Retreat Rights

The writer is a former president.

After much longer than the national average (or so Rachel keeps telling me), I stepped away from a busy, stressful presidency (are there any other kind?) young enough that I could still think and write. Or at least I hoped I could. And so I finished a long-dormant book manuscript and joined the faculty in my field. I teach only undergraduates, serve on department committees, speak to community groups, and help the dean where I can.

As the years pass, I’ve started to feel the way I did way back when—like just a professor, not a politician fighting for the university and doing the 24-7 work routine. I slid back into faculty mode without too much trauma. When I get worked up about an action by the “the administration” (grrrr), my spouse reminds me it’s not my problem to fix: My job is to help undergraduates with their problems. And it turns out that I actually can, in many cases.

When I returned to the faculty ranks, it had been a solid 20 years since I’d taught a serious course. I had tried to teach a few classes as an administrator, but it really doesn’t work well. At breaks in the class, I’d check my email and think, Ugh. I should be in the office dealing with that. It was difficult to give the students my all; my mind was often elsewhere.

My true return to the classroom has been pretty fabulous. It sounds corny, but I started to remember why I got into this business in the first place. Teaching big and small courses at our university is where I belong, where I should be. I have far more patience with students now that I know from being president the extent of mental health challenges of this generation, how many students must work long hours even with financial aid, and how social media distracts and consumes their attention in ways they cannot control.

I feel I’m a fine teacher and have the anonymous evaluations to prove it, but I’m not as provocative as I was back in the day. Having been at both public and private universities, I learned well that leaders must be very careful about what they say, and so I tone it down a bit in the classroom. I don’t want to end up on Fox News; I just want to teach and watch students grow, even if I’m less fun/edgy than younger me was.

It struck me recently that I feel what I did 20 years ago: Even when I’m in a shitty mood, going off to teach always lifts my spirits. This is our way of public service. Going to No Kings rallies is great, but inspiring new citizens is really what we do—what we can do—for our country.

Beyond the joys of teaching, I have more patience with my colleagues than I did as a department chair, dean, etc. These are my people! I realize how lucky I am to live in a world of intellectuals, no matter their quirks. It’s now sort of fascinating to go to department meetings. I don’t say much but feel an anthropological curiosity. I help our chair whenever needed.

I have some big, fat tenure and promotion files to assess, and I look forward to tackling them. Giving each other lifetime appointments is the most serious role professors play. I’m reminded of how incredibly responsible faculty are when it matters, following the rules closely, maintaining the strictness of confidentiality.

The path I chose is not for everyone. I no longer have a suite full of assistants tending to my every need, no private bathroom. A huge pay cut, no driver. The most interesting thing: No one knows where I am at every moment and where I should be taken next. I’m not up to anything nefarious, but I am as close to free as one can be with an actual grown-up job.

Sometimes I’m asked if I have another job or career in mind for my final act. Hell no. I’ve learned that I am a college professor. I won’t overstay in the job, like an elderly U.S. senator or Supreme Court justice. I am intent on not embarrassing myself, lurching around the department and forgetting where I put my cane, phone, lunch. Just doing my gratifying form of public service while I still can.