Untitled Suicide Prevention
Some of my students are writing personal narratives right now. In an effort to practice what I preach, I am doing the same. So, this does double duty. As far as I'm concerned, I'm on the clock.
This morning, I took a painting from my home office to my Hamline office. It’s not a remarkable painting, but I’ve kept it around since I painted it in a garden-level apartment on Minnehaha Avenue in Saint Paul, MN. I think it was 2002, but it might have been 2001.
It belongs at Hamline, not my house. It exists because of Hamline.
The night I painted it, I had two choices: create something or destroy something, probably myself. I chose the former because somebody had told me to do all the good I can, by all the means I can, in all the ways I can, in all the places I can, at all the times I can, to all the people I can, as long as ever I can. And I believed them.
The last part of the John Wesley quote is important. I could still do good. I still had time to do something useful, but only if I continued to exist, and to do that, I had to get through the night. So I painted. And because I believed the words of John Wesley and because I still believe those words, even though I am not Methodist, I am still here.
I don’t think I’m unique. My students tell me things. I think by virtue of what I teach and how I teach, they sometimes tell me things they likely don’t tell many other people. I don’t know if that’s true, but I think it is.
I also think many of my colleagues have similar experiences. We walk around campus carrying with us a lot of stories that young adults might not tell the broader public. We know some things about college students that a lot of other people do not know. One of those things is that they have enormous capacity to create. Another one of those things is that they can smell corporate marketing bullshit better than your average 40-year-old.
Last night, I emailed a former professor of mine. It’s likely she was the last person I had spoken to before painting my painting. I’m not sure if that’s true, but I think it is. I know she knows how important she is to me, but in all of the stress of managing my schedule, I hadn’t thanked her recently.
She had tenure at Hamline. Most of my colleagues do not. I do not. We probably never will.
I’m going to sound like a crotchety old man for a moment. Just roll with it. I’m a crotchety old man.
Those days, I spent a lot of time in a fantastic little coffee shop on the same block as the apartment building in which my painting came into existence. The coffee shop is called Gingko. Its coffee was better than Starbucks, which wasn’t an option for me anyway because there was no Anderson Center. Gingko is still there. I stop in occasionally, even if I don’t want coffee. 10/10, no notes.
Maybe I’ll give them a thank-you note tomorrow.
Hamline is at a critical moment. The actions of the administration have run contrary to the administration’s stated values. Doing all the good you can sometimes requires changing, questioning established power structures, and creating. Those are things that require conviction and bravery.
“It is what it is” is not allowed in my classroom. Neither is “I can’t do it. It’s too hard.” If I don’t let my students wallow in defeatist thinking, I surely won’t allow it from my boss.
For my students: Evidence to the contrary, I am a happy person. I am a happy person because I try to create things rather than destroy things. You don’t need a long-dead Methodist to tell you that. I will.
For the administration: If you don’t believe those words, I respectfully ask for a refund. I could use more money for paint.