By Samantha Vinokor-Meinrath
I'm an educator.
Of course, like everyone, I'm a lot of things. I'm a daughter, a wife, a sister, a slightly obsessive dog owner, a reader, a friend, an aspirational knitter, and a Long Islander-turned-Washingtonian. It's impossible for me to fully discern between these various facets of my identity, but there's one thread that winds through all of the others and colors virtually all of my interactions.
To be an educator is an honor, a burden, and a sacred responsibility that I carry intentionally and mindfully. It provides a frame of reference for approaching the world, a lens through which to think both critically and supportively, and, far too often, a mask to hide behind.
Part of the art of education is knowing that you're a conduit for others - a canvas on which their ideas are played out, a catalyst for conversations, debates, and transformations, and a step along the lifelong journeys of inquiry and exploration that we all hope our learners are on. You're a ghost, in some ways - stepping out from behind the curtain to trigger questions and facilitate reflection, and then then step back once again as the learners make sense of things and figure out how to integrate them back into 'real' life.
To be an educator is to be vulnerable. To be open. To be authentic. And yet, it also provides the ultimate cop-out. The mask that we don, first intentionally, and then, as it grows more comfortable and grafts to us, becomes so natural that we may forget that it's there. I'm talking, of course, about the privilege of provoking without participating, of being able to push and prod and uncover secrets, while holding fast to our own. Of not having to grapple with our own complexities and doubts, because we have a whole box of tricks that serve as barriers to our insecurities - lesson plans, primary sources, and those tricks of the trade that allow us to pivot the conversation whenever it gets too close or too real.
"It's not about what I think."
"I'm playing devil's advocate here."
"Let's consider multiple narratives on this."
The sleight of hand that can keep everything at arm's length while never letting on that you're holding back. It starts professionally, in the name of setting boundaries and creating an inclusive environment, and then trickles into inter-personal relationships, when everything becomes a teachable moment rather than a spontaneous engagement, and then inside your soul, when you give into the temptation to hold yourself back, prioritizing presence and exploration over tough realities. I found myself not engaging or being self-critical, because I could always lean back on the excuses of my professional calling.
But I'm an educator.
And at my core, I know that my practice is at its best when I lean into the gray area, lift the mask, and expose the murky depths of my own questions and doubts. When rather than being the sage on the stage, I embody the role of guide on the side, both for my learners, and for myself.