All the anxiety was for naught � the faculty observer did not show today. When I ran into him in the hall later he said nonchalantly, �Oh, hey, I�m sorry I didn�t get to stop in today. I�ll be there Monday.� The faculty don�t remember what it�s like to be teaching your first courses, how much you worry and agonize about things that you soon learn are relatively unimportant, how much your observation review means to you. I�m glad he�s not worried, but now I have to do it all over again next week. Moreover, I had to tell him Monday wasn�t going to work � we�ve got a small field trip for the first half of class.

Besides all that, though, class was frustrating. I had one of those days where I spend a ton of time getting organized in advance, and somehow when standing in front of the class it all comes out in the wrong order. Perhaps I should just call that phenomenon �Wednesday,� because I seem to be establishing a pattern here: Mondays good; Wednesdays, not so much. Perhaps my students have noticed too � there were a lot of absentees today.

But while I am coming home Wednesday feeling inadequate, as last Wednesday and the Wednesday before that, this week has offered if not reassurance, at least commiseration. On my way to the bus after my office hours on Monday, I ran into a couple of fellow graduate students, two of very few that I actually know, and we ended up talking about teaching, as two of us are doing it currently and the other taught her first course last quarter. There is such universal angst about it, we all worry and obsess and don�t manage to have as much fun as we should. It was nice to hear that this soul-wrenching experience is not mine alone. And today after class, I went to hear another student, who�s got a job interview next week, teach a practice class, coincidentally on the exact subject of my class from this past Monday. I could tell she was nervous in all the same ways I get nervous and she fumbled around occasionally in the same way I do and yet she was engaging and I followed what was happening. I seem to have this idea of a perfect performance, a perfect clas, but that�s really not the right model for teaching. It�s much more dynamic and organic and flexible. I know I�m not awful and the fact that I worry about such things as much as I do is probably a good sign. And I know I actually can be a good teacher. I just need to get the stick out of my ass and relax. It�s just music.

And yes, I used the word soul-wrenching, because indeed this feels so very personal, so much more so than any job I have previously attempted. I don�t think I felt this so strongly the last time I taught, in part because the last course I was assigned was so clearly out of my area of expertise that I felt I knew better what the expectations were. I want to be brilliant and funny and insightful and organized and entertaining. I want to be all the teachers I ever loved. Why do I care this much?

I�ve been thinking a lot lately about all the teachers I�ve ever loved. They all come into the classroom with me every day. There�s Miss W. my first grade teacher who gives me compassion for my students. There�s Ms. M. from third grade who pushes me to think outside the box. There�s Mrs. C, my violin teacher in 4-6 grade who gives me the pure joy in putting music together (and sometimes in taking it apart). Mrs. W. from junior high urges me to let the students know me as a real person, to try to connect. Mr. K., my 10th grade English teacher, reminds me of the life-changing possibilities of new ideas and artistic experiences. Dr. G., my 12th grade English teacher reminds me of the power of words and the importance of letting students discover things for themselves. There are others, too. I am the Sybil of pedagogy. I�ve been lucky to have many teachers with whom I�ve connected. Now if only I�d let myself connect with my students.

[Second entry today]

0 people said it like they meant it