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It's tough to be an introvert in an extrovert world, especially in an extrovert's profession, like teaching. Through this blog, I'd like to share my own and others' reflections on being an introvert in the classroom. This isn't a place for misanthropes or grumps, though; I hope to thoughtfully discuss the challenges that introverts face in schools and celebrate the gifts that introverted teachers and students bring to the educational environment. If you can relate, please join me!

Monday, June 24, 2013

"When nothing is certain, everything is possible" --Margaret Drabble

Like most meant-to-be inspirational quotes, this one, which graces the spine of last month's Real Simple magazine, makes me want to gesture with my index finger toward my throat and make barfing noises.

Though I am a creative person, an English major, I need some structure. Engineer's daughter, after all. How much structure do you need for creativity? I think there is a common misconception among humanities folk  that structure somehow kills creativity or somehow replaces it because you supposedly can't do both. I think of the tenure committee scheduling meetings where I brought three clipboards, one with each syllabus for each of my three preps so I would know exactly what topic or activity was planned on each day so that I could tell the evaluators if that was a good day to come and everyone would chuckle--sometimes even my department chair, as she would pull out her own meticulously pencil-marked calendar.

As a teacher of a lot of developmental English, I help my students learn to organize their notebooks and their assignments which clears the way for thinking. You can't analyze the quote when you can't find it and re-read it first and refresh your memory. Organization is not supposed to replace the thinking, as a colleague seemed to think in an informal meeting when he said in regard for such activities, "Aren't we just teaching them how to be good little citizens?" as if you couldn't possibly teach both procedural and mechanical skills along with thinking. In fact, for me, structure enables me to think. I think people who just don't do well with a lot of structure, like my colleague, like to think of philosophically grounded reasons not to take roll and do other mechanical things in the classroom.

For me, when nothing is certain, nothing is possible.

If I don't have at least a topic and specific readings assigned for every day of the semester, I feel lost. I get overwhelmed. There are too many possibilities, and I end up dreading class or just trying to stretch things and make it through. When I have some structure, I can be more creative precisely because I don't have limitless possibilities. OK, I know we're reading these particular pages, so I can be creative for this content and don't have to pull out or mentally sort through all at once all the cool things we could do with this book. To specify page numbers and essay due dates on your syllabus may seem pretty basic, but I know people, both effective and not-so effective teachers, who don't decide that ahead of time.

The stress of endless possibilities also makes me think of the book The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime, by Mark Haddon. The Asperger's-diagnosed teen who narrates it describes why lying is difficult for him. The book is in my office so I'll paraphrase. The narrator says something like, "When I try to think of one thing that didn't happen, I start thinking of all the other things that didn't happen and there are so many that it makes me feel nervous and scared."

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