Although it was not that cold this winter, and we actually didn’t get a real snowstorm until after the Equinox, the real emergence of Spring here in DC allows me more time outside to appreciate my experience here and what I am learning during this Fellowship.  There are lots of features for me to appreciate on a sunny day, such as the cherry blossoms in bloom, or the re-awakening of the flowers in the courtyards, along my walking and bus riding routes.  Even my senses and sense of pace have been involved.  (In late March, I had surgery to remove a polyp that was taking over my nose and sinuses.  That forced a few days off, and a slower pace of activity while I was recovering.  Now, my sense of smell, already acute, is coming back online with even more sensitivity and range.)  It’s no longer the “time is money” or “he who hesitates is lost” lessons of childhood forcing me to rush to everything.  It’s April, and literally, it’s time to stop and smell the blossoms.

During one of these sunny, warm days, I came to contemplate the impact of my experience at the Department of State on my sense of *self*.  The look and sound of BSC in a suit and dress shoes, striding with purpose to his office at Main State, evokes a certain set of descriptions that aren’t really the same as BSC in a tweed jacket and cords and sneakers, keys jangling, walking around West Lafayette.  Oh, and don’t forget the shades.  A friend had asked me to send a picture of me in work mode, and so I did, wearing the classic Ray-Ban Wayfarers (they’re actually a vintage pair, with my own prescription inserted), standing in front of the Department of State sign (and taking care not to use an angle or direction that would disturb the Diplomatic Security folks)…

There were two responses to this picture.  My friend commented that I wasn’t smiling, and looked upset and grim.  (No, it was a combination of pain from the doctor checking on my nose, and just thinking hard about what I needed to do.)  So, I took another picture, with a smile and a different background (the National Academies building across the street):

The second response was my own.  For somewhat surprising reasons, I recognized in that picture a reminder of my research career.  Compared to many psychologists and engineers, I spend a lot of time doing “fieldwork,” including a research method known as “participant observation” (where one spends time “embedded” in another culture or organization, working alongside of the regular people living that other life, in order to learn what’s important to them and how they come to view things—and not make foolish errors about what designs will or won’t work for them, or what their daily challenges are).   Of course, cultural anthropologists might laugh at my calling this “fieldwork”: I’m not living in a hut somewhere 15 miles from the nearest paved road.  But it does mean that much of my data and thinking comes from talking to people who are not me, and don’t have my world view—they’re not designers or researchers about systems, they’re performers in, or users of, the systems that I study.  They may or may not reflect on how and why they do what they do.  I’m fundamentally an outsider to those aspects of their organizational and social culture.  (This is something that I’ve experienced for most of my life.  More on that later.)

That insight quickly spawned a new one: the Department of State is the third federal government agency in which I have functioned as participant observer since I began my graduate research career over 30 years ago, for weeks or months at a time.  My prior agencies were the National Park Service (NPS), and NASA.  What is profoundly interesting about that collection of agencies is that they are profoundly mission driven, and have a great deal of unique visibility.  (It’s said that a former Secretary of State defined their job, and the role of the Department in general, as “explaining the U.S. to the rest of the world, and explaining the rest of the world to the U.S.”)  NPS is there to conserve and protect our natural and cultural heritage for future generations.  NASA brings the universe to us, and takes us further out into the universe.  (Yeah, I want more of that.)

BSC with NPS, 1989

BSC at NASA, 2001

I recognized as well that these are very romantic, idealistic views of the world and what we should be doing in and with it.  Managing occupational safety, or confirming regulations over drug approvals, or ensuring people pay their taxes on time are in fact really important features of living in a complex society that is also a safe and healthy one.  The folks who work there even have their official seals and logos and organizational cultures.  However, I dare say that they do not capture the cultural imagination and romantic vision of the following:

• a park ranger in their hat or baseball cap hiking in the backcountry, explaining the meadow flowers and the remnants of people who lived in the area 200-400 years ago;
• an astronaut in their space suit, or flight controller in mission operations, or engineer or scientist analyzing data that enhances our exploration and understanding of the solar system;
• a diplomat flashing their official passport in some far-flung airport, or at an embassy or ambassador’s reception, engaging in the gentle statecraft that enables a broader, richer, more peaceful world.

The challenge for romantic idealists is that they can get caught in their ideals, writing scripts for the movies that play in their own heads.  I find myself doing this a lot, and maybe it’s a remnant of having a very vivid, broad imagination as a kid, combined with living in and between multiple cultures just a few miles from each other in Philadelphia.  Not surprisingly, I caught myself a few days ago in such a “movie script” moment: I was writing a document, and imagining the cheers of a crowd as a “VERY SENIOR GOVERNMENT OFFICIAL” finishes an announcement and walks off the stage, shaking my hand and thanking me for putting together such an excellent policy.  (It’s kind of like the scene in the movie, “A Christmas Story,” where Ralphie imagines an enraptured teacher marking a series of “+” after the “A” grade on his essay.  I’m actually not that fond of the movie, but given the number of times it plays each December, it’s hard to avoid seeing the scenes again and again.)  That is a nice movie scene, but in truth, it’s very rare that a solo author of a policy really gets the policy enacted, or their work acknowledged, in such a direct way.

When I get myself out of the movie and start to re-examine the real world (even the biographical movies, such as the recent hit, “Hidden Figures,” are not piecewise accurate, nor were they filmed in real time), I really need to bring myself back down to the ground and face the harsh reality… or is that a mistake, too?  Consider the list above.  I have been that ranger, and worked directly with them, working in the backcountry and the visitors’ center.  I have been that engineer, working with those astronauts and flight controllers and flying in the vomit comet.  And just this week, I was that diplomat, working to support the international relationship as a member of a country desk and enjoying a conversation at the Ambassador’s residence.

Am I enjoying my experience?  Do I think it’s worth it?  I keep getting asked that question, and the answer is even more true now than it was six months ago: without a doubt, this is one of the most important adventures and educational experiences I could have had at this stage of my life and career.  These are lessons I could never learn if I stayed in the lab, no matter how brilliant or talented or hard working I might be there.  The realities of these experiences themselves are amazing and precious and valuable beyond my ability to fully recognize in the moment.  (Yes, it was ideas that I observed and learned and developed at NPS and NASA that have influenced the papers I’ve shared and work that I’ve been able to present while I’ve been here at State.)  There is yet more for me to learn, and do, and integrate, as I continue to experience a world and career filled with opportunity and danger and change.

Not bad, as they say… for government work.

I always knew what I wanted to do: anything in the space program. Getting a job offer to come to work at NASA Mission Control in Houston was beyond my wildest dream. To tell the truth, I would have paid them to let me come and sweep out the floors. But it worked out much […]

via The Road Not Taken — Wayne Hale’s Blog

So, I did promise a big announcement in my return to the blog last week.  I normally would try to develop a well-crafted story, designed to increase tension and drama, an essay as a piece of “sudden non-fiction”.  Depending on which draft of this entry I consider, I have very different ideas of whether and how to do this. Let me share the part of the story now that has already been generally announced: I have been named as a Jefferson Science Fellowship (JSF) awardee for 2016-17. My one-year term in residence with the Department of State in Washington, DC is scheduled to begin in August, allowing me a ringside seat for the US federal elections in November, and the inevitable administrative turnover through and beyond January 20, 2017.

I have been learning a lot about myself over the past three months, somewhat as a continuation of the lessons of the two job interviews I mentioned, and somewhat as a feature of internal exploration.  What do I really want?  What should be my objective function and utility vector for the next stage of my career?  Without a good answer to that, the chances are low that I would actually find a suitable and compelling fit.  The two interviews had given me a type of freedom, but the start of the JSF process helped me recognize that I was not only enjoying thinking about the essays on international policy and engineering problem solving, but that the tasks were drawing on exactly the combinations of skills I had been hoping to capitalize on in those other interviews.  Even during the in-person finalist interviews in December, I had a fun, giddy feeling of what I sometimes describe as collimation: a sense of alignment and integration of energy, doing what I was built to do.  I was having fun, and even stopped thinking—for a while—about the process as a competition for a position against other candidates.

The announcement of Fellows was made in January, but there is still the issue of placement: with which Office would I be working?  Acknowledging the unique opportunity afforded by JSF allows me to think in terms of Adventure: doing something unique, life changing, and decidedly unlike my normal work (even if I did want to build on my unique combination of skills and knowledge domains).  That made some opportunities, normally of some interest, lower priorities for me.  If I could do similar work as a regular GROUPER activity, it’s not really a good Adventure.  So, between the groups with whom I met, what would be my choice and preference… and would they want me?  The lesson from the past interviews did give me a hint: just express my passion and enthusiasm and desire for Adventure, and I would be much more likely to find a proper alignment than if I tried to guess or adjust to some other imagined perspective.  It took a number of conversations, and by the end of the placement week, I was happy to have found that there were at least two offices that I could get really excited about, and another three or four additional options that still would ensure a suitable Adventure.  And then, it was matching time.

To be honest, the email came sooner than I expected.  I didn’t know if I should be thrilled, or nervous.  (Years ago, I had worked an “editor’s response function” of delay tolerance.  Although one usually prefers a short delay to a long one, if you send off a grant proposal or book manuscript or some such long and deeply personal self-expression, you probably don’t want to see an answer come back in just a few minutes after receipt.  It takes hours to read dozens or hundreds pages, and make detailed comments and suggestions for improvements.  It can take only a few minutes to decide that something is so horrible that you don’t want to subject yourself to it any longer.  You want the editor or grant reviewer to take hours, not minutes.)  Close the office door, take a deep breath, double-click on the message…

“It is with great pleasure that I write to confirm your selection as a Jefferson Science Fellow for 2016-2017… You will serve your Fellowship in Bureau of East Asian and Pacific Affairs, Office of Japan Affairs (EAP/J).  This position is a Foreign Affairs Officer…”

One of my top choices!  I got what I wanted!  More importantly, I get to use the gifts and skills and connections that I am most eager to experience in the Adventure!  I could instantly recall the conversations with my daughter Kyrie on Okinawan mandalas in Final Fantasy X, or the discussions with Drew Davidson about the Aibo robot dog, or even my introduction just a couple weeks earlier to JAXA researchers at the NASA Human Researcher Program Investigator Workshop.  I can call on my systems engineering lectures, and…

I can spend a year of Adventure, being fed in multiple ways, in a range of challenges, in the context of national service.  If I had been selected for and accepted either of those other campus jobs, I wouldn’t have gotten this (because I wouldn’t have felt it appropriate to apply, within one year of starting a position).  So, the objective function works in a variety of ways—my utility vector is better aligned with this position than anything else I had tried to move towards in the past few years.  (It simply took a set of misalignments and frustration to learn this.)  Working with the State Dept. was something I hadn’t even seriously considered 2-3 years ago when I was contemplating job titles and responsibilities.

I have learned to be active and confident in describing and expressing what I want.  I have come to appreciate the broader lessons that come to me when I do not succeed at a task.  There is much to gain when I am open to and accepting of the experience and learning available in unexpected paths.

道教