It's a new year, and I admit that I am feeling... well, imposter syndrome. Let's cut to the chase and not mince words. The odd thing is that I don't feel the imposter syndrome of a scholar at a conference, or of a new faculty member in the classroom or a faculty meeting. Nope. I feel imposter syndrome in the comfort of my own home.
You see, while I have this Ph.D., it means absolutely nothing. I am not working in a job in which it matters in the least. I am not likely to do so ever again. There are not many occasions when having a Ph.D. in English means that you can contribute something to a conversation. If I know things, they are so far removed from my daily life, recent experience, and even my most recent teaching experiences (which were largely tech writing), that I wonder if, in fact, I still know them. When I do know something, or feel like maybe I used to know something, I am eclipsed by someone who knows every bit as much as I do in some areas, and more in many others. Not in English literature, but as I say, this rarely comes up in conversation and when it does, it is only tangential to the real substantive knowledge--which he knows. It's the curse of being married to someone with a job that actually makes him an expert in new and interesting things while I work a mostly-clerical job for a publisher of, realistically speaking, nothing I would read.
This is a hard situation for someone who used to be smart. And, I mean, I guess I'm still smart. But who would know it? Isn't that Ph.D. supposed to put some kind of a lid on that "smart" so that it exists for perpetuity? And of course, the answer is no. It doesn't, and no one ever said it did. That's what tenure does. It means that you're already at the top, and it doesn't matter whether you're "current in your field" any more; the field is free to leave you behind. Or is that "Emeritus"? I get confused.
At any rate, the field is leaving me behind--had already left me behind long ago. And that's fine, because I don't want what it has become. So here we come to my game.
I'm not very good at sticking with things, but I need something to do that will make me remember things that I know--or once knew. So I'm going to play a game called, "How would I teach that?" This is purely for my own benefit. I don't claim to be an expert--on anything, really. It's one of the things that was a problem for me as a teacher. That imposter syndrome--it runs deep. But the truth is that I didn't learn more about anything when I was getting my Ph.D. I learned how to write the ideas I had and make them sound scholarly, and I learned about the theories that were supposed to help me to do that and to fit my ideas in with what other people were talking about. I was already pretty good at the "sounding scholarly" part. The "fitting in" never worked.
I am also not claiming to be an expert teacher. I don't teach the way that anyone learns. What I might manage to convey, if I'm lucky, is a model of reading that my teachers imparted on me. And I mean my undergraduate professors, to whom I owe more of a debt for imparting their knowledge and inspiring me than anyone I have encountered since. I have had mentors since then, but not teachers.
The best part of being in the classroom is discussion, and it, truly, is where I am at my best. I have come up with my best ideas about works of literature while in the middle of explaining something... and sometimes, I've never been able to recapture the brilliance of the moment. But I also love writing (I think), so maybe some sparks can happen anyway.
I don't expect to enlighten anyone. If you had the high school or undergraduate curriculum that I did--a basically canonical kind of thing--you probably won't learn anything new. This is just an exercise. Do I protest too much? I don't want to disappoint anyone--including myself. But if you enjoy reading along, let me know. And feel free to offer suggestions. I might not feel qualified to take them, but maybe I'll challenge myself.
Anyway, with this ambitious plan, I will end, and hopefully think of something worth posting next--some nearly forgotten gem resting in the corner of my memory or my Norton Anthology.
In search of a good closing phrase,
Literacy-chic
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