M1 = January; M2 = February. Yes, I’m somewhat obsessed with abbreviations.
Reflections on M1 & M2 2023
It’s been 2 weeks since my final class for The Mindful Manager. Last week, I went to the Pacific Coast of Mexico for a weeklong pilates retreat to rest and reground - and it was wonderful.
I’m not sure I have the words to describe this magical place. But I’ll try. (And that dogged belief in attempting things that are hard is more descriptive of me than anything else I can tell you about me.)
Imagine stepping back in time about 50 years to a quieter, more peaceful existence. “The Town” is a 3x3 block of streets, smaller than Mendocino, California (which is one of the smallest towns I’ve been to in the US) and smaller than any one of those lovely cottage towns in the Cotswalds. You can walk it in less than 5 minutes.
“The resort”. The main building is ranch-style, with an open verandah on two fronts that sits 10 meters from the shore. During high-tide, the waves lap up against a protective hedge of prehistoric volcanic rocks, smoothed gray by time, and occasionally piled into cairns by some unknown pilgrim. From my room, I can hear the waves at night; windows open to the humid ocean air.
Brown pelicans swoop and dive in squadrons. I can imagine that this colony of pelicans has lived here, undisturbed, predating the dawn of human civilization. (Wikipedia says the first fossil evidence of pelican-like animals dates back 36 million years. Unfathomable.)
I feel at peace.
On Teaching
I love teaching. It shouldn’t surprise me that I do, but it does.
A couple vignettes.
I’m 6 years old. I adore my first-grade teacher, Mr. Root. And I tell my dad, “I want to be a teacher!” His response: “You’re too smart to be a teacher. Be something else.” (Implicit in there is “Teachers don’t make any money. Do something commensurate with your ability.”) Unfortunately, I repeat this anecdote and advice to my 4th grade teacher, who I also adored, who finds this deeply offensive for understandable reasons.
I’m 24, maybe 25. A few years out of Stanford, still unsure what I wanted to do with myself. I contemplate being a teacher. My then-partner: “Those who can’t, teach. If you’re good at X, go do X. Teaching is for those who can’t.” (Implicit in there is an entire value system predicated on optimization; on evaluating impact through measurable outcomes, usually monetary). I don’t repeat this, but it’s etched on my heart.
And yet - when I look at every role I’ve had, teaching is a central component.
When I was leading two teams at my first startup, I initally led all the training sessions for the 50+ people I hired because I was the “subject matter expert” on what we did (AKA I had the most experience: 6 months!) But also because I wanted each person to have a consistent experience. And, frankly, I didn’t trust others to do it well. (That changed as I learned to let go of control and empower).
As a startup exec, “onboarding” was critical for helping new employees ramp up on internal, bespoke systems and for shaping culture. When I join a corporate behemoth, I realize that the standard onboarding misses critical touchpoints for connection, for establishing group norms, for creating a sense of cohesion. At my next startup, which grew too fast, we realize we need a standard “Week 1” for all our sales people to levelset each person on the US commercial banking industry, on the basics of credit analysis, on enterprise sales best practices, and I was tasked with building it.
Management is teaching. (It’s also coaching and parenting and public speaking and entertaining but that’s another set of essays). To run efficient, capable and empowered companies, teaching (the transmission of knowledge) isn’t just necessary, it’s essential.
As an adult, I return to that memory from 3 decades ago with my 73 year old father and he says, “I remember idolizing my own teachers. And teachers are special. But they only stay with you for a year. I knew teachers are your whole world when you are young - I wanted you to know that there are other things you could do.”
I tell my mother that I love teaching and she says, “When you were a child, I remember you used to read a book and then come downstairs to find me so that you could retell me the plot and what you learned! Sometimes you hadn’t even finished the book!” She smiles at me over video call with deep affection; I smile back, feeling seen.
“Those who can’t, teach.” The irony of teaching about conflict? I am a great teacher because I was so bad at having hard conversations in my twenties. I’ve made all the mistakes; I know the internal hangups, the possible pitfalls, the many obstacles, and how to go from incapable at conflict to capable of having the hardest conversations.
I agree: Teaching IS for those who can’t. And it makes them a better teacher than those who can.
I am a teacher. It just hasn’t officially been my title before; it has always been my responsibility and my inclination.
So what did you love about teaching?
Each week, starting on Monday, my internal anxiety rose and rose as I planned, prepped and practiced for Thursday. And then it was 6:59 PM on Thursday evening, and at 7:00 PM, my heartrate would drop as I settled down and stepped “onstage.”
Calmness would descend over me as I slipped into a familiar role, “hostess with the mostest”: greeting guests, welcoming them in from the cold & wet (or chaotic) of wherever they just were, doing my best to simply hold space for these humans who chose to show up and spend their precious lives and time with me.
Teaching is like being the ringmaster of a circus. You invite in the audience, you set the stage - you know the acts that are coming and it’s your job to get them excited, anticipatory and engaged. And, you’re the first act, the second act and the grand finale. (The mid-class 10 minute break was critical for regrouping and getting ready for the second act!)
But also, I’ve learned that teaching isn’t just what I say - it’s the space I leave for others to contribute.
The best part of class is the questions I get asked during and after class, and the wisdom offered by other students who are wise in their own ways. Each question is genuine and insightful and deepens our collective understanding.
I give my best answer and then other students chime in. The native English student who said, “For people for whom English isn’t their first language, I can see this being additionally hard.”(I’d never thought about that and I appreciate their self-awareness and empathy). The West African student who shares how “I’m sorry” differs from “I apologize” in their experience. The students who bravely talk about feeling bullied or manipulated at work, in front of relative strangers.
And each class, I ask for a written reflection, usually less than one page, single-spaced. And over the week, I love reading stories of personal transformation as students bravely try new skills with co-workers, partners and family members.
I read essays about their family’s conflict styles, which touch on death, addiction, trauma and grief.
I appreciate their open heartedness, their authenticity, and their willingness to try. It inspires me to do my best.
What surprised you?
My final class, I felt a genuine sense of loss; realizing I likely wouldn’t see many of these humans ever again! I was surprised by how deeply I felt connected to strangers over just 5 weeks - especially since the interactions were all virtual!
What was the hardest part of teaching?
There’s always room to improve. “Should I redo this slide? Would a better infographic teach the concept better?” “Is my example resonant enough? Is there a better example I could use?” “Holy cow, I just realized there’s an entire body of work on this concept - do I have time to read up on it? Should I summarize it? Is this relevant?”
Showing up and trusting I was enough; that I’d prepared enough.
Not spending every waking moment working on the class and instead, giving myself permission to hang out with friends, exercise, and do other life things.
Will you do it again?
Teaching, generally? Yes, I would love to teach - and it truly does not pay well. I will likely need to have a full-time job to fund my teaching habit!
This class, specifically? Yes, I love the content and I would gladly teach it again and in other contexts and formats. (While I’m on sabbatical, I’m currently offering a 60 min version of the first class for companies and a 5 week version; reach out to tiffany@tiffanyteng.com if you’re interested!)
For Stanford again, logistically? To teach again for Stanford’s Continuing Studies program, I needed to score above 4 (out of 5) on my class evaluations - I’m very pleased to report that my class received a 4.8 out of 5! I’ve resubmitted to teach in the Fall, but there’s no guarantees, as they balance their curriculum with other classes also being offered in the Fall.
Energetically? I also have to admit a deep sense of relief on the last day of class - the 5 weeks felt like a marathon, where each week I built an entire 2 hour class from scratch. But I’m sure the next time will be easier since all the material is there!
Any final thoughts?
If you’ve been following along, I’ve had a workbook on silent retreats that I’ve wanted to publish. And, in my 5+ years of working on it, giving a TED-style talk on it, and enthusiastically evangelizing it, only 2 people have actually gone on a silent retreat as a result of my efforts - and I had to go with them!!
And yet, with this content and course, I feel like I’ve found content-market fit (akin to product-market fit that we talk about in the startup world). There’s a genuine interest, desire and willingness to pay - and, genuine stories of transformation.
So we’ll see what comes next!