Passion that Doesn’t Apologize
Seriously. I’m gonna have Rob Bell arrested for spying on me.
I was listening to a recent podcast called “With Almond Milk” and mostly tuning out about his tale discovering how much he loves coffee. I just enjoy listening to him laughing at his own jokes.
It was near the end. I was taking a shower while simultaneously cleaning the shower (because that’s something you do in your 40s), and when everything including me was clean, I got out just in time for the words to slap me in the feels. He explained why it’s a good thing to talk about things you love. He referenced
Passion that doesn’t apologize
“Passion” had been a word causing a lot of trouble for me this week.
A few days ago, I was talking to a few university professors about teaching. I don’t get to do this that often anymore. And I was excited, nervous, and really happy to get the chance again.
I started talking… and had trouble stopping.
I went on about my classroom techniques and my teaching philosophy of instructing to a person’s humanity. I told stories of students who loved me and hated me. I played up my rapport and the communication skills I use to captivate a class. I saw them staring at me through their computer screens and jotting down notes occasionally. They weren’t giving me much more than a nod or two. That should have been my sign to tone it down but noooooooo.
I kept going. I had anecdotes, clever quips, and related experiences. I had jokes and examples of my research. I had all the things and said almost all the things.
They cut me off.
“I’m so sorry, Dr. Scott,” she interrupted, “but we’re running short on time.”
Aurgh. I could have pixelated into nothingness.
They were giving me all the signs that I was over-talking and I saw them but I just couldn’t stop. I love teaching. I love higher education. I come alive in front of a classroom. And when I get a chance to talk about that with other people who do the same thing, I almost go blind (and deaf) with enthusiasm.
I reined it in for the last five minutes we had left. I answered their questions concisely and accurately. We all said goodbye. I felt like shit for the rest of the day.
What’s wrong with me? I ruminated. I’m too much. I’m always too much. This is why I’m not respected. I’m not intellectual enough, subdued, quietly brilliant…
God bless my friends and family. Everyone said the same thing: it’s them, not you. But I am the common denominator in all my interactions with academia and I remain an uncontrolled burn in a forest of 1000-year-old intellectualism. I’m dangerous to anything that’s “always been this way.”
Now, I’m self-aware enough to know that there’s a lot I could have done better that’s completely reasonable. Practice presenting myself so that I don’t get off track. Take visual cues from the audience and shift back to the original point. Breathe. Geez, I taught Speech before. These are the basics. All that I know and will do better the next time (although I swore there’d never be a next time).
But what I really wrestled with was my passion. I love talking about how to engage students. I love presenting an idea and seeing that lightbulb go on. When I walk up to a student and say, “Hi, I’m Dr. Scott, and I’ll be your professor,” there’s that flash in their eyes of ”Wow, I’ve never had a Black female professor before.” It feeds my soul.
If anything, I don’t get how those professors could be so calm. You get to shape young minds for a living. You get to talk about fascinating research topics and collectively add to society’s wealth of knowledge. You have the best job in the world. You should be dancing in the streets, not looking at me like I have 3 heads because I can talk for days about teaching.
Passion that doesn’t apologize.
While it took me a day or two to dig myself out of my shame, I am proud that I didn’t apologize after the professor interrupted me. I didn’t back down from being my fully animated self over something so dear to my heart.
“I can see you’re passionate about teaching,” she said.
You’re damn right.
~jennifer
