What 5 Years Have Taught Me

Last week, I went to Glacier National Park (see above), which one of my favorite places on this planet. (More to come.)  And now I am back.  After all of those miles, toting all of that camping gear, here I sit, grateful to be home, and grateful to have gone on the trip at all.  Not everybody gets to head west and drive into the sunset and go hiking and camping with their little sister for a week.  It was SOOOOO fun.  

Today, right about the time I hit 35 heading north, the non-Montana side of my life came back to me. But it wasn't depressing.  It was good.  Mostly I thought about what the summer has been since I left the classroom in June.  (Or more realistically, when the last kid was picked up by their parents at the airport, post-D.C., at 1 am.  That's when summer got real.) 

Transition.  Here's a quote that I discovered this year, which instantly made total sense to me.

“Every now and then go away, have a little relaxation, for when you come back to your work your judgment will be surer. Go some distance away because then the work appears smaller and more of it can be taken in at a glance and a lack of harmony and proportion is more readily seen.”
― Leonardo da Vinci

 What I love about summer is that you get to see your profession from afar, all critical about it and loving all at once.  You can see why you're doing what you're doing in life, and what needs to change.  And you can think about how the heck you want to do it better the next year.


I put zero pressure on myself to figure things out each summer, history or otherwise.  Instead, I focused on all of the good people around me, and quit wondering about the 'shoulds', and do the thing I want to do when it occurs to me that I want to do it.  

If I was wearing pajamas and eating popcorn and someone called me to meet them for a drink on a patio, I would change my clothes and go.  If someone suggested a road trip, I'd go. (Obviously.)  If someone wants to go swimming, I go.  This summer, I ate new foods and took better care of my skin and read new books.  There are beautiful summer things that happen like open windows and trips to the lake and pitchers of peach tea and lush green everywhere and the crickets right about this time of year, signaling change for me.

I learned a lot this summer, but mostly I think I learned how to chill out.  Really chill out.  At a soul level.  Because God intends for us to work and to rest.  It's something that for me has come, day by day, with age, and I have welcomed it.  The past year of my life has been one with the ins and outs of doubt and insecurity and as an adult, this is so easy to hide.  We have all found our defense mechanisms in some way or another.  

But I am happy to report that an old surefootedness has come back.  And its wound its way into my house and my friendships and the way I write things and where I go and better yet, why I go.  And it's brought me back to the tenderness of God. 

This summer I decided that I am a generalist.  My friend used the word and asked me in the next minute if it offended me.  It did not.  It's the word I've been looking for when I've wished for all things and all people and all good moments.  I often have the feeling that I want everything life has to offer.  At least in terms of goodness and seeing things well and simplicity all around me in the world.  In people, in ideas, in moments alone....I don't want to specialize in much. 

 Of course you have those anchors in your thought life, and the things that compel you to go deeper.  But generalism suits me. And I might have been afraid to say that before, for fear of being ignorant or unchallenged or too whimsical for my own good.  I like to know a little about a lot.  I don't like the idea (or the lifestyle) of knowing a lot about a little. 

And when I really knew that about myself, I could quit thinking I had to be so intense about any one thing, especially concerning the job of teaching history, and just do a lot of things well.  Casually, with intention, with enthusiasm...showing up and seeing what comes.  You can still be a leader if you do that.  But it's harder to be a planner with an eye for the future. 

The reason this has been such a big deal is that I tend to work with people who love to specialize, and there is pressure to know certain things before meetings.  Or before.....before what?  There is more credit to be given here though.  Last I checked, I understand how to teach World and U.S. History.  And people aren't questioning that too often.  

Guess what?  I teach to generalists as well. These people are called middle schoolers.  

Knowing this in a fresh new way has affirmed in me the choice I've made to teach middle school at all.  More than a thesis, more than a set group of interested historical scholars, I love the idea that a few good things I've put in front of a MASS of people might make sense someday in their minds.  If not, that's ok.  You don't reach everyone.  And all is not lost in the meantime.  I think it's presumptuous anyway to think I know what is going on in their minds at all.  But.  There are good things seeping into the lives of everybody when you are honest and real and excited and know a few things about the world that you want to share.  And also when you show up and care.  This is why I like my job every day.  This is why I sleep well.  This is why I like the middle ground.  

This summer I figured out how different English and History really are.  Everyone lumps them together because the skill set can be similar.  But I am not like the English teachers because my first thought is not, 'I really want to help kids love to read.'  And I hear that all of the time from English teacher friends.  All of the time.  The difference is subtle, but significant. 

I of course want a kid to love to read.  But whether or not it is good, that is often a prerequisite for my course work.  I want a kid to love to read because they have to read a LOT in my class to understand what I want from them.  They have to write a lot to articulate their historical perspective.  (They have to know what historical perspectives are.)  You can't unlock one from the other.  And literacy strategies are not difficult for me to incorporate into my lessons.  We at St. Croix Prep continue to fine tune this. 

I discovered that literacy strategies and this eye toward reading in general, are elements of class for me but not the final result.  Instead, I teach history, which is the storytelling, themes, compare/contrast outlook of our world, far reaching and also fine details in our own culture.  There's order and recall and a linear look to it.  And then later there's the crafting of an argument and perception and analysis.   This is my focus.  This is what makes me happy.  This is now what makes me chill out at the beginning of the school year.   

For the first time in my life as a teacher, I received a letter from a person I know who is now graduated and going to college.  He told me he is considering teaching and that I inspired him.  I was not his teacher, but I knew him the summer he was 13 because I worked for his family.  Governess?  Older sister figure?  Babysitter? 

We avoided the term babysitter because I'm sure he thought that was irreversibly embarrassing.  In the letter he endearingly referred to me as his 'person'.  Who cheered with him when his braces came off, talked about dating with him when his sister outed that he had a girlfriend, and in general just had a good time that summer.   He told me he wondered if I was faking it when I seemed to enjoy being with him and his sister.  He wondered about that all summer but decided I was really happy to be there.  (I was.  They are awesome people.)

But he grew up.  Writing a letter the way he did reminded me of this....it's a letter from someone who is well beyond the awkwardness of adolescence.  He wrote it in response to something I sent him for graduation.  I missed the party, obsessed with my own life as a teacher soon going to Washington, D.C. with 55 people.  He thanked me for things that he couldn't say thank you about when he was 13 and I was making him lunch.  And then he addressed teaching.  What that would and would not be for him if he chose it.  If I could give him the golden advice he would need.   

His letter was awesome.  But I realized that I don't need someone to tell me I inspired them to be a teacher in order to feel confident about the things I am doing every day. It's so lovely, and it helps immensely.  But I think in general if you are waiting for your legacy to happen in front of you, you end up being a pretty crappy teacher. 

 Instead, I felt surprise that I had been in the business long enough to see those words on the page.  It was the first time they had come from someone well beyond the age group I have come to know.  My friend and I talked about the teachers we knew in high school who stood for something but weren't showy about it.  We want to be those people.  Not the iconic teacher, but the quiet one doing quality work and not having to show it off in order for it to have value.  The showy teachers are annoying.   Case closed.   

So, in the haze of summer relaxation, these small ideas have come to me.  And they've grown into something usable for fall.  I am happy to say that I still love the life of teaching.  I love it.  I believe more and more every day that it is a craft and an art.  Each year it becomes more about the kids and less about me and what I know.  Each year that encourages me to know more on my own, to be something organic and authentic and undeniable.

And now I think you have to consider these things when you are fresh and far away because you get so wrapped up in other realities in October and November.  Like getting kids to school pictures on time and sounding like a professional when you call their parents about crappy behavior.  School clips along at a pretty decent pace and it is always busy.  But the magic secret is that it doesn't have to be alarming. 

And so it goes.  Year Six for moi.

I'm writing about this now because this time of year it all comes back again.  And I look to another group of people to work with and another stance to take and more life experience to season each day.  At this point I know that there is a  lot of hard work involved in order for the relationships to be built.  Kids study you a lot in September, and then by December they unthaw a little.  But only a little.    And I push them and I push myself.  

And then there are moments when I don't get a hello in the hallway because I can see these shy people feel so awkward and want to crawl away and hide.   They want to say hi but some can't until December.  I keep saying hi.  And if I see a spark of defiance in their eye instead I circle around and deal with that.  But I will tell you it is hard to be confident sometimes when everyone else feels off kilter or weird.  It is the lonely feeling in a loud and crowded hallway. 

Those moments require pep talks for yours truly.  I can be a real battle axe at the right moments, but not in all moments.  And then, with all of those awkward moments and sincere moments and guttural, human moments and 'Mr. Holland's Opus' moments, I get to February and March.  And we know each other, and suddenly I don't want them to leave and go to high school. (Most days.)  I feel proud of them and feel the twinge of their leaving and having to start all over again and care about a new batch of humanity. 

Year Six promises all of that and more.  But here and now, in August, I am slowly and surely, once again, getting very, very excited for it to come back.