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HUMAN INTELLIGENCE A Teacher For Life, And More To Come
HUMAN INTELLIGENCE A Teacher For Life, And More To Come
By Hunt Lyman
As you read this, I will have just retired after 41 years in the classroom, a number that still surprises me.
It does not seem all that long ago when I first arrived in Middleburg, with no intention of staying as long as I did. My family had long been rooted in New York City and Connecticut, where my only sister still lives, and both my father and grandfather were stockbrokers, a destiny I was sure awaited me as well.
After graduation from Wesleyan, I worked for a year at a law firm and quickly realized that putting on a suit each morning and commuting by subway to work in tall buildings was not the future I wanted.
I came to Middleburg knowing little about the town and even less about the area, motivated solely by then Head of School Tom Northrup’s willingness to give me a chance in the classrooms of The Hill School.
And then I fell in love with Middleburg, with teaching, and with Sue Attisani, the woman I married more than 30 years ago.
Raised in a sprawling, anonymous city, I discovered how much I enjoyed living and working in a town with a true sense of community: a place where I knew my students’ families from the Safeway and the post office, where people looked out for one another, where one’s actions rippled outward like a pebble dropped into a clear lake.
I continued my education at Wesleyan and the University of Virginia over many summers, taught high school and college classes for years, but always returned to the close twin communities of the town and Hill School, the communities that sustained me and helped raise our now adult son, Christian (Hill, Class of 2015).
Throughout my life, the lines between home and work, between professional and personal, between family and colleagues, have always been pleasantly blurred.
As I reflect on my time teaching, I’m thankful for the chance to spend my career at Hill and for the self-knowledge that steered me away from my expected path. In re-reading my first published article from 25 years ago, I found a passage that still captures my feelings about my profession:
Teaching, at least as it is undertaken in school, is a uniquely human activity, and the reality that we inevitably bring to it our emotions and desires is probably a good thing, overall. I readily admit that literature is incomplete for me without students: that is why I would rather be a teacher than a scholar or a writer. At its very best, teaching is the ultimate ironic art; painting on a canvas that disintegrates six times a day with the ringing of a bell. I hope my students see my need to teach; I hope they feel they are part of an important intellectual and personal enterprise. Every June, something real dies when a class disbands, and I mourn the loss of that particular community of minds whose dynamic energy I have been trying to harness and direct.
It is a pleasure and a privilege to be a teacher. I spend my day with books I love, thinking about ideas I want to think about. I have control of my job in ways most people can only dream of, and what I do nourishes my soul. I am paid to read books and papers, to work with young minds whose honesty and humanity grounds me. I get time off every year to gather strength, and if I don’t have as much money as some people I also don’t have their ulcers, their car payments, their corporate scrambling, and their spiritual vertigo. Generally, I have found people respect teachers, and one of the perks of the job is listening to the most unlikely individuals confess a secret envy for what I do.
The obvious question is, “What’s next?” and honestly, it’s not a query I am entirely ready to answer. I have planned some trips to other countries and states, and to state and national parks I’ve never had the time to visit.
I look forward to exercise sessions that do not have to be squeezed in before sunrise, and to spending more time with family and friends, especially those who live farther away.
I’m sure that in some way, I will keep teaching — through substituting, tutoring, and helping in schools whenever I can. It feels like the right time to step into a new phase of life, but I know I’ll miss my students and colleagues. And I can’t imagine ever losing my excitement for the power of ideas, or for the energy and imagination young minds bring to them.
Ultimately, I move forward both excited and a little nervous, but above all, deeply grateful for the opportunities I’ve had, and for the life I’ve been lucky enough to lead.
Hunt Lyman has been a long-time teacher and academic dean at The Hill School in Middleburg. He’s retiring at the end of the 2024-25 school year.
