The Chronicle of Higher Education ran a piece this week in their ‘Community College’ section from sociologist Chad M. Hanson, who “Fled a Humorless University for a Sanctuary of the Liberal Arts.”

Hanson writes about finding a fulfilling career beyond the University of Texas system, where he worked as a research associate:

A successful career at a community college depends on shifting one’s perception. Students — even the snarling ones with baseball caps pulled down over their eyes and baggy pants hanging off their posteriors — must become the focus of one’s work life and the source of one’s job satisfaction. Regardless of whether they want or feel as if they need to take your courses, ill-prepared and unmotivated students show up in your classroom, and that fact often presents a challenge to new teachers. Even so, the good ones eventually realize that making ill-prepared and unmotivated students a priority is a luxury of sorts. At universities, educators take pride and pleasure in the challenge of securing grants to pay for new lines of research, but I have the freedom to make the surly, often-ill-prepared kid in the back row the challenge of my professional life, and that suits me.

Hanson provides a thoughtful reflection about what pushed him to pursue this type of career in sociology…

Community-college teaching can be lucrative. I received a pay increase when I left the university and took up teaching at a two-year college. But that’s not why I left my job conducting research. I left because, though the work was meaningful, it was humorless. Near the end, as I sat in front of the computer in my office, I could feel the hours and days slipping by without the kind of uninhibited laughter that makes your eyes water and your cheeks ache. I longed for that. I was surrounded by brilliant people who took themselves far more seriously than anybody should, no matter how many ways you prove yourself or your intelligence. Once on a coffee break, I caught a look at myself in a mirror — short-sleeve shirt, bold-striped necktie, and a pocket protector lined with upscale pens and mechanical pencils. I looked like a ball of rubber bands wound too tight to be useful to anyone. I knew I needed a change.

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