It’s actually called When the Teacher Becomes the Student.

But I couldn’t resist the other title.

Over the years I’ve noticed something curious.

The lessons I remember most are not the ones where everything went according to plan. They’re the ones where the plan/expectation stepped aside.

As teachers, we’re expected to lead. To explain, to demonstrate, to know where we’re going. And, to be fair… that’s a part of the job.

But every now and then, something different happens.

A student asks an unexpected question or responds unexpectedly. They may have a spontaneous urge to discover. They hear something I’d completely missed. Or they simply become so absorbed in exploring that the lesson develops a rhythm of its own.

In those moments I have a choice. I can interrupt and steer us back to the lesson I had carefully prepared.

Or…

I can become curious too, and play.

I’ve learned that curiosity is usually the better teacher.

Some of my favourite lessons have begun with the words, “That’s interesting…” and ended somewhere I could never have planned.

The strange thing is that, from the outside, it may look as though I’m not teaching in the traditional sense. Inside, however, something else is happening. I’m listening. Following. Learning. And improvising.

The student becomes the guide, and my role changes from leading the journey to protecting the space in which it can unfold.

Music has always understood this. Improvisation isn’t the absence of structure. It’s a conversation. One person offers an idea. The other responds. Neither knows exactly where they’re going, yet together they discover somewhere neither could have reached alone.

Perhaps teaching works in much the same way.

Perhaps parenting does too…

Perhaps life itself…

I’ve started to wonder whether wisdom isn’t always about having better answers. Sometimes it’s about asking better questions…and having the courage to follow wherever they lead.

Whenever that happens, I leave the lesson with the curious feeling that I was the one who had just been taught.

Those are usually the lessons I remember longest.

Until next time,

Carlos