“Dear Chase, get lost.” The email didn’t say exactly those words, but the message was clear enough.
I enjoy teaching from time to time. It’s a part of my gifting and offers a great deal of personal fulfillment. The reason I completed a doctorate is because I once had a dream of being a full-time professor. Those doors have remained closed, and I find that God usually has a plan that differs significantly from my own. But I still found myself looking for ways to connect with students, especially in a way that matched my expertise and passions.
One day I decided to investigate if there might be adjunct opportunities at the graduate level and spent some time researching a couple of schools that I hold in high esteem. One in particular has several programs with courses that match my expertise. There was an adjunct application section on the human resources side of the website. But experience has taught me that anything worth having comes through relationship.
Rather than submitting a blind application that would surely be lost among the masses, I sent emails to program directors introducing myself and sharing about my interest in learning more. Most of the notes went unanswered. One dean wrote me back in very kind fashion, but shared that there wasn’t an opening in his department at the time. I appreciated that. But the director of another program replied in dismissive tone, saying if I’m interested—that’s what the online faculty application is for.
This wasn’t my first rodeo. I knew the type behind such dismissal.
The options were to 1: delete the note without further action, 2: complete the online application—knowing it would be a waste of my time, or 3: send a response that’s probably unlike what he usually receives.
Option 3 it was. I thanked him for the reply, pointed out prominent faculty members with national recognition and noted that I doubt they were dismissed by school leadership to fill out the black hole of online applications. He’s also a veteran. I thanked him for his time serving as a fellow vet, and let him know that if an opportunity to serve opens in the future, I would welcome the chance to talk about it.
He never replied, and I didn’t expect him to. It was clearly a lost cause, but I figured he probably doesn’t get many notes like that, and I’d rather be remembered for challenging the tone of his dismissal than entirely forgotten.
In the end, sometimes it’s not about the immediate outcome but about making sure you’ve said what needed to be said. And who knows? It might resonate with the right person down the road.
Dr. Chase Spears 