this was unusual. But it isn’t.
When you have been successful in applying for a job then it is normal to spend some time in communication with the prospective employer’s human resources department. And it was for me recently. Except that email after email went unanswered.
It doesn’t stop there. As an Academic Developer my job is to work with other academic colleagues in the development of their academic practice. So it is not unusual for me to request support from academic colleagues in this endeavour. And so it was a few weeks ago. I sent an email to a group of colleagues who had graduated from one of our courses asking if they would participate in a workshop to guide their own colleagues on the assessment aspects of the course – colleagues supporting colleagues. Out of the 10 emails I received one reply. That means that the other 9 colleagues did not even reply to decline the invitation. This scenario was repeated again more recently and in relation to an identical request for support. And the response? The same. Many emails posted, one positive reply, lots of completely unanswered requests.
What is the issue?
On the one hand there is the matter of simple courtesy. I might be naive but if a colleague sends me an email containing a direct request I answer it. Now, there are plenty of times when I miss an email and reply late, or have to be reminded – but 9 out of 10?
There was no expectation that people would say yes simply because I asked them. The expectation, though subdued and implicit, was that there would be some reply.
I have to say that, unlike some years ago, the lack of collegial response did not upset me. I didn’t go away feeling that I had been rejected, that I was discounted, that I – and that is it, I. And so it is to the ‘I’ of this concern that I must turn.
A while back this series of mini-events would have caused me much pain, even if only temporarily. The fact that it doesn’t now (though obviously it plays on the mind as a curiosity) is what I want to think through here, because it has something to do with the ‘I’ and the Buddhist concept of ‘no-self’.
The terms ‘academic identity’, ‘identity’, and ‘identity work’ can be found in scholarly discussions of how we see ourselves, of our struggles for authenticity, of battling with ‘managerialism’ or ‘neoliberalism’, of ‘reform’. The language can often conflate our personal identities into that of the ‘academic’. And often it can feel like that. Who, on reading their students’ feedback, doesn’t zoom in on the one or two negative comments, blind to all the positive ones? Its no surprise really. Academic life is often isolating and vulnerable. We are vulnerable in the face of our students, asking ourselves if we are good enough, if we are failing our students. We are vulnerable in the face of academic publishing – remember the deep psychic pain when you receive a rejection from a journal editor? We don’t even need a rejection. Suggestions for revision can feel like a public declaration of failure.
It is as if my fundamental self is bound up so completely in the day job.
This reminds of Art Bochner’s wonderful piece on the divided self, “It’s About Time: Narrative and the Divided Self“. In this article Bochner recounts how he was confronted with the chasm between his personal and professional selves. Importantly he talks about how the ‘academic self’ rejected the affective self, pushing emotion into the private shadows of the personal. So, we often feel, on a day to day basis, that hurt caused to our professional self is an attack on our deep self, on us as a PERSON. Yet, the academic sensibility often negates the affective, the felt. We struggle with an ‘I’ as if it were one and the other, the personal AS the professional.
And this is where ‘no-self’ comes in, and why, I think, I felt a healthy detachment from the lack of collegial response; why I was able to observe it as a phenomena, but not as something that caused pain.
Faced with the lack of collegial responses I was confronted with the possibility of seeing this as a comment on ‘myself’, as an evaluation of ‘me’ by my colleagues. There is a moment, then, when I have to consider the ‘I-ness’ or ‘me-ness’ of my emotional responses. If I see that what I call ‘me’ has no real substance, then there is no ‘me’ to be hurt. This is not a lack of emotion, or a lack of identity. Instead, what this notion signals is that what we conventionally refer to as ‘me’, as ‘I’, as ‘identity’ is of such a composite nature that it is finally difficult to identify with it in such a way that the normal slights visited upon us by social interaction can really touch ‘me’.
The feeling of love, of rejection, of course arise. We, I, do FEEL them, sometimes intensely.
But what I have in my power to do is respond to them. There is a moment when I can pause, and allow the mind and body to observe these rising feelings, a pause where the understanding that ‘I’ am a complex composite of inherited dispositions (like Bourdieu’s ‘habitus’).
In that pause before inherited emotional responses take over, I can see that it is the attachment to an essential and substantive self that causes the pain. It is the desperate clinging to the idea of myself as an independent entity that causes me anxiety. The ‘me’ that my colleagues might or might not reply to is not ‘me’ at all. If there is a ‘me’ to which they are not replying (and there is an arrogance in assuming that there is a ‘me’ that prompts their not responding) then it is a phenomena of their mind.
A brief reflection on the substantial nature of ‘me’ can reveal that it is largely a narrative through which I seek to construe a sense of coherence in the midst of impermanence and change, a coherence that carries me from a linear past to a distinct future. In this narrative of self is a hint of the emptiness of this phenomena – ‘me’. Drawing on Bourdieu’s concept of ‘habitus’ I can see myself as a condensation of history, of family, social and cultural location, historical events, chance happenings and meetings. I am ‘me’ only so far as the conditions of my existence allow. And those conditions do and can change. In what sense does this composite of elements make me a coherent and substantive thing?
The empirical self is actually composed of a flow of mental and physical states that are co-dependent on history, on the different environments within which I exist and move. While ‘I’ or ‘me’ are relative terms, phenomena of the mind, this does not mean that there is no ‘sense of self’, of a ‘me’ that is in the world. Recognising that much of what I regard as myself is a composite of inherited dispositions, these do not wholly determine me. Devoid of an essential self, I am faced with a different reality. Faced with the lack of collegial response I have only that moment. And in that moment I have power. I have the power to respond in line with inherited dispositions that might see the lack of collegial response as something personal, OR I can respond otherwise. I can accept the variety of feeling responses that might arise, but I do not have to identify with them AS IF THEY WERE ME.
I may still feel upset. My feeling of worth may be rattled (as when we receive negative feedback from students). But, if I do not attach too strongly with an essential sense of self that subsumes all of me into the professional me, then I can avoid much of the pain of those moments.
I am bemused by the lack of collegial response. But my responsibility is not that, it is my ethical being in the world. And that is another post.