Being disliked is not a pleasant thing. In my profession, being disliked comes with the territory; it’s practically assumed that, each and every year, somewhen, someone somewhere is going to hate my guts.
That knowledge does not sit well with me. I don’t expect people to like me nor do I need people to like me, but I want people to like me — and really, who doesn’t? Even with three years in my chosen profession, I’ve yet to develop the calloused emotional skin of my colleagues, the detachment and distance that disallows damage of the feelings and bruising to the ego.
I’m not really sure where I’m going with this. Somewhere, in the depths of my mind, there’s a point made that I’m struggling to articulate through these words. I suppose, ultimately, what I’m rambling about is this: I don’t want to become bitter and jaded with experience, putting up walls between myself and those that I teach in order to remain emotionally unscathed. Such walls should not be necessary. I enjoy and appreciate the relationships I am able to foster with my classes, made possible by how well they know me, and having barriers in place will destroy the possibility of intimacy.
What I must find is balance, and suppose that that can be found only with wisdom, which in turn can only be attained through experience and greater hardship in this regard. Truth be told, I look forward to it — with the good will come bad, but with the bad good.