We Are All Teachers and Students
Going Back to School
I recently undertook a journey to complete my undergraduate degree, and as I near the end of my first semester, I can't help but reflect on the reasons behind this decision. I am almost finished with my first semester—yay, me! Many have asked why I would do this, and my answers vary depending on the moment and the person asking. The most salient answer is that I've always wanted to complete my college degree, to finish what I started. Despite multiple instances of quitting school, the belief that I would eventually return persisted.
There are plenty of reasons I didn’t return earlier—some were excuses, and some were purely practical. At some point, my responsibilities required all of my attention and energy, and school seemed like an indulgence. Now, I am delighted to be back in school to complete my degree. However, the truth is, I've always (mostly) occupied the student state of mind. And I notice, I've learned more from my children about myself and relationships than any college degree could ever offer.
When I graduate next August, I will have my BS in Psychology. In my first semester, I have learned about neurobiology, neuroplasticity, cognition, and consciousness, gaining a deeper understanding of how they interconnect with my interests as a life coach and human. I have also studied personality theories, honed my academic paper-writing skills, though I'm still learning how to prioritize and organize my time and energy to accomplish tasks in an orderly and timely fashion.
Emotions and Learning
One of the many reasons I found school difficult in the first place is a seed that was planted when I was just seven years old. The seed of doubt about my own capacity to learn and be intelligent. Miss Short’s second grade classroom at the Memorial Elementary School in Medfield, MA was an unsafe place for me. Never diagnosed with a learning disability (it was the 70s), I was disruptive, talked too much, couldn’t sit still, and couldn’t seem to learn how to read–which meant I was either stupid or doing this to piss my teacher off. For the following forty-plus years of my life I brought that classroom with me to every learning environment I entered. It sat heavily atop my chest, blocking my view. That classroom image is a vehicle for at least a dozen emotions, all painful, that have joined me on my learning endeavors, including my most recent one. I am learning to show up to “class” without it these days.
We Teach, We Learn. Repeat.
One of the most inspirational lessons this semester is the remarkable extent of neuroplasticity. It comforts me to know that until I die, my brain has the capacity to change, and I have some influence over how it will change. This brings me back to my children. I learned patience from them—or because of them. If you pay attention, you'll notice all the moments that you learn from unexpected people and circumstances. The harder thing to notice is that you are a teacher, paying attention to all the lessons you are teaching your children, your partner, and strangers. Self-awareness is a powerful agent of transformation. We are always learning and always teaching, even when we don't realize it.
