I want to back up in this reflection. So, let me remind you of those three penetrating questions that spewed from my epiphany: “Do you want to let go of the influence of those debilitating parts of your life?” “Do you want a new future?” “Do you have it in you to do what has to be done?” The answers beyond my shouted “yes” did not come quick or easy. No, they triggered an emerging and vigorous debate between different philosophical worlds with different premises, different core principles, and subsequently different ways of doing things.

For years following the posing of those questions, day after day after day after day, there was a furious inner exchange. It was actually slugfest. On one side, was the up-and-coming, self-confident, powerful challenger with a new, innovative style, a new outlook, and a new way of moving through the world of academia. He wanted to matter. He wanted to be dedicated, truly dedicated to each student rather than to “the discipline.” Sure, he knew that subject matter mattered, but he wanted to accept the simple fact that people mattered most; he wanted to get out of the publish-or-perish rat race; he wanted to truly value classroom teaching; he wanted to rigorously be taught and learn about learning that was so ignored in his graduate training; he no longer wanted to wield weaponized perceptions and actions that harmed others; he wanted to teach generously, doing the best for each student; he refused to reject or forget or abandon his own story because it allowed him to connect with the stories of others; he no longer wanted to devalue students as impediments to lengthening his professional resume or promotion or appointment or acquiring tenure or broadening his professional renown; he wanted to better understand each student far more than a stereotype, generality, or label would allow; he wanted to get an understanding, get to the true beneath-the-surface complexity of each student that is far clearer and truer than a warping stereotype; he wanted to make a difference in the lives of students; he wanted to be fueled by unconditional faith in, hope for, and love of both himself and each student; he wanted to be driven by a Northstar vision of meaning and purpose that would allow him and each student to help each other become the person each was capable of becoming. And, he saw that when he stripped away the resume, positions, tenure, and titles, something far more important remained. He was willing to take risks. He was willing to take the inevitable punches. He knew that he wouldn’t know what would happen until after it happened.

On the other side, was the defender of tradition. He believed that importance rested on the academic resume, degree, title, position, and renown; that they made the academic person. He, like almost all of his colleagues, felt comfortable using teaching methods by which he had been taught by his professors. He was afraid of altering his tried-and-true and universally accepted style. He was, when push came to shove, he was filled with fear. He wasn’t sure how those around him would greet any change of style. He didn’t know how and if his backers would back him. He didn’t know if the promoters would promote him. He didn’t know if his colleagues would remain collegial. He knew everyone around him would resist any change; they always did. He knew that almost everyone would feel threatened by him if he tried anything new. And, he sure didn’t want to be isolated as someone who was no longer “dedicated to the discipline.” So, he wasn’t sure if there was anything in it for him if he did change his perceptions and ways. He knew those around him wanted to know what any change meant for them personally and professionally. He knew those around him would want to know if any change of style would benefit or be averse to their position. Since any change would take a lot of time and effort, but wouldn’t guarantee a victory, he wasn’t sure if it would be worth it the risk. He wasn’t wild about venturing into the unknown, feeling safer in the familiar and comfortable with what he was comfortable doing. In fact, he really was hesitant until he had guarantees of victory.

For years, inside me, these two debated, day after day after day: research; teaching; publication; teaching; information transmission; character development, promotion and tenure; instilling deep and lasting life-long learning. Vigorously. Furiously. Ferociously. Slowly, but slowly and surely, seeing the richness of love of self and others, I locked my heart on a good solid reason to be willing to change, and to act on that willingness to change. The strength of purpose in soft teaching with its unconditional faith and hope and love of each student proved to be the stronger of the two contestants for my soul and ultimately won the debate.

As I experienced this inner grappling, I came to see that I didn’t have to wait for a Sir Galahad to rescue me. I already had that inner power of intent to change within me. The richness of faith, hope, and love in both self and others was the key. I just had to learn how to bring it out from its hidden place, constantly drawing on its energy, and using it. Consequently, I started daring to have faith, hope, and love for what is. “What is” meant that the essence of the classroom, like everything in existence, is connection and interaction where chasm and distance and disconnection have no place. “What is” meant centering on myself in order to release constraints in order be able to center on uncentering myself to serve each student. “What is” meant putting the magnitude of teaching, rather than ego, at the center of my mindfulness. “What is” meant cutting through the opaque curtains of dehumanizing and impersonal stereotype, generality, label, and superficiality. “What is” meant being a human being next to another unique and sacred human being. “What is” meant keeping myself open, embracing and accepting those around me. “What is” meant an expanding attentiveness, alertness, and awareness of others. “What is” meant not minimizing others, not being distracted from each of them, not letting any of them go unnoticed and unheard. “What is” meant bringing the vibrancy of my faith in, hope for, and love of each of them to each of them, enveloping each of them with it, and helping each of them to help themselves find their own vibrancy. “What is” meant living well, living true, sustained by a vision of both teaching and life. “What is” meant being a person of value, not merely of success. “What is” meant depth, soul, purpose, meaning, legacy. “What is” meant being so emotionally invested in each student that it moves me to tears to watch her or him evolve toward the person she or he can become.

The bottom line is I came to touch the wonder of teaching specifically and life in general that as I learned to live my answers to those three questions. I stopped cheating my self. I learned to love my self. As I learned to love my self, I learned to truly live! And, as I learned to truly live, according to the words of Norman Vincent Peale, I lived my life, not my resume. In every thought, every feeling, every word, and every action, I came to touch the wonder of teaching specifically and life in general every minute of every day.

Enough for now. More later on the lessons I learned over the years.

Louis