Well, I am 61.  I really don't feel it or believe it, or even act
it, except when I get that blasted senior citizen discount.  My body is no
a longer trim, firm, solid, defined, muscular 148 pounds of my collegiate
athletic days. I walk my six miles every other day, daily lift very light
ten pound weights, do a about twenty inclined sit-ups, and stay away from
the caloric and artery clogging goodies to keep mentally, spiritually and
a physically healthy 163 pounds.  See you, I have found that my true
youthfulness is in my attitude, my spirit, not in my physique.  The weight
of my weights no longer weigh on my mind.  What does this have to do with
teaching and academics?  A lot.

        Last October was the tenth anniversary of my epiphany. Since that
milestone I have come to appreciate that the great wonders, the most
beautiful things to behold, are not tangibles.  That is especially true in
the classroom.  Lately, as a result of a message from a student that I
will keep to myself and more because of a series of stirring sharing from
a dear friend who had--hopefully it is a "had"--breast cancer but wouldn't
let the cancer have her in spite of a masectomy, I have found myself
thinking a lot about purpose and meaning, about the purpose and meaning of
my inner journey that was launched on that fateful October morning, about
purpose and meaning in my profession, about purpose and meaning in life in
general. In fact, contrary to what too many of us attempt to do, they are
inseparable.

        At the moment of that inner revelation, I was the country's
authority in my field of historical research and publication.  I was the
most published professor on my campus.  I had received more grants than
the entire college faculty combined. I had a scholarly resume that was
longer than any other on campus. Year after year, until we graduated to
become a University, the President specifically cited it throughout his
annual reports.  None of that is important now.  It's not me, although at
the time I thought such professional objects were me.

        I often reflect on the real meaning of my continuing journey.  At
first, I defined it simply as "I changed" as if I was either a chameleon
or had metamorposed.  That is partly true. Then, two years ago I came to a
realization.  It wasn't me that was changing.  The real me had always been
there, buried and ignored.  The journey was really a matter of discovering
and uncovering the real me that lay hidden, that motherlode laying beneath
the barren surface. That, too, is true. Then, last year, I realized it
wasn't me that was changing, it was my perceptions of myself that was
changing, that I had been seeing I was worth mining for, and that I had
been acquiring a faith, belief that I possessed undreamed of and untapped
talents and abilites and worth.  And, that also is true.  All are true.
Lately, as I read Margo's reflections as she handled her cancer, I began
to think that the real journey was and still is about a transition from
trappings to essence, from feeding my ego to feeding my soul, from it
being about getting what I wanted to it being about who I needed to be,
from a executing "what" and "how" to an energizing and directional "why,"
from thinking it's important to be important to thinking it's important to
being significant, from being served to serving, from receiving to giving,
from measuring my accomplishments in terms of things I had acquired to
measuring them in term of impact on others, from prestigous to honorable,
from strategy and tactic and ploy to life choice.

        It is a journey from achievement to significance.

        Understand, I am not talking about a journey of sacrifice and
selflessness.  To the contrary, I am talking about no longer sacrficing
and no longer being selfless, for that is exactly what I had done
questioningly and willingly, and maybe unwittingly, until that fateful
moment.  I had surrendered by worrying about what others thought and I did
what they expected--or thought they expected.  I sacrificed my "self" and
had become "self-less."  No, I am talking about a journey to the center of
my "self."  I get the feeling, though I can't prove it, that the unhappy
and unsatisfied among my colleagues were once like me.  If they could
muster the couage of admission, they are those who deep down, statements
to the contrary, feel they've never done anything worthwhile in their
careers, worry that they will leave no mark on the world, worry that their
lives are insignificant, and worry that they will not be missed.  Quite
simply, it feels good, really, really good, to be valued and feel
valuable, to help others help themselves, to provide opportunities for
others, to stimulate personal growth, to make a difference.  When I do
that there is an enormous sense of almost indescrible meaning, worth,
purpose, gratification, and contentment that comes along with it.  I make
no bones about that.  It is, as Emerson said, one of the most beautiful
compensations of life is that no one can sincerely help someone else
without helping himself.

        I had once gone into the classroom, pronouncements to the
contrary, distracted by worries about tenure, promotion, salary increase,
a research grant, a committee assignment, a publication, a conference
paper.  I was so preoccupied with the tedium of our profession believing
that these matters would get me personal and professional success.  In my
rush, a rush that bordered on a fifteen year scholarly binge, to pass such
profesisonal milestones I was unwittingly creating obstructions that
limited the potential I really didn't believe I possessed.  Yes, I had
acquired the trappings of position, status, renown, title, security.  And,
so many said that these markers marked the heights of my profession.  I
now know that to talk about "heights" or "summit," or even to strive for
them as if they were a reality, is a professional curse. It's a curse
because once the summit, then what?  What's next? How can you go higher
than a pinnacle?  Do you coast and rest on your proverbial laurels?  Do
you slide?  It's a curse because like Tevye, singing "If I Were A Rich
Man,"  I easily thought that my professional resume equaled happiness.
It's a curse because it says that to pursue other things in academia, such
as teaching, is to either stumble forelornly in the shadows of the valley
or never had the abiity to have made the climb successfully. It's a curse
because I, like too many of us, tended to overvalue these milestone,
wanted them too much, was willing to sacrifice too many and too much, and
thought falsely they could do so much for me. It is a curse because it
allowed me, like too many of us, to be satisfied with success, and never
reach for and know significance. It's a curse because it's a narcotic.  To
paraphrase a Talmudic saying, as we think these things will get us
happiness and success, we are too willing to do anything to get them.
It's a curse because I rationalized succumbing to tempation with an
acceptable enslaving "I had no choice" or "everyone's doing it" or "I'm
pressured."  Of course, if I was honest at the time, I used the words
"choice" and "pressure" to get off the hook.  To have resisted cost more
at the
time then I wanted to pay.  It is so much more socially acceptable to give
into choice and pressure than to be be led into and succumb to temptation.
I guess it that Sermon on the Mount thing.  I have to admit such choices
or pressures or temptations came because I had sought them out and the
choice and presssure wasn't exactly unwelcomed.  It's a curse because I
"red zoned" myself.  Ignoring Aristotle's golden rule, I could easily say
I didn't have time for all the students and so easily found all the time I
wanted for all the scholarly stuff.  I moved my needle into the dangerous
area of imbalance and turned myself into something of a, but thankfully
not a total, researchaholic and publishaholic. I rationalized that the
quest for professional recognition was a never-satisfied devouring
monster.  Part of my epiphany was the difficult admission that the
monster wasn't in me; it was me.  Others in that red zone don't allow
themselves the time or energy to enjoy, and/or they cripple themselves
with fear and paranoia making themselves overly cautious and turning away
from opportunities, or, perhaps worst of all, they engaged in ethical and
moral flexibility, however subtle, that opens and increases the hole in
their moral ozone and makes them unworthy despite their professional
worth.  It is a curse because too many of us pay such a large price for
little return.

        Am I less the professional or have I become a non-professional
because I am focusing all my energies on teaching, because I am not
totally concerned with each student, because I give workshops and make
keynote addresses at conferences and on campuses only on teaching, because
I have decided to concentrate my energies on the all-important, if not
most important, first year survey courses that most faculty deride,
because I don't go after those grants?  Most of my colleagues secretly
think so.  Some think I have experienced a form of reverse Darwinism and
should go over to the School of Education instead of remaining in the
Department of History.

        So many of us, in our rush for tenure or promotion or salary
incrase rush to please others.  Do you know that the entire campus, with
one exception, is populated by others.  They are so many of them with so
many differences exhorting so many different demands.  There is too much
to cater to, too many to please, too many to displease, too many who
disagree, too many who want you to do it their way, too many who want
things done differently, too many who are doing their best, night and day,
to make you everybody else. You can't please them all. If you try, you'll
spend all your moments either fighting battles, taking on windmills, or
surrendering before a battle is waged. The trick is not to please any of
those others.  If you do, you'll get what you accept or don't accept.  All
of our excuses to feel pain, sorrow, and not to live are in "what will
other's think."  These complaints and excuses may be elaborate and well
reasoned, yet they give you no fulfillment or satisfaction.  We fritter
away our days worrying about what others will think.  We die and our
teaching whithers from fear and doubt.

        You know, tenure and promotion and salary increase is about what
others think. Fame is about what others think. A ticker tape parade is
about what others think.  Getting a building named after you is about what
others think.  A momument is about what others think. An award is about
what others think. But, it's not about what others think; it's about what
I feel.  It's about what's going on in my heart and being true to it. It's
about being a force rather than being forced.  It's about putting my whole
heart into making a difference, and knowing the joy of teaching by piling
difference on difference on difference.  Belieive me, there will be pain
and consequence of being true to it, but the pain of not being true to it
is far, far greater.

        As I now see it, we paint the self-portrait that we call our
character, personal and professional, with our actions, not will our
words. Too many of us, caught up in the daily quest of professional
achievement timidly dab with pale colors of short lived accomplishments,
and shallow successes.  Too few of us boldly stroke with the deep, rich
colors of lasting purpose, meaning, and significance.  So the question for
each of us is whether our souls will be hungry for prestige or meaning.
Will we be satisfied with the "things" of our professions or whether we
will reach beyond those things for the possibility of making a difference,
changing things, touching lives, and making the world a better place.

        Somewhere I read that none of us should forget that the importance
of what I do and goes well beyond what it gets me; it determines what
and who I am.  And what and who I am is infinitely more important than
what I have.

        Ain't that the truth.  And, that is the meaning of my journey.

Make it a good day.

                                                       --Louis--


Louis Schmier                     www.therandomthoughts.com
Department of History             www.halcyon.com/arborhts/louis.html
Valdosta State University
Valdosta, GA  31698                           /~\        /\ /\
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