The Disappearing Book

I was never supposed to teach computers. They weren’t even part of daily life when I was a beginning teacher. But, with a minor in business education, I was grandfathered in–kicking and screaming! I’d been teaching typing, shorthand, and business communication—happily. It was all working for me. Who rocked the boat?

Technology, that’s who. By the time I was midway through my teaching career, word processing was all the rage. Typing transitioned to keyboarding, and my beloved shorthand died a slow, tortuous death. But I was never a “machine” person. Changing a typewriter ribbon was about as tech-savvy as I ever got, but I was at a point in my career where I “had” to master technology or risk becoming Professor Dinosaur. So I went all in…

I took it upon myself to take a basic computer class with one of my University colleagues. He was a faculty member with whom I had an easy, pleasant working relationship. So in full-on perfectionist mode, I was going to be “the best student he ever had.” If he liked me before, he was going to love me by the time I completed his class. What could possibly go wrong?

I enjoyed the class and genuinely appreciated his teaching style. I “thought” I was doing well–”thought” being the operative word. As I started to get homework assignments and tests back, though, it seemed I wasn’t doing so well. That was really embarrassing, but I resolved to work twice as hard and turn it around.

Mind you…I was taking this class while teaching a full load of my own, raising a son as a single mom, and directing a church choir on the side. My mind was everywhere. Stress was causing me to flake out…ahem…more than usual. Leaving campus one afternoon, I was carrying so many books and folders, I momentarily set my computer textbook on top of my car while I arranged the other stuff in the back seat. Off I went…vroom…forgetting that all-important book on top of the car!

I didn’t even get a mile down the road before I heard the telltale clunk that was my computer textbook landing on the highway. My brakes screeched as I stopped the car, pulled over, and got out to retrieve it. Just one problem: it was nowhere to be found. I mean nowhere. To this day, I sometimes wonder what happened to that book…

After crying tears of utter frustration, I decided I would just purchase another book. I absolutely would not fall behind. And, not coincidentally, my colleague, the computer professor, came to visit me in my office that same day. He tactfully suggested I might want to drop his class before the deadline…because I “wasn’t really doing that well.” Now it was official: I was supposed to be the best, and I ended up being the worst. What he didn’t say, was that I was, in fact, failing. Failing.

The Disappearing Book had tried to send that same message, but I wasn’t listening. I had to experience brutal humiliation to get it. I did drop the course, and, miraculously, I was still able to reinvent myself as an instructor, even though I was often one day ahead of the students. Once the self-induced pressure was released, I began picking up the whole computer/word processing thing fairly well. To this day, I can hold my own with most word processing and online tasks. And what’s even scarier? I enjoy it.

What did I learn? I learned extreme perfectionism can have the reverse effect. It is possible to try so hard that you’re focused on the outcome rather than on the task in front of you. And I was motivated by fear–fear that I had to succeed or die professionally. Calmness, on the other hand, brought clarity and improved concentration. This was truly a more valuable lesson than acing the computer class would ever have been!

I also learned I “try too hard” in other areas of my life as well. And baby steps are considerably more productive than giant, unrealistic leaps. Though the Mystery of the Missing Book was never solved technically, I can thankfully say, “Message received.”

“The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps” (Proverbs 16:9).