I received a long message from a past student whom I admittedly
vaguely
remember at best. The subject heading said it all and that's all I'm going to
say about
the message. It read: "Thanks for the impact you made on my life." I have to
admit that
as I read the message I was stunned and gladdened. It was, and still is, an
odd feeling.
I feel a fulfillment. Tim Russert died yesterday. I have to admit I was
stunned and
saddened. It was, and still is, an odd feeling. I feel a void. For years I
have said
to myself, "If it's Sunday, "Sunday Morning" and "Meet The Press." Sunday
morning was a
time for bagels, lox, cream cheese, humanity, and straight talk. Now, it will
be harder
to tell time. Fulfilled feeling, odd feeling, but they're not shallow feelings.
And, they both got me to thinking. So many of us are masters of
the art of
our discipline, but have we mastered, really mastered the art of happiness? We
are the
experts in this or that, but are we experts at life? So many say they are
dedicated to
their discipline, but are they dedicated to living with purpose and meaning?
So many of
us have received those professional and academic recognitions, but would we be
recipients
for an award for getting a fullness out of life? Are we the quintessential
happy and
purposeful teacher? Do we believe we are having fun at what we surely figure
is the best
job in the world? Are we the epitome of ebullient contentment, satisfaction,
and
fulfillment with what we do? Have we made a career of our passion? Are we in
love with
both our professional and personal life, truly in love with it, enjoying it,
and living it
with a contagious spirit? Are we loving what we do and doing what we love and
loving each
student with an unstoppable zest and zeal? Do we enter the classroom each day
with a
disbelief that we're really getting paid for doing it? Are we leavened with
exuberance
for each student? Do we turn what is an all too often sleepy classroom
encounter into an
adventurous and meaningful encounter? Are we an integral and intimate part of
a student's
growing up? Do we stand above our job?
But, as I learned that fateful early morning on this past September
14th, when
I got hit, without any early warning signs, with a massive cerebral hemorrhage,
nothing is
unstoppable. I have the dream job; I have the fantasy marriage; I have delight
with my
children and grandchildren; I always have a smile on my face that comes from
living with a
dynamic immediacy, and having an eagerness to help each student help
her/himself become a
better informed, better skilled, better talented, and just a plain better
person.
If you want to know how to live your life of teaching, think about
what you'd
like people to say about you at your retirement party or your funeral-and then
"teach
backwards" so you can teach forward with that purpose.
I began thinking about that when I had my epiphany in the fall of
1991, more
so when I faced cancer in 2004, and now when I came so close-oh, so close-to
dying last
fall with a massive cerebral hemorrahage. I remember thinking, as I was almost
certain
that I was stroking out and would be dead before I hit the floor, "This can't be
happening. It's too soon. I've got too much yet to do. I'm having too good a
time loving
life and helping others." During the months of convalescence that followed, I
often read
the lines of Linda Ellis' "The Dash" that poetically talked of the true worth
of how we
spent that seemingly innocuous line between the dates of birth and death carved
on
everyone's tombstone. And, I often wondered if I would be seen as I wish to
live: an
icon of trust, joy, fulfillment, purpose, satisfaction, gusto, empathy,
kindness,
fun-loving, compassion, belief, faith, and love; as having successfully lived
up to my
credo of "with malice towards none, with charity for all;" as having been the
embodiment
of my vision to be that person who is there to help each student help
her/himself become
the person she or he is capable of becoming. I often thought if my departure
would have
seemed to others to be too early, an affront, an outrage, an act of cruelty,
unfair,
premature, unimaginable, absurd, almost obscene, and just not right?
Thankfully, no one
had the opportunity to speak over me.
Thinking about what I would want to speak over me, how I would wish
to live my
dash, helps me to write my credo, paint my vision, sculpt my meaning, forge my
purpose,
and map them towards my true north. When the end is near, it's not likely any
of us will
say, "I wish I'd written one more book" or "why didn't I get that grant" or "if
I only
could have gotten that appointment." Remember, there is no tenure to life.
Unfortunately, many of us only begin to realize the value of the time we have
after we've
frittered much of it away in shallow ruts going nowhere important. Knowing how
we want to
be remembered allows us to forge our personal vision, to write our personal
mission
statement for being on this planets, and for making a strategic plan for our
life. How
much wiser would our choices be if we had the wisdom and discipline to
regularly ask
ourselves whether all the things we do and say are taking us where we want to
be at the
end?
Thinking about the plaudits pouring in for Tim Russert, thinking
about that
encomium from Trish (her real name), I know I write our own story, tell my own
tale, and,
thus, prepare my own eulogy by the choices I make every day of who I want to
be, how I
want to feel, and what I want to do.
Make it a good day.
--Louis--
Louis Schmier
http://therandomthoughts.edublogs.org/
Department of History
http://www.newforums.com/Auth_L_Schmier.asp
Valdosta State University www. halcyon.com/arborhts/louis.html
Valdosta, Georgia 31698 /\ /\ /\ /\
(229-333-5947) /^\\/ \/ \ /\/\__/\ \/\
/ \/ \_ \/ / \/
/\/ \
/\
//\/\/ /\
\__/__/_/\_\ \_/__\
/\"If you want to climb
mountains,\ /\
_ / \ don't practice on mole
hills" -
---
To make changes to your subscription contact:
Bill Southerly ([EMAIL PROTECTED])
