I was kneading a batch of bread the other day and it reminded me of a time when I was teaching some church ladies about bread making. It kind of made me self-conscious to stand in front of everyone trying to show them something I wasn’t entirely sure about myself. I’m no expert, I don’t know all the tricks or the whys behind good bread, I’m just a mom trying to get dinner on the table. So it made me uncomfortable being in front of them, pretending to know what I was doing. Contrast that with the several small groups of friends—just one or two at a time—who have come to my house over the years to make bread or rolls with me. One young mom really wanted to learn so she wouldn’t have to keep buying the expensive loaves for her allergic daughter. I was thrilled to teach her what I knew because I love her so much and wanted to help her. I wasn’t the least bit worried about my form or how I was doing; I just wanted her to gain this skill because it would benefit her family.
Like most of you, I’ve had to stand in front of all sorts of groups over the years, teaching and talking about all kinds of things. I’ve spoken in front of hundreds of adults in large church settings, all the way down to intimate groups of tiny kids in cramped classrooms. We all just take turns. To be honest, I love teaching, and I really don’t mind public speaking; but I still have so much to learn about both.
Lately I’ve been preparing for a class I’ll be teaching at our women’s conference in February, I had to teach two lessons yesterday, with another one coming up in a couple of weeks. When our president first suggested we all teach a class at our upcoming conference, we first laughed and then begged out. But we needed a couple of classes geared for the high schoolers who would be attending, and I could see the wisdom behind having a Cooking for College class. It made me nervous to think of pulling something like that off. I’m not a great cook, I don’t purport to know anything the rest of you don’t already know, and I’m certainly not an entertaining speaker. Sigh. But then I recalled what I’d learned about teaching. It’s not about me. At all. In an instant, hesitancy gave way to confidence, crowding out my insecurities; and instead of feeling anxious, I felt excited about sharing any bit of information I could recall or gather between now and then.
I know I’m not the most qualified person, not anywhere close. But I’ve lived long enough to have learned a few things, mostly because I’ve made a lot of mistakes. What changed this assignment for me was moving my thinking from myself to the girls I’d be interacting with. I thought back to what I knew at that age, which added up to about nothing. I thought about all the things I wish I’d known. I thought about how much I absolutely love the girls in our stake (area). I saw them as my little sisters instead of girls I wanted to impress. As I’ve started gathering ideas, I’ve got them in my mind instead of myself. By pulling myself out of the picture, there’s so much more room to see them. And that’s made all the difference.
As I’ve reflected back on various teaching opportunities, I can see that the times I floundered were the times I mistakenly thought it was about me. And I notice the times I felt satisfaction were times when I could tell they were feeling something about themselves instead. The best teachers I know inspire us to be our best selves, they draw us out, get us to talk and motivate us to think and want to change. While I know we can’t help but praise good teachers for being entertaining and fun to listen to, I think we notice that they have a vested interest in their students, they truly care about helping us want to improve and learn.
As all these thoughts raced through my head, I was immediately filled with relief. And shame. And encouragement. And regret. And hope. Because I’d been focused on myself in many instances in the past, so self-conscious and worried about my “performance.” And yet, I recalled occasional instances when I had completely taken myself out of the picture and reflected on how much better that had felt. Usually it happened when I’d been most desperate and humbled, like the times I had to speak in stake conference (an audience of several hundred). I knew only God could help me pull it off, and so I put Him front and center. Looking back, that worked for me. Because it didn’t have anything to do with me.
I remember years ago subbing for a friend in an early-morning seminary class. I’ll fill in for nearly any class, even spur of the moment. But teenagers make me nervous. Especially in large groups. But I love this friend, and so I agreed to help out. The preparation days filled me with dread and anxiety. Interestingly, as I left the house that morning, unsettled and unsure of myself, I heard the words in my head, “It’s not about you.” I immediately felt peace and calm. While it took me off-guard, I knew it was true, and I felt an unexpected assurance. Because I knew I could focus on the message instead of worrying about my technique. I felt way more confident about my feelings and experiences with God than I did about my teaching ability, and that reminder changed the entire morning for me.
I’ve noticed how life-changing this simple mind-switch is. And how calming it is. As I’ve prepared for various assignments with the audiences in mind, I can’t help but think about what issues they’re facing, what their lives look like, what God would want to say to them. When I take myself out of the equation, my role changes from being the focus to being something more like a window or an instrument. How freeing!! Years ago I read that a successful talk or lesson is one where the students leave talking about what they felt or learned rather than the teacher and how good she was.
And it doesn’t just apply to teaching situations. My dad was awesome at this. I know for a fact he never analyzed this principle or had any idea what he was doing. But my mom, two sisters and I have all confessed to each other that we’ve become just like dad. After all the years spent watching him, it’s just became second-nature for us to talk to everybody like he did. Everybody. I can’t tell you how many times I’ll end a phone call with an insurance lady or the Charter guy and I feel like I’m saying goodbye to a friend. Because we’ve joked with each other, we’ve talked about the snow or our kids, just regular-people things and we’ve made a connection. (It’s bad because now I know all about the tile guy’s wife and kids, making it completely challenging to be objective about whose bid to accept.) My dad talked to all the waitresses and store clerks. My mom always compliments the young workers when she shops (“They need a little boost. I think it makes them feel good when someone notices them.”), exchanging emails with her seat mates when she flies, offering fellow students at Education Week to come stay with her next year. She engaged one shuttle driver so deeply in conversation that he forgot to pick up his passenger! They’ve taught us to accept all kinds of people and lifestyles, to be genuine, to inquire, that everyone has a story. Of course that’s not to say we should pepper people with questions and never share about ourselves, that’s just part of good conversation. But we all know how nice it feels to be asked what we think instead of someone droning on about himself. It goes without saying that teachers and speakers should of course draw on their own personal experiences and let their personalities shine as they impart a message. But it takes a lot of the pressure off when we we’re less concerned about impressing others and think about what they might be going through or feeling instead.
This is the easiest trick in the world to feeling confident. In an instant, you shift from being worried about yourself to feeling genuine concern for the people you’re with. Brilliant. And so simple! Think about the application!! Walking into a large room (like a wedding reception, nightmare) suddenly becomes less nerve-wracking when you stop worrying about who will talk to you and instead start looking around for who you will talk to, who’s standing alone looking awkward maybe. I think this is why hosting large groups for dinner or lunch is hardly an issue. It’s not about impressing people; it’s about making them feel welcome and comfortable, like they’re part of the family. I try to teach this to my kids all the time. Instead of worrying about who will invite you to eat lunch, start looking around for who you can invite to eat with you. Stop praying to have a friend and instead pray to be a friend. I wish I had understood this idea years and years ago. Think how different high school could’ve been for us if we had simply tried to put ourselves in someone else’s shoes, tried to look at things from another’s perspective, worried less about ourselves and tried to look out for others’ feelings instead.
More than anything, this is just a reminder to myself. Because I surprise myself with my forgetfulness. To feel calm and peaceful, enthusiastic and confident, settled and at ease in all kinds of situations, all I need to do is step aside and tell myself, “It’s not about you.”
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