The Introverted Teacher and Other Conundrums

I'm up, and it's really quiet. I turned the television off (G likes to hear the news and weather, even though neither one is local to us, but that's another strange story), the air conditioner is not running, and the only sound is the hushed rushing of the early morning traffic slicing the fog and the lone cricket reminding me that time-time-time is passing. 

I used to write a lot of autumn-related poems. In fact, at one point it seemed that it was the only time of year I could write anything at all worth reading. I've clearly ventured into other oeuvre, but the crickets and the fog are calling me into myself a lot lately. The fog will lift, and the colors and bustle of my neighborhood will become more distinct. Even now, I see the headlights of G's car--he's off to work, and it'll be even more quiet in the house. Just me and the sleepy dog, the clocks, and the crickets. 

All this has put me in a half-awake, contemplative mood. Not quite melancholy, though that seeps in a lot in autumn. In a few short minutes, I'll have to break this reverie and get in the shower, get into work-appropriate clothes (actual shoes!?!), and put the friendly and engaging teacher-face on. I am, when left to my own quietude, a fairly silent person. I don't have the television, the radio, no podcasts-- I like it when all I can hear is the neighbor's roosters in duet, or the dog grumble and shift in her sleep. Few who know me would suspect I am a very shy person, and one who prefers to watch from the edges of things, at least until I have mustered enough of whatever it is that it takes to join a group. Maybe I'm perceived as aloof, or uninterested--nothing is further from the truth, though. I like people, but I'm pretty sure most of the time, they don't want me in the group. Or, they'll tolerate me, and that's hard to swallow. It's unsettling.

So today, when I face new students, and there are new faculty members to navigate hellos with, I need to "screw my courage to the sticking place" and be a cheerful, outgoing version of myself. Until I get into the rhythm of it, this is an exhausting performance. It's not fake; please don't think I'm so haughty that I am merely deigning to be a part of the ebb and flow of the school setting. It makes me feel all sorts of hesitant and left-footed. I do, in fact, play nice with others, but I always feel like they don't really want me to play. In gym class, when I was younger, I was always the last kid picked, and the worst possible athlete in any game. I was in permanent outfield when we played baseball-- me, drawing in the dirt with a stick, under a shade tree. I wasn't on a team, I was literally and perpetually in the outfield. 

Imagine this: a person who really does prefer people in small groups and in small doses goes into teaching. I guess it's because I truly love writing and literature, current events, and the interconnections with art, music, and so on, and I love to talk about those things with other people. I love to share what I see, and  hear what they see, too. I am so grateful my classes are small; this semester, I have only nine students in each class. Perfect, in my mind, for conversation. 

So wish me luck. It's hard for introverted people to put on the show. And today, as one of my dear friends puts it, is the first "opening night" of 180 of them.

Take care,

C