After class, a student asked if I was OK. He asked because he was concerned that I seemed more stressed this semester than I was last semester.

I told him that I was fine. I explained that the class he was taking this semester just seemed a bit busier because I was doing more individual meetings with students while we worked in the library. I also pointed out that I had to do extra prep because of some changes I had made in how I was approaching classes. And then there is the upcoming LAND conference for which I am handling registrations.

As we parted, the student commented, “If there is anything I can do to help, let me know. I am not sure what it could be, but be sure to let me know.”

One way to reflect on this exchange would be to consider how students will show compassion to us if we show compassion to them. However, my internal reaction to my student’s offer was one of intense defensiveness; to deny that I was feeling stressed and to assure myself that everything was OK. Therefore, an honest reflection on the interaction requires me to consider my lack of sati [mindfulness].

Sure, I had just screened the wrong film in class. But anyone could make that mistake. Recently, a friend pointed out that I have not been sleeping well. But everyone has periods when they don’t sleep well. Furthermore, during the past week my house had become a wreck because I was working so many hours that I didn’t have time to unload the dishwasher so that I could put dirty dishes somewhere other than on the counter. And, of course, there were the things that I mentioned to the student. I could go on. But I need not do so. My long list of rationalizations confirmed my student’s observation. I was stressed; more stressed than last semester. As a result of the stress, I was not at my best when it came to sati.

Bhante Gunaratana describes the three fundamental activities of sati, which he argues can serve as a functional definition: “(1) mindfulness reminds us of what we are supposed to be doing; (2) it sees things as they really are; and (3) it sees the true nature of all phenomena.” When I lose sight of what I am supposed to be doing, individuals such as my student generally notice it before I do. And because they care about me, they are willing to ask if I am OK.

Quality teaching is hard work. It is the type of job where there is always one more thing that we could do. But, at a certain point, I need to say to myself, “Halt. Hold. Enough. I have done what I can today and now it is time for rest.” After making a list of those few items that needed to be completed before the start of classes the following week, I resolved to take the weekend off. Ironically, by taking the time to take care of myself for a couple of days, to wash my dishes, to do the laundry, to watch World’s Dumbest Whatever, I will be a better professor next week.

Because a compassionate query arose from my student’s mindfulness, he—and the rest of my students—will be dealing with a much less stressed professor next week. And my life will be better for it. Little could he have realized that simply asking, “Are you OK?” was the most helpful thing he could have done for me.

–Steven L. Berg, PhD