New Student Orientation as an "Inoculation" for the realities of the college experience

As I've argued before on this blog, student affairs and higher education professionals are often overly
preoccupied with making new students feel comfortable when they arrive on campus for new student orientation.  Of course, it's important that students feel safe and supported as they begin their college experience.  However, we often have a fairly narrow definition of what a safe and supportive environment looks like--one that emphasizes comfort, hyper-positive messaging, and reassurances that "things will be fine" and "you'll do great."

While this approach to orienting new students provides initial feelings of safety, it fails to consider what is required for newcomers to feel safe and supported after the honeymoon phase has ended and they find themselves in the midst of the realities of the college experience.  At that point, what new students need is an accurate understanding of what to expect, including the "warts and all" description of the challenges that they're likely to face.

In their most recent book, Decisive, the Heath brothers describe the idea of the "realistic job preview" and its value in combating the problem of employee turnover and hiring mismatches.  The idea behind this approach is to make sure that job applicants really understand what they're getting into, by providing cautions, warnings, and simulations that "expose people to a small dose of organizational reality" (see Jean Phillips research in the Academy of Management Journal).

Realistic job previews have been proven by a large research literature to reduce turnover.  Like I did, you're probably thinking "of course turnover went down--people stopped taking the job."  While that's true in some cases, the effect of "dropouts" in the recruitment or new hire phases is actually quite small.  In fact, in many of the studies reviewed by Phillips, people more no more likely to drop out of the recruitment process that recruits who weren't exposed to the realistic preview.  

Instead, realistic job previews seem to be effective because of the way that they "inoculate" new hires against shock, disappointment, and frustration.  In short, when new members of an organization have a realistic view of the challenges they should expect, they aren't quite so alarmed or taken back when they encounter hard experiences.

Here's the interesting implication for New Student Orientation:  realistic job previews seem to reduce turnover even when they're given after an employee is hired.  The message here is that realistic previews don't just help people make better choices about what job to take (or, for those in higher ed, which school to attend), they help people more effectively cope with the difficulties and challenges that they are certain to encounter.  Not only do realistic previews decrease turnover, they increase satisfaction.

So what does this mean for New Student Orientation programming?  First, we should do a better job of talking about the hard things that we know (from both experience and the research) students will encounter (time management struggles, homesickness, issues in the residence halls, substance abuse, etc.).  This should move beyond discussion of abstract challenges and include real stories, of real people, and the real challenges they've faced.  Whether it's orientation leaders sharing stories of the challenges they've faced (if you go this route, be sure to provide training and scaffolding so that they're sharing the kinds of stories you want) or faculty members and administrators sharing stories from their own undergraduate experience, students need to be exposed to the hard things they'll be facing during their first year (check out what Stanford is doing to leverage the power of stories in preparing students for challenges).

Second, and more importantly, new student orientation (whether you define that as a one or two day program or a more extended orientation in the form of a first-year seminar or peer leader program) should trigger students coping mechanisms by engaging them in thinking and planning about how they'll react when the challenges come.  These mental simulations and reflections are what really provide the inoculation students need because it prepares them with a concrete plan they can implement when they've failed their first exam, heard about a tragedy at home, or realized their roommate is an alcoholic.

So, to sum up, here's a set of recommendations for student affairs professionals who want to "inoculate" students during new student orientation:

• Be real -- make sure students understand what to expect during their first year of college





Use stories to provide understanding of (a) what to expect and (b) how others have responded to the challenges they should expect to face






Provide opportunities for students to reflect on the challenges they anticipate facing and, most importantly, how they'll respond

Clearly, what we're currently doing to retain students and encourage persistence isn't working.  And, I can't help but wonder if part of the problem is that students haven't been sufficiently inoculated for the college experience.  Ultimately, a safe and supportive environment includes a clear understanding of expectations, not just well-meaning (but hollow) messaging about how "you're great," "you'll do fine," and "don't worry."

The importance of the CSO (Chief Storytelling Officer)

I spent the last two days with a group of public school teachers, counselors, and administrators.  For the last

six months, I've been privileged to meet with them about once a month to be part of discussions surrounding important issues in education.  This week's retreat was focused on the notion of stewardship in schools and the need for educators to hold a commitment and investment in the entire school community, as opposed to what happens in their classroom.  For me, the highlight of the two days was hearing two key stories that are at the heart of the work we were doing together.  

The first story came from Steve Baugh, who is a former school superintendent in Utah and now the Executive Director of the BYU-Public School Partnership and Center for the Improvement of Teacher Education and Schooling (CITES).  Paul's purpose was to familiarize us all with the story of CITES, and more specifically, the Associates Program that we are all participating in.  He described what led to the formation of the partnership, the evolution of its core commitments, and the purposes behind the Associates Program.  Hearing this story from Steve, who has been involved with the partnership in one form or another for the last two decades, was infinitely more impactful than reading about it in a brochure or on a website (which I have done multiple times).  When he finished his story, I felt a renewed sense of purpose, pride at having been asked to participate, and a commitment to fully engaging in the process.

The second story was told by Paul Sweat, the former principal of Wasatch High School.  Paul was the principal at Wasatch during two key events:  the move from the "old high school" to the "new building" and the 100 year anniversary of the opening of the first high school in 1908.  From what I can tell, Paul's most significant contribution to the school and the surrounding community was taking what was a highly emotionally-charged, politicized, and potentially controversial transition into a new building and using that process as a means of uniting both the school community and the surrounding community of Heber Valley.  His story described the process of moving into the new school, incorporating elements of the "old school" and its values into the new building, and skillfully generating support from nearly everyone involved, including current students, parents, alumni, and community members.  I've never seen a school or administrator be so intentional or strategic about anything--it was inspiring and instructive.

Steve and Paul are what I call Chief Storytelling Officers or CSOs.  In addition to the duties outlined in their job descriptions as administrators in their organizations, they play an incredibly (yet underappreciated and often unrecognized) role in ensuring that the wisdom, legacy, and values of their organizations are understood and appreciated by others.  Clearly, to be a CSO requires skill in story-telling (which I'll get to), but it's also a lot more:

1.  Deep history and vast experience.  Neither Steve nor Paul have been around from the beginning, but they've been around long enough that they have a rich institutional memory.  Steve has been involved as a teacher, administrator, or faculty member in the partnership for 44 years.  During that time he's been a close observer of the development and evolution of the partnership, positioning him to tell its story well.  In Paul's case, he has become a student of the history of his district, both by doing traditional research and spending hours and hours in conversation with others who have been around a lot longer than he has.  As a result, he knows the story of Wasatch High School and it means something to him (he had to hold back tears a number of times yesterday as he shared vignettes of the sacrifice and commitment that others have made over the years as teachers, coaches, benefactors, etc.).  A CSO knows the meta-story of his or her place because he or she has lived it, researched it, and listened the hundreds of micro-stories from others across all levels of the organization.

2.  Credibility and Respect.  Because of their experience, Steve and Paul have street cred, which means that when they tell their story, others listen.  Steve has a natural advantage because he's been around a long time and that, in and of itself, brings respect and credibility.  In Paul's case, his credibility has come through the hard work he's done to learn the story and his demonstrated abilities in bringing people together for a shared purpose.  CSOs can't just be good story-tellers, they have to have been successful in their other roles, be it as the CFO, superintendent, director of HR, or whatever it is they're job description says they're supposed to be doing.  That success buys them the story-telling capital they need for people to listen to what they have to say.

3.  Story-telling Chops.  Steve and Paul both told their stories in very different ways, but in both cases it was effective.  Steve spoke from hand-written notes and had no visual supports, which some would say is a big no-no.  But, his sincerity and humility are disarming.  I felt like I was listening to the grandfather of CITES tell me a story that I'd heard before, but that I couldn't stop listening to.  Paul used visual images really well, from pictures of the first high school and how the new building incorporated some of its architectural elements, to the new school seal,, to the mural that was created by an alum (who also happens to be a respected artist) to visually represent the story of the first 100 years of WHS.  The images he shared, sprinkled with vignettes about key events and characters from the school's history, left me wanting to quit my job at BYU and go to work at the High School, and I've never even stepped foot in it.  

Although I'm not an employee of Wasatch County School District or of the McKay School of Education, hearing these stories left me feeling a sense of stewardship for what happens in Wasatch County Schools.  I care about the students there and want to be a part of the learning that goes on in their classrooms.  That means Steve and Paul both played their role as CSOs very well.  The stories they told helped me understand and feel connected to the legacy, culture, and purposes of their organizations.

Steve retires this year and Paul has moved on to a position at the district level.  There is an inherent risk that their stories will be forgotten.  If that happens, both the McKay School and the District will have lost a tremendous asset.  In fact, yesterday after Paul's presentation I asked him whether students and teachers at the high school knew much of what he had shared with us.  He mentioned that there is an orientation for new students in which some of the stories are shared, but also acknowledged that since he has left the HS, a lot of the stories have been forgotten.

Individuals have short memories.  Organizations, particularly those with high degree of turnover, have even shorter memories.  One of the dangers, any organization needs to be aware of and avoid, is letting CSOs go unnoticed, or worse, letting them move on without imparting their stories to new CSOs.   

So, whether you're a family, a business, a school, or a church congregation, you need to be asking yourself a set of questions relating to your stories:

• What are the key stories that need to be told?
• Who are the CSOs who can tell them?
• Who will be the new CSOs?
• How do we prepare them?

What concerns me is that neither the McKay School or the District seem to recognize Steve and Paul's roles as CSOs.  

Tears, disappointment, and feelings of success: Revisiting the power of reflection

A significant portion of my time each week is spent in conversations with undergraduate peer mentors who work in the Freshman Mentoring program at BYU. I've found that one of the best things I can do in these conversations is to ask peer mentors to tell me stories about their mentoring work. For me, this is a beneficial exercise because hearing these stories gives me remarkably raw and authentic insight into the experiences of the mentors I'm supposed to support and develop.  Some are stories of success (e.g. a student who finally agrees to visit the counseling center for help in dealing with a mental health challenge); some are stories of failure (e.g. I met with the student three times before the exam and he still failed).  But, the most interesting stories I hear are those that are a bit of both.  Earlier this week I heard one of these "hybrid" stories. And, as I listened, I was reminded of how powerful reflection on experience can be in driving learning and facilitating personal transformation.

Topher is everything a person like me would want in a peer mentor.  He is a great student, not just because he is successful in terms of things like GPA, but because he understands learning in the deepest sense.  He reads, writes papers, and prepares for exams because he enjoys learning and knows that he's preparing himself to be more useful as a citizen, an employee, and a human being. He    is a southerner and endears others to him with his easygoing nature, big North Carolina Smile, and social versatility (in a single conversation he can talk intelligently about philosophy, transtition to Chinese culture, and then finish with his thoughts on why the Duke Blue Devils are the most overrated team in the upcoming NCAA tournament. When you meet him, you don't have any reason to believe he wouldn't be successful in just about anything he does. What's more, he fully expects himself to be successful. This isn't to say he's arrogant--it's just that a lifetime of experience has taught him that if he works hard, he'll achieve.

Last fall when he first began working for us, that narrative of traditional success continued. His students loved him, they lined up out the door to meet with him, and he felt incredibly useful and successful.  After all, he was helping lots of students and they appreciated him for it.  However, when he returned from Christmas break and inherited a new group of second semester freshmen  to mentor, things were a lot different.

It's important, at this point, to understand the nature of the work of peer mentors at BYU. During fall semester, they provide mentoring support to a group of students who have just arrived on our campus.  They don't know where the library is, they have never lived away from home, and they are generally fairly receptive to help from someone who has been down the college road before. What's more, my experience has been that new students have a way of imprinting upon their peer mentor(s) because they are one of the first people they meet when they come to campus for New Student Orientation. So, during this first semester, peer mentors are positioned to be both needed and wanted by the students to whom they have been assigned.

Winter semester is different.  Because mentor assignment is determined by course registration, mentors inherit a group of completely new students and students are handed off to a new mentor, with whom they have no relationship. And, there is no imprinting period to facilitate the development of this new relationship.  On top of that, students have been at the institution for a semester and (for the most part) have been successful in passing their classes. This all means a rough slog for an invested, interested peer mentor like Topher who ideally wants to build a relationship with all of his students.

The story of Topher's mentoring so far this semester has been sporadic meetings with somewhat apathetic students who come to him mostly because they feel guilty if they don't respond to the guy who has been emailing them since January. And, a good portion of the time, a student will make an appointment, but then never show up.

This all sets the backdrop for the story Topher told me last Tuesday in our meeting. He had finally made a breakthrough with a student who has been struggling all semester.  The student is failing most of his classes, rejecting the help offered by professors, teaching assistants, and others, and up until recently, had never responded to Topher's emails. But, late last week, he came out of the woodwork and scheduled a meeting.  So, naturally, when I met with Topher earlier this week, I was expecting to hear a story about how successful he had felt.  I did hear a story, and it was about success, but it didn't really fit the typical "script" of peer mentor success (or at least the script Topher had held about what it means to be successful up to this point).  In Topher's own words:

"Today I had a meeting with Brad [Topher's student supervisor] and we talked about my meeting with Caitlin. She came to our meeting peppy but when we started talking she broke down in tears about her feelings of self-disappointment and failure. She hasn’t been performing up to her standard in organic chemistry and it’s had a negative emotional impact on her. Brad turned that into a discussion about the nature of success and how it should be measured. Since I’ve encountered a great deal of difficulty in setting up student meetings and have any form of consistency in my meetings with students, like Caitlin I haven’t felt like I’ve earned an A in mentoring this semester. I feel that my impact has been minimal or at best superficial. But I want the depth, and I want to really be an agent for change or growth in the lives of these students. That’s the attitude that I’ve brought with me to my meetings, and it’s the attitude that I took with me into my preparation for my meeting with George. I spent an hour  and a half extensively planning a reflective meeting to help adjust his perception of American Heritage [a challenging general education course required of all BYU students]. From the last meeting we had he disclosed that he didn’t care much for the class and didn’t see much of a point in it. What I saw in him as we talked was a deeper apathy about his BYU experience in general, so that’s where I was going to begin, but he cancelled; and I felt especially disappointed. I really wanted that meeting to happen, not because I needed employment or because it was obligatory for me to insert myself into the life of this student, but because I really wanted to. He didn’t show, and I felt a disappointment I haven’t felt since my mission. I realized in the moment that I felt such significant disappointment that I was being successful as a mentor; that I was doing things right."

As much as I'd like to take credit for facilitating this shift in Topher's thinking about what it means to mentor and what it means to be successful, it didn't have anything to do with me.  In fact, Topher had "told" this story before he ever sat down in my office. His story (as shared above) was actually a reflection he wrote on the day George stood him up. At the moment he was feeling discouraged at not being able to help, one of his first thoughts was "I need to reflect on this." Somehow, he knew there was a lesson embedded in this experience, but that he wouldn't discover unless he started to write.  So, he pulled out his laptop and typed out this story.

For peer mentors (and, I would argue, any learner), telling these sorts of stories isn't just therapeutic. It is a reflective tool that positions them to make meaning from experience and move toward new understanding.  In Taylor's story, we see how his understanding of what it means to be a mentor has shifted from "meeting w/ students" to "being prepared to be a resource who can support student success." Relatedly, he comes to redefine success not as holding meetings, but in genuinely caring about the success of his students and doing all he can to support them. And, this is not insignificant learning for someone in his role. It represents a fundamental shift in his frame of reference towards mentoring and will shape how he approaches and evaluates his work in the future. In this way, it seems closely aligned with what Jack Mezirow has described as transformative learning that is personal, irreversible, and integrative.

This is the type of learning that is possible when we engage learners in meaningful reflection on experience.  Reflection invites learners into a space where they can inquire into their assumptions, derive learning from experience, and articulate new understanding.  Topher wasn't just telling a story or simply putting into writing something he already knew.  He learned as he wrote.  That's the power of reflection.