Appropriate Responses to Frustrating Moments

Tests make me nervous.  not taking tests -- I've always been a "school-head," and found taking written tests to be pretty neutral.  It's giving tests to my students that makes me nervous.  Did I teach them well enough?  Did they study at all?  How much are they going to argue with me when I mark their wrong answers wrong?

It is almost a sacred tradition that at least one student in every class will argue with the test, and with my marking of their test.  I hate confrontation, so I dread this moment.  I also dread this moment because I recognize how painfully strange the wording is for some of the test questions.  I feel guilty for not taking the initiative to change it.  But, in most cases, there is a correct answer, and I can find a way to explain to a student why their marked-wrong answer is not correct.  When this works, it is a moment where making and correcting the mistake start to insulate the brain circuitry and real learning happens.  (Read The Talent Code for more on this.)  When it doesn't work, people sometimes drop their pants.

In one of my classes, I have a student, clearly (over)educated, who has a reputation for getting into intense circular arguments with all of his instructors.  He has been known to say things like "I can see you don't like your job" or "Why are you so angry with your situation?" during these arguments -- infuriating, unanswerable, ridiculous statements which are best handled by redirecting to the topic at hand or just ending the conversation.  During my class, he spent most of every lecture sitting quietly at his desk, reading some kind of philosophical tome.  (The Prince is the latest one.)  I largely ignored him because he wasn't disturbing anyone else, and because I felt that he was trying to provoke one of his signature arguments.

I gave my first test to the class, and when I returned them, he had a question bout something I marked wrong.  I tried to explain it, but he wasn't accepting anything I said.  He continued to ask about other questions, eventually devolving into statements along the lines of, "Well, isn't it all relative anyway?  How can you be sure my answer isn't just as correct as what's in the book?"  I tried to remain calm and neutral, but I know I didn't.  As we talked, I noticed his upper lip was sweating, the more sweat, the more pointed his disagreements.  Eventually it was clear that he would continue for as much time as I had, and that we would get nowhere, so I cut off the conversation.

I continued to go over the test with the rest of the class.  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that he had grabbed his bag and retreated to a corner of the room.  I thought he was going to walk out or read his book, or something.  When I glanced over again, I saw a flash of red, which I realized was his underwear.  He was changing his pants, right there in the room, not even bothering to walk ten feet over to the curtains we have set up for just that purpose.

I told the story to a my colleagues, who all found it both hilarious, and unsurprising.  When I told the story to a friend who is also a teacher, he said, "What is he, three?"  Yes, apparently, I had just experienced the 20-something's version of a toddler picking her nose and wiping it on me.  Frustration, and responses to it, are shockingly varied.  Nothing to do but drop your pants over it.

Fussy Massage

I started doing some independent contractor work for a place that calls itself a wellness center.  They call their treatments "wellness" while they rub pumpkin spice scented cream into people's hands and have them rest their head on a fancy, unsanitary pillow which throws their neck into forward flexion.  It is good and necessary to pay attention to the hands as a function of overall wellness, but not necessarily with scented cream or a goopy green masque that makes the whole massage room smell like a commercially cleaned bathroom.

I am confused about why businesses think we need to make massage so fussy.  Adding scrubs here, moisturizing "treatments" there, oils that smell like seasonal foods (and leave me with a raging headache.) Massage alone is powerful, with proven benefits.  Why do we need all this frou-frou?

I offered a little extra to my clients in my last email blast, but I tried to keep it simple and directly connected to massage.  Clients could choose to use extra time to address their body's need: sore feet from months spent in snow boots, or congested sinuses from spending so much time indoors.  They could choose a treatment that would materially affect their quality of life.  I doubt anyone woke up this morning feeling like their mood, productivity, or overall physical comfort could only be improved if they smelled a little pumpkin spice latte hand cream.  

Businesses that try to both join the health and wellness approach and offer these fussy little spa treatments frustrate me.  If you aspire to be a spa, just be a spa.  It's confusing to clients when you try to be both.  Last time I went in to do some work for them, a client asked me, "What is this place? Can you explain it to me?"  I tried to say the words the business owner said to me, about wellness focus and helping people move to optimal health, but the words got stuck.  I was shockingly inarticulate, and I think the client could tell I didn't really believe what I was saying.  She won't be back.

But she was a Groupon client anyway.

Goodbye, Girls. Hello, Colleagues

"No!" She said, looking wildly around the stage.  "No!  It can't be done! This can't be over now!  We need to hug. We need to all hug."

One of my girls was having a hard time with the reality that her massage school experience was over.  She wrapped me and her classmates up in her long arms and held on.  We stretched it out as long as we could.  We posed for their class photo.  We waited while they brought down their small children and tried to get them to smile.  We walked around the auditorium and met their families.  

But it's over.  It ended.  I couldn't be happier.  

The two classes that graduated last Saturday were both small.  They lost a high percentage of their classmates as the program went on, and were left with a couple of tight-knit groups.  The girls were special to me, because I saw them almost drown, and they pulled themselves back up again.  They fought hard for this day, the end of it.  The actual ceremony seemed woefully short, unworthy of the depth of feeling in that room.  This is why we lingered at the end.  Just one more hug.  Just one more photograph.

When I arrived at the graduation, I saw one of the girls walking in.  She looked lovely and proud, leading in her family with her head held like a queen.  I tapped her on the shoulder to say hello, and she wrapped her arms around me, holding on like I was, indeed, the life preserver she had been looking for.  We stood there for a long time, taking comfort and joy in each other.  Saying goodbye to the intensity of school, and hello to our new relationship.  The way she held on to me -- it was like I was her mother and she was the child reluctant to go into a new place where she didn't know anyone.  I was shocked and touched by the intensity of it.  I knew we had a kind of bond, but I had no idea.  "It's all you," I told her.  "You did this."  

In the end, though, after the photos and the hugs and the frantic goodbyes, they stood together, my girls, a tight circle facing inward, celebrating what they had done.  This is right, I thought.  This is how it should be.  I quietly left the auditorium, looking forward to the next time I could talk to --not my girls -- my colleagues.

Language Close Out

My students are, in case you haven't noticed, non-traditional learners. The majority of them do not have an innate sense of "school culture," where you study and do homework in a regulated way.  Most of them have never willingly written anything longer than 144 characters. This leads to some interesting times when I hear their presentations and read their papers. Sometimes I feel like half my work is English-to-English translation.  This has gotten easier because they gradually taught me a new skill -- reading with my ears.  If I imagine a student speaking to me as I read their paper, hearing the spoken words more than seeing them written down, I get a much better sense of what they are trying to say.  And they get a much fairer grade.

Still, some of their phrases are too good to keep to myself.  Here are my favorites from last term. This is heavy on the spoken word, as is their inclination.

PART ONE: THE SPOKEN WORD (quotes from presentations)

A student was furiously scratching her scalp.  This was her response when I asked if she was alright, "Yeah. It's just my head's on too tight."

"Like a book book, you mean.  Like, The Hunger Games."

"I don't wanna say I don't like old people but . . . . . . . . . . . "

"He doesn't like pasta.  I don't know why. Pasta is amazing."

"I learned that people with Alzheimer's, you know, they're just like humans."

PART TWO: THE WRITTEN WORD (translations included)

"Fibromyalgia is diagnosed with an Emory." (MRI)

"He said that PTSD is the little hamstring in your head that never stops running." (hamster)

Well. That was Average.

I have certain expectations about this Population Spectrum class I teach.  I expect that some people will be frustrated and bored by the lack of "real massage."  I expect that multiple people will need to leave in the middle of the lecture on Trauma.  I expect that I will be frustrated that I don't have enough time for the lecture on Cancer.  Most of all, though, I expect to be surprised and impressed by the presentations of their final project.  

They are required to find a client who has some kind of unique challenge or massage-related need, to work with that client for five sessions, and to write a paper about the experience.  Every time I have taught this class, I have been impressed by the insight people show in their presentations, and about the thought they put into their work.  This term, I am teaching two sections of this class, so this week, when their presentations are due, I was looking forward to a boost from their work.  

The first group presented a couple of days ago.  It's not that they did a bad job, because they didn't.  And it's not that they didn't change and grow from the experience, because they did.  At least some of them did.  It's just that their talks were so, well, unsurprising.  I feel like a jerk for thinking this, and an even bigger jerk for writing it down, but I am truly baffled.  This is a group that has the whole formula for surprising work.  They are a close-knit group, serious about and excited by massage therapy.  They listen well and ask challenging questions.  

I suppose I shouldn't be baffled.  In all the "schooly" work they have done (written tests and the like,) they have been pretty lackluster.  Where they come alive is when they get to do hands-on work.  I have never seen a class, especially a night class, so ready and eager to do hands-on work.  Even when they walk into class looking like they can barely stand, as soon as we set up massage tables, they come alive.  

So, it seems, my expectations are based on a flawed understanding of this group of students.  I am failing to truly see and appreciate where they excel.  I am judging them based on past classes who have been inspired with this particular project.  Tonight, I am their instructor for a different class, where they have a practical exam -- hands-on work.  I am prepared for them to come alive and blow me away.

Creatives

This morning I had coffee with the Cabal.  For years, I have teased my friend about the regular group of artists, writers, weavers and other creative types which meets at the coffee shop down the street.  They are forever planning salons, gatherings, and movie discussion nights.  They have deep roots in our local community, and they are creatures of habit --at least when it comes to morning caffeine delivery.  Truth be told, I was always a little envious of this group, and wondered if I had the creative chops to ever join them.

Today, I did.  They were the warmest, most intelligent group of people I've ever shared an early morning with.  Briefly, we talked about my upcoming reading at one of their salons.  It was so friendly, I didn't think to feel inadequate.   After they all left to go to work, I had a bit of time, so I stuck around to do some writing.  In college, I thought that this would be my life.  Meeting bright, interesting  people for coffee, planning readings, writing writing writing.

By the time I got to school, I felt restless. It's the end of term, and the students demand attention, calm, and patience.  So much patience.  But my morning with the creatives opened up the gap between Have and Want, so I found it hard to focus on their needs.  I hope I was kind and thorough, and I hope I kept my resentments for when I was alone in the faculty lounge, entering their test scores into the computer.

I love my work.  Truly, I do.  The problem is it often consumes so much of my energy that I have nothing left to feed myself.   So, I fill myself with junk, literally and metaphorically.  These potato chips are not fueling my body for a long day ahead, and yet another game of Moxie on my phone is not fueling my mind for calm awareness.

I asked a student today what she was doing for self-care to handle an emotionally difficult time.  It is time, once again, to turn that question on myself.  Luckily, I learned this morning that I have the creative resources to figure it out.

Finding It, Losing It, Found.

About a week ago, I got back from a retreat in Costa Rica.  It was life-changing, as these things often are.  I gained valuable personal insight and all that jazz. (If you want to read about it, check out my other blog.)

I worried a bit about keeping the peace alive when I got back here to yet another polar vortex, an inch-thick stack of student papers and a worryingly empty book at my practice.  For a day or two. I had it all in hand. I meditated in my living room in the morning.  I approached my classes with retreat-learned lessons from The Little Book of Talent.  I even gave an earnest speech in my anatomy class about the beauty in variations of every human body, and how you should never apologize for your body.  I was new, fearless, calm.

Then, life.  Snarled traffic that made me late to class.  The still-empty book.  Three no-shows in one week.   The protective calm layer froze away, and I was left raw, once again holding up my outward calm with inward trembling.

Today,  though, I tutored L.  L. failed her muscular anatomy test (one of the papers in that inch-high stack.) Her face showed disappointment, but with an outward calm I could see was supported by inward trembling.  We broke down the spots that tripped her up.   The difference between bilateral and unilateral actions.  How to tell which attachment is the origin and which is the insertion. What the heck the levator scapula does, other than elevate the scapula.  For over an hour, she focused intently on my questions and explanations.  Answers came slowly at first, with hesitation, but she soon got more confident, and came up with a plan to study more at home.

Then, L. just started talking to me.  She told me about how she felt embarrassed to ask questions sometimes, because other people might think she was stupid.  She talked about watching her classmates get tests back with A's while she would get an F.  She talked about wanting this, knowing that she was meant to do this work, and she would do all the work it took to get there.

Somehow, through the force of her trust and determination,  it all came back.  The calm, new, fearless person I found on retreat.  The person who knew - no, LIVED - what was important.  I felt that person drape over me, and I settled into the warmth. I found the fearless place in my heart that got opened up, and I tried to guide L. to that place on her own heart.  I saw a glimmer of it, and I trust that L. will protect that glimmer.  She gave me a hug before she left, and smiled with something like joy.

And I took my new self into the world,  ready to try again.