The Most Common Advice for Future Presidents

Illustration of two married professionals in a rush to get coffee.

Received Wisdom?

After two decades of leading a college, one president echoed what everyone says. It’s lonely at the top. Then she corrected herself.

“It’s not loneliness,” she said, “it’s aloneness. There’s a difference.”

When asked how she handled that, she laughed and said what nearly everyone says. “I had an incredible partner.”

Her husband, also an academic, knew her, knew the world she inhabited, and, she said, always made her remember her principles. “I never wanted him to think poorly of me.”

So many longtime leaders have cracked that the key to their success was marrying the right person that I began to find the remark, well, irritating and antiquated.

I can’t help but think about those who have the job as singletons. For years, as a divorced person, I joked that I needed a wife. Except, when I found the man I’m now married to, I see how true that was. It's great to have the right partner.

It's not just about having a someone whose thigh you can dig your nails into under the table or to whom you can send an invisible eye roll across a room full of ninnies. It’s not about swapping dog-walking duty or taking turns doing laundry loads; it’s about being able to unload—all the crap, all the personalities, all the annoying stuff.

If I've learned anything from my confidential, wide-ranging conversations with leaders it's that they seem to value having someone who will listen with an empathetic ear and without judgment, who doesn't tell them what to do and wants nothing from them—except, maybe, a piece written anonymously for a newsletter about something they struggle with.

Sure, some find it hard to feel sorry for people whose compensation is one or two orders of magnitude more than one's own. But yikes—I don't want those jobs and am glad good people choose to do them. In truth, some of these chats I find heartbreaking.

One former president of a large university in a small town said that after she left the job, she decided to leave the area. She just felt too visible.

Another said, “I was not brave enough to attempt to date while I was president. I did date some when I was younger and in lower-level positions (AVP & VP) in larger communities but the single/divorced female president in a small town cannot afford to be gossiped about regarding her personal life.”

One president got advice from a mentor, “People are going to say your husband isn’t ready to do this job. Don’t worry about other people’s expectations.” Easier said than done. In this case, her husband found the things he liked—attending the games and matches of every single sport—and skipped the rest. The president had to be fine going solo to events.

There are those of us who learn catastrophically, as Joan Didion did, that life changes in the instant when you lose a partner. And those who know that relations change over the course of a lifetime.

Here’s something from a current president:

When you exchange your marriage vows or commitment words, you don’t add “And I promise to move to whatever small city or strange city your job takes you, to engage actively and enthusiastically with strangers, and to know that my family and I will be the topic of extreme curiosity and gossip.” Of course, you do not also say that you promise to stay in the same place and be the same person that you are at age 25 or 30 or whatever.

As one whose long-term marriage ended during a presidency, I can say that it requires much effort and sacrifice on the part of both parties. It’s not surprising that many marriages/commitments seem to founder during these moments.

Of course, the role is changing. I’ve heard some compare it to the changing role of our Presidential spouses as well. I’ve come across couples where the spouse refers to the presidency as "ours," and clearly relishes the partnership role. There are also those where the spouse leads a completely independent life, is rarely seen, and no one seems to much notice.

Then there are single presidencies where surrogate partners surface—whether friend, family member, or someone else. The vast majority seem to be married or in committed relationships where the president and the spouse/partner need to juggle careers, children, and social lives.

Not easy and I marvel at those couples who seem to work seamlessly to make the partnership work.

This week, I Zoomed into a conversation with a current president who came calling at the Inside Higher Ed office. I wanted to shout out, "Hey President Barbie!" and have her respond, "Hello, Writer Barbie!" Didn't.

But toward the end of the session, I couldn't help myself. I pulled on my little journalist's cap and squeaked up with a question that started: "Is it true that....?" You know, the opening gambit reporters love to spring on folks.

Was she, I demanded to know, in fact too cool to be a university administrator? That's the word on the street.

She laughed and claimed people only say that because of her wife.

Yes, her wife is a badass.

But this president does more than shine in reflected glory. Plus, she was smart enough (before she ascended to the role) to marry the right person. Good move, Barbie!

Here's another strategy. If you're a president and you want to be with someone who knows what the job is like, you can always do what this couple did and fall in love with another president.

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