I’m new to Yavapai College…brand new. This is my first semester teaching here, and so far it’s been amazing. I’m not just saying that because of the offhand chance that some member of my hiring committee may also be viewing this post. It really has been amazing and invigorating. Thank you to everyone I’ve met for providing such a welcoming community. It is inspiring to work alongside such passionate pedagogues.
It has not been an easy path to get here. The story, however, would warrant more than sixteen sentences and at least three cups of coffee. What is important, though, is that I want to be here. I do not have to be here. Yet, I’ve made many sacrifices to get here.
Although these sacrifices have not been as exorbitant as Odin’s own sacrifice to Mimir, in his removal of one eye to obtain knowledge, they have been lessons unto themselves. And I trust that I am not the only one who has made a sacrifice to be here.
What can we learn from having made these sacrifices? For myself, I have learned that everyone’s path is different, a unique journey. In having made the journey, each of us demonstrates a commitment to this profession–a Janus-faced field in which we must constantly be both the participant in and the facilitator of learning.
But because each of us has traversed a different space to get here, we have different stories to share. Unfortunately, we can only share in the retelling of such stories and not the first-hand experiences that informed those stories in the first place. This inability to access each other’s experiences is a key feature of Merleau-Ponty’s The Visible and Invisible (see the section on “Reflection and Interrogation”).
How does this relate to teaching? In the sharing of our stories, including our sacrifices, we build a community in which we are better able to present and relate to the world (here, I mean something akin to Uexküll’s Umwelt). Yet, this is what the primary facilitators of the learning space can contribute to each others’ understanding.
More importantly, however, is our recognition that our students have also made a decision to be here. They do not have to be here. And many of them have made sacrifices to be here. Some of their sacrifices have been as exorbitant as Odin’s. And yet, they are here.
Hearing their stories has been humbling. I can only express gratitude to them for entrusting me with their tales. They inspire me to be both a more open and attentive teacher / human.
I can only hope that they will be better off for having spent time in our classrooms, both academically and in their capacities to flourish as humans (to exhibit eudaimonia). I know that I am better off for having them in my classroom–even in the short time I’ve been here.
Conversing with Mimir 