Inside the Office
I was chatting with a new faculty member who asked an interesting question. He wanted to know the most important metric I use to determine whether I’m doing a good job. And I think part of the reason I liked the question so much is because I would have answered it very differently ten years ago.
Back then, like any person fresh from the startup world, I was obsessed with immediate feedback. Did students enjoy my classes? Would they recommend them to friends? I even spent more time than I’m proud to admit checking my RateMyProfessors scores.
To be fair, immediate feedback is useful. For example, end-of-semester course evaluations help me understand what kinds of assignments and course structures are working well and what needs improvement. However, some of the most important questions about the success of a class can’t be answered immediately. And that’s because immediate student feedback isn’t always based on longterm value.
For example, imagine I gave every student an A, got rid of homework, and dismissed class 20 minutes early every day. I’m guessing students would be lining up to take my classes. But would the classes be valuable?
Probably not…
And that’s the strange part of assessing whether your teaching a good class. The real value is rarely going to be immediately apparent. Instead, it’s going to show up years later.
Which brings me back to my colleague’s question: “What’s the most important metric you use to determine whether you’re doing a good job?” These days, the feedback I find most meaningful — at least in terms of whether I’m doing my job well — is feedback that shows up when former students reach out years after graduation.
They’ll be visiting campus and ask to grab lunch. Or they’ll send an email to share an update about their life… maybe news of a great new job of a successful company milestone. And my favorite type of feedback is the random, completely out-of-the-blue email saying something like, “I just wanted you to know, now that I’ve been out in the real world for a few years, I realize how much I learned in your class. The things you taught me are the lessons I use all the time.”
That’s the feedback that means the most to me. And, sure, part of it is because I’m human and I enjoy hearing when someone appreciates my work. Who doesn’t appreciate a good compliment from time to time?
More importantly, those messages are a sign that something we did together in our classroom had a lasting impact.
And the reason I’m telling you all of this is because I’m not sure former students realize just how valuable those kinds of messages are. In fact, I suspect lots of students imagine once they’re done with school their old professors and teachers don’t have time for them anymore. But that’s not true at all.
In fact, I like to think I’m speaking for professors and teachers everywhere when I tell you that you don’t stop being our student when you’re done with our classes.
Instead, if there’s a professor, teacher, coach, or mentor out there who made a meaningful difference in your life — particularly someone whose lessons you’ve learned to appreciate more with time — that gratitude doesn’t have to just live in your head. Take a few minutes this week to let that person know. I promise, they’ll appreciate it.
After all, most teachers spend their careers trying to make a difference in the lives of our students. But we rarely get to see if we did. And it’s why, every once in a while, hearing how something we taught actually mattered is the best feedback we can get.
-Aaron
Worth Your Time
I went into the documentary ‘You Can See Everything’ with one question about Elizabeth Holmes: to be an entrepreneur, you have to believe you can change the world, and that takes what I’ll call a ‘medicine dose’ of delusion. It’s the irrational belief that keeps you going when every sign says to stop. But there is also a ‘poison dose’, the over the top kind of delusion where you deceive yourself and everyone around you. Without spoiling anything for those of you who still haven’t seen it, Holmes’ story forces us to ask where the medicine dose ends and the poison dose begins.
I walked out with that question unanswered, along with 10,000 more. This piece in The Atlantic captures some of what I’m still chewing on.
It’s something I wrestle with every time I tell my students they have the power to change the world (which I do often). I truly believe it. But with that great power comes great responsibility, and I’m not sure we spend nearly enough time thinking about the second part.
