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.