I don’t care like I used to care. I’m talking about my freshmen students in my beginning composition course. Last year, the first year I taught comp, I used to agonize over their success in the class. It was as if I suddenly had 24 children who were all struggling and I had the knowledge to navigate them out of the treacherous jungle of the English language. Of course, some of them could care less, or rather cared less than I did. I have always been an “A” student, even when I wasn’t getting A’s that first go-round at a bachelor’s degree. So, I was more worried for them than they were about their grades.

This year, I don’t much care about worrying. I care about giving them good feedback on their writing and about presenting the information to them that they’ll need to succeed as college writers, but beyond that, they have their own grades to worry about. It seems much healthier for me. I have other things and people to worry about. I make myself available to my students outside of class and whether or not they choose to utilize me as a resource is up to them. Of course, very few of the “struggling” students seem to want to get help. It seems to be the ones who are actually pretty good who take the time to worry about themselves and their grades. But I guess that makes sense. If they are worrying about such things, they are probably making an effort to do their best.

When I first discovered that I was caring less, I felt a twinge of guilt. But now I realize that I’m simply caring more efficiently. I care about the things I can control. Nothing wrong with that and definitely no more guilt.

Last week, I began teaching creative writing to middle school kids as part of an afterschool program. After the first day I felt as if I was in over my head. It wasn’t as if I had any expectations and then got blown out of the water; I had very little in the way of expectations, yet their energy was so much more than I’ve experienced in a long, long while that it threw me (out of the water, perhaps?). I think the last time I was around tweens and young teens was when I was one. So, a few *coughtwentycough* years or so.

This week I was much more prepared. I didn’t run out of writing activities. In fact, I over-planned which was predictable for me (I seem to usually have too much planned for many of the classes I teach...just in case). In fact we only got about halfway through my lesson/activity on the short story, so I have next week’s class all ready to go.

Anyway, back to the students. They talk. They talk a lot. Did I talk that much at that age? If there was a “talking” event at the Olympics, kids this age would be winning all of the medals. They are great. I find myself listening to them and forgetting momentarily that we’ve strayed from the writing stuff. Luckily, it isn’t a normal class, but an afterschool “club” of sorts, so we’re more free to go at our own pace. Did I mention that they’re great?

On a different subject: My daughter likes the chorus of “Who Let the Dogs Out?” She breaks into giggles and laughter when I sing it. I find myself singing the strangest snippets of songs to her since I don’t know many (okay, hardly any) nursery rhymes or lullabies.

On Friday, one of my former professors came up north to give a reading from his first collection of short stories. It was great to see him again after a little more than a year and half since I left So. Cal. I had forgotten how encouraging he was, and as I thought back to my time in the undergrad writing program I remembered also that even though he was encouraging, he was also diligent, insightful and would never sugar-coat his criticism. I respect that.

No one in my current program sugar-coats critism, which is good. But I do miss the encouragement and the positive energy that I remember from my undergrad program.

I’ve always said the one thing that saved the hell of living in Riverside was the university. The atmosphere was one of positive growth. If one person succeeded everyone else would be happy for that person. I know that’s not always the case (boy do I know it). There are those who will see another person’s success as one less chance for their own success. They can’t be happy for the other person. Maybe it is jealousy. Maybe it is just a personality trait that wishes everyone else failure or, at the very least, less success. Personally, I have a hard time around that atmosphere.

When I see others succeeding, I’d like to feel a positive attitude around it and take that into myself and my own writing and feed it and let it come back out and around so others can take it in and so on.

What does that mean to me now? Basically, I am feeling happy about where I live, but less so about my creative atmosphere. It isn’t a complete reversal. I truly hated aspects of my life in So. Cal. There is nothing I truly hate here. But I am aware of the differences between them.

The visit of the writer also got me thinking about the diversity, cultural and academic, found at my previous school. I miss that. As a composition instructor, many of the students I teach are all the same. They come with the same views and preconceptions, which are usually limited. I don’t mind that they have their views, but I wish their minds would open up a bit instead of being so closed off. Maybe that comes with time.

It isn’t only the students I teach. It gets old to hear the same words coming out of fellow students’ mouths for a couple of years straight. But I guess I could be faulted with that too every now and then.

So, I miss some of what I used to have. But I also know that no matter what I had then or what I have now, I am my best bet at success. And success gets to be the definition I give to it, not what anyone else perceives it to be.