Catherine Rawn

2009 is rapidly approaching completion… and I must say I’m quite ok with that! A year ago I didn’t have a dissertation written, was headed to an ill-timed teaching conference (NITOP, in Florida), and was anxiously preparing to interview for the Instructor-1 position I now hold. This has been a whirlwind year: I got the job (yay!), defended my dissertation, bought a condo with my husband, and spent four frantic yet satisfying months teaching in my first semester as tenure-track faculty at UBC. Amid all the craziness and exhaustion, I was thrilled (and relieved) to feel a sense of contentment with what I was doing. Teaching six times a week was a harried schedule, and many times I didn’t know how I could make it. But at the end of the day I was happy I was teaching. If I can go through all that in one semester and still love teaching, then this must be the perfect career for me!

As I head in to the new year, I’m feeling a typical mix of emotions. I’m eager and nervous to meet my new students next week; I’m nervous my syllabi won’t be copied on time (I couldn’t submit them until yesterday — yikes!); I’m hopeful that my schedule will be at least a little less hectic than last term. More than anything, I’m looking forward to being back in the classroom, starting fresh on another adventure, ready to learn as much to teach, and to strive each day to create opportunities for students to learn (if they so choose).

Ahh! How is it the end of July already?! It feels like this summer has been completely packed full of things to do — and not relaxing things, either! Yet my to-do list seems just as long as it was a month ago! I’m feeling a bit disoriented as I transition to our new neighborhood at home and my new position as faculty at work. It kinda feels like my whole life right now is a meaning maintenance prime. Everything is the same but everything is different, and those differences are often subtle. The heat isn’t helping either.

When I feel this way I know that I need to spend some time goal setting and prioritizing. When I have a concrete plan of what needs to get done, and what order I’ll do it in, I feel much better about the whole situation. So that’s what I’ll do right now. Even as I write that I know I should be writing that chapter. But I find it difficult to work on something specific when I don’t feel ok about the whole. So goal setting it is.

As we look at homes to purchase and work on contracts for offers, I’ve been acutely aware of how much I don’t know about realty and gigantic purchases. It seems there are a million variables to consider, all the while watching guard for being ripped off and trying to snag as good a deal as possible. Throughout the process we have been guided by the enormously helpful advice and expertise of our realtor. He has been there to help us through this immense decision. To give us options we may not have otherwise explored. To notice potential problems. To think about contract clauses and write them in legal prose. It has been tremendously reassuring to have him there. But I also feel a bit vulnerable. I am aware that he has the power to mislead and misinform us, either unintentionally or intentionally. It’s not that I’m suspicious, but I am not naive.

In all novice-expert combinations, novices are in a vulnerable place. My experiences  over the past week have reminded me of the critical element of trust between teacher and student. It is my responsibility, as a teacher, to provide complete and accurate information to the best of my ability. It may be worth thoughtfully approaching how to developing trust with my students, trust that I’ll help them to learn content, but especially to think for themselves. I’ve always felt that way (indeed, it’s my professional ethical responsibility), but I’m especially reminded this week.

We’ve decided to take the plunge into the real estate market. There’s nothing like meeting with a realtor to induce both fear and excitement. Over the past week we have basically started from close-to-zero knowledge about real estate to having a sense of what’s out there, what we can technically afford, and what that could look like. There are so many websites to navigate, so much information to process, that I get overwhelmed sometimes. My cognitive resources eventually get used up — in short, I get depleted. Fortunately, I can recognize when I’m feeling depleted and take a break before I, say, start an argument over some minutia. I wonder under what conditions it would take more self-control resources to keep looking at real estate websites and numbers, versus making the choice to stop?

Next step: Pre-approval.