Connection, Involvement, Community

by Emily Gorman, Math Department Chair

During my 20-year teaching career, the 2020-21 academic year was definitely the hardest. It was like being a brand-new teacher — because everything I had done previously needed reimagining for a virtual classroom — but worse, because I was by myself in my apartment all day, every day for the better part of six months.

Returning to the actual classroom full time for the following year felt better than it had in a long time. I was grateful for every interaction with a dysfunctional copier or coworker, because at least I was being seen. It made me realize that I wanted more. More connection, more involvement, more community. That’s what brought me to boarding school.

I had thought about leaving the amazing pressure cooker that is New York City for literal greener pastures every year for the last five or so years, but I was scared to make the move, intimidated that I would have to make friends again. Besides my partner, who I met online, I have nurtured just two non-work-related friendships as an adult post-college. (I met them at the dog park, and my dog is not that social, so it was not easy.) During the summer of 2022, the dog, the partner, and I moved two and a half hours north for a residential teaching position at this small boarding school in a small city. Yes, we volunteered to live in a dorm apartment, sight unseen, neighbors to about 90 teenagers. I thought a lot about how I would build relationships with the students on my hall as one of their “dorm parents,” but I had given almost no thought to my relationships with the other resident adults. This has been the biggest surprise of my new life, and perhaps, in part, because it was unexpected, a great source of joy.

In college, it took me a long time to make my first true friend, despite the fact that we lived together. Here, it felt much simpler: you’re adults in a space built for teenagers; you’re the outsiders; no one is cool. There have been game nights when the “game” is just talking and eating, which are sometimes more fun. You learn what people feel deeply about: never getting married again, and, unrelatedly (or maybe relatedly?), not sharing food. There have been group outings to dinner and a movie, when the main attraction is the debrief in the car on the way back to campus. There are the hour-plus brunches in the Dining Room on weekends — I may someday get tired of someone else preparing all of my meals, but I haven’t yet. There are the duty nights, after dinner and before Study Hall, when you bond with your small band of fellow caretakers sharing stories of dates gone bad or really, really good. And, there’s “two truths and a lie,” when you learn which of your coworkers (now friends) have met Madonna (or not), and which can summon animals to her like a fairy-tale princess with teaching credentials.

We are a mixed bunch: classroom teachers, admissions officers, administrators, parents, child-free folks, cat people, dog people, members of Gen Z, boomers, single, attached, MHS veterans, and newbies. Living on campus provides a variety of faces and communal energy reminiscent of New York, something I didn’t want to lose, but on a small enough scale that you have an opportunity for support and the openness to flourish that is rare when there are millions of other people clamoring for your acknowledgement. We see our students in so many settings, from the athletic fields to the Dining Room, to Study Hall; and we help them to negotiate everything from math homework to roommate conflicts. We adults also get to know each other across those same different contexts. We bring varied experiences and philosophies to our jobs and day-to-day interactions with students, but we all want them to be happy, healthy, safe, and fulfilled. And, we want those things for each other as well. I was nervous about leaving New York and starting at a new type of school, but being totally immersed in the place from the start may just have been the best way to do it. There is nothing that gets you into the rhythm of a place so quickly as living there.

Editor’s Note: Emily Gorman is Math Department Chair at MHS. She, her partner Ted O’Reilly, and their dog, Finn, were Third Main residents — with 45 teenagers. Ted, an avid photographer, took the photos accompanying this reflection.