Dear Ursinus Family,

In my first Bearings piece, I reflected on the events of 9-11 and how those unexpected snapshots in time transform our lives. Through those moments and in other times of uncertainty, we come to know each other better and make an effort—through grace, gratefulness, and greatness—to find common cause.

My piece today continues with other challenges we’ve had to confront, together. Through those experiences, I believe we all learned perhaps the most meaningful and enduring lessons about true leadership.

***

“To handle yourself, use your head; to handle others, use your heart.”

I’m beginning this Bearings piece with an important thought about teaching, which we are blessed to do so well here at Ursinus, both in and out of the classroom.

In the rest of this piece, I hope to communicate why leading, directing, and guiding others first involves understanding what is inside of them. That’s what Eleanor Roosevelt implies in the quote above. The best teachers see that potential in others and are empowered to move it from good to great. At Ursinus, we are surrounded by great teachers who bring out the best in all of us. I think I am a better leader now because I was a teacher—an adjunct faculty member—first, and those skills informed the rest of my professional career in higher education.

In our community, at this special time for Ursinus, let us teach through example and become greater leaders willing to accept and appreciate our own vulnerabilities.

***

“To be alive is to be vulnerable; to be a leader is to be vulnerable every minute of the day. You don’t get to opt out.”

I think the lessons I learned as a teacher really came to light among the devastation of Manhattan the day after 9-11, which I explained in my first Bearings column. By that Friday, I was back in a meeting at Haverford College, where I was working; we all were anticipating the “National Day of Remembrance” that was to occur the following Monday. All I can remember is feeling completely out of step, out of touch, and needing to return to New York.

Once I realized that, I walked, bewildered, to my office, and called a spontaneous meeting of my advancement team. I was used to leading—a husky steering the sled, setting the pace for a team in which everyone has a role, willing to contribute. I was anything but that in that meeting. We had just announced publicly a major philanthropic campaign, and we had to navigate a now uncharted course. My team was solid and collegial. I had always told them there would likely come a time in the course of this project when I would need to be on the road, and they would need to be the rudder of our effort—they would need to begin to tap into the potential I saw in them. I thought that might come a couple years later, but today, I knew that time had come, whether we were sufficiently prepared or not. What I said went something like this:

“I need to be in New York. I think our friends—our college family, those that we speak with every day—they’d appreciate our support, not from a distance, but somehow, we need to be a human part of the response. That’s because no one here can understand what is still happening there.”

I continued: “Each of you will take turns calling meetings, leading the team, setting an example of solidarity, confiding in one another. And I am trusting you to become the best, individually, and collectively—to lead, in your own personal ways. I just think this is best for everyone right now.”

My team accepted the challenge and we all stepped up to become the best of us. In retrospect, it was a huge risk. We had only worked together about two years, but in the aftermath, a colleague pulled me aside and thanked me. He said he was most grateful for my demonstrating vulnerability. I had always worked so hard for my staff to check all the boxes and hit our goals. But an organization’s success is really about understanding how our own limitations can strengthen others.

Vulnerability: it sounds like such a shaky, wavering, un-leadership-like word. But like professor and author Brené Brown suggests in the quote above, perhaps we’ve got that all wrong.

***

There’s simply no way to opt-out.

Leading through crisis and loss was terra incognita for me for quite a long time. But sometimes, it inspires us to be stronger in the face of adversity. Here at Ursinus, the drive to persevere is so strong.

When I returned to the college as senior vice president in 2009 for my third act—the first was as a student, second as an adjunct faculty member and early-career staff member—I sort of felt as if I were coming home to help lead the “family business.” I loved what had happened over those intervening years—CIE, a stronger academy, the Kaleidoscope, a thriving and diverse student body. Then the unexpected: We lost two beloved presidents, and my first-born son passed away in an accident, far too young.

Each time, I questioned everything imaginable and, each time, I realized why my journey had led me back to Ursinus. Each time, someone gave me some reason to personally grow, to rebuild. So often, we are inclined to find the road MORE taken. But through uncertainty, like so many of you, I continued on the road LESS taken. Maybe it’s because leadership is about the intangibles just as much as the outcome—and when those intangibles reflect the mission and personality of an institution like ours, it is unstoppable. Those are the forces that actually unite and lead all of us.

And that is our true north and why we now rely on the four enduring questions for guidance. So that we may reflect, and learn, and encourage, and grow, and become more.

I thought a great deal about whether to include this particular part of my personal journey. But especially in the midst of COVID, and during a time of transition, I thought, if nothing else, maybe reminding us all of the real importance of vulnerability and navigating the least expected events in life might help clarify a path forward for so many of you across campus who are, to quote one of my dear friends, “faithfully fumbling forward.”

Stay strong but embrace your human fragility. Remain open to possibility. And live whatever life you are meant to lead.

Sincerely,
Jill Leauber Marsteller ’78, P’18 President