What My Mentor Taught Me About Change & Ownership
Jane Goodall was an early hero of mine. PBS had no shortage of film about her in the 1980s. I consumed hours of television that documented her climbing up hillsides, navigating thick jungle foliage and sitting calmly as wild chimpanzees cantilevered around her.
What the documentaries couldn’t capture were the years of study and struggle, the hours she spent capturing notes by hand, fighting insects and discomfort, perched on damp undergrowth waiting.
Years later, as a student in Ann Arbor, I began to understand more clearly the tenacity and patience research required. I also got a taste of work in grueling environments: You haven’t met winter until you’ve lived it in Michigan.
Most importantly, my stockpile of heroes grew. I met academic rockstars who were building innovative programs, growing international networks and fostering important change. While less featured in mass media, these luminaries were creating great impact.
One mentor-hero stands out. Not only for the dramatic way in which I met her and witnessed the scope of her influence, but for the characteristics and practices that enabled her impact. What documentaries and grad school courses don’t share often enough.
A Legacy in Technicolor
It was the start of winter—which is to say, October. On the guidance of my primary mentor, I carved out time to attend “an event” where I was advised to “meet Ruth.”
I had no idea the degree to which this meeting would shift my professional direction, facilitate my goals and influence me, even now.
Sixteen years later.
Approaching the lecture hall, I could hear the buzz of an excited audience. Students and their weighty bookbags propped open the doors. Inside, it was a vibrant scene – filmy saris and bold dashikis, a rainbow of headscarves and towers of bright fabric appeared as pops of color throughout the room. The audience was a veritable Model UN and everyone seemed to be speaking at once.
Amid the cacophony, at the bottom of the lecture hall, sat a statuesque woman with a grey bob. She was surrounded by bouquets and balloons, and despite the noise and activity, appeared grounded and calm.
I climbed over several pairs of legs to claim an unoccupied seat as our department chair stepped forward and tapped on the mic.
Ruth was being honored for her service. After years of teaching and research, she was “retiring” (a misnomer. I don’t believe she’s retired yet!).
Once the podium was clear, it became like a revivalist event, as dozens of people stepped forward to share their stories. First it was a former student who had lost a loved one while studying at Michigan and found Ruth “to be so much more than a mentor.” An international partner from India praised her “long-term commitment to change” in reproductive health. Another stepped forward to express his appreciation for her creativity and collaboration on intractable political matters.
One by one, individuals from all over the world stood up to express gratitude and describe how one woman had impacted their lives. It was evident by their expressions and tears that her impact was still reverberating.
Witnessing this tugged my heart into my throat.
It also reminded me that not all meaningful change requires continental shifts.
We can affect change by merely sharing ourselves: Being present. Practicing compassion. Seeing an opening to serve one another and stepping into it.
But to sustain this kind of impact also requires something less discussed: Owning our worth.
As I had the good fortune of working with Ruth, one of the lasting lessons she taught me was how she carried herself and owned her worth. She knew her time and energy were finite. She knew her expertise was rare.
She respected herself, her gifts and treated them as such.
Over-Work and Worth
When working in a field or profession we love, it’s easy to give generously and without thought. We step up and volunteer because it feels good. But there’s a shadow side to this practice. We can over-give. And rarely, if ever, do others encourage us to give less. It’s a practice we must exercise, ourselves.
Practicing Ownership
In addition to her powerful gifts, what enabled Ruth to become a far-reaching influence was that she valued herself.
When I invited (i.e. pleaded) her to sit on my dissertation committee, she didn’t immediately accept. Ruth took time to consider my request; ultimately, she agreed to participate with conditions. Her availability and input would be limited. I wasn’t offended. I was grateful.
Ruth had a practice of close listening that made you feel to be the only person in the room. Because academia is rife with chaos and frantic multi-tasking, it was gratifying to have that level of calm attention. Any time together was intentional. Productive. It might only be 15 minutes, but each minute would count.
Her word mattered. Whether connecting me to a contact abroad, sharing a resource or providing input, Ruth followed through on her commitments. She had an amazing support team who assisted and also held strong boundaries. They cultivated a protected, productive space where instantaneous email replies didn’t exist. So I didn’t expect them.
Our meetings had a firm window of time. A few minutes before they concluded, she’d gracefully stand up, pause and begin leading me to the door. All this occurred without saying a word. It was her confident presence. I knew there’d be no lingering. She was firm, but kind.
I arrived late once. Ruth never raised her voice. She was firm. Her time was precious. I never made that mistake again.
In Public Health the issues are global. The inequities are expansive. Yet, we cannot contribute aimlessly, wastefully.
Our energy and attention and expertise has worth. But only if we own it.
Years later, while traveling in a little known corner of Central Asia, I had a driver who was shuttling me to a Public Health meeting.
Making small talk, he asked where I was from.
Where in the U.S.? Michigan.
Do you know Ruth?
Ruth had expansive impact because she has a great heart and was intentional in how she invested herself. She valued herself.
Friends, we must practice intention in where we invest ourselves, too.
These are not easy practices, friends. But they’re necessary.
You’re worth it. So am I.
I remain grateful to heroes like Ruth and Jane Goodall who’ve opened my eyes to what is possible in the world. They’ve inspired me to stretch, be tenacious, to grow my gifts and share them.
Beyond the call to give and contribute, it’s up to each of us to own our gifts, own our worth and teach others their value.
The question is: Are we?