The Joy of Teaching

After a whirlwind five-week quarter, I'm reflecting on the joy of teaching once again. I'm coming off of a six-month break, which is nice because teaching kind of consumes your life. The prepping, the organizing, the subbing in new material for old, the research, the grading, the administration: it seems endless (which is funny, because "endless" is exactly how the students describe their plight to me; even the ones who are about to graduate still have this exhausted, haunted look about them). The workload is mighty and the hourly rate low.

But there's something about it... a definite adrenaline rush associated with being on stage. The warm, squishy feeling you get when students say that something you did mattered to them, mattered in a very personal way. There's the interaction with live human beings rather than teleconferences and email, which, for extroverts, is as necessary to life as breathing. You're perceived as an expert in something, and lets' face it, we all like to think we know a little somethin'. There's the paycheck. There's being part of a community.

All good, but still not it. Not compelling enough to keep me coming back for more. Got it. It's the chill. There are these moments sometimes in class when I say something that really means something to me, and I can tell the students understand that this thing, whatever it is, is true and real and raw and may make a difference to them. They get a certain look that says, "I get you. I'm listening. I know you're here to empower me." And a chill runs through me. I actually get goosebumps. And those are hard to come by at work.

So when I am complaining again about having to rewrite my class to fit in some new format mandated from above, I'll think about the chill and know that I'll always come back for more.