The other night at dinner, I had the impulse to tell someone, when we were talking about undergraduate engineering students and my great pleasure in working with them, “My work satisfies the part of me that could have done that — could have majored in one of the STEM fields.”
I didn’t, though, because I hate that: when people in the middle of very good careers (like me) say something like, “If things had been different, I could have been an opera singer, or travel writer, or doctor.” I worked with someone 20 years ago who was the director of major gifts at an Ivy League university — a very good job by any measure — who would often say that if his life had been different he would be first violin in a major orchestra. Honestly, I doubted it. How could he know?
So, I try to never say, “I could have been X if not for Y.”
Ha! But here I’m going to do something like that.
I have always loved reading and writing, so it’s really a great fit for me that I have become a communication lecturer who reads and writes and teaches writing and speaking and some ways of reading. When I was in high school I liked English, but maybe my favorite classes and teachers were in chemistry, physics, geometry, calculus, and even shop and music.
Jump ahead to college: I registered for biology, chemistry, and calculus. I loved Calc I, didn’t do so great in Calc II, yet I found biology especially to be tedious and chemistry only mildly satisfying.
Why did I love chemistry in high school and not as much in college?
Here’s the “if not for Y” part.
Chemistry in high school, as well as physics and biology, was taught AND practiced in a lab classroom. Everything happened there: the lesson or lecture, the experiment, the teacher’s office hours, the teacher’s grading of exams, the socializing with peers in class. We sat at the bench in groups of four, learned there, and did experiments. If you remember this experience, too, and want to be reminded of it, see the photographs in the Flickr album, ECHS Has New Chemistry Lab: link.
My memories of the teacher, Mr. Victor Khoury, and classmates and furnishings and bits of experiments (carbon, and the crucible!) are vivid.
In college, the lesson happened in a lecture hall, and the lab in the lab. The labs were taught by people different than the actual professor/lecturer, and the professor could be found in his office. The lab instructors we could talk to in lab, and I remember mine in the one college chemistry class I took. I also remember my lab partner and her name and my impression that she would go on to be a star in science, she was so obviously good.
I did like college chemistry somewhat because I liked the special topic I had chosen, the chemistry of nutrition. Maybe if I had known that was a field I would have stuck with it. Who knows.
I hated biology. 8:30am lectures. Lots of transparencies of stuff happening inside cells. My heaviest textbook. So much looking in the microscope, and not even of organisms. I would have at least liked to see a paramecium or, like in high school, a razored slice of potato. As a freshman, I couldn’t see too far beyond my fatigue with this class, and what it might get me if I stuck with it and advanced through fundamental STEM classes to more focused ones, with original experiments and more time in lab and perhaps a closer connection to the professor or lab instructors. I could not see ahead past the cells, or the grind.
These kinds of reflections are more useful as inspiration for what I can do now instead of what could have been. (What could have been is not going to be.)
I also recently told another person that when I really love my work, it’s when I work 1:1 with another person — be it a student or peer — on their work. I also like when the learning and practice are happening at the same time, which is what writing center pedagogy is for the most part.
Occasionally in my current position, students will come to my office and sit and work on their writing and punctuate their silent process with questions that lead to conversation, the learning kind. When I have an opportunity, I arrange small-group office hours, where students can come and write together, while talking about writing. We do this at MIT more as a formal part of our practice with presentations than we do with writing, because it is assumed that presenters need an audience. Writers who are writing might not need an audience, per se, but partners and interlocutors provide companionship, feedback, and alternative ways of doing and understanding.
When I think about my professional future, and not my past could-have-been reflections, I imagine integrating what now seems mostly fragmented to me: the lectures, the feedback, the office hours. The 1:1 or small-group hands-on lab approach happens only in a fraction of my time.
I feel myself to be at the end here, either in time or word count. So what’s the big idea? I hesitate to make a big resolution. If work with words is both physical (whether manual or vocal) and intellectual — and even social — how can those parts of work be integrated, and how much can I shape this in my position?
The question I pose to myself and yet I am of course always interested in the thoughts of my readers, on their own paths or on mine. 🙂