The Warm Fuzzies

 

We've all heard the saying, "If you choose a job you love, you'll never work a day in your life."

I don't believe that for a second.

I absolutely love teaching. I can't imagine doing anything else. But loving your job doesn't mean it isn't work. It just means that somehow, the good parts outweigh the bad ones.

Trust me, there are plenty of bad ones.

There are days when Canvas decides to throw a tantrum. There are emails that make me reread them three times just to make sure someone actually typed those words. There are students who seem convinced that deadlines are merely suggestions and that, somehow, Thursday has mysteriously transformed into Sunday.

(For the record, it never has.)

And then there are the mountains of grading. If you've ever wondered what professors do in the summer, the answer is... grade the papers from spring. (Kidding. Mostly.)

But none of those things are what I think about when someone asks why I love teaching.

I think about the warm fuzzies.

Recently, a student stayed after class to chat with me, something they had done almost every week throughout the semester. Public speaking absolutely terrified them. Every speech left them visibly shaking.

As we were wrapping up our conversation, they said something I'll probably remember for the rest of my career.

"I'm so glad I ended up with you as my professor. I don't think I could have made it through this class with anyone else. You make me feel comfortable. Safe."

If I'm being honest, I don't even remember what grade that student earned. I remember those words.

That conversation made me think about so many other students I've been lucky enough to teach over the years.

The returning adult who was convinced they were too old to go back to college. The veteran who quietly wondered if they still belonged in a classroom.

The student who apologized before every speech because they were certain they were going to fail... and then finished the semester speaking with confidence.

The students rebuilding their lives after incredibly difficult chapters, former incarcerations, determined to prove—to themselves more than anyone else—that they were capable of something more.

I've always had a soft spot for underdogs.

Maybe it's because life has taught me that everyone is carrying something. Most of the time, we just can't see it.

One of the greatest privileges of my job is getting to watch people discover strengths they didn't know they had. Sometimes they just need one person to believe in them long enough for them to start believing in themselves.

That's the magic.

It's not the grades.

It's not the attendance.

It's not the discussion posts.

It's watching fear slowly turn into confidence.

People sometimes ask how I can teach at multiple colleges and still enjoy it. If you're wondering why I keep teaching at four colleges despite the workload... this is why.

The answer is simple.

I don't do it because I love grading.

I don't do it because I enjoy writing quizzes or organizing Moodle modules.

I certainly don't do it because I enjoy reading emails that begin with, "This is unfair..."

I do it because every once in a while, a student reminds me that what we do actually matters.

Sometimes it's an email years after graduation.

Sometimes it's seeing a student smile after giving a speech they were convinced they couldn't do.

Sometimes it's one simple sentence.

"You made me feel safe."

As teachers, we rarely get to see the long-term impact we have on our students. Most of them move on with their lives, and that's exactly what they're supposed to do.

But every now and then, one of them unknowingly reminds us why we stayed.

Those are my warm fuzzies.

Some opportunities don't work out the way we hope. Fortunately, the students keep reminding me I ended up exactly where I needed to be.

Somehow they make every Brightspace meltdown, every ridiculous email, and every paper waiting to be graded completely worth it.