Riding the Wave of Humility

(No AI Was Used to Compose This Post) 

As a newbie podcaster, it's been super fun riding the wave of my learning curve. Mastering the software, training myself not to say "like" 100 times per episode and getting comfortable with my nasal accent are all fun. There's a long way to go, but you can definitely hear the quality of Ms. Behavior improving week after week.

There are also catastrophic wipeouts. Kurt and I traveled to a professional conference last month where we made lots of friends, interviewed tons of student conduct administrators and, devastatingly, found out that our audio recordings were complete shit. On the bright side, AI editing software helped salvage some fun clips (thank you, Riverside!) and we did have a blast, but dang. We'd been talking about that conference for months, and the humbling realization that I'm still a neophyte brought the exact thing I try not to impose on students... shame.

For decades, I've used the surfing metaphor when I talk about classroom teaching and conduct hearings. You can have a magical, creativity-igniting class discussion one days and think you've got your students poised for a months-long intellectual party, only to have them drag into class two days later exhausted from midterms and annoyed at your enthusiasm. Hearings feel the same way. As soon as you have a few breakthroughs with students and you convince yourself that you're better than you are, a student comes along like a great white shark, to remind you that their needs are greater than your ego. Still, as soon as you hit the shore, bloodied and battered, all you can think about is paddling out to try again.

I've heard that when you're caught in a deadly bit of undertow, the best thing is not to keep swimming toward the shore for safety. The current will only drag you further out to sea. Instead, you need to swim parallel to the beach until the pull dissipates.

In three days, Kurt and I will be back in the studio, our safe place, and we're going to release the footage we collected at the conference. The recordings might be the equivalent of a surfboard shredded by a coral reef, but when I listen to the files, as rough as they are, I can still hear the spirit and the stories of our colleagues. I see Kurt and Colette smiling and laughing and appreciating the fleeting time we have together in person. Rough is okay. It's fine --- this time. Next year, we'll be back with lessons learned, better microphones and a renewed sense of adventure. Hang ten, suckers!