The Two Things She Enjoys
Sometimes meaningful work announces itself in the smallest, most ordinary sentences.
“So, how was your last shift?”
I ask my students this question during our warm-ups in class. While I try not to probe into their personal lives too much, I like to quickly check in on their emotional and mental state, as I believe these can affect their learning. Also, I can’t help it— I’m a nurse.
The majority of my students are also nurses, so we share common ground. I empathize with their stress and physical exhaustion, and most often these warm-ups extend to a mentorship session, when they ask me how to navigate a personal or a professional conflict. And it’s in these mentorship moments that I find nuggets of reassurance and comfort, little North Stars that tell me I’m headed in the right direction.
Today, my student and I talked about our post-shift rituals. Let’s call her Marie. She is a Korean nurse who started studying with me last month. I find her interesting because she learns quickly, asks good questions, and somehow shares the same cynical, dry humor that I do. Some students are pleasant to teach because they are motivated. Some are pleasant because they are polite. Marie is pleasant because the class feels like a conversation between two people who understand the same kind of exhaustion.
Post-shift rituals vary among healthcare professionals, but nurses almost always share the same template: shower, take-out, and TV.
Marie gave a different response, though, when I asked: “So, what do you usually do after your shift?”
She answered very plainly.
“Actually, there are only two things I like doing right now. Your classes and watching TV. I don’t do anything else. I don’t enjoy other activities.”
Her response stayed with me long after the class finished.
It caught me off-guard to be honest. Not in a conceited way, but in a “wha—” kind of way.
On one hand, it sounded bleak. Imagine drawing happiness from crap TV and English lessons. There was something sad about hearing someone reduce her current sources of enjoyment to only two things. Work takes so much from nurses. Energy. Curiosity. Social life. Sometimes even the desire to do anything beyond recovering from the shift.
I know that feeling very well.
On the other hand— and I’m not gonna be a hypocrite— I felt a small, undeniable twinge of joy knowing that my lessons delight her as much as I enjoy teaching them.
And the happiness I felt wasn’t from her admiration of ME, because frankly, I don’t think that’s what she meant. But I’m glad to know that after a long day, she chooses to attend my class, listen and learn communication strategies, and squeeze her brain for English phrases.
I must admit… I felt flattered.
Not in a vain, performative way. Not in the way people feel when they want applause. It was quieter than that.
It felt good to be… chosen.
I felt happy because I also enjoy teaching her.
There are students you teach because it is your job. Then there are students who remind you that teaching can become something more reciprocal than that.
That is still new to me.
For most of my career, I have been used to work that takes.
Nursing trained me to be useful. It trained me to anticipate needs, solve problems, tolerate pressure, absorb frustration, and keep going even when I was tired. Usefulness became the basic expectation. If I did something well, that was simply the job. If I handled something difficult, that was also simply the job.
I kept somebody alive? It’s just the job.
I cleaned up someone’s poop? It’s just the job.
I restarted someone’s heart? It’s just the job.
The reward for being competent was usually more responsibility, not more meaning.
Teaching feels different.
Not always, of course. Not every class is magical. Some lessons are awkward. Some students disappear. Some days I wonder if I am doing enough, if I prepared enough, if I explained something clearly enough. Hell, some days I wonder if I’m even qualified to do this.
But then there are moments like this one.
A student casually says that my class is one of the few things she currently enjoys.
And suddenly, the work gives something back.
That is the part I am still learning how to name and accept.
Maybe this is what reciprocal work feels like. Not easy work. Not effortless work. Not work without preparation, fatigue, or uncertainty. But work where the energy does not only move in one direction.
I prepare. My students show up.
I teach. They engage.
I correct their grammar. They give me glimpses of their lives.
I do not want to exaggerate it. I am not saving anyone. I am not transforming lives in one-hour English lessons.
But I also do not want to minimize it. I’ve been there. For my students, it’s my Medical English class. For me, it’s my Spanish and Italian language lessons.
Small things matter when someone is tired.
A class someone looks forward to matters.
An hour that feels lighter than the rest of the week matters.
A space where a nurse can speak as a whole person, not just as a worker, matters.
Maybe that is why her comment stayed with me.
Because after years of feeling like my work only measured how much of myself I could give away, it is strange to experience work that allows me to be useful without feeling hollow.
Marie probably did not mean to say anything profound. She was just answering a warm-up question.
But I heard it.
There are only two things she enjoys right now.
Watching TV.
And my class.
And for today, that was enough to remind me that maybe I am building something real.