Pursuing Potential

This has been a hectic and frustrating week, made all the more so by the fact that it should have been a normal, run-of-the-mill week with no major deadlines, projects, or events. And while in many ways I have hit the majority of the productivity marks I have set for myself, there have also been substantial setbacks.  The latter revolves primarily around the fact that, after having approved my comps’ reading list more than two months ago, one of my committee members decided to triple (!) the poetry section less than two months before I sit for the exam.

Awesome.

The email giving me the “suggestions” felt like a punch in the gut and, almost instantly, turned what had been a good day into an emotional FAIL.

And yet, despite the emotional roller-coaster I have been on (and assume I will stay on until April 07), last night I found myself mulling over the week’s events with a sense of hope and surprising optimism.  Regardless of the ups and downs, the one thing that seems to stand out to me is the realization that people have a surprising amount of confidence…in me.

Maybe that seems like a strange realization to you, especially if you know me and consider me to be a fairly confident, assured person. And in some ways I am.  But I almost the woman who constantly doubts that people will remember me.  If I see you out and about and don’t communicate with you on any kind of semi-regular basis – even if we were absolute best friends in the world until 8th grade – there’s a good chance I won’t strike up a conversation out of the fear that you won’t know who I am. (It’s not you, it’s me – really).  I hesitate to “add”  high school friends (who I haven’t kept in touch with) on Facebook, convinced that their reaction to seeing my name will be, “Who?”  And I am always, always surprised when someone from my past adds me on Facebook. They remember me, they really remember me!

I feel the same sense of shock when I realize that someone – especially someone I respect – professes confidence in me.  My committee members, bless their hearts, are constantly telling me that of course I’ll do just fine on the ridiculous, 12-hour, mind-numbing comprehensive exam they are subjecting me to.  Of course.  They laugh at my doubts as though I’m a toddler stumbling as I try to walk.  And while I appreciate their confidence (it’s certainly better than having your mentors doubt your ability!), I have trouble believing in them believing in me.  But how do they know I’ll do well?

After I finished (and passed) my MA oral exam, I told The Hubs that I thought I had tricked the committee into thinking I was smart enough for the degree.  I truly thought it may have been my personality that passed rather than my intellect. Hubs, always having confidence in me by the barrel-full, slapped down my negativity and reassured me, repeatedly, that I deserved it.

Then yesterday after I got done teaching, I was talking to some of my students after class.  I initially had the same reaction I always do when students take me seriously (suckers!), and then I had an epiphany – they have no reason not to have confidence in me. To them, as to my committee, I am trustworthy and capable until proven otherwise, not the other way around.  

I have (for the most part) never proven to be inept in my scholastic pursuits, so why do I always assume that ineptitude is the default position? Why not believe in my past performances and assume that I am, in fact, capable of these things.

What a novel idea.

Maybe I’ll even start adding people on Facebook.

Nah, probably not.

Slip a White Jacket on Me and Shove Me in a Padded Room

What is that saying about insanity?  Something like the definition of insanity is repeating the same things over and over again and expecting different results. Yeah, hi, that explains my teaching career in a nutshell.

No matter how many classes I teach, no matter how pessimistic I am before the start of a semester (this semester being the most pessimistic yet), I always leave the first day of class thinking that I finally have a great bunch of students who are going to participate in class the way I want them to. It happens every time.

This time was no different.  Clearly I’m insane.

I went into class feeling fully realistic, even pessimistic. This was exacerbated by the fact that I am aware that one of my students has confessed to another TA to having “sexual feelings” for me.  Awesome.  Because that’s not awkward at all. Oh wait, yes it is.

Yet I couldn’t help feeling energized by this new group of students.  They seem so full of…possibility.  They were energetic and talkative and, dare I say it, intelligent. They laughed at my jokes (a very important sign), even the bad ones.  A handful of them stayed around to talk to me after class.  Some of them are excited about the assigned novels, and most of them are at least not disgruntled about them.

But I feel this way every semester.  I always think…this is the year.  Then something happens and I’m sick to death of the class by the end of the semester.

So maybe the saying about insanity is right. But I don’t think it is.  I’m actually grateful that I can begin anew every semester with a fresh (even if false) feeling of optimism. Because if I lose that, I may just lose my love of teaching with it.  And as much as my students can drive me up the wall, so far there are still enough great students to make me appreciate my job and make this crazy PhD worth the effort.

Though I’m still probably crazy anyway.

Front of the Class

I am typing this while standing in front of a room of half-asleep students who are (probably) cursing me under their breath while taking my final exam.

This is a strange situation for me to be in.  Not the blogging while my students are taking an exam (though that is, obviously, also strange – I feel kind of dirty/rebellious.  Ha!  Take that students!  You’re not the only ones who don’t pay attention in class!).  No, the strange part is me giving the exam.

Still being a student myself (and often feeling immense pressure in that role), I sympathize with (most of) my students more than I probably should.  When they talk about having too many assignments due at one time – I understand.  I’m feeling that way myself.  When they simply can’t muster the energy to get to class occasionally – I get that (and wish I still had that option as a teacher).  Sometimes I just want to sit down with them and commiserate how harsh and unrelenting the academic system is.

But I can’t.  Because I am that academic system, or at least a part of it.

And here’s the even stranger part: while I feel like a student, I feel like part of academia, too.  After spending 8 years of college/graduate classes hating exams, finding them pointless (particularly in my literature classes), I am giving one myself, by choice.  The thing is, I choose to give exams because I feel they serve an important role.  Not only do they further reiterate the importance of keeping  up with the reading (though that’s certainly important enough), they are structed to reinforce the skills that the students have been practicing all semester.  There is a point.  I’ve actually thought about it…a lot.

So I’m having a kind of Freaky Friday moment with myself.  I will feel justified giving my slacker student who regularly sends me (unwarranted) angry, confrontational emails the C that she deserves.  But at the same time I will wish that I could tell her what a pain it is that she has to take this class she doesn’t want to take, how I know that a broken education system has her turning circles and stressing out; I’d even let her tell me what a pain in the ass teacher (she thinks) I’ve been.

But then I’d still give her a C.

See?  Freaky Friday.

More soon on my students.  When did they stop learning how to suck up?

Presence: I’ve Got It

Every semester I go through the same routine on the first day I teach: I get up extra early to allow plenty of time for breakfast and the endless fight for parking.  I take a long shower and then put on dressier clothes than the students will ever see me in again.  Driving to school I savor my coffee and psyche myself into thinking that this is going to be a great year, that I’ll have intellectually-driven students. I prepare myself to appear more professional than usual on this first day and go over what I need to say to the class.

Then, upon walking into the classroom at just the right time, the inevitable happens: I become nervous.  It’s not a “freaking out because I can’t do this” nervousness; it’s more of an excited nervousness.  I see those 40 faces staring at me, trying to figure out what kind of instructor I’ll be and I remember being where they are. They seem so interested and harmless that my adrenaline kicks in and the nerves force my voice to raise an octave and my palms to sweat, making me inexplicably talk a mile a minute. I leave the class with a sense of disappointment; once again I lost my composure and came off like I was trying too hard, trying to be liked, rather than the knowledgeable persona I was going for. This has happened to me on every first day of every class I’ve ever taught.

But not today.

Today I followed the same routine. I got up early, took an extra long shower, ate breakfast, prepared my things, and dressed up more than I will for the rest of the semester.  This morning I donned grey dress pants, a purple shirt with a funky/trendy but cute neckline, and black high heels.  Going for the ballet instructor look this year, I made a strict part in my hair and pulled my insanely long locks into a low bun (really this is because I’m chopping at least 5 inches off tomorrow and don’t want my students to be able to notice that anything is different on Thursday). I drove to school and miraculously found a good parking place immediately upon arrival (thank you FSU for the new parking structure!).  I walked to my office where I had just enough time to print my roster, make a final list, and mentally prepare for class.

I arrived to class expecting my usual breakdown, but somehow it didn’t come.  My voice didn’t come out higher than usual.  I spoke at a completely appropriate speed. I remembered to tell them everything I had intended to tell them, even going so far as to generate some first day of class discussion.  All of this despite the sweltering temperature in the room and the fact that half of my class showed up 20 minutes late (due to an understandable new building mix-up). Two students even stayed after class for 15 minutes to talk about why I have chosen to be a professor and the path it takes to get to where I am.

Most surprising perhaps is that the one thing I didn’t think about during class today was what kind of impression I was making.  I didn’t even realize that I had successfully maintained my professional persona until hours later. Maybe I’m getting used to this crazy profession I’m chosen?  Maybe I actually am the smarty pants I pretend to be? Whatever it was, it was nice.  But it won’t convince me to wear those heels again.

Passionate about Passions

I don’t really understand passions.  I mean, I can totally imagine me saying this to my children: “I just want you to do something you’re passionate about.” What does that mean? Am I doing something I’m passionate about?  I love what I do.  I’m working very hard to be able to do it full time with a sustainable income. But is teaching a classroom full of 40-some-odd students who, for the most part, leave my class and forget my very existence (and probably everything I ever taught them), a passion of mine?  I don’t know.

Based on how I spend my time, it seems that I am passionate about reading, playing with my dog, and hanging out with my husband, as that is how I spend the majority of my time. But what kind of lasting impact will that leave on the world?

And I do, really, love my job, all parts of it.  I love being part of an intellectual community that is invested in continual learning, active community involvement, and supporting all forms of education.  I love the high I feel when a book or a paper or some other kind of scholarship really gets me, makes me think and examine myself or my community. I love introducing college students to a community or a way of thinking that they have never considered, getting them to think outside of their box, heck – just getting them to think for themselves. I love all of those things.  And hopefully, in some small way, what I do will impact the world through the students I teach.  And, yes, I think I am passionate about the possibility of change in my students; I am passionate about encouraging greater value in education and educators in our country.

But in the end I am more passionate about the relationships I cherish, about being a good wife, daughter, sister, friend. And maybe that’s not what our society means when they talk about passions.  But what good am I as an educator if I’m not first and foremost focused on being a good person?

So I refuse to feel guilty if I put off grading papers to have a date night with my husband or if I put off making lesson plans to visit my sister. Perhaps I won’t tell my children that I want them to be passionate; instead I will tell them that I hope they care about the people in their lives and that, whatever they do, I just hope that it helps them be the kind of person they want to be.  Then they can cultivate their own passions, whatever that means.

Olympic Onslaught

I love the Olympics.  I especially love the Opening Ceremonies.  I love to see how other countries choose to celebrate and how they dress walking in the Parade of Nations. I love the crazy facts that Matt Lauer and Bob Costas throw out, such as the president of Venezuela’s choice to change the country’s time zone to half an hour ahead of Eastern Standard Time because he felt his athletes would perform better if they were used to waking up to earlier daylight.  I feel like the Olympics provides geographical, political, and cultural lessons with a little bit of athleticism thrown in here and there.

And I’ll admit, tonight the Opening Ceremonies are just the break I need.  I gave my class their final exam this afternoon, and I both love it and hate it.  I love knowing that the class is over; I love having students tell me they’ll miss me or that they enjoyed me class.  But I also dread it.  As they take the exam I worry about how well they’ll do, if I prepared them enough.  I hope that they’ll leave my class having actually learned something.  And when I leave campus I can’t help but reflect about the steps and missteps I’ve taken as a teacher over the last six weeks.  It’s a bit of a confusing day for me.

So, it’s nice to be able to let go of my own thoughts and concentrate on the more than 200 hundred countries walking into their Bird’s Nest and their pride and possibilities. And then tomorrow my competitive nature will kick in and the calm contemplations of tonight will be over; unfortunately I’ll have the ugly business of grading exams to distract me.  Awesome.