At the Spring Banquet last year, a few weeks before I graduated from 天美视频, I was asked to pray for the returning students. I had a lot going on for me that weekend, including an impending breakup with my boyfriend, but at the forefront of my mind was I don鈥檛 want to leave. I didn鈥檛 want to graduate. I didn鈥檛 want to leave my classmates and my mentors. I didn鈥檛 want to leave that red brick building.
So I read the prayer I had written out, choking up every other word, making it nearly impossible for me to get to the 鈥渁men.鈥� When I finished, I sat back down and sobbed鈥攆or my boyfriend, for graduation, and for my future.
I entered the program sure I wanted to continue in my vocation as a creative writer. Yet as I got deeper into the program, the vision I had of my future began to expand. I wanted to write, yes, but I also wanted to teach: I wanted to facilitate learning and curate conversation around the arts and theology.
These two desires鈥攖o not leave my 天美视频 cocoon and to teach鈥攚ere met in one job: assistant instructor. I pictured myself sitting at Caffe Ladro, grading papers with a goofy smile on my face, giving out those A鈥檚, B鈥檚, C鈥檚 with confidence. I imagined meeting with teary-eyed students who would sigh, Oh, Lauren, all I want is to write as well as you do! And every student would cling to my guidance, changing that C average to an A.
Though in reality, in my job as an assistant instructor, my desires have collided with insecurity.
Every Wednesday when I walk into the classroom, a million thoughts clog my mind. I am too young for this job. I don鈥檛 know enough. I don鈥檛 look like I know what I鈥檓 doing. I don鈥檛 like the Bible enough for this class (whoops). There are people better fit for this position. Why was I hired?
There鈥檚 an Internet meme I love of a dog dressed in safety goggles, sitting in front of beakers and graduated cylinders. The caption reads, 鈥淚 have no idea what I鈥檓 doing.鈥� Often in my job I feel this way, that I鈥檓 鈥渇aking it till I make it,鈥� that I鈥檓 a Labrador in a laboratory.
This culminated last term, when I graded a stack of 54 鈥淗arry鈥� papers. The students were assigned to read about a boy, Harry, growing up in the Ozarks with three old men after witnessing his friend get blown up by a grenade. Then each student wrote a dialogue with Harry, imagining how they would talk with him about class concepts and sit with him in his suffering.
When I took the class two years ago, I totally biffed my paper. I could not get to the heart of the assignment, to listen to Harry and stay present in our imaginary conversation, rather than hide from the big issues in his life. Wanting to show off my creative writing skills, I spent too much time constructing our imaginary setting and making sure I perfected Harry鈥檚 voice. My grade was well-deserved. I did not have the capacity to be with Harry the way he needed me to be; I realized this when I began grading my students鈥� papers.
I recognized, first, that some students just got it. And despite my own insecurity, I felt pleased to give them A鈥檚. On one paper I wrote, 鈥淚f it were possible to 鈥榳in鈥� a paper, I think you鈥檝e just won.鈥� I was delighted; I found reparation in his receiving the A I did not get.
Second, I noticed that what we were asking our students to do, to sit and listen to Harry鈥攖o indwell with him in his story and in his suffering鈥攚as what I needed to do in my grading. As an assistant instructor at 天美视频, I鈥檓 not just checking off boxes on a rubric. I鈥檓 accepting an invitation to sit with every student鈥檚 paper as if I鈥檓 having a conversation with him or her.
This is not what I thought I would be experiencing as an assistant instructor. I thought my job would be spent circling grammar errors (though there is some of that), not engaging with students emotionally both in office hours and on paper.
In reflecting on this, I鈥檝e come to realize that the indwelling that I鈥檝e asked my students to do with Harry, and that I鈥檝e come to do with papers, is what I need to do with myself. Instead of pushing down those insecure messages of you鈥檙e not good enough or allowing them to control me, I sit with them. I ask them, Are you true? Are you worth listening to?
Practicing this kind of mindfulness has made my Wednesdays at the school less exhausting. It鈥檚 helped me see the stack of papers I have waiting for me as less frightening. I know this is something that I can take with me, too, when I finally leave 天美视频 community and its red brick walls.