don't give up, part 4: for all those who teach

To hear Dr. Kellett read this essay, visit the Expand Your Us Youtube Channel, or click here: https://youtu.be/yRFQBUN07rE

Tis the season for teachers to burst into tears, to sweat into a mask, to risk their lives (sanity?) to educate students effectively, to become avid learners of new methods, to pivot, and pivot and pivot again. Through 16 years of parenting and 15 years of teaching, I have grown to trust my ability to function at high capacities, and regularly take on many tasks without asking whether or not I can deliver.

Not anymore.

In the last few weeks of teaching college courses in person and through Zoom simultaneously, and in trying to nurture the learning of four kids at home, I’ve discovered my capacity has limits, and my coping mechanisms are not up to the task. I am not doing well. When completing any given task, I might begin to cry, or experience rapid breathing and a pounding heart. I don’t sleep well and I am rarely headache free. I doubt my instincts, questioning if a decision is good enough, if I have adapted well enough to be effective, or if my students can possibly feel connected as they participate actively in collaborative meaning making.

I am a college professor, but I have been led and taught by secondary education professionals in this season. I know so many incredible teachers. They are tech savvy, great at endlessly pivoting, and know how to maintain focus on connecting with students, helping them own their journeys of growth and education. I have learned more from elementary, middle and high school teachers than I have from Provosts and Secretary’s of Education. Sometimes, it is best to sit at the feet of those long overlooked, who do their jobs exceptionally well and with very little support. (Note well: This is often true, and our society loses when we don’t value the literacies and excellence of such folks.)

In late July and early August, I noticed that public school teachers were intentionally finding time to center and ground themselves. They were blowing off steam by laughing at the absurd positions they found themselves in, and they were committed to finding best practices as their job descriptions changed. The most wonderful thing they taught me though, was to keep telling myself the story of why I became a teacher. To narrate back to me what I care about in interacting with students. To drill down on the stuff that matters to me vocationally, even if the methods and daily rhythms feel different. Stories lift us, ground us, orient us and motivate us, even when we tell them to ourselves. 

In honor of so many teachers working through headaches and panic attacks, who know it is terrible and also exciting to try new things, today I share a story of how I think about my vocation, my work, my life, as a teacher.

When I was a child, my large, loud family would regularly take vacations together. My three siblings and I grew up on a farm on the lake, and learned to be people in community deeply rooted in the land, the animals, the water around us. We came to know God and ourselves through wandering and wondering aloud, with each other.

Our vacations were spent creating games driven by the two principles of infinite possibility—meaning anyone could add to or improve upon the game at any time—and determined absurdity. The point, for us, of the game was to be as ridiculous as possible. And we were; from relay games that used okra as a baton, to mandatory jumps in the ocean or lake for whoever lost a round, to card games with rules that made them impossible to win, to food fights…we loved crushing boundaries for the sake of fun.

The other activity that absorbed me on vacation was reading. Since I was a teenager, I have always left clothes or shoes behind in favor of more space for books. I devoured them. Not to be allowed the freedom of my own agency, one of my siblings’ favorite games on vacation was hiding my book, stealing it out of my hands when I had three pages left, or throwing it into a large body of water.

These vacations, and time with my family, helped me understand how I wanted to move and be in the world. My vocation is an expression of my deeply held belief that meaning making is a collaborative effort. That our Maker designed us to be desperate for community, and this need makes our perspectives insufficient when they aren’t contextualized with the lived experiences of others. Rhetoric, discourse and dialogue are necessary for anyone to find purpose or make meaning of our world. 

Meaning making also requires curiosity. Reading is my favorite way to discover a question and pursue a line of inquiry. It helps me gather knowledge and learn to engage a perspective different than my own. In teaching literature, I get to share that sense of curiosity, of inquiry with students. As my siblings instinctively knew though, when reading is primarily an act of consumption, the game is cut short. On the other hand, when reading adds context to conversation with others, informing the process of discovery in an intellectually active community, meaning is collaboratively held, shaped, and celebrated.

 My vocation is guided by the same principles we held as kids: infinite possibility and determined absurdity. When I teach I love to keep every line of inquiry open, allowing students’ off-hand comments to become rabbit trails of deep discovery. Everything’s connected, and everything matters. At the same time, playfulness and fun offer subtext to the most serious of pursuits. What if our entire understanding of power, community and conflict is wrong? What if the history we know and find so soothing actively erases the lives and contributions of oppressed people? Absurd! But vital! Embracing absurdity in my teaching allows me to ignore the boundaries that often guide learning, and it allows me to become a learner. An 18 year old kid can blow the mind and change the perspective of professional with a PhD. Absurd! But vital.

My vocation is to create space for those around me to wander and to wonder aloud with others. My vocation is to offer hospitality to the people around me who yearn for infinite possibility, who suspect it is better to embrace absurdity than to control it, and who need to be led into humble and communal meaning making as we follow a question wherever it leads. My vocation is to actively demonstrate the idea that my perspective is strengthened when it values your thoughts too. My vocation is to invite others to collaborate as we explore our responsibilities to each other, to our history, to our habits of being, and to creating beauty that defies despair. 

To all those leaning in to teach, don’t give up.