North Star Writers Group

One of the greatest things about being a teacher is learning from my students. I teach at a local university, and while my 20-somethings perfect their writing and public speaking skills by taking my class, I perfect my life by going through the semester-long experience with them.

Over the years, they have taught me – a classic overachiever and over-committer and over-doer – what has probably been the most important lesson of my life. How to take things a little less seriously.

One classroom full of bright-eyed (my class was taught at 2:30 in the afternoon, so yeah, they were bright-eyed for the most part) young adults taught me that sometimes, you simply have to take “winging it” to a whole new level. As a matter of fact, I have decided that the term “winging it” is extremely outdated. I assume the phrase stems from jumping off a branch before you’re really prepared to fly. Well, I’m looking out my window right now and the highest branch is only about 100 feet up. What my students sometimes did would better be described as “skydiving” without a parachute from 10,000 feet.

So, when did they skydive? In this particular class, almost all of the time. Because the class wasn’t required for any major, not even basket-weaving – and was one of those university requirements that kids end up in to do only that – fill a university requirement that they don’t currently see the value of.

So just because they blew off presentations and turned in unedited work, I think they were pretty good kids. My guess is that 90 percent of them never skydived in other classes like astrophysics, American history or child psychology. They knew something I didn’t – when to skydive versus when to stick to the plan.

Taking their lead, I did a little skydiving of my own this past weekend. That’s right. I left for a dinner party fifteen minutes early armed with various shaped plates and bowls. I headed for the nearest grocery store and I bought what happened to look good to me at that very second. In my car, I emptied the box, scooped it, spread something on top and dumped it into the best-shaped bowl. I arrived with a huge smile on my face because I had just skydived out of Martha Stewart Living and into Twinkies covered with whipped cream and Hershey’s syrup. All I can say is skydiving tastes as good as it sounds.

Another array of youngsters taught me that the “one chance to make a good impression” statement is overrated. In one particular class, I ask students to give a 10-minute verbal presentation on a case study before the written one is due. One student gave a fascinating preview of his paper on an initiative to teach people the merits of shopping in locally owned stores, thereby keeping more dollars in their neighborhoods and communities.

The presentation was motivating, captivating even. But when he turned the paper in, it was devastatingly awful. It was one of those papers that a teacher gets every so often that makes her scream, “Did you listen to one – even one – word that I said all semester?” and then throws her into a tailspin of questioning her own ability to shape young minds.

Once I got over the shock, I realized this was what they call a “teachable moment” for me, the teacher. And what I learned is that making a great first impression is something I could stop fixating on when meeting new clients, colleagues, husband’s coworkers, potential friends, etc. Rather, what’s most important is consistency. Be the same person, turning in the same good quality of work or the same level of friendship from start to finish, from day to day and year to year, and then you will have accomplished something truly great and for that matter, unexpected by most.

Finally, I learned that flip-flops are simply unforgettable. Not flip flops of the supposed John Kerry kind, but the entire foot-showing summer shoes that most of us business professionals over a certain age who’ve attained a certain level of success would not be caught dead in if it weren’t a Saturday or a vacation day.

I have a student who showed up in flip-flops for a presentation to a class client, despite it being part of her grade to dress professionally. Her presentation was excellent. She was poised and intelligent. When I ran into that class client a few weeks later, he said, “That one gal was great, and I remember her because of that and because she wore flip-flops.”

So, I’m starting a new job. And while I’m not exactly planning to wear a clown wig at my first department meeting, I’m pretty sure that I am going to ditch my boring navy blue suit, boring blue-collared oxford and boring blue heels for something with a little more flair. I have decided that it’s more important to be remembered than to be flawless.

I’ve learned other lessons, among them, to be thankful for all of the funky, fearless and diverse people who cross my life’s path. After I first drafted this column and went to say my bedtime prayers, I thanked God especially for these 20-somethings. For flip-flop girl. For just-rolled-outta-bed-two-minutes-before-my-presentation-guys. Even for I-guess-I-just-never-wasn’t-paying-attention boy. They have all helped me stop being stick-in-the-mud woman. I owe them all a parachute.

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This is Column # CD9. Request permission to publish here.