I learned. I grew. I’m grateful.

Did you ever have one of those moments where you realized that you were different than you were before? That you had grown as a human being… evolved in your own development? As I began my second year as an assistant professor, I noticed a difference and it made me realize that we are not always able to see our own growth as it is happening. We might not realize that we’ve changed until some future point, or until we are gently tugged by the ritual of a calendar marking a milestone in time. When the calendar turns and the beginning happens again, there might be an opening to notice growth. What if we find it and understand that growth happened? How cool is that moment?! I had one of these joyful moments this year and am so grateful. 

Now, when I went back to school for my Ph.D in Sport Psychology in 2006, being a professor was the farthest thing from my mind. I assumed that all faculty jobs were research-oriented, and ‘publish or perish’ positions. Was I hoping that some new professional doors would open as a result? Definitely. Did I want to be a professor? Not really. Not at this mid-point point of my career. So, in the fall of 2016 it was both ironic and wonderful to start my 5th career, as a faculty member and M.Ed program coordinator in Educational Psychology at the University of Virginia’s Curry School of Education.

Starting a new career is hard, let alone in the “mid” of one’s life. My first year was a blur of teaching three classes each semester (preparing, teaching, and grading, oh my!) leading a Master’s program, and advising & supporting Master’s students in their journey of discovery. I’m not going to sugar coat it — the first year of my job, coupled with the first year without my dad was hard. He had died four days before orientation in 2016, which provided a backdrop of sadness to my first year.

In addition to the shadow of sad, I was stressed and anxious. Stressed about being ready for class, anxious about being a professor. What does it even mean to be a ‘professor?” I was trying to figure out my new identity, and how to bring my strengths as a coach, educator and entreprenuer to this new place and space. My very first orientation the week after my dad died was a blur. However, while I felt like blur, there was a new cohort of 16 students who were vibrant, and brimming with the excitement, and energy to change lives, fight for educational equity and promote positive development. When I was around the students, I forgot about my sadness and loss. Without realizing it, the new students gave me such a gift. Their energy, passion, excitement and engagement balanced out my sadness, loss and mourning.

Fast forward to the fall of 2017. I have now had some space to step back and reflect on my first year. Then, as I started to go through the cycle again, I recognized a change. As I was flooded with memories — sad, grieving, excited, anxious — of how I felt last year at this time, all of a sudden it hit me. I realized I had grown and developed. As a person and as a professor.

So, what did I notice exactly that signaled me about my growth? First, physically, I realized that I felt differently. Simply, the feeling in my body was different. I did not feel as tight. If my insides were a ball of yarn, the yarn was loose and relaxed. I felt calmer, more relaxed, more natural.

Secondly, I felt more present. Maybe my meditation practice really had helped me! My attention and focus felt clearer. In meetings with students or colleagues, I could focus better, vs. having that feeling like my mind was racing, or jumping around. I could listen better. I felt more able to look around at students in class, make eye contact, try to understand what they were experiencing, or thinking, vs. worrying about my slides, or what I wanted to cover that day in class. I was more often and able to shift my attention in class from myself to others.

So, as a result of changes in my body, and in my attention and focus, I realized the growth and joy. I know it’s okay that I don’t know everything, and even though intellectually I knew that before, now I know it in a deeper way. I know that I am teaching on the edge of what I know, and that’s okay. In fact, it’s completely expected. I know that thinking that one can or should know everything is actually a limitation or liability. Teaching is inquiry, asking big questions, exploring research and theory, and applying research, theory and experiences to come up with answers to those questions. Teaching is facilitation, not one-sided. Education comes from the Latin roots –e-ducere to lead out, so teaching is a process of leading out of ideas, thoughts, connections, and thus new knowledge from others.

Sometimes we can’t see how far we’ve come, until we arrive at the same spot again. Sometimes we can’t understand that growth has happened until somehow there is a clearing, and a point which demarcates or delineates the space between the time before growth, and the time after.