unless

Parker Palmer, an intelligent man and teacher, said,

“If we want to grow as teachers, we must do something alien to academic culture: we must talk to each other about our inner lives—risky stuff in a profession that fears the personal and seeks safety in the technical, the distant, the abstract.” 

My first two months of school were messy. I completely lost my gourd (again). I tried to handle it on my own, but didn’t do a very good job (shocker). Some other grad students, aware of the mayhem that is the first semester as a doctoral student, rallied around me, offering support and encouragement. They conceded that they felt a lot of the same inadequacies and fears I did. One said, “I’m definitely not smart enough to do this on my own-- but I don’t have to do it alone, and neither do you. We’re a community. Rely on me, and I’ll rely on you and we all help each other through this shit show called grad school.” Coincidentally, another first-year doctoral student suggested we study together for the coursework we shared, “You have a different perspective,” she said, “You’re going to pick up things in lecture that I’m totes gonna miss. And you’ll definitely need what I caught.” She was spot on. We aced exam after exam simply because we studied together, filling in each other’s gaps, and encouraging each other in our efforts.

“…we must do something alien to academic culture: we must talk to each other about our inner lives…” 

Early on, the post doc in the lab saw my struggle and intervened with perspective. He admitted his own discord with some of our lab director’s teaching and research philosophies. “I love teaching,” he said, “she doesn’t really get how important it is to me, maybe even to the progress of science, and that’s probably fine-- she just really loves research! I love research, too; I also really love teaching-- f*** the norm! That’s nothing to be ashamed of!” 

“…risky stuff in a profession that fears the personal and seeks safety in the technical, the distant, the abstract.” 

During the last term I taught two lab sections back-to-back on Wednesdays. Each class began with 45-60 minute lecture on a biological topic, followed by a two-hour practical lab. I made a point to learn my students’ names and majors by the second week. This way I was often able to relate the lectures to their individual interests. Biology can easily become “technical, distant, and abstract”, I didn’t want that for these guys. I wanted it to feel relatable and personable, even fun. So I gave it the old college try (see what I did there?). At the end of the term the students reviewed the course. Confirming my efforts and buoying my hopes, one student wrote, “She made me care about bacteria. I don’t know how, but she did.”

Outside lecture and lab hours, I had a few conversations with one student about how to navigate college as a first-generation student. Gesturing generally to everything in the room, she said, “I’m new to...this. How do I do…I dunno…this college thing?” We talked about study styles and habits, how she could get to know her professors, and how to keep at it, even when it all felt like a lost cause. In another conversation with a different student we explored how to “show up” even when she was afraid she didn’t belong. “You belong here,” I said, “We’re all freaking out a little, and we all still belong here. I’m freaking out about belonging in grad school, my boss is freaking out about cutting muster as an early-career-tenure-track professor, and her boss is freaking out about getting that million-dollar grant to fund his brilliant idea. We’re all freaking out. But we’re also still showing up. Just keep showing up. Take the notes, read the text, ask the questions. Just do it anyway.” Which she totally did.

“If we want to grow as teachers…”

Some of the students and faculty I work with aren’t very interested in being good teachers. They’re much more excited about being good researchers, or being important. Some just want to be right. My advisor said, “Most people are either good researchers or good teachers. Unless they’re really unusual, people can’t be both.”  …Unless… that’s a really good word, you know. It’s almost as good as “both” or “and” (sometime you should ask Sandy about those magic words). And, frankly, “or” sounds like a challenge. Cloud Cult (still my favorite band) says, 

            

We put our strong face on. 
And go right through it. 
Please say it can't be done. 
Cuz that's just fuel for me to just prove this, yeah, you'll see. 
Cuz that's just fuel for me to just do this, yeah, you'll see. 

In 1910 Teddy Roosevelt gave a speech that became known as The Man in the Arena speech. The whole speech is ok, but this bit in the middlish gets a lot of air time: 

It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat. 

So I’m thinking Parker and Sandy and Cloud Cult and Teddy are all on to something. And I’m pretty sure that something involves the same ol’ risks and dares that every other good thing requires: vulnerability and courage. Pretty straight forward. 

Welp, kids. Put on your flak jackets. This is probably gonna get a little cray (woot! woot!).