Grief, Education, and a deeper listening during the global pandemic
Upon hearing how many Universities were suddenly shifting to remote teaching due to the novel coronavirus, I, as an entrepreneur who has been running my own online courses to grow adults’ capacity to engage with social and ecological shifts for several years, thought, oh wow! Great time to write a ’10 tips for newly remote professors’ article!
Then, after drafting my initial article, I started talking to some of my academic friends and clients who were actually going through this shift in their own higher education institutions. I realized pretty quickly that there were three interrelated issues. My initial “Ten Tips” article was not really addressing some of the more important dynamics.
New Dynamics, Confused Institutions and Big Emotions
The first concern was, indeed, what I had initially seen: shifting from in-person teaching to remote/online teaching. Obviously some subjects are easier to do this with (the humanities) than others (biology and other lab-based training).
The second concern was working with their institutions which themselves are in uncharted territory wherein what is “safe,” what is “fulfilling our mission” and what is “quality education” are all in flux. One of my clients, who normally sees me for healing work but who has started booking time to brainstorm around his new questions of online education, is an adjunct professor at three different universities in New York City. All of them were shifting to remote education — and all of them had different protocols for their professors that were changing daily, if not every few hours. Talk about a logistical headache.
The third concern was the one that made me pause. It was not about the task per se. It was the emotional and psychological dynamics of this moment. In addition to confusion and uncertainty in a sphere (their own classrooms) that most academics experience as relatively predictable and within their control, there was a sense of tremendous loss of a planned curriculum. For many, this understandably evokes grief and other related emotions that I refer to as Big Emotions.
Many educators have poured years of careful thinking into their curriculums, testing out different approaches specific for their context. For many, including myself, our teaching is part of our vocation; it is part of how we serve the world with our hearts as well as our minds. The topic is a conduit for the deep satisfaction of being of service.
To suddenly take that away with minimal warning and no permission can feel like a significant betrayal by a vague force that is acting beyond their control. In this case, that “force” looks like a tiny virus we cannot see with the naked eye coupled with societal’s varying responses including social isolation. While educators do not want to risk their own or their students and colleagues health and well-being, it is still hard — really hard — to make these kinds of sudden change. Especially for those who have years if not decades of energy invested in what they have planned on doing.
This grief — of plans, intentions, and projects suddenly thrown asunder — is one that millions are and will experience in the next few months. It will be coupled by other forms of grief, from the loss of income to scrapping vacation plans or product promotions or theater viewings and dance performances to severe sickness of friends and family and to death. It is something that teachers, as well as their students; doctors, as well as their patients; therapists, as well as their clients, are actively working with.
Yes, we need a nimble, emergent approach. Yes, much is possible in this moment. Yes, we can use this moment to create alternatives in education and micro-local community support; to focus on our homes and our neighbors; yes, in this moment where the world feels like it is being turned upside down, there is a lot of re-shuffling that can be turned into something really beautiful.
But that doesn’t mean the Big Emotions aren’t there.
Working with angst while creating an emerging strategy
Which leads to a problem familiar to those of us who have been working with climate change for a long time, or who have faced other forms of substantial loss: how do you simultaneously grieve, pivot and keep going? How do you manage your own Big Emotions while also, at the same time, handling Everything Else that is changing around you?
Some people are superb emergency responders and do even better in these kinds of chaotic situations than in “normal” situations. But a lot of “normal” people are quite good at being creative in a “normal” context. Which we are no longer in. Plans are made based on context. Change the context, and you have to change the plan.
I wish we could just give grief an appointed 30 minutes a day and say, ok, now, get all these difficult and complicated emotions out. I do know people who find that their meditation practice helps with that; I always recommend finding times (bike rides are good) to scream out-loud or in other ways to release emotions.
Still. Grief has its own rhythms. Angst — a combination of frustration, sadness, anxiety and sometimes anger — comes and goes. As normal rhythms are displaced, emotions often follow suite.
I still went ahead and published the more “how to” article, 10 Tips for Newly Remote Professors, edited with a greater emphasis on the beauty of embracing learning and change. We all need to be sharing our respective skills and learning in whatever way might be useful to someone else. But we cannot approach this moment from a purely “10-steps to hack unpredictability” perspective. This is not only about technological shifts: it is about humans; some of whom are very much attached to creations. And what a beautiful thing that can be. As we watch our plans dissolve while simultaneously being forced to create something new, emotional roller coasters are surely unsurprising.
As an unconventional minister and eco-theologian, I work with different spiritual traditions. It is almost tempting to preach the gospel of non-attachment and the value of change. Why do any of us think that what we have planned will actually come into being? Why do we think we ever have that guarantee?
But that approach, while perhaps true, also feels unhelpful as I watch clients, friends and colleagues teeter on the edge of their own capacity to “hold it together.” As a healer, I want to say, come on in for a healing session. Let yourself fall apart in the space that I create, so that Spirit can put you back together again, re-formed for this particular moment. And I have been doing that. Thankfully I can do it remotely; I am relatively good at holding a strong spiritual center in a virtual container. But I too am (already) missing the ability to care for those who lean on me through the healing power most possible through physical contact. I already miss touching people.
As I write this, I’ve noticed I go between different parts of myself: online educator and entrepreneur, boss-lady, writer, community builder, coach, unconventional minister/spiritual leader, healer, friend, listener, learner. Care-taker, and someone who also needs care. Observer and someone who is also being observed. All of us are multi-dimensional. Part of what seems to be needed right now is that we see which part of ourselves is most needed in which moment. Perhaps we need to approach this more from our whole selves than from what our professional experience to date has taught us is “best.”
When do we have it all “figured out”? Perhaps never. Certainly not now.
Yes, there is loss. And more of it to come. Sometimes the emotions will wash over you whether you want them to or not. Maybe it makes sense to talk with your family about how you want to work with that. Maybe laugh at the times when everything falls apart at the same time — and then something else happens. Maybe just practice being loving instead of being “an expert” at what you really are good at doing under different circumstances. I am frequently surprised at how much compassion we can give one another, especially when we are honest about what we are going through. Not to burden others. None of us want to do that. It is a good time to increase your spiritual practices — and to create new ones. I find myself doing a lot more singing, though I am not a professional singer.
Indeed, it is a good moment to embrace imperfection.
It is a good time for deeper listening — and compassion for ourselves when we are unable to do so as much as we would ourselves would want. Our commitments to those we serve, be they our students, clients, elders, children, community members, is less about fulfilling the plans as we had set out, and more about doing the next right thing in a precarious situation.
