into the tier of top schools, and enrollment across all the programs exceeded our goals.
The CRS search process moved ahead. There was an in-depth interview with a consultant from a national executive search firm. My hoped-for quick dismissal from the list of candidates did not happen. The consultant told me that my expertise in strategy and change management made up for my lack of knowledge of overseas development work. My Ph.D. in business focuses on strategic management, a discipline that addresses why, when confronted with change, some organizations adapt and flourish while others go the way of the dinosaurs.
Strategic management was a nascent field when I was drawn to it in the mid-1970s, but since 1975 I had studied, researched, taught, consulted on, and practiced strategic analysis and implementation. It is now second nature to me to observe organizations, both profit and nonprofit, in terms of their state of well-being and the underlying factors that contribute to that. A doctor automatically notices if someone is flushed, laboring in his breathing, or showing signs of pain, and starts to run through diagnoses in her head. This is similar to what I do when observing an organization.
CRS possessed deep expertise in international development, but not as much in strategic management and organizational development. And internal CRS studies indicated that change was ahead. Significant shifts in the aid environment could adversely affect resources even as they raised expectations from both donors and beneficiaries. Innovation and greater accountability would be necessary.
I recognized these patterns. Raising the game in an incremental fashion would not be sufficient. Successful alignment with the future requires objective detachment from what has worked in the past, the current core activities and skills of the staff, as well as the existing priorities for resource allocation.
CRS is deeply committed to serving the poorest and most vulnerable, but I knew passion and commitment were not sufficient. Its desire to work for the common good must be accompanied by uncommon excellence that achieves demonstrable, sustainable, and holistic improvements for individuals, families, and communities. To keep walking down the same path would actually increase the risk to the agency.
I was beginning to realize that perhaps my three decades of work in strategy might be something CRS needed. For the first time since November, I understood that I was not just a token for the search, but perhaps I had a contribution to make. In any case, I felt a responsibility to ensure that these issues were brought to the surface, understood, and acted upon. I did not know where this would lead other than to the knot I had in my stomach: I might have to face the question about leaving Notre Dame.
That was going to be very tough to do. Everything was so right here, all in place. Why would God call on me to disrupt that? Dave and I loved our community, particularly the priests and sisters of the Congregation of Holy Cross, who have become our family over the last fourteen years. Equally daunting was the idea of giving up tenure. Even with the ongoing evaluations in a person’s career, tenure is the biggest hurdle for an academic. When faculty members come up for tenure, usually in the sixth year of employment, they go through a rigorous, some think blistering, process of review by both internal and external colleagues. Those who fail to achieve tenure leave. Success, on the other hand, brings lifelong employment with dismissal only for egregious behavior and utter incompetence. When I went through the tenure process, it was the only time that I broke into hives. Most people never give up tenure once they’ve earned it. This was almost unthinkable for me, an immigrant, to whom security is the brass ring.
Though the thought of leaving Notre Dame was emotionally wrenching, I felt that if I were to allow myself to stay in the search, I needed to be willing to consider this possibility. Otherwise it would be disingenuous and a waste of everyone’s time.
I turned to Fr. Ken Molinaro, C.S.C., for spiritual direction. I had served with Fr. Ken on a committee and had gotten to know him. Fr. Ken gets up every morning at 4:30 to pray, and I can see his calm, kindness, and surrender to God in everything he does. There were others I could have turned to, but they were my closest friends and would be conflicted as I was. At our first counseling session, I told Fr. Ken that I had tried to think this through, to list the pros and cons, to make a decision tree, but these had not been helpful at all. I would like his help. His reply: “Carolyn, you are by nature an analytical thinker, but thinking will not give you the answer.”
Fr. Ken was spot on in his reading of me. I am indeed a highly analytical person. Whenever I encounter a situation, I study it, note the benefits and costs, the downside risk and the upside gain, the value for the investments whether these are financial or human efforts, the quantifiable and qualitative, sunk costs and opportunity costs. In many ways, these approaches have served me well by fostering objectivity, logic, discipline, clarity, and accountability.
But I have learned that a few things do not lend themselves to this calculus; and looking back, they are inevitably matters of the heart: a call for action that amounts to a leap into a big “unknown,” leaving behind what is safe and perfect to answer a question that will not go away.
The two similar moves I had made — leaving Hong Kong and leaving Purdue — were wrenching because I was leaving my homes, my communities, my cocoons. I had grown and flourished in both communities and had developed deep roots of friendship and love. As I have said, departure from each drew a year of grieving. I was at that juncture again.
Instead of pros and cons, Fr. Ken directed me to joys and fears: these are the language of the heart. Better still, I did not have to labor at it; I just had to carry a piece of paper and jot down my thoughts and emotions when they came. I would maintain my regular prayer routine and offer up my questions to God. God would speak. Well, this seemed manageable, and I constructed my mental to-do list: (1) pray for guidance, (2) have paper with me, and (3) record thoughts and emotions.
Chapter Three
The Fears Came First
It seemed easy, but what came first were the fears. In full force, they took up the invitation to speak to me and had lots to say. Night sweats would wake me up at 3 a.m., unusual for me. Not much wakes me up, but, like Ebenezer Scrooge, I had three rounds of middle-of-the-night visitors, each with a specific concern and each lasting for two to three weeks.
Fear of Incompetence
The first round had me worrying about leading in a field where I have not only minimal knowledge but the least knowledge among all my colleagues. I dreamt about showing up at meetings having prepared the wrong material, running out of time to read everything, or trying to speak but no words would come. I woke up to a sense of panic and embarrassment. Following Fr. Ken’s instructions, I would write down these fears on the pad I kept on the night table next to my bed, acknowledge my fear, give this to God, and fall back to sleep.
Depth of knowledge is the calling card for academics and the basis of legitimacy for our credibility. Academics draw very tight perimeters within which they will plumb deep. One has to be clear on which microslice of what topic one is proffering unassailable knowledge and opinion. Because they often interact with others who have equivalent depth but on different topics, academics are very careful not to wander into areas (even highly related contiguous topics) that are not their specializations. There is no word more damning to an academic than “shallow.” Thus the idea of leading an organization when I possessed little knowledge horrified me.
During the day, I actually did not think about it. Fr. Ken’s instruction freed me from having to resolve the problem: I was merely to listen, to note, to name my fear. There was no analytic with which to approach this, I would just offer it to God. Somehow, in random moments, insights would come, and they would help me move past a hurdle.
I cannot tell you when these insights arrived or where they came from — it was almost like a doorbell rang and a message was delivered. Out of the blue, it dawned on me that I had never presented myself as an international development specialist; nothing on my résumé would indicate that. I had not misled anyone. Given that the search committee could not have seen international development on my résumé, they must be looking for something else.
At that point, I recalled the words of a beloved mentor who had since passed away. Dr. Robert