The walls are alive with energy. Hallways hum with conversation. Doors open and close late into the night, punctuated by footsteps that echo like a steady drumbeat.
Music (often from artists I’ve never heard of!) drifts through the corridors. Students move from room to room, laughing, debating, worrying, and wondering out loud about the past, present, and future.
This semester, my first as a university president, I slept in our dorms.
It is not always restful. At times, it is a bit awkward. But it has been deeply revealing and entirely worthwhile.
I am decades older than my residence hall neighbors, and my daytime attire of suits and bow ties turns a few heads. Yet these nights have taught me lessons I could never have learned behind a desk or inside a presidential residence. By choosing to be present where students live, I have gained a clearer view, not only of our students, but of myself, and how I might best serve.
So, what have I learned?
Our students are exceptional. They are resourceful, kindhearted, curious, expressive, and thoughtful. They are also competitive, especially when it comes to late-night table tennis, where I have learned to accept defeat with humility!
But beneath the surface, they are searching.
I have listened to students yearning to be known and appreciated. They long for belonging. They want to take part in something larger than themselves. They are seeking meaning and purpose. At the same time, many carry anxiety. They wonder if they will find their people, make friends, choose the right path, or discover whether the future truly has a place for them.
And this is what has struck me most:
At a time when many universities are organized primarily to answer the question, “What job will you have?”, students are asking far deeper questions.
They are discerning where they belong.
They are discovering who they are becoming.
They are wondering how they might bestow something good to the world.
They are questioning why any of it ultimately matters.
Belonging. Becoming. Bestowing. Believing.
Our students are not simply seeking a ticket to an entry-level job. They are seeking a trajectory toward an extraordinary life. They want to learn how to keep learning. They want to live fully and meaningfully, alongside others, for the good of the world.
To be clear, career outcomes matter. Higher education should lead to meaningful work, economic opportunity, and social mobility. Students and families rightly expect that, especially given the cost.
At the university I serve, nearly all of our students complete their degrees in four years or less, are employed or in further study shortly after graduation, and fully recoup the cost of their education within a few years of entering the workforce. These are outcomes worth celebrating.
But they are not enough.
As a first-generation college student, I understand the importance of these metrics. Yet after spending nights in conversation alongside our students, I have come to believe they deserve more, because they are seeking more, and because they are more.
Students do not invest only time and money in their education. They invest their hopes, their questions, their relationships, and their identities. They invest their whole selves. And if the investment is that significant, should not the return be equally comprehensive?
Over these past months, I have come to believe that students are worthy of something deeper. I have come to see their lives as sacred, not in an abstract sense, but in a very real and present way.
Their aspirations are sacred.
Their fears are sacred.
Their questions, doubts, strengths, and struggles are all sacred.
And if that is true, then universities must do more than transfer knowledge or prepare students for employment. We must educate the whole person, so that students can think deeply, live fully, and serve meaningfully.
This is why I have come to believe that universities should build lives for good.
So, what does this all mean?
For me, it means remembering the lessons I have learned in the residence halls.
I have learned that leadership is not about position, but about service.
I have learned the power of presence.
I have learned to listen with the intent to understand, not simply to respond.
I have learned that growth and comfort rarely coexist.
I have learned that kindness is a form of strength.
I have learned that youthful optimism is not naïve, but necessary.
And yes, I have learned that I am not nearly as good at table tennis as I once believed!
But perhaps most importantly, I have learned this: Universities should not merely prepare students for their first job. We should prepare them for their whole lives.
When we form students intellectually, relationally, ethically, and spiritually, we do more than graduate employees. We graduate people who can think wisely, act justly, and contribute meaningfully.
In the end, that is what our students are asking for. Not just “What will I do?” But “Who will I become?”
That is the question higher education must answer.
And it is a question we cannot afford to ignore.
Rev. Brian E. Konkol, Ph.D., is the President of Valparaiso University.
