Why I Teach

During one of her many lecture tours, Maya Angelou said that many people have considered her a writer who teaches, but she always thought of herself as a teacher who writes. The power of that simple statement struck me. After all that she has accomplished in her life as a writer, poet, Civil Rights activist, and performer, she placed more value in being a teacher.

Sometimes I’m asked why I chose to be a teacher. Usually, there is a negative tone to the question – as though I’m being asked why I did something foolish. They might as well ask, “What were you thinking?”

For years, I’ve tried to find ways to justify my choice. I’ll say things like, “Teachers have made a positive difference in my life, and I want to make a positive difference in other people’s lives”; “I believe that education is important in our society, and I want to be part of the answer”; or “The rewards of being a teacher are more valuable to me than money or recognition.”

While these are all true, and they are all part of the answer, but they aren’t the main reason I became a teacher. I teach because it is such a fundamental part of my true self that I can’t ignore it. I’ve held different positions and achieved some things that I am very proud of, but when I am not teaching, I feel like something important is missing from my life.

I chose to teach English because I love helping people discover the magic of writing and reading. It is through these two activities more than any others that we learn about ourselves. When we go through the process of writing, we discover thoughts and feelings within us that we never knew were there. We learn more about ourselves, and in doing so, we often find our personal worth. Writing about the darkness within us can bring it out into the light and help us heal. It can empower us.

And when we read, we discover that there are others like us, that we are not alone. We read, and we feel like the authors are talking about us. Even when writers describe people and places that seem strange to us, when they do so effectively, we realize that we truly have many things in common, and we no longer feel like strangers.

I feel fulfilled when I help others make these discoveries, whether it's a student in one of my classes or a friend I'm talking to. It’s taken me more than twenty years to realize that, as much as I love the classroom, there are other ways to teach.

And I’ve realized that the most important thing I can do as a teacher is point others toward their own paths to discovering their authentic selves.

That’s not to say that I have reached the end of my journey. Perhaps there is no end to learning about who we are. I've only just discovered the importance of taking the journey.

The Eagle and the Chickens

Many years ago, I heard a story that I like to share with my students.

Once upon a time, an eaglet fell from its nest. A farmer was working in his fields, saw the baby eagle, and took it home to nurse it back to health.

Some time passed, and a naturalist travelling through the area saw a huge eagle among this farmer's chickens, so he rushed to the farmhouse, pounded on the door, and shouted, "Farmer! There's an eagle with your chickens!"

The farmer came to the door and calmly said, "That's not an eagle. That's a chicken."

The naturalist was stunned. "Look, I've studied nature my whole life. I even have a college degree! I know the difference between and eagle and a chicken, and there is an eagle with your chickens!"

"No, he thinks he's a chicken, so he's a chicken," the farmer answered.

"That doesn't make sense," said the naturalist, so the farmer led him to the field to watch, and sure enough, the big, beautiful eagle was scratching and pecking just like the chickens.

"See, he thinks he's a chicken, so he's a chicken," the farmer repeated.

"That's just not right," the naturalist said. "Give me a chance to show him that he's an eagle."

"Go ahead."

So, the naturalist picked the eagle up, looked into its eyes, and said, "Eagle! Thou art an eagle. Unfold thy wings and fly."

Then he threw the eagle into the air. The eagle simply fluttered around and returned to resume scratching an pecking with the chickens.

"See. He thinks he's a chicken," the farmer repeated.

"Let me have another chance," the naturalist asked.

"Go ahead."

This time the naturalist carried the eagle to the top of the farmhouse, looked it in the eye, and said, "Eagle! Thou art an eagle. Unfold thy wings and fly!" Then he threw the eagle off of the roof.

The eagle fluttered around, saw the chickens, and returned to the ground to scratch and peck.

Once again, the farmer pointed out, "See. He thinks he's a chicken."

The naturalist thought for a minute, and then he said, "Give me one more chance to show him he's an eagle," and the farmer agreed.

The next day, before the sun came up, the naturalist drove to a mountain top. As the sun began to peek over the horizon, the naturalist took the eagle by the beak and forced him to face the dawn. "Eagle," he whispered in the great bird's ear, "Thou art an eagle. Unfold thy mighty wings, and fly!"

Then he threw the eagle off of the cliff. The eagle began to flutter, searching for his companions, the chickens, and then he looked into the sun, unfolded his wings, and soared into the sunrise.

After I tell this story, I say, "When I first heard this story, I thought I was the eagle, but over the years, I realize that I'm the naturalist. You are the eagles, and it's my responsibility to make you look into the sun, unfold your wings, and fly.

Coming Home

I returned to live in the San Luis Valley of southern Colorado last June, and while I have enjoyed most of the places I’ve lived, it feels great to be back home again. I left more than twenty years ago to earn my MA in English. After a short stint as an assistant manager at a large travel stop, I began my teaching career, and for more than seventeen years, I struggled to survive as a “professional part-time instructor” before landing a full-time faculty position. A lot of people are shocked to learn that more than 80 percent of college classes are taught by adjunct, or part-time, instructors, and the competition for full-time positions can take an excruciating toll. Finally, after a career that spanned three states and included teaching for seven institutions of higher learning, I landed a position as a full-time, tenure-track instructor. I felt this was the culmination of my hopes and dreams. The tenure process is much more grueling than most people realize. While each state and institution has its own set of guidelines, they all strive to assure that those who are granted tenure will maintain high standards of learning. In my case, I worked with a committee comprised of three faculty members (one from our division, one selected by the union, and one that I chose), an administrator, and a student. For three years, they observed my classes, conducted student evaluations, and offered constructive criticism and guidance. Unfortunately, in spite of my tenure committee’s unanimous recommendation that I be granted tenure, the school’s Board of Trustees rejected my application and gave me an additional year to work on an improvement plan. That’s when my world began to collapse. I had to face a gambling problem and some terrible choices that I made to support that habit. That January, I almost lost both of my parents and flew back to Colorado so that I could spend what I thought were their last days with them.   The timing couldn’t have been worse. I left at the same time my tenure committee was scheduled to make their final recommendation, but my family came first. Fortunately, my parents were stubborn enough to pull through and are doing fine, but a few weeks after I returned, I was given the choice between resigning or having my tenure application rejected. My best friend, Diane, saw my struggles and took me to a ranch where she was taking riding lessons. On that first day, I simply helped lead the horses from their pastures to their stables and watched Diane as she rode, but being near the horses fed a part of my soul that I had ignored for too long. I went back to the ranch a week later and paid for a private lesson. As soon as I sat in the saddle, everything became clear to me. It had been more than 20 years since I had been on a horse, and I had forgotten the feeling that I get when I’m in the saddle. For years, I had believed that my life was complete and that I had everything I wanted, but when I sat in the saddle that day, I realized that I had become so caught up in my day-to-day life that I had somehow lost sight of who I am. I no longer knew what I wanted out of life. I realized that I needed to be in a place where I could have a horse beneath me and the Rockies at my back, and I decided it was time for me to return to my roots and to find my real, authentic self.   It was hard to leave Seattle. I had made a lot of friends, and all three of my daughters, as well as my two granddaughters, live in Washington State. At that time, I believed it would mean an end to my career as a teacher, and I was afraid that it meant walking away from a relationship that had become very important to me, but I knew it was a move I had to make.   I have had some critics say that I was running away from my problems and not facing up to the mistakes I had made, but I felt like I was moving toward my future. To many people, it seemed that once I made the decision, things just fell into place for me. The fact is that the huge issues and problems I had been dealing with didn’t simply disappear, but I realized that nothing would change unless I did things differently. I worked to the end of my contract and used that time to gain a better understanding of who I am and what I want to accomplish with my life. My sister helped me find the cabin I now live in, so I had a place to go. I brought only the possessions I could get into my van, and when I got to Colorado, I started building a new life from scratch. The first thing I did was to get ready for a horse. I began looking for a place to keep him. I heard that feed is pretty scarce this year, so I bought enough hay and oats to feed two horses for a year. A few people felt it was strange that I bought feed and found a place to keep a horse when I didn’t even own one, but I didn’t want to own a horse and not be able to take care of it. Now I begin my day sitting next to the river and enjoying the peaceful sounds of the morning. I spend as much time in the saddle as I possibly can, and I get to see my parents often. I’m currently teaching for Adams State University, and in a few months, Abbott Press will be publishing a collection of my poems and columns. I plan to follow that with a novel that I’m working on. And my best friend is still an important part of my life.   I’ve re-discovered myself, and I’m getting to know myself better every day. It feels good to be home again.