Tomorrow is my last day of teaching high school. Likely, forever. And although I have been counting the days, for so many reasons, it's akin to ending a losing sports season: I will be glad it's over, but it doesn't feel particularly good. It's not a metaphor I've really thought much about, truth be told, but it's apt. Teaching high school, I've learned a lot. About myself, about people, about authority and institutions. I've had some positive influence, and I've tried to make my failures negligible in terms of actual costs to my charges. But there is little doubt that I will watch the students rush from my classroom tomorrow and know, without a doubt, that I have failed. I have lost more than I've won. I have wasted more than I've created. I have hurt more than I've helped. I have disappointed, bored, underserved, and been deficient. And it's a wound that won't soon heal.
Where the sports metaphor fails, though, is that every year, a team renews. Every team is undefeated in the offseason, and hopes can't help but soar. I have my hopes, certainly. But I can't help but think that my previous defeat is a fundamental indicator of inadequacy, evidence pointing towards an unfortunate truth I cannot shake.
What am I good at? Writing, I suppose. I have a fluidity with language and expression that is fulfilling and has potential. I am fairly rational/intelligent, although this is increasingly tempered by my wariness for absolutes and a fundamental lack of confidence undermining whatever good it might do me. I am fairly empathetic, having experienced and explored a variety of my own intense emotions while striving to understand and explore the feelings of those around me. I am witty, although this is both a blessing and a curse as it can easily overtake any sincerity I may try to foster either in attention of message. And, largely, that's about it.
These are all decent things to be, I suppose. But in terms of practical applications, I so often feel... inept. As if I am lacking in some instrumental way, in a way that others do not, and without this je ne sais quoi I am doomed to mediocrity. And I really don't want that. I don't want to be the best at something, as if that could be measured. But I don't think my life could have meaning if I wasn't evidently good at something valuable. Good in a way that people notice, that makes me someone to be looked up to, referred to, cited as a model. And I don't say that out of ego; I'd be glad to have such accolades go to a nom de plume or anonymity. I just want to be good at something valuable.
Teaching, undoubtedly, is not it. That's no great loss, I guess; I'd assumed as much since the onset. But I'm really worried about discovering this again. I'm worried that what I see as particular tendencies and skills that specifically lend themselves to certain paths might, in fact, be inherently mundane or misinterpreted.
And I wonder. Should I have stuck with Math? I was so comfortable with it; it calmed me and called to me. It was beautiful in a pure and idealistic way. Where others struggle, I would sing.
But I made a choice. I knew that such perfection was the stuff of fantasy. The uncomfortable and nebulous beauty of English is what I opted for. I sought ambiguity because it was real. I wanted to dive into uncertainty, to engage in the pursuit of "truths," no matter how unpleasant, precisely because they were made of lives, not objective theorems. And although my life might have been simpler, less challenging, had I pursued mathematics (or even had a chance to explore physics), I think I'd still make the same choice today.
So perhaps I am not good at something valuable. Or, more likely, I will have to work for it, just like everyone else does. I cannot simply expect to be good; I have to build and work for it and want it. And I don't really want to be good at teaching high school. Or rather, if I were to choose to be good at something, it would be counseling. Lord knows I've learned and grown more with my counselor in the past year than in so many classes with so many good teachers and professors. Perhaps more importantly, I've never been interested in education; I've been interested in humanity. I've been interested in life, in the "real," in the calamities and compromises of our individual experiences. English is one outlet for that, certainly. But I'd like to think that counseling is a better one.
Perhaps I'm rationalizing my losses away. It will be disastrous if I get into this brave new world and find it to be Teaching II: The Undeaducationing. Perhaps. But whereas, in the past, I would have started this post and ended it in the same emotional tenor, I've reaffirmed myself. I've talked myself out of my decline. I've found something, something I didn't have before. And I hope that's the thing that makes the difference. But first: tomorrow.
Where the sports metaphor fails, though, is that every year, a team renews. Every team is undefeated in the offseason, and hopes can't help but soar. I have my hopes, certainly. But I can't help but think that my previous defeat is a fundamental indicator of inadequacy, evidence pointing towards an unfortunate truth I cannot shake.
What am I good at? Writing, I suppose. I have a fluidity with language and expression that is fulfilling and has potential. I am fairly rational/intelligent, although this is increasingly tempered by my wariness for absolutes and a fundamental lack of confidence undermining whatever good it might do me. I am fairly empathetic, having experienced and explored a variety of my own intense emotions while striving to understand and explore the feelings of those around me. I am witty, although this is both a blessing and a curse as it can easily overtake any sincerity I may try to foster either in attention of message. And, largely, that's about it.
These are all decent things to be, I suppose. But in terms of practical applications, I so often feel... inept. As if I am lacking in some instrumental way, in a way that others do not, and without this je ne sais quoi I am doomed to mediocrity. And I really don't want that. I don't want to be the best at something, as if that could be measured. But I don't think my life could have meaning if I wasn't evidently good at something valuable. Good in a way that people notice, that makes me someone to be looked up to, referred to, cited as a model. And I don't say that out of ego; I'd be glad to have such accolades go to a nom de plume or anonymity. I just want to be good at something valuable.
Teaching, undoubtedly, is not it. That's no great loss, I guess; I'd assumed as much since the onset. But I'm really worried about discovering this again. I'm worried that what I see as particular tendencies and skills that specifically lend themselves to certain paths might, in fact, be inherently mundane or misinterpreted.
And I wonder. Should I have stuck with Math? I was so comfortable with it; it calmed me and called to me. It was beautiful in a pure and idealistic way. Where others struggle, I would sing.
But I made a choice. I knew that such perfection was the stuff of fantasy. The uncomfortable and nebulous beauty of English is what I opted for. I sought ambiguity because it was real. I wanted to dive into uncertainty, to engage in the pursuit of "truths," no matter how unpleasant, precisely because they were made of lives, not objective theorems. And although my life might have been simpler, less challenging, had I pursued mathematics (or even had a chance to explore physics), I think I'd still make the same choice today.
So perhaps I am not good at something valuable. Or, more likely, I will have to work for it, just like everyone else does. I cannot simply expect to be good; I have to build and work for it and want it. And I don't really want to be good at teaching high school. Or rather, if I were to choose to be good at something, it would be counseling. Lord knows I've learned and grown more with my counselor in the past year than in so many classes with so many good teachers and professors. Perhaps more importantly, I've never been interested in education; I've been interested in humanity. I've been interested in life, in the "real," in the calamities and compromises of our individual experiences. English is one outlet for that, certainly. But I'd like to think that counseling is a better one.
Perhaps I'm rationalizing my losses away. It will be disastrous if I get into this brave new world and find it to be Teaching II: The Undeaducationing. Perhaps. But whereas, in the past, I would have started this post and ended it in the same emotional tenor, I've reaffirmed myself. I've talked myself out of my decline. I've found something, something I didn't have before. And I hope that's the thing that makes the difference. But first: tomorrow.
I don't believe you, Dylan. What sets you apart from most of the "bad" teachers is that care enough that it upsets you when you're not good.
I have no idea if you're any good at teaching, but I suspect that you aren't as bad as you make yourself out to be.
You're right about one thing, though. If you want to be good at something valuable, you WILL have to work at it, just like everyone else does. That's what I learned from High School - people like us are smart enough to coast effortlessly, but that never gets you to the level of achievement that you feel driven to.
Dylan, you are a smart, smart guyrl (? - not trying to tease, but really, which do you prefer?). One of the smartest I know. People of your ability are not doomed to mediocrity, they only settle for it. I'm encouraged that it doesn't look like you're ready to settle yet.
Counselling may be your calling, it may not. If it's what you want, then go for it, work as hard as you can and see where it takes you. If it doesn't work out, try something else. You may wind your way to Teaching MLXVII: The Whythefuckhaven'tIfiguredthisoutyet, but you'll eventually get there, as long as you keep trying.
If nothing else, take comfort in the fact that you made it through this year without giving up. You tried your damndest, learned a lot and are stronger for it. And I guarantee you that, at the very least, your students are no worse for the wear. They can't be. I don't believe it. That much, I'm sure of.
Dylan, You are able to reach out to people in a very caring and respectful way that may be hard to see from the inside, but I have been so blessed to experience your wisdom and caring. I hope that you can take comfort in the fact that you have a kind of integrity and sense of selflessness that is on a deeper level than many will ever dare to tread. As you and I both embark on these new and scary parts of our lives, I want you to know you are not alone. All we can do is keep trying and thinking and loving and learning. . .
Congratulations on your last day! -Reid
I love the idea that mediocrity is not something you're doomed to; it's something you settle for. Really, I think one of the hardest parts about teaching wasn't just that I was mediocre at it, but that I tried so hard. I don't think I've ever worked so hard, in vain, in my life before. I have never been so thoroughly and regularly challenged as I was teaching. And despite that work and challenge, I didn't meet it. Not because I didn't try enough but because part of me was just fundamentally incompatible with what the job demanded. And while I can frame that as "just not right for me," it hurts to be poor at something I wanted and tried to be good at. It's wonderful empathy-building, of course; I'm privileged in plenty of other ways, and I think there's value in failing in this manner like I never had before. But I think the pain's largely unavoidable, too. It hasn't defeated me, but I'm going to have bruises for quite awhile.
Thank you both for the encouragement, though. Lord knows I'm going to need a lot of it in the coming months.
(As for "guyrl," which is a wonderful neologism, I guess I'd prefer "person." Avoiding gender entirely or using gender neutral pronouns is less painful, whereas the female options seem disingenuous. I probably won't want them until I change my name. I do appreciate the concern, though; the sensitivity is much appreciated).