First Person

What Went Wrong

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By Kathryn Ryan

The rejection letters are coming in.

I am a midcareer academic in search of an upper-level position in administration. And I am at that happy point in the job search, when hope and anticipation turn into the cold reality of "We were fortunate to have a large number of applicants for this position and have narrowed the candidate pool to those whose backgrounds most closely fit our institutional needs."

There is that magic word: fit.

We use it a lot in higher education, not only when we search for colleagues but also when we woo prospective students, who are themselves encouraged to look far and wide for that elusive match -- the perfect fit between student and college. The fact that about a third of all college students drop out or transfer after the first year suggests that we may be doing a better job at creating the illusion of the perfect fit than actually fulfilling it. Or maybe the students -- those overprotected, excessively nurtured, coddled millennials -- simply expect too much of our institutions, setting themselves up for disappointment and disillusion.

And what of finding the right fit between candidate and institution? As I read the rejection letters, I try to reassure myself that I need only one of those potential matches to work out, that the perfect institution must be out there somewhere, trying to find me as I search for it.

My experience on the market, however, makes those platitudes harder to believe.

In my earlier job searches, conducted from a position of security at an institution that valued my contributions and where I had experienced great success and professional advancement, the process really did resemble a courtship. I perused the ads carefully, teasing out the nuances of positions that might be of interest. I wrote eloquent and specific cover letters, outlining the reasons why a particular job and institution could be a good match for my talents.

I went on interviews secure in the knowledge that I could go home again -- and, indeed, I withdrew from several searches after the campus interview, recognizing that the ever-elusive "fit" just wasn't there.

And then I found it. A small women's college in the South was searching for a vice president of academic affairs. As a graduate of two Seven Sisters colleges, I had long hoped to be able to return to a leadership position in one at some point in my career.

Although the VP position would be a leap up the administrative ladder in terms of title and position, the actual responsibilities were in areas in which I had extensive experience and the institution was much smaller than the urban university I would be leaving, with a significantly less complex management structure.

I was sure I would be perfect for the job and was thrilled to be called for an interview. Charmed by the college, the committee, and the students, I knew that I would accept the position if it was offered.

I thought the interview went well, but I was, nonetheless, a little surprised to receive a call from the college president within two days of my return home. Her message was even more unexpected. Although the search committee had been highly enthusiastic about my candidacy, the president felt that I wasn't ready for the vice president's role (those of you who read my previous column know that remark is code for "you're too young") but that instead she would like to offer me a newly created deanship.

If I were to accept the deanship, the woman who had been first tapped for that role (currently an associate dean at the college) would be made vice president. Would I give it some thought, the president asked, and fly back down for more conversations?

Confusing? Yes. And, as I can see with the clarity of hindsight, red flags were popping up all over the place. Who suddenly elevates an associate dean to a vice presidency when there are highly qualified external candidates? And what kind of search committee doesn't even protest when the president steamrolls over its decisions?

Unfortunately, I was smitten. And when I arrived for my second set of interviews, the college pulled out all the stops. I left sure that I had found my match and happy to take any position offered just to join the college.

Over the course of the year I spent there I heard numerous students complain that the administration had worked so hard to woo them, and had issued promise after promise, but when they arrived, they learned that they had been sold a dream at best and a wholesale fabrication at worst. Scholarships evaporated, promised majors didn't exist, much-touted "sisterhood" turned into the worst kind of catty drama. Not surprisingly, among the college's myriad problems was a first-year retention rate of only about 70 percent. My experience echoed that of those dissatisfied students.

To list all of the ways in which I had been deceived in my hiring would take too long and would bore even the most indulgent reader. Suffice it to say, what the college actually wanted when it hired me was someone who could counsel students, adjudicate minor faculty complaints, and serve as staff support for the vice president. What it did not want was an academic leader who was prepared to enact major changes at an institution in desperate need of a boost into the 21st century.

It was a classic case of poor fit. In fact, I think what I fit was the college's dream of itself -- what it perhaps once was and fantasized about being again: a leading advocate for women's education, with strong academic programs, a visionary sense of mission, and a deeply rooted intellectual tradition in keeping with the best liberal-arts colleges.

That was a fantasy that I -- and so many other intelligent, driven, and inspiring women I met there -- found too compelling to pass up. Only when reality began to creep in did we realize how badly we had been used.

No doubt, the college also fell for a fantasy version of me -- and particularly for a certain academic pedigree (my aforementioned Seven Sisters degrees) -- which the president and others in the administration delighted in trotting out when it suited them.

What they failed to grasp, however, was that it was precisely that educational background that was going to cause problems in the current atmosphere of the college. What they wanted was someone who would toe the line and help in maintaining the status quo; what they got was a fiery, independent thinker, who spoke her mind and wasn't afraid to tackle tough questions.

I would like to think that, even though the administration didn't have any use for me, some of the tough, inspiring women who founded the college would have been proud of my forthrightness.

Now, in my current search, I no longer think about institutional fit in the same way. For one thing, I am plagued with doubts about my ability to assess how I might fit in a particular academic setting.

I've toned down the rhetoric in my application materials. My cover letters are a little less flowery. Instead of trying to sculpt my experiences to match what I perceive as the institution's personality, I am more direct in explaining my background with a nod, where appropriate, to items that particularly resonate with the qualifications outlined in the position announcement.

I've yet to land an interview, but I expect that when I do I will be more aggressive with my own questions -- and will work harder to understand what's going on behind the scenes at any institution I visit.

I'm also taking more stock of what's really important to me in a new position, and recognizing that, although atmosphere is significant, it's what I'll be doing on a day-to-day basis that really matters. I need to be clear both with myself and with prospective employers about what the expectations are for the role I might play in their institutions.

I've never been divorced, but I can imagine that my current feelings are somewhat akin to those one might experience in dating after a divorce. After you've failed at commitment once, can you really believe in second chances? But just as many second (and even third or fourth) marriages have happy endings, I'm hoping that my career will survive divorce and that I'll still find that perfect "fit."