The Way Back
There's a really funny scene from Labyrinth (1986) where Sarah meets a sleepy old philosopher who, for the price of some jewelry, gives her the following advice: "The way forward is sometimes the way back." He's not actually wrong, but like most philosophers, he's not actually helpful, either. (See Chidi Anagonye from The Good Place for a similar opinion.)
And I can't believe I never noticed (or forgot) that he's sitting on a chair made of books!
Anyway, that advice isn't helpful to me right now either; nor is it likely to be helpful to you. But it's a great image to start explaining an idea I had.
I had an absolute trainwreck of a teaching day yesterday. There were technical difficulties, and I made a couple of thoughtless comments, and the conversations kind of escaped my control. I'm still writhing from the mortified agony of it, and am terrified that this will be the thing that makes teaching impossible. I've been struggling with my mental health for about a week, and I'm trying a new medication that interrupts my sleep, but I feel like this shouldn't derail me the way it has.
I look back at how well the semester started (hindsight bias?) and I wish I could be like that again. I wish I could be shy and respectful instead of flippant and clumsy. But I can't. I've been here before, and I know that it's impossible for me to feel and act that way anymore with this class. It probably won't be possible next semester either, if I haven't burned that bridge, and don't burn it in the later half of the semester.
Dorothy Parker once wrote:
My land is free of chattering folk
And clouds hang low along the ridges
And sweet's the air with curling smoke
From all my burning bridges.
It's one of those poems that captures an emotional moment that feels so familiar: the silence when you've just said something so startling that everyone shuts up and perks their ears to absorb the drama.
Anyway, I can't go back. But it occurred to me that I can change my prayer. Maybe I can go FORWARD to something that's better than either shyness or brazenness. Maybe I can find wisdom and moderation. I must pray that I find it soon, though, or I'm going to continue a long pattern of failures. My emotion and personality will interfere with my students' ability to learn what I am teaching. I think I need to slow down. Tomorrow's goal: go slow. I also need to find some way to involve the lurkers in the back row. I know they hate that, but I need to know more about whether they're following the writing and reasoning concepts I'm trying to teach.
And I can't believe I never noticed (or forgot) that he's sitting on a chair made of books!
Anyway, that advice isn't helpful to me right now either; nor is it likely to be helpful to you. But it's a great image to start explaining an idea I had.
I had an absolute trainwreck of a teaching day yesterday. There were technical difficulties, and I made a couple of thoughtless comments, and the conversations kind of escaped my control. I'm still writhing from the mortified agony of it, and am terrified that this will be the thing that makes teaching impossible. I've been struggling with my mental health for about a week, and I'm trying a new medication that interrupts my sleep, but I feel like this shouldn't derail me the way it has.
I look back at how well the semester started (hindsight bias?) and I wish I could be like that again. I wish I could be shy and respectful instead of flippant and clumsy. But I can't. I've been here before, and I know that it's impossible for me to feel and act that way anymore with this class. It probably won't be possible next semester either, if I haven't burned that bridge, and don't burn it in the later half of the semester.
Dorothy Parker once wrote:
My land is free of chattering folk
And clouds hang low along the ridges
And sweet's the air with curling smoke
From all my burning bridges.
It's one of those poems that captures an emotional moment that feels so familiar: the silence when you've just said something so startling that everyone shuts up and perks their ears to absorb the drama.
Anyway, I can't go back. But it occurred to me that I can change my prayer. Maybe I can go FORWARD to something that's better than either shyness or brazenness. Maybe I can find wisdom and moderation. I must pray that I find it soon, though, or I'm going to continue a long pattern of failures. My emotion and personality will interfere with my students' ability to learn what I am teaching. I think I need to slow down. Tomorrow's goal: go slow. I also need to find some way to involve the lurkers in the back row. I know they hate that, but I need to know more about whether they're following the writing and reasoning concepts I'm trying to teach.
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