Things My Students Taught Me: It Comes Full Circle

“Moses, I’m having a mid-life crisis!”  

Those were the first words right out of his mouth. 

“How old are you now?” I asked. 

“I’m 37.” 

“Then it’s just a crisis,” I corrected him. 

I was on my way to a meeting, but I always show up early—which is fortunate, because that was a call I had to take.  I won’t get into the details of the conversation, but the fact that someone who had been in my class 15 years ago was calling to get my perspective on an important decision was not lost on me.  It’s more than enough time for people to move on and for relationships to fade.  Even 15 months is more than enough, come to think of it.  Relationships take time and effort, and although the proverbial pie (one’s available time and effort) doesn’t increase, the number of people who lay claim on a slice does (people get married, make new friends, find new mentors, build new connections, discover new passions, have increased professional responsibilities.)  To be remembered and to be consulted, in spite of the passage of time, is a high compliment.  It is a privilege as much as it is a responsibility to live up to that privilege.  It doesn’t happen much, but I appreciate the privilege, and welcome the responsibility, when it does.

It's been just over 32 years since the very first time I taught a class, in the summer of 1992, and although I’m not in touch with anyone who was in it, I'm still in contact with a few who were my students as far back as the mid-90s.  Yet it’s so long ago that the kids who were my students 20 or 30 years ago are now accomplished professionals with decades of experience; old enough to have kids of their own (and, to my dismay, some of them old enough to have kids in college—whatever that says about how close I am to living in a mean nursing home where they beat the residents.)  It’s so long ago, that now it’s my turn to start asking them for favors.  And I have: I’m fortunate not to have needed much myself, but my younger students have: The daunting experience of moving to a new city after graduation where you don’t know a living soul is easier when I can connect you to a couple of former students who have long lived in that same city and are well-established.  The uncertainty of pursuing a career path you’re not sure is quite right for you is alleviated when I happen to have a former student who has worked in that field for a couple of decades and is willing to talk to you about their experience.  The desire to learn more about a company’s hiring process before applying, or its culture before accepting a job there, can be satisfied when one of my former students already works at that company.  Sometimes the student I’ve reached out to has stayed in touch over the years, and we’ve become good friends.  Sometimes it’s a former student I haven’t connected with in many years, but they’re still gracious about helping someone who’s just starting out.  I’ve always been grateful to all of them, because I know their time is scarce and their insights precious, yet I’ve never been shy about asking for favors that will benefit one of my kids. 

              Relationships come full circle.  The benefits are never one-directional, and they’re never one-dimensional.  That’s not something I was terribly aware of early in my career, but it became obvious as the years sped by.  I’m fortunate to have started teaching at a time when the demarcation line between teachers and students was a velvet rope; today it’s a ten-foot wall with barbed wire and a minefield on both sides.  Each has its pros and cons, to be sure.  But the 80s and 90s afforded me the benefit of becoming friends with my own teachers and mentors right off the bat, and for years I paid it forward by offering the same opportunity to my own students.   Now it’s their turn; they have the chance to pay it forward, and they do.  They have become teachers in their own right; mentors who are generous with their time, candid in sharing their experience, and thoughtful in the advice they give to those who have just learned to fly.  And it makes me realize that my youngest students, those still in my class, are just that: Mentors in training; both students and teachers at a time.  I won't be around to see first-hand all they will have accomplished 30 years from now, but I already know.  And it’s an immensely satisfying feeling.

              Homines dum docent discunt.