In a roundabout way, this post is a wrap-up of my self-imposed challenge to live simply, joyfully, and purposefully every day for 30 days. In the past month, I've been doing a lot of thinking.
How much do you remember about your education? How well do you remember the lessons, projects, papers, and instructional methods?
I've always liked school, but for the most part, my education was filled with a lot of memorization and repetition. I usually didn't get to play games or do fun projects. Mostly, basic concepts were repeated and built upon year after year until they were ingrained. My college classes were based on lectures and some failed attempts at discussion. I'm not complaining, but this doesn't sound like the beginning of a future teacher, does it?
When I look back, though, I do remember a couple charismatic teachers who made going to school a lot of fun for everyone. Still, I can't remember much about the material they covered with us. In fact, their methods were downright dry in some respects, but they excelled at making students feel valued and involved, and they brought to the table a host of stories they shared with us that made us look up to them and believe that one day we'd have such exciting stories of our own.
In my junior year of high school, at a time when I needed to start thinking about my future career, I had an English class with one such charismatic teacher. He was kind, encouraging, and funny. And he had some great stories. In the past, he dabbled in boxing and building cars. He said that occasionally on snowy days he and one of the history teachers at our school would grab some lawn chairs and sit in the woods to--I imagine--discuss deep thoughts and drink beer.
Many of us left his class that year wanting to be English teachers. Who wouldn't? Who wouldn't want to be adored by scores of impressionable kids? Who wouldn't want to be that one great teacher that everyone has?
And now you know how I got here.
But here's the thing: I remember his kindness. I remember his stories. I do not remember a lot about the books we read or any particular lessons he taught. When I had those feelings of wanting to be like him, what I failed to realize was that there was much more to him than being an English teacher, and it was all of that stuff that made him great. He breathed life into our classroom.
I saw him and said, "I want to be an English teacher," when I should have said, "I want to go sit in the woods on a snowy day."
This disconnect is something I feel is causing conflict in my life now.
I was good at school, so it seemed fitting to become a teacher. But those who've inspired me most are not people I'd say are great teachers; they are great people. They are people who've lived rich, dynamic lives. They've spent a lot of time doing before spending much time thinking. The fact that they were teachers put them on my path, but their skills as teachers had very little to do with why I was drawn to them.
The bottom line is that I want more doing in my life. I like teaching, but I think I'm missing a key component to being a great teacher--life experience. And whether I'm a teacher or not, I want to be a great person. For me, that means spending less time in my head, on my couch, or online.
Instead, I'm trying to put myself in situations that are likely to make my life richer and fuller. Challenging myself to do something deliberate and joyful each day has been a way to make this happen. This past month, even though so much of it has been routine, just writing about my daily activities has gotten me soul-searching. As always, I'm being pulled in several directions at once, so I must work on balance and focus, but more importantly, I feel compelled to just do more, live more. I want to relax and enjoy the waves of the life and allow myself to be pulled in all those directions. I want to inspire others not with words but with actions.
Thank you for reading.
