Two days. Eight interviews. Zoom from my children's bedroom, on the wall behind me a puzzle of favorite children books.
Day one.
Our first interview is a man. Our second interview is a man. I can easily see either one of them as our next head of school. I come downstairs to the kitchen and tell my husband, "We could be done now. The first two were outstanding."
Third interview is a woman. Fourth interview is another woman.
I am so bummed: I wanted to like these women. I want a woman head. I want more women in positions of influence at my school (grades 5-8 and 9-12). But they do not touch the men from the morning. Both men exuded confidence and passion and expertise. One woman was in what looked like a wood cabin, the internet connection wasn't entirely steady, she spoke with ease, but I didn't see her as our next head. The noteworthy detail was that she asked us more questions than any other candidate -- smart questions. The other woman, our last of the day, expresses appreciation for being there, is eager, enthusiastic, uses many hand gestures.
My votes for the day haven't changed: the first two were the strongest. In our debrief zoom meeting at the end of the day, people give their impressions of the day and the candidates. When it's my turn, I go honest: I say, "I wanted to like these women, but I actually didn't! And I'm really bummed about that, but I didn't get excited about them as heads of our school." It's a comment that may not sound smart or rational or backed-up by evidence, but I go with my gut and say what I think. The chair of the board says, "Same!" and I appreciate her honesty as we share that feeling.
Later that night, though, thinking about the interviews, I catch myself and my own biases: in the last twenty five years I have taught at three private schools and had four different heads. They were all white males. Is that why these women don't seem head-like enough for me? because they are not men? because I don't know what a woman head really looks like?
Day two. Four more interviews to go, and again it's two men and two women. As I watch one of the women, I again notice how exuberant and excited and appreciative she is. She gestures a lot, moves forward a lot to look at us, rarely sits entirely still on the other end of my screen.
I have paid attention scrupulously for these two days, never checking email or the weather or the news or texts as we interview on zoom. But during the final hour, as I think about which candidates I want to see move on to the next round, I write myself some notes. I am thinking about what to say in our debrief meeting at the end of the day. I want to be taken seriously. I want my opinion to hold some weight. I am aware that I am a teacher, not a board member, and on this committee of eleven, there are only three faculty members, two of us teachers. I can't not speak up when I feel passionately, but I know that I need to speak with more than passion. I'm sitting on this committee with two colleagues, yes, but also with CEO's and CFO's and lawyers and accomplished corporate folks. So yes, I feel intimidated and so thrilled and lucky to be part of this process.
---------------------------------------------
On a piece of paper, I write the following:
(typed here)
note to self:
- say what is true
- speak clearly and with evidence
- do not worry about being liked, lovely, or agreed with
- don't be emotional -- use rationale -- be clear with reasons -- cite answers and info from interviews
- don't laugh or gesture...be calm and clear and smart
I read this paper over a few times, and then I look back at my notes from the interviews, especially for the few people that I want to see move on to the next round.
When the committee chair asks faculty for their thoughts, I wait until the other two faculty have spoken. In the past meetings, I've jumped in. I want to be patient here, calm, not over-eager.
I've now watched four women interview for this job, and three of them showed me what not to do, what struck me as less than convincing or confident. The fourth was calm and brilliant and competent, but she also did not promote herself as the men did even though she can do big, hard things. But it's the three women that I felt critical of that are giving me my notes to self on how to speak and now not to speak. I am a woman -- how can I be so critical of other women? The thing is, I didn't feel so much critical of them so much as seeing myself in them: this is me, appreciative of being considered, happy to be there, eager to have everyone like me and not think, Who does she think she is, applying for this job? does she really think that she's this good?
I am these women. I am the woman who asked the most questions at the end and engaged the interviewers more than anyone else did. I am the woman who didn't say the obvious and didn't self-promote. I am the women that were excited and appreciative and enthusiastic, gesturing and telling stories and winning us over with their loveliness, but not persuading us that they were right for the job. I am all of these women. And I know that, in order to get the candidates I want for round two, I need to be a different version of myself.
-------------------------------------------------------------
After the first day of interviews, I wrote myself a note to contact the consulting company after all this to share with them my observations about the women who interviewed and to tell them that it would be good for them to give a special training to women applying for heads of school. At the end of day one, I felt like I had the interview approach figured out, seeing what these women should have done.
After the second day of interviews, I realized that I needed the same advice that these women did. I wasn't applying to be head of a school, but it doesn't matter.
I want to be taken seriously. I want to be heard. I want not to need that list.
No comments:
Post a Comment