By Dr. Shaun Lynch • October 1, 2026 • Work & Career • 6 min read

Looking out the window of my program director’s office, I could see the fresh snow settling on the foothills of the Front Range. It was my fourth day on the job and my first faculty meeting. I’d only had a chance to interact briefly with three or four of my colleagues and felt both nervous and new.

I was a few minutes early. The first person to enter the room was an older gentleman who was probably in his seventies. He was a retired radiologist who had joined the program as a part-time faculty member a few years back.

After medical school, he moved to Denver and practiced radiology for almost 25 years. He later moved into politics, serving in the Colorado state legislature.

Before the meeting began, he tapped me on the shoulder and leaned in.

“Shaun, I’m going to give you two pieces of advice that will serve you well in your academic career. Keep your mouth shut and volunteer for nothing.”

I smiled and laughed. That was the only thing said between us for the entire meeting.

When I teach professional development workshops for new faculty, I love sharing that story. It always gets a few laughs in the room.

I thought about that advice again a couple of weeks ago.

I was sitting in my first university Committee on Committees meeting. And I know what you’re thinking. There is actually a committee that oversees all the other university committees. I’ve seen this in a few institutions and have always joked that it’s an excuse to have more meetings.

Six or eight faculty members were in the room along with a couple of deans. The first order of business was to find someone to serve as chair for the upcoming academic year.

The request was framed pretty well. Another faculty member would handle much of the background and administrative work such as the Teams channels, folders, minutes, and tasks. We were told it was a great way to build your leadership muscle.

The silence lasted for 30 or 45 seconds, long enough to get uncomfortable. I just sat there, keeping my mouth shut, looking at the agenda and pretending to take some notes.

To my relief, the outgoing chair decided to table it for now and have anyone interested reach out individually. After the meeting, I took a walk to clear my head.

Earlier in my career, I probably would have volunteered. My younger self would have seen the chair position as a chance to prove that I belonged and build relationships that might help advance my career. Part of me was genuinely interested in the work. Solving problems beyond my own course or program felt meaningful.

There was also a sense that I needed to keep accumulating the evidence to prove that my career was moving forward, even if I wasn’t entirely sure toward what.

Adding another line on the CV was proof I was going somewhere. Being asked to lead meant somebody thought I could. And getting my name out there might lead to a larger role or the next opportunity. I wasn’t exactly sure where I was headed, but I wanted to feel like I was advancing toward some end goal.

More than a decade later, those opportunities look different. I’ve been telling myself I don’t volunteer because I have less patience for how institutional committee work operates. There is some truth to that. The process can be slow, the same few people tend to do most of the talking, and the decision you thought you were making may still have several more stops before anything happens.

But I suspect that’s only part of the answer.

I may simply have reached a point in my career where adding another responsibility no longer feels like progress. Maybe that’s growth and maturity. Or maybe I’m tired.

I’m also more aware of my time and energy now, and committee work is one of the easiest things to let go. No one in that room depends on me the way a student or one of my kids might.

The funny part is that I still want to do plenty of work. I want to teach, mentor, write, and speak. I can spend an hour with a student or colleague and see something click. I can get up early to write when nobody is asking me to. I’ll spend hours preparing a talk because I enjoy figuring out what I want to say and how to say it. If anything, I feel like I’ve got more to give.

Sitting in more meetings isn’t one of them.

Recently, I saw a photo of that professor on social media celebrating his retirement. He was in the middle with a huge smile on his face, surrounded by students.

I saved the last email we exchanged a few years ago. I had written to tell him how often I still shared the story of my first faculty meeting and how much I appreciated all the unsolicited advice he gave me during those first couple of years. At the end of his reply, he gave me one more piece.

“In every affair consider what precedes and what follows and then undertake it.”

Epictetus.

Reading it again reminded me of a short printout from the Enchiridion he had given me shortly after I started. That line was in there along with several others. It had been buried in an old folder in my file cabinet for over a decade. I read it differently now.

Now I try to think about what comes attached to a committee, leadership role, new course, or research project. The preparation, the meetings, the follow-up, and whatever becomes expected of me next year. Whether that’s wisdom or just me giving up on parts of the job I never really liked, I’m still not sure.

At 30-something, I heard his advice as a joke. At mid-career, I understand why an old professor would say it. But I keep coming back to something else about him. He used to tell our students that they had signed up for this work and needed to keep some “fire in the belly.”

The same man gave me both.

Keep your mouth shut and volunteer for nothing.

Keep some fire in the belly.

I think I’m somewhere between them now.

Until next time.