I lied to my students last week.
At the time it didn't feel like a lie. I thought I was being truthful, honest, transparent. I thought it was ok to reveal myself as I really was, flaws and all.
Sure. But it's not ok to invent flaws.
Fiction: I am the picture perfect absent minded professor - a bit flighty, a tad scattered, forever losing my clicker, designing convoluted class plans I cheerfully ignore. I try to be organized, then give up. I mix up my handouts. Take me as I am.
Fact: It's true that I cheerfully ignore my plans - and it's also true that I keep losing the clicker. It's not true, however, that I'm disorganized. In fact, I'm almost absurdly organized at work. I'm always prepared for class, often with several days to spare. I review everything multiple times - plans, slides, materials. I create beautiful handout packages, including everything my students could possibly need (no power point handouts for this professor!). I plan my time methodically, making a list, checking it twice, regularly estimating the urgency and importance of each item. Time management and discipline keep me sane and productive, even as I handle a work load that would daunt most of my friends and well-wishers.
Why the fiction, then? As I puzzle over this question I consider the great work of two authors: Dan McAdams and Sheryl Sandberg.
Psychologist Dan McAdams describes a three-layered model of personality. The first layer are the traits - the so called "Big Five" neuroticism, extraversion, openness to experiences, agreeableness, and conscientiousness. Traits tend to change little in adult life - a young agreeable child is likely to be an equally agreeable adult. The second layer includes values, goals, and motivations. Those change as we age, as we contemplate adult responsibilities and our own fears of mortality. The third layer? Life stories. These are the films we watch (and direct) in our head, the characters we want people to see (Read about McAdam's life stories here).
Perhaps that's where my absent minded professor character comes from. I make it up - oh, using grains of truth and traits I really do possess. I exaggerate a natural propensity towards complexity. I laugh at the number of pieces I bring to class - index cards, post its, game pieces, and so on. I have a bit of fun with my extensive plans - the ones I change so happily on the fly.
Problem is - my life story is a caricature. This caricature ignores my real strengths - imagination, flexibility, the ability to read the class and notice a change in energy, a need for more movement, an interest in something new. The caricature ignores years of teaching and training experience guiding necessary changes in plans.
Sheryl Sandberg's great book Lean in: Women, Work, and the Will to Lead suggests another source for my life stories: Fear. Fear of power. Fear of competence and experience. Fear of leadership. It's easier to put myself down, pretend that I'm weak and distracted. It's easier to pretend I'm not in control.
As I write this blog, I wonder who else is out there - who else is reading this and recognizing herself in my experience. I'd love to hear from you. Are you too sharing a fictionalized version of yourself? If so, why? How can we help each other tell the real story?
At the time it didn't feel like a lie. I thought I was being truthful, honest, transparent. I thought it was ok to reveal myself as I really was, flaws and all.
Sure. But it's not ok to invent flaws.
Fiction: I am the picture perfect absent minded professor - a bit flighty, a tad scattered, forever losing my clicker, designing convoluted class plans I cheerfully ignore. I try to be organized, then give up. I mix up my handouts. Take me as I am.
Fact: It's true that I cheerfully ignore my plans - and it's also true that I keep losing the clicker. It's not true, however, that I'm disorganized. In fact, I'm almost absurdly organized at work. I'm always prepared for class, often with several days to spare. I review everything multiple times - plans, slides, materials. I create beautiful handout packages, including everything my students could possibly need (no power point handouts for this professor!). I plan my time methodically, making a list, checking it twice, regularly estimating the urgency and importance of each item. Time management and discipline keep me sane and productive, even as I handle a work load that would daunt most of my friends and well-wishers.
Why the fiction, then? As I puzzle over this question I consider the great work of two authors: Dan McAdams and Sheryl Sandberg.
Psychologist Dan McAdams describes a three-layered model of personality. The first layer are the traits - the so called "Big Five" neuroticism, extraversion, openness to experiences, agreeableness, and conscientiousness. Traits tend to change little in adult life - a young agreeable child is likely to be an equally agreeable adult. The second layer includes values, goals, and motivations. Those change as we age, as we contemplate adult responsibilities and our own fears of mortality. The third layer? Life stories. These are the films we watch (and direct) in our head, the characters we want people to see (Read about McAdam's life stories here).
Perhaps that's where my absent minded professor character comes from. I make it up - oh, using grains of truth and traits I really do possess. I exaggerate a natural propensity towards complexity. I laugh at the number of pieces I bring to class - index cards, post its, game pieces, and so on. I have a bit of fun with my extensive plans - the ones I change so happily on the fly.
Problem is - my life story is a caricature. This caricature ignores my real strengths - imagination, flexibility, the ability to read the class and notice a change in energy, a need for more movement, an interest in something new. The caricature ignores years of teaching and training experience guiding necessary changes in plans.
Sheryl Sandberg's great book Lean in: Women, Work, and the Will to Lead suggests another source for my life stories: Fear. Fear of power. Fear of competence and experience. Fear of leadership. It's easier to put myself down, pretend that I'm weak and distracted. It's easier to pretend I'm not in control.
As I write this blog, I wonder who else is out there - who else is reading this and recognizing herself in my experience. I'd love to hear from you. Are you too sharing a fictionalized version of yourself? If so, why? How can we help each other tell the real story?
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