A couple of days ago I was introduced to a room full of new colleagues. The person making the introduction was one of those education leaders who is admired and revered for their body of work and long list of deeds done in the service of young people, and those listening had some heavy duty resumes, as well; so I was honored when she spoke to the "expertise" I brought with me to my new position.
Or was I? Was it that I was "honored," or was I embarrassed? Proud, or mortified? In agreement with her, or afraid of being found out somehow -- exposed as the impostor I really am . . .
It's an interesting dynamic, and I'm not quite sure what to call it exactly. It's the flipside of humility, I suppose; one is not meant to think too highly of oneself in this life. One takes a compliment with the proverbial grain of salt.
I find myself wondering whether Barack Obama, the first president I can call a "contemporary," (I graduated from high school only two years after the POTUS did) has ever had this sensation. I tend to have it any time I face any kind of positive scrutiny; I can only imagine what someone of my generation feels when he's referred to as The Most Powerful Man In The World, or The Man Who Made History. I wonder if, like me, he runs to his wife and says, "You'll never guess what S0-And-So said about me!"
I'd like to think he's moved beyond this.
But more interestingly, I wonder whether Mr. Obama ever looks at his reflection in the mirror, as I do mine, and sees the eyes of an insecure 12 year old looking back at him. As much of an expert as my experiences may make me in the field of education and school transformation, that 8th grade kid with the cowlick and the Starsky and Hutch sweater that's just this side of out of fashion, will always be lurking back there, I think, making me wonder whether it's me they're referring to, or some other "expert" . . .
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