It was a warm spring day in the Sierra Foothills. I was walking through a long meadow ringed by Ponderosa Pines and watching a Red-tailed Hawk soaring above me. Behind me was a group of some thirty 12 year old children who were walking silent–perhaps mesmerized, as I was, at the moment, the warm air, the promise of wildflowers, and the joy of being outdoors. (Or, maybe it was Thursday morning and they were just tired after a week of being dragged from their televisions and forced out into the fresh air.) Nonetheless, I remember that moment, full of clichés though it may have been, and I remember looking around and thinking to myself "I actually get paid for doing this!"
There are few of us in the outdoor education profession who have not experienced this. That wonderful moment when we realize that we represent the lucky few that are doing a job we love that not only fits philosophically, but also allows us to be out in nature. Nature! The very place we spent all of our time during those spare moments between doing the less pleasant things in life (school, desk jobs, and flipping (tofu) burgers).
I was freshly out of school; I'd completed an internship in outdoor education and was now at the tail end of my first year as a "full-blown" naturalist. Just the title was a thrill to have. John Muir had been a naturalist, so too was Henry David Thoreau, Rachel Carson, Annie Dillard, and Loren Eisley. I could not imagine any better way to spend my time or any better footsteps to follow.
It was a feeling that did not last forever–though I still wish it had.
The turning point came six years later when walking through that same meadow on a warm spring day, a hawk soaring overhead (to which I was oblivious), and some thirty 12 year olds in tow, I had cause to stop and assess the situation. This time I was stopping for the third time to remind the "unruly mob" to stay on the trail, keep their mouths shut, and pick up their feet. It was Thursday morning and I could not wait for Friday afternoon when I wouldn't have to look at this group of kids again. In the midst of all of this there was time to stop and consider what had become an almost daily mantra, "I can't believe how little they pay me for doing this!"
The "dream job" had turned sour. When I analyzed the situation the reasons were all obvious. The work hours were unpredictable, the pay didn't allow for a sustainable lifestyle, the children had gotten harder to work with, and no one seemed to appreciate the efforts I was making to educate the sixth graders who now all seemed to come with labels (ADD, ADHD). I longed for the old days when the children listened and the new interns respected the seasoned naturalists and didn't try and change everything with a bunch of naive ideas about how things should be done.
In short, I was burned out and didn't have a clue that the problems I was experiencing had everything to do with me and literally nothing to do with anything else.
While everything below paragraph three is fiction, I share this tale of burnout because I have seen these thoughts and attitudes to varying degrees in myself and in some of my colleagues over the years. I am also certain that many of us have seen the full manifestation of all of these traits in a handful of professionals in our field.
I have also seen the opposite. Twenty year veterans who are as fresh today as they were on their first day-- men and women who cause us to marvel at their endless energy, patience for children, and ability to put a positive spin on every situation. These people are the true heroes of Outdoor Education. They are the ones who keep alive the true spirit of why we do what we do. Their focus is always on the children, on nature, on the very joy of being out-of-doors (they are also the people I'd like to see nominated for the "Environmental Educator of the Year Award” or the “Howard Bell Award.").
An enthusiastic person is what each of us started out to be; and, truth be known, maintaining this outlook is not that difficult. It is a matter of separating the "job" of being a naturalist from the "joy" of being a naturalist. The "job" concerns coming to work on time, coexisting with other employees, living on meager wages, working unusual hours, and dealing with difficult students. The "joy" comes from being in nature, sharing the experience with eager and exuberant children, allowing yourself to be a child again, and from finding the key that unlocks the potential of all of those "difficult" students.
Working with children in an outdoor setting is a privilege. It is something that in most places has been going on for less than 30 years (and in a very few locations for as many as 50). We are scarcely entering the third generation of Outdoor Educators (how many of our grandparents did this for a living?). We are pioneers in a very exciting field! While what we do should not be taken lightly, we do the children and ourselves a disservice when we focus on the "job" of outdoor education and forget the very joy that brought us to this field in the first place.
As you look toward another school year remember the joy this work can bring and never forget the positive and lasting impact you have on countless children.