I think when I pictured teaching 101 prior to being in the classroom I had three general classifications of expectations. The first classification I’ll call fearful anticipation. These sorts of thoughts mostly centered on how I would, in one way or another, mess up. Would I totally boondoggle my schedule and miss class? Would I have let loose an embarrassing or imprudent Freudian slip in front of my students? Would I have a student mutiny, originating with a group of precocious students I couldn’t control, or worse, originating from a group of students who were dissatisfied with my inexperienced and discombobulated instruction?

The second classification of expectation I’ll call idyllic nuggets of student epiphany. These dreams all have a golden glow to them, and mostly present me as a grinning observer of student discovery. In these episodes a student, or a group of students, have been laboring over some problem I have planted in the curriculum, until they, perhaps prompted by a well-placed instructor observation, realize how much meaning they are pulling from their in class experience. Or something. These are the rosy goals I held before beginning the real work.

The third thing I expected was more or less “it will be just fine”. This thought never really spurred specific dreams or elicited anything tangible, rather it let me reside in a state of blind neutrality. I think if I could have articulated more what this meant it would have been about trusting the process in place, trusting the built curriculum, and trusting myself. The “it will be just fine” thought likely is most accurate summary of how the last week or so has felt, but how I interpret the meaning of “fine” has changed.

“Fine” no longer feels like a good benchmark to sit on. Two out of the three classes I’ve facilitated went “fine” and one felt “pretty good”. Sometimes, it has felt like our class has been caught in housekeeping details and exercises that, without well facilitated reflection, appear as disparate islands of half-built meaning. My expectations for in class writing ideals have been undermined in part by our relatively short class times, logistical/bureaucratic necessities but also my own lack of comprehension of the curriculum and unpreparedness. I guess I am ultimately a little disappointed in myself. In early September I was excited by the activities in the Bean text, but have so far been unable to employ the engaging informal writing exercises he suggests, or even really hint at any sort of writing-for-surprise concept to my students explained by Murray. In Bean’s example of a student handout explaining exploratory writing activities he loves, he says

“Research has shown that the regular habit of exploratory writing can deepen students’ thinking about their course subjects by helping them see that an academic field is an arena for wonder, inquiry, and controversy rather than simply a new body of information.” (127)

Wonder, inquiry, and controversy are experiences I want to be a regular part of our class. Assuming we will be basking in our respective epiphanic glows is naïve, and striving to unearth those rosy teaching moments would probably be an instructor-centered pursuit. However, I think that in any academic setting, an inquisitive affect, a habituation towards wonder, and a willingness to struggle with controversy are the most transferable learning outcomes one could hope for. But I don’t know how to teach a habit, I don’t know how to develop an affect in a person and am not even sure if that is an ethical goal. Murray outlines his personal mandate

 

“I must, as a teacher, encourage (force?) my students to develop their own writing habits: to write frequently, at least once a day’ to write much more than they will complete or publish (maple syrup is the product of boiling thirty or forty gallons of sap to get one of syrup, and in writing there’s a great deal more sap that needs to be boiled down); to read writing that doesn’t look like writing but which often contains the essential surprise;” (4).

 

But in our classroom do we actually try to access that sap? We have tight time constraints while teaching, and outside of the classroom our students have to negotiate a multitude of interest groups lobbying for their time. I’m not sure Murray’s habit maxim is realistic considering the parameters that surround us, but I want to get there regardless. I’m not quite sure what I’m struggling with here, I don’t want to reside at “just fine” but I want to have realistic, student-centered expectations. Perhaps I am being impatient, or haven’t properly calibrated my expectations.

I’m not really sure what to pull from my ramblings here, I think at least this has felt cathartic. I will say I hope I can hold on to the idealistic mindset I had before, and hold onto at least some of the ideals from Murray, and buoy them up with well executed writing instruction pulled from Bean. Or something.