Shattered Childhood Dreams

In third grade, my teacher used to make us draw pictures of our future selves, and inevitably, it evolved into the question of, "What do you want to do when you grow up?" Whether it was a latent brown-noser in me or genuine interest, I drew a blackboard, some chalk, and an apple. I wanted to be a teacher.

What folly! Teaching is a last profession I want right now, closely behind toilet plumber and president of the United States. Seeing the mud, slander, and gossip we throw at our teachers now, I shudder to be the recipient of that. And perhaps the worst thing is a private problem: I take everything too personally.

All those things I do unconsciously--filling out crosswords in class, whispering notes to my friends, giving up on hard problems, scrambling to class late because I had to print my essay -- these things would make me feel awful as a teacher. Disappointment leaden with inertia. That's how McClung feels every time physics devolves into toddler play. That's how Crick feels when students turn in papers a week late. (Does Crick have feelings? Ah, we shall see.)

That's how I'm feeling right now. It's too easy to take things personally when people don't do the work you assigned them. I'd be an awful teacher...and an awful leader. I can't stand disappointment, and I'm not charismatic enough to persuade them otherwise. Acadec screws with my mental health.