Chasing the Bunny

As I sat on the deck at my daughter’s house looking out over a July morning, I saw a bunny hopping across the yard. So, too, did her black lab—and she immediately lit out in pursuit. Pursuit might be too generous a term because at this stage of her life maintaining territorial boundaries takes priority over any search and destroy mission. The bunny hopped away, unconcerned.

For the last ten years I have allowed my mind to be trained to chase the bunny. I spend less time thinking deeply about important issues and more time putting out fires or answering arguments. There’s a post, a tweet, or a podcast to be addressed at every turn. Students have questions and want answers now. Life is about solving problems in real time, not reflecting on life’s direction. The bunny for me may be an extra teaching opportunity, a paper discussion, a webcast appearance, or just defending myself against an angry comment.

One benefit of an academic calendar is the chance to come aside to think in a new environment. I am not currently locked in my office or staring at my two screens sorting through the tabs to find the right answer to the next question. I feel the breeze against me on a muggy morning and watch the leaves rustle down the street. My mind goes to memories, and I start to make connections between the things I did long ago and what I am doing now. I reconsider priorities and spend more time reading on a good day.

But even in this time to just step aside from the day-to-day, I feel the lure of the bunny. I am not disconnected from social media; in fact, if I want to, I have unlimited time to go down that rabbit hole. And more than once I have found myself scrolling rather than reflecting. The draw has become so powerful in my life that it scares me. And this is true even though I had 50-plus years before ever owning an iPhone, so I had time to build up resistance to meaningless chatter by developing intellectual disciplines. Now it is harder to read straight through a paper without getting distracted and wanting to look up some background information about the author’s argument on the internet. It is no longer my priority to follow the flow of ideas; instead, I’m trying to link erratic synapses rather than seeking to come to some coherent conclusion.

The truth Is that these habits lead to shallowness and to a quicker temper toward those who reach opposite conclusions from me. Rather than outright anger, this mindset seems to manifest itself in a simmering, brooding mood that is slightly more negative and skeptical then I need to be. My optimism and hope seem to be restored when I am around the people I love, and when I look at beautiful things, and when I pause to be grateful to God for the day.

As I launch into year 35 as an accounting professor, I am perhaps less optimistic about the accounting profession than I should be. I have been a good soldier in fighting to preserve what is best about the profession. I have spoken openly when I believed that auditors were cutting corners and I have been praised and scolded for doing so. Long resistance to the trend of the culture is wearying to the soul.

But I have so many reasons to be optimistic. Yes, the accounting firms sometimes fall short of what I would want them to be, but there are so many professionals in them committed to doing the right thing, many of whom are my former students, or just my friends. The profession would not have survived to this point if that were not true. And yes, my students are prone, on occasion, to fall prey to the shortcut, to the wiles of the latest way to avoid doing the real intellectual work necessary to be a professional, whether it be Chegg or ChatGPT. But my observation is that there is an inherent desire in almost all of them to be taught to do it the right way. I want to give them reasons to live lives of integrity.

Tonight, I will hop on a plane and come home to the work of investing in people. I am that old black lab and I will have to make the choice every day. Will I chase the bunny to protect my territory, knowing full well that he cannot be caught? Or can I be content being who I am, and speaking to those willing to consider my point of view?

I am hopeful that I can begin to rebuild the habits of thinking and writing that make me who I am. But the bunnies aren’t going away. It is up to me, against the instincts fed by dopamine-inducing social media, to sit still and not lose myself trying to catch the uncatchable prey.