From 2007.
Below this post on student crushes, a reader named “P” describes her crush on one of her (married) professors. I’ll quote a section that has me thinking this morning:
I was interested in your advice not to talk about it with the professor. I had been considering doing so, although not now because there are still letters of recommendation for grad school to be written and I most certainly want to maintain a level of appropriateness until his defined role as a professor is done.
On the one hand your advice makes sense because he can’t really help me work through a crush of which he is the object. That’s not my goal though. My concern is that a large part of the reason I still think about him now is a curiosity as to whether he feels the same way…
Bold emphasis is mine.
I’m going to step beyond P’s specific issue with her professor, and reflect for a moment on the extraordinary desire so many of us have “to know”. P seems less interested in actually having an affair with her married prof than she is in finding out if her feelings for him are reciprocated. If you read through the comments below that post — and indeed through the comments on all the student crush posts — it seems clear that for many folks with crushes on their teachers, this curiosity to know whether or not the object of their desire feels something in return can be overwhelming.
I can’t think of a more tempting — and more disastrous — reason to begin any love affair than “curiosity.” When I was younger, I cloaked neediness and compulsiveness in the language of intellectual (or at least romantic) curiosity. Time and again, I pursued someone because I was desperately curious to know certain things: Could I “have” them? Did they “want” me as I “wanted” them? What would it be like to “be” (however briefly) with someone “like that”? Firmly committed to the lie that “experience is always the best teacher”, I attempted to justify some fairly unjustifiable behavior with the explanation that I had “an insatiable desire to know.” (This is a particularly common trait, I know, among academics — many of whom are notorious for petty affairs and infidelities. We exalt the pursuit of knowledge above all other virtues, and periodically find it all too easy to confuse the gratifying of our own ego with the acquisition of genuine understanding.)
I posted in February about flirtation. I wrote:
Flirtation, particularly when we are married or in committed relationship, brings us dangerously close to one of the most pernicious sins of all. No, I don’t mean adultery. I mean the sin of using another human being to soothe our own anxiety, to feed our ravenous ego. Sending out “mixed messages†that arouse interest, deliberately fishing about to see if we can get a little “stroking†— this is toxic, manipulative, adolescent.
This connects to the kind of curiosity to which P seems to refer. Our ego longs to know if we are wanted. Our ego promises us “I won’t take things too far; just let me find out!” The ego has a way of making its demands seem alternately reasonable and irresistable. It tells us that there’s no harm, surely, in taking steps to “know once and for all” whether that cute, taken teacher or student or colleague has an interest. Surely there’s no way any normal person ought to be expected to resist the temptation to “open the door, just a crack” in order to find out whether or not he or she is the object of another’s desire. “I don’t want to do anything”, the ego protests, “I just wanna know!”
I came to this realization later than many, but I’ve become convinced that wisdom and happiness in no small way correlate with a willingness to leave some doors closed, certain opportunities unpursued. One tool I use these days to measure my own spiritual growth is my own willingness to live contentedly with what I don’t know. Not only do I not need to know if a student has a crush on me or not, I’m called to make certain I take no steps in order to “find out.” (Like a lot of people’s, my ego, unrestrained, had all the subtlety of an untrained Great Dane; left unleashed, it would pant and slobber and race after promising scents that suggested the delicious gratification it craved. It knocked a lot of things over, periodically knocked people down, and left a big wet mess.)
Committing to “leaving doors unopened” is a spiritual and psychological discipline. Like any discipline, it gets easier with practice and the passage of time. When I was younger, I thought wisdom would come as the natural result of the relentless pursuit of every possible new experience. I believed that in love (or at least its physical aspect), any door unopened was a “crime against eros”. I didn’t see my behavior as compulsive, needy, and childish — I honestly thought it vaguely heroic. That was my sad foolishness, but it was a foolishness that hurt many others as well as myself. And it’s a foolishness I see alive and well in many of my students and, more troublingly, in my peers.
I have no right to judge those younger than myself who are only doing what I was doing at their same age. But I am wary of the lie that bitter experience is the only way to learn. Jesus told doubting Thomas, Because you have seen me, you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed. I’ll take the huge liberty of rephrasing it: Because of all the doors you recklessly opened, you have become wise; blessed are those who have become wise while leaving the doors closed.
That was very helpful! I was just worrying about this issue in my relationship and you posted this just in time. Thank you!
Yes, everything Hugo says is true. It’s all about stroking the ego and justifying.
Motivations aside, though, on a purely practical note, it’s going to be an awkward conversation either way. If he doesn’t have feelings for you, you’ve just made yourself seem ridiculous for revealing you have feelings for him. If he does have feelings for you, he’ll be embarrassed for being called on it and either deny it… or act on it.
In other words, nothing good can come of it.
Excellent. You brought your A game on this post.
Good post, but what about a situation where a married prof is flirtatious? I appreciate that you set these kind of scrupulous boundaries, and that’s admirable given what you do as a woman’s studies professor.
But in my case, I have a German prof who is married and in his forties, and he is very flirtatious with me. I’m 21. I have a boyfriend, and don’t want to cheat on him nor do I want to seduce an older married man away from his wife. But, when the quarter is over, what’s wrong with my “flirting to find out” what my professor’s intentions are? I’m incredibly curious to know, and while it might be my ego, doesn’t the fact that he is encouraging me so blatantly give me the right to try and get some clarity?
My situation is similar to Megan’s (above), except the professor is NOT married or in a relationship, and is female. It’s been a constant struggle not to cross that physical line (other lines, like the proper professor/student separation, are long since crossed). I persevere, though, because (1) I can never be sure of her feelings though they seem obvious to me, and (2) I have no desire to ruin my (or her) reputation. But again, the appeal is IMMENSE.
Hugo, such an important post! I am encouraged by this and know that your words are playing a part in the gentle nudging toward a healthier version of myself.
Megan, if I may…it seems you are suggesting that because your professor has flirted with you, he has voided your responsibility in your interaction. His flirting does not put your situation into a separate category than the one Hugo is addressing here. I can tell you from experience that the deeper knowing you are actually looking for is the one that comes after quite some time has passed, maybe even years later, when you can look back and clearly see that leaving that door closed was an important step in becoming the woman you would really like to be. The instant knowing of “flirting to find out” brings brief satisfaction and, depending on how it all pans out, years of potential pain suffered that only you can take full responsibility for in order to heal.
Interesting. I’ve found that, historically at least, my own compulsion has been the opposite – never to know for sure, because never knowing makes the situation all the more delicious (after it has passed, at least – while you’re within it, it can be torturous).
I have had many, many crushes which I suspect were mutual, but because they never quite emerged into anything, I’ll never know for sure. And I kind of like the ambiguity of that.
“Committing to “leaving doors unopened†is a spiritual and psychological discipline.â€
This is one of your better posts which I agree with. I’ve always preferred leaving a lot of doors closed and I didn’t feel I was missing anything. Experiencing some people is something I don’t need or want and likewise for hearing some information, which is unnecessary. I don’t need to know, to experience it or to go there and I’m very content with that.
I guess my need NOT to know is far greater than my curiosity when it comes to what motivates people to behave as they do. I’ve always been able to read people’s emotions fairly well and felt pretty clear about my own assessment of their motivations. And they did come off as foolish, needy, and selfish and I didn’t much like being on the receiving end of it. I’ve spent a lot of my time trying to get away from the kinds of people who act in the ways that you describe.
Bitter experience is not the only way to learn, however it often seems like people are compelled to learn their lessons the hard way. As someone who was on the receiving end of behaviors (inappropriate flirting and other sexual conduct), which I didn’t solicit, didn’t appreciate, didn’t reciprocate and didn’t desire, I can only say that I wish a good many people who read your blog would take some of your hard-earned wisdom to heart.
This situation reminded me of something.
I got my private pilot’s licence a few years ago. When you’re training for the licence, you have to practice doing a lot of “emergencies”. The emergencies are simulated- the instructor will shut off the battery, for instance, in order to simulate a loss of power instead of the actual engine. Or, you’ll work in a simulator, and have a simulated crash in there.
I have always wondered what I would do if I was to have a real emergency. It’s more than an idle curiosity- if I fly, I may come across it. We practice it over and over in order to make sure we can handle it. But practice is not real life.
To me, finding out if someone “likes you like you like them” is like intentionally putting yourself in an actual emergency situation in a plane to see if you really would respond to it well. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with mentally preparing yourself if you someone likes you who, for whatever reason, you can’t reciprocate. But, actually going over and starting it, you may be bringing on the worst.
Well I’m glad I found this blog, Hugo. (Via your old blog–still up, btw–by googling “I have a crush on my professor.”) The internet is amazing. I thought I’d be reading advice from someone halfway around the world. But it turns out you are very, very close to home.
What are the chances, huh?
It’s interesting reading about the ego stroke part of the equation on the prof’s side of things. This makes me re-think my prof crush. I’ve never been the type of woman who goes for the obvious choice, the guy that other women throw themselves at: the jock, the smooth operator/ladies’ man, the rich boy with the fast car. It never crossed my mind that college professors would fall into this category, with women just throwing themselves at them willy nilly.
I must confess an intense desire to “know” the unknowable. To know if my community college instructor is as attracted to me as I am to him. Unfortunately for me (and fortunately for him) he is, by all accounts, happily married (and for many years).
Is he using our interaction to stroke his ego or are we two people making a genuine human connection? Could the “real” truth lie somewhere in between?
Like most people, I like to think that I am special. That I am the exception to the rule. I am not an ordinary student. I’m not an ingenue. I’m divorced and in my mid-40s, with a varied history of relationships. I already hold a bachelor’s degree. My reason for going back to school has been to ride out this horrible recession while gaining some new job skills. Going to school has helped keep me from going just batshit crazy at home while unemployed. I’m jaded and cynical. I don’t put my teachers on a pedestal. They are my peers as far as I’m concerned. The coursework I’ve taken has been of a vocational bent. I already have a knowledge base for almost every course I have taken. I go into a course thinking (nay, *sneering*), “Humph! Let’s see what this teacher knows!” My reputation is such that I had one highly respected teacher recently tell me he was nervous to have me in his class because he knew I’d keep him on his toes.
Fast forward to my prof crush. He’s an adjunct with a successful day job in the the field that he teaches. He’s only a few years older than me. So he’s in my peer age group. He’s not an academic. He’s a pro in his field. But he’s been teaching for a long time and watching him work his stuff at the lectern is like watching Baryshnikov dance. Yes, he enjoys the subject he is teaching. But more important: he is an absolute master at •teaching•. He has distilled the material to its very essence and has managed to make dry, technical stuff understandable to a non-pro. The dude is a pedagogical rock star. But no, class is not “intellectual” and he has not opened up my mind. It’s simply not that kind of a class. I have learned a lot about the subject matter though.
I think I know myself well enough and have been around the block enough to know that the qualities I admire in him are those he genuinely posses. I’m definitely not falling for the subject matter and transferring that passion to him. (I’ve also heard good things about him from people who have known him long. So I’m confident that the positive attributes I see in him are not just inside my head. And of course I realize that he’s human and no doubt also has plenty of negative attributes that I’m unaware of.)
Part of his lectures involve giving real world examples from his job. These case studies are a window into his life outside the classroom and his real-world problem solving skills. I’ve also had the opportunity to visit his work place and see how he interacted with peers in that arena. I think I can be as good a judge of his character as anyone who has a crush on another person can be.
He is not the kind of man I would have been attracted to in my 20s or even 30s. As I get older, I put less emphasis on looks and more on the individual inside.
I was attracted to him from the first class period in an inexplicable way. (He’s not Mr. Handsome.) He’d deftly handled a couple of bumps during the first class period and I was impressed. By the second class period he knew my name. By the third he told me I reminded him of a certain local celebrity, an intellectual celebrity actually (a compliment, I’m quite sure–I guess it could be interpreted as flirting). From then on I’ve found a reason to stay and chat after class almost every time. Sometimes he’s put his feet up on the desk and we’ve ended up talking for almost an hour. It’s always professional and on the up-and-up, much the way two people who meet at a business conference would talk. I’ve revealed personal stuff, but only in ways that are relevant to the subject of the class. Our conversations are work/career/industry related. They are not intimate in any way shape or form. Imagine a cool coworker joins your company and you start chatting about the business and find out you have a lot in common. It’s like that.
It’s to the point where I’ve come to think of class as our “dates.” Today my palms were literally sweaty from nerves on my way to class. And then I melted when, a minute before the bell rang, I breezed through the door and he greeted me by name beaming as if to say, “Oh good, you’re here finally!”
I tell myself that I just want to know if he’s attracted too. But knowing that would make me want to take things further.
At my age, I know that there are not a limitless number of men at my disposal. And with each passing year, my chances to connect with someone special diminish. Which makes this even more bittersweet.
If he were single, I would not hesitate to ask him out after the semester ends and our teacher-student relationship is over.
Since he is married, the entire thing will have to just be a fantasy lived out in my crazy head.