Why I Left Teaching And How I Overcome Career Decision-Paralysis
I’ve recently become one of the statistics in the famous “50% of new teachers don’t last 5 years.” Do I feel guilty about this? The short answer: no.
Am I energised by teaching, and passionate about young people’s growth, autonomy and sense of purpose? Yes.
So what led me to leave? And where to now?
When I was still in university, studying a degree in the Humanities, I watched an interview with Neil DeGrasse Tyson, the baritone astrophysicist whose popularity grew as a result of his reboot of Carl Sagan’s Cosmos documentary series. The panel was discussing big questions like the future of the planet. Someone in the audience asked Tyson whether he thought it was more important to focus on educating younger generations than adults.
Tyson responded that he thought it was more important to educate people right now, no matter their age, given that the problems we face are so demanding — climate change, the potential for great power conflict, etc. We shouldn’t wait for younger generations to then finish school, and university, start at the bottom of the food chain in the world of work before finally assuming positions of leadership in science, policy, business and so on.
His words struck a chord. At the time, I was considering a career in secondary school teaching. Looking back, I hadn’t given it too much thought. I’d wanted to be a teacher because I wanted to be a writer when I was a child, and many of my favourite writers had been teachers at some point.
In those first two years at university, I started to think more deeply. I wondered: why should I have a career in teaching, as opposed to something else, like journalism or international development? Why would teaching bring about a better world, more impact? And there it was, that saucy little word which holds such promise but also shadowy depths: impact.
I say “impact” holds promise, for I think it’s good to reflect on how we can make positive use of our strengths and skills. Our careers, after all, claim a significant part of our waking hours, so the work we do matters.
The shadow side of basing decisions on the “impact” you’ll have
But why can focusing on “impact” be harmful? Firstly, it can be a slippery slope to decision paralysis if one considers “why” something is beneficial. We can always want more, or think our ideas aren’t good enough. For example, let’s say you’re interested in a career in music, or art. You may ask yourself: what good is this really bringing to the world? Yes, it’s creative, yes it can bring joy to people, but does it really help people?
I once witnessed a friend agonise over this, sitting on a park bench in the Botanical Gardens. We were in our third year of uni, and she was unsure what to do afterwards, having studied fine arts. She told me: “I wish Peter Singer would just tell me what to do.”
Peter Singer, if you haven’t heard of him, is the Australian philosopher famous for founding the Effective Altruism movement, which seeks to use rational analysis to uncover “the most good we can do”, be it through charity, work, or otherwise. “Good”, for Singer, has often involved saving or improving the greatest number of lives — human and animal.
I don’t completely agree with all the conclusions of Singer’s philosophy or his advice for my career. However, his work has encouraged me to reflect on my values and the effect of my decisions both in and out of my career. I also think his emphasis on rational analysis of altruistic causes is much needed; too often people don’t donate to charity because they “don’t know where the money goes.” See GiveWell for “the world’s top research on where to give” to save or improve lives the most, per dollar.
To come back to my friend — I felt for her, as I’d also known the same conundrum. I’d always wanted to be a fiction writer, like Philip Pullman, or Jonathan Stroud, but now I was doubting whether I could or should pursue that path. I offered some of the following consolations, which have become better formed over the years.
How I escape career decision-paralysis
There are many other factors to consider when choosing a career, or other meaningful decisions. For example, how does one quantify the ripple effect or authentic power of what you put out into the world? Can you put a price on the power of art or literature, which could perhaps have the potential to influence an individual, or many people, in profound ways? If not now, then perhaps in years to come?
Or what’s to be said about the fruitful combination of disciplines to improve human flourishing? Yes, art isn’t practical. If we all became artists, the world would be poorer for it. But art can breathe life into society, and enrich other disciplines that are more practical, leading to unanticipated and creative benefits. For example, Dr Bill Thomas revolutionised the aged-care sector in the United States by creating the Green House Project and the Eden Alternative for “elder-care.”
Thomas believed that the physical environment played a crucial role in the well-being of older adults and that incorporating elements of art, architecture, and design can have a positive impact on their health and happiness. By creating aesthetically pleasing spaces and incorporating artwork, Dr. Thomas aimed to create a more engaging and enriching environment for the residents of aged care hospices.
Focusing exclusively on asking “why” and becoming fixated on certain measures of “the good” can blind us to the fact that it’s a great responsibility and opportunity to be able to aim one’s career towards altruistic goals. For many others, in Australia and abroad, personal or financial circumstances demand jobs that aren’t self-directed or focused on human flourishing.
I am plankton in the ocean and that’s a good thing
Let’s return to leaving teaching. I decided to leave teaching after 3 and a half years, to pursue adult-learning design in the public service. This is a circling back to Neil DeGrasse Tyson’s plea for getting through to adults, which can of course take place without formal learning, such as through media and culture.
Ultimately, I’d like to learn and educate more about complex problems facing the international system, and Australia’s place in it. For example, I’m intrigued by questions such as: how do we prevent radicalisation and information warfare with Artificial General Intelligence on the horizon? Imagine if generative AI is used to produce fake news on a larger and even more compelling scale than was used in tampered elections like Brexit (see the Cambridge Analytica Scandal).
Or another question: Can we anticipate and regulate for new technological risks that have the power to change the world, just as nuclear weapons were almost unthinkable 10 years before World War 2?
These are bigger problems that have the potential to affect millions of people in deep ways. As a secondary school teacher, I could touch on them, and the payoff would be in shaping some lives, with diffused effects throughout the coming decades.
Don’t get me wrong — I believe whole-heartedly in the power of education. I have such respect for the teachers who revealed to me the dangers of dehumanisation through history and literature, which shaped so much of my later drive to understand other cultures, belief-systems and conflicts. They also help shape our moral character and social skills, which one could argue are the true bedrock of civilisation.
It’s just that, for me, it’s time for something different. I’m aware that I’m a piece of plankton in an ocean of complexity and warring forces of human nature. Yes, whatever I may pursue could be a “drop in the ocean.” But this should by no means be cause for despair. There is great joy in being part of something grand, a small agent that can assist the emergence of grand and beautiful complexity.
David Mitchell put it better in Cloud Atlas. The attorney Adam Ewing is driven to abolish slavery in 19th America, but his efforts are questioned as merely a “drop in the ocean.” Ewing replies: “what is an ocean, but a multitude of drops?”
