In a recent “introduction” I was asked to upload for a course I’m taking (yes, I’m taking another course), I became painfully aware just how crazy varied my life has been. I mean, I’ve been and done so many things—I’m not bragging here, on the contrary… maybe simply confessing to the fact that I’m a personification of the cliched phrase “Jack of All Trades, Master of None. My entire life has consisted of one quest for knowledge after another. One struggle to learn a new skill after another.
Where has that gotten me? Have I yet “arrived”? Have I yet become the person I’m destined to be?
But time waits for no one, and it became obvious to me this year that it’s certainly marching along quickly. Subtle wake-up calls. Well, not so subtle. My husband tumbled over his eighth decade this year and spent a month in the hospital. My older brother, twelve years my senior, took his last breath, leaving a huge, gaping hole for which I was totally not prepared. And I, inching toward my seventh decade on this earth, struggle daily with maintaining a body that can keep up with my mind.
My mind. Sometimes I feel like there’s a gigantic library inside my head, one where I keep venturing into another room, to thumb through yet another stack of books on yet another subject. Always the student. Always seeking new knowledge… at least, knowledge new to me.
But this year, struggling as I am to burst out of what feels like a cocoon where I’ve been transforming for the past sixty-odd years, I reached out to embrace yet another new role in my life.
Teacher. I’ve been the perpetual student all of these years. Maybe it’s time for me to turn away from the bookshelves, tome in hand, and to share what I have learned.
It is a role I never thought I’d embrace. My husband was a teacher all of his life (it was how we met, did I tell you?). My daughter taught elementary and middle school for two decades and the stress nearly killed her (for real, no joke). Why on earth would I want to be a teacher?
And then there’s imposter syndrome drifting in, infecting the room with a fog that smells ominous, faintly of failure. Who am I to stand before a room full of young minds, tasked with educating them toward a better life?
Maybe, just maybe my crazy, varied track record of venturing into new domains, fumbling and failing and finally learning, gives me an edge? If nothing else, perhaps I can motivate these young minds to go out and do exactly the same thing.
My dream (this year, the dream du jour) had been to write a book that teaches. One that guides others along the path I forged for the past umpteen years, chasing the elusive creative muse. Oh yes, that’s a much more palatable option. No live audience, no room full of critical eyes judging me over their backpacks, no feedback (except for reviews, but that’s another subject altogether). No papers to grade.
Writing a book would be a one-way method of teaching. Here it is, read it and learn. Use my advice. Or not.
The book proposal is written, thanks to the audacious guidance of Beth Kempton’s Book Proposal Masterclass. The queries were sent out—round one, round two. Alas, I guess the world is not interested in my book proposal. at least, not right now. The only responses I’ve gotten are two rejections (one pretty nasty, by the way) amidst the multitude of crickets.
Maybe the time isn’t right. Maybe I simply haven’t found the right agent. Maybe my message isn’t meant to be delivered via text between the covers of a book.
Maybe my message is not meant to be a one-way conversation.
I had been perusing the jobs ads out of boredom. When a position surfaced for adjunct professor—for writing, no less—I applied out of sheer curiosity. When they interviewed me, then said I had the job, I stepped onto a roller coaster of emotion: elation, pride, trepidation, then… downright terror.
Is this my ultimate purpose? To teach others, using my own experiences as a springboard? I never imagined myself in the role of teacher. Oh, yeah, I trained a few employees to learn to do what I did in the laboratory for all those years. I’ve given a seminar or two to like-minded creatives on the art of writing. But to own the role of teacher? Professor? Am I qualified? Am I ready?
And is it really possible to re-invent yourself after you’ve reached full retirement age? I mean, why would you want to? Why not just enjoy the free time that working all of your life afforded you?
For one thing, the current economy does not allow for one to simply stop working and live comfortably. Not unless they’ve been way more lucky than I was in playing the stocks lotto.
The truth is, I’m not ready for retirement. I still feel as though I have more work to do in this life. I still believe I have not fulfilled the destiny for which I was dropped onto this earth… this time around.
But teacher? Professor? Can I really pull this off?
The jury is still out. I’ll keep you posted
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You’ll be great!! 🥰