I’ve met all four of my classes once now. This semester it’s two sections of Introduction to Literary Studies (gateway course for the major–theory and criticism and genre and close reading and a partridge…), one section of Introduction to New Media Studies, and one section of Rock/Soul/Progressive. Each beginning was different. Some of the classes obviously came with their game heads on. They were ready to go, or got to that stage after a very short while (and mercifully little stand-up comedy from me). One was very sluggish until the very end, when things suddenly caught fire. In every case, there was at least one fascinating moment. I try very hard to elicit those moments, and once they’re there, try very hard to give them just the right mix of attention and restraint to get them to grow. Perhaps that’s why class always feels like an intense conversation to me–but the kind of intense conversation in which one has to stare and look away at the same time.

I continue to marvel at how these fragile moments can very quickly become seismic (to mix my metaphors well). Or to put it another way, at one point I’ll feel as if I’m trying to carry a very full cup of coffee up a flight of stairs without spilling it, and immediately thereafter feel as if I’m a kite thrown aloft by a roughly playful gust. Pedagogical agency is such a varied experience. Small wonder some people find it too dizzying to enjoy.