I will never forget the day my college professor told me in my final year of undergrad studies that I should not pursue a teaching career. He was certain in his opinion. I had all of my life believed that teaching Language Arts was my calling. It felt like a punch to the gut.
Two years later, I had not yet secured my teaching job and was working as an after-school child care coordinator. My supervisor told me that I was not cut out to work with children. She said I was too hard, too intimidating. Ironically, it made me cry.
I had respect for these two people, both many years my senior, but something in me felt that they were wrong. I sensed that my potential had been underestimated. Maybe they misunderstood me, or maybe I just had room for improvement.
I continued to pursue my chosen career.
In the 30 years that I eventually taught high school English, I was nominated three times for Teacher of the Year. I was told numerous times by past students that I had “saved” them, that my class was the one reason they stayed in school, that I taught them English as a nice side dish because teaching them how to be okay in the world was the main course.
I am retired now. I have collected over a thousand student letters that named me a “favorite.” I still get those occasional sentiments over social media. I knew full well that I stood among many really good teachers and that I was one of them.
So, you tell me, what’s the lesson here?
Sometimes, well-meaning, intelligent, and experienced people will advise us that we are on the wrong path. Sometimes, they will be correct in their analysis. If they are, deep down, we will know it.
Sometimes, they will make judgments based on one observation. Only you will know your own intuition, your heart. Your inner knowing will refute this advice, and you will strike out into the world despite their lack of faith. It is still up to you to remember their reasoning.
How do we have such clarity?
One bit of wisdom that has brought me comfort in my big life decisions is that I am teachable. I learn fast. I can adapt and shift and mold myself to whatever comes my way. My mother taught me that skill. I am a goddamn morphing chameleon. You can give me a nuanced framework and I can be readily coached into it. You can whisper it to me and I will hear it like a bell. I will repeat it to myself until it forges grooves in my brain. I will turn it around and around and one day shout it back to the world. I am teachable. I am open, and I am willing to sincerely consider what you have to say.
I don’t mind being wrong.
I have been wrong many, many times. Fortunately, I know I will survive anyway, and then I will thrive. I thank those two people in my youth whom I had followed for a time, and then did not follow anymore. I hold them with honor and respect. They were trying to help me figure it out, and they only had their own experiences on which to lean.
Hearing what other people think can be a catalyst for our opposing clarity. If a dear friend tells me to wear the yellow dress, I can better see that the red dress is the one I am going to choose.
