And then there are the anxieties, those nagging voices in the back of the head. I hope I don't have any trouble-makers. I hope they are all big talkers. I hope they do their readings and assignments on time. These words tend to overwhelm the more excited questions: I wonder who will awe and inspire me this semester? I wonder what amazing knowledge we will create together in this room? I wonder who will rise to the occasion and surprise me from the sidelines?
I have just nine students this semester. It's a fourth year seminar, which tends to make the enrollment very low, according to a faculty I ran into in the first week of school. It risked being cancelled but here we are now! Yesterday, five showed up for class. Sigh. They seemed keen enough last week, what happened? First blow to confidence.
Three of the students are "returning customers", one from earlier this year and two from last year. The one from earlier this year wasn't technically qualified to take the course (not enough credits under the belt) but I allowed him in because he impressed me so much in the previous course. The fact that two from last year, my very first teaching experience that had huge ups and downs, came back and stayed should tell me something. But the voices of anxiety make a formidable force and expel all positive and more realistic assessments.
First real class, three dense readings, half of the class present. I was nervous before class. Barely slept, barely ate, overly caffeinated. I must have been thrown off by the low attendance. I whisked around in front of the black board with a chalk in my hand, dust everywhere, writing and making long uneven arrows across the board surface. Song and dance, I'd joke to describe teaching, but there I was. Then several awkward moments of silence while we gather our thoughts and try to figure out what all of it means. Sometimes the lines on the board seemed just that, lines on the board, terrifying and incomprehensible. And then a thought emerges shimmering from the murky depths and we're on our way to somewhere safe and recognizable. More or less.
It's a tough class to be in as a student. Four hours (much too long) of sitting very close to the front in a tiny group of five, highly visible and under a lot of pressure to contribute (it takes me less than 10 seconds to make significant eye contact with each one). We went for about 2.5 hours of discussion with a break in between. By the end there were lots of blank faces, idle scratching in the notebook, heavy silences. It's hard not to take it personally. It's hard not to read into it. "Oh no, they don't like me. Oh no, they think I don't know enough. Oh no, they think this is a waste of time." It's hard to remember that boredom is a necessary and unavoidable part of learning. It was a huge part of my learning as an undergrad! When the class adjourned, I felt raw with anxiety, excitement and confusion. "Was it a good class? I think it was a good class. I hope they weren't too confused. We talked about some great stuff... but was it too much? Or too basic? Do they care?"
What saved the morning was when the student from my previous class this year stayed behind to tell me that he got a book I listed in the recommended readings and asked for a suggestion on how to approach the book. And there I was, in my favourite place in all of teaching-land, talking one-on-one with a student, geeking out. A familiar place that I know is safe and rewarding.
I've heard many people talk about how stressful and emotionally trying teaching can be... though I've heard very little talk about exactly what makes it stressful and trying. For me, it's the social aspect of teaching. It's like being at a potluck party where no one knows one another and I'm the host who has to figure out what we'll do together. I need to come up with games and activities, connect people who share interests, come up with conversation topics when there's a lull, provide comfortable space for my guests. And outside, I would have needed to coordinate with everyone so that dishes don't overlap, there is enough food for everyone, people know where and when the party is, etc. etc. It's a huge task! All the while thinking: I hope this party doesn't suck! And the thing about parties (for me when I host them) is that if I feel that they weren't fantastic, they're no good at all. (Can we say issues?)
But, like a party, the guests rise to the occasion. They can entertain and charm one another. They'll figure out who they get along with, what they want to do and fill their glasses when they run dry. And guests bring their own crap to parties: anxieties, desire for attention, people watching, networking, etc. What I found so far in teaching is that, for the most part, students care about you if you care about them. And they share in your caring about how the class runs and about the quality of the discussions. And, once in a while, you get a handful who love learning and are just so happy to be there that they are willing to commute for an hour to get there.
I guess for me, as someone starting out (or even gearing up to start out) as an educator, my task is to figure out what kind of educator I want to be and can be as well as what I perceive to be learning. Yesterday, I was beating myself over some details that I didn't know, such as whether or not men who come out as having sex with men can donate blood. But is my role as educator really to know all that stuff? Is it my primary function? I know in my heart that my role is to guide and facilitate learning, provide conceptual direction and feedback on writing and thinking. It's amazing how these conventional notions of what it means to teach and what it means to learn (that education means the passing on of knowledge in neat packages of information) creep up and hit you in such profound and visceral ways. Because I felt it in my stomach, a feeling of dread that I didn't do my job.
So... here's to taking a breath and remembering what it means to teach, to learn and to educate. And that guests will rise to the occasion and it's not entirely on me. As I said yesterday morning, learning is about the co-creation of knowledge.
