If I think of my career as a galaxy—full of hot gasses and pulsing energies—then the center of that galaxy, the super-massive black hole around which my theoretical dust cloud swirls, is a Chomskyan/Krashen-esque tenet: learning occurs in students inevitably. Just as a first language is acquired without much explicit instruction, so can a second language be absorbed from experience, often without a teacher at all. This is not to say I consider myself irrelevant, but rather that, for me, the student’s mind is the true center of the learning process. What I can do is facilitate students’ innate ability to learn by providing as much meaningful support and input as possible.

How I provide such input becomes the set of nascent stars in my galaxy: the Theories and Methods to which I subscribe. My education in theory and methods leaned toward an eclectic approach—some communicative methods, some notional/functional work, and a few audiolingual residues (residues I disdain, to be sure). Grammar translation played a large part in my own learning experience, and I’ve happily favored drama-based methods when designing model curricula. The most extreme method I’ve studied in depth is Georgi Lozanov’s Desuggestopedia*, in which students meditate intensely on the second language for several hours a day, six days a week. So the stars of my galaxy range from big red giants (the communicative approach), to dense neutron stars (Desuggestopedia), to semi-decrepit brown dwarfs (grammar/translation), and shrunken white dwarfs (ALM). The variety of methods familiar to me only strengthens my flexibility: I am comfortable teaching through a wide range of approaches.

The inflexible law that holds my galaxy together—the gravity of my career—is experience. Because I study other languages fairly often, I am certain I will always have more experience as a second language learner than as a teacher, and so I naturally put myself in my students’ place. When planning a lesson, I think of how I learned Latin, Ancient Greek, Italian, and Japanese; and also how I fumbled (sometimes badly) through Mandarin Chinese, Turkish, French, Spanish, and Icelandic. My classroom experiences as a student pull me toward the rich grammatical and linguistic explanations I enjoyed. At the same time, my experiences learning Italian and Japanese outside the classroom—through Italian-speaking family members and Japanese friends—draw me toward the essential role of real-world interaction. I know the importance of fostering acquisition beyond classroom walls while still providing the maximum in-class support for such wanderings.

As far as cultural wanderings go, my family has been to many different planets. Because my mother was born in Italy, my second language became Latin. While many sociocultural and affective factors contributed to that paradox, I am convinced that identity—group identification—was the strongest force. It was powerful enough that Latin could stand in for Italian, which my high school didn’t offer. For me, Italian ethnic identity was a source of pride; for my mother as a young immigrant, it was something she felt she had to overcome.

Perhaps she would not have felt that shame had my grandmother received letters from school in Italian or been part of a bilingual volunteer program—two modes of primary language support (PLS) Wright* (2010, 280, 282) recommends. I aim to provide as much PLS as possible while eliminating stigma of any kind from the classroom. Sometimes this might mean referencing my own history; sometimes identity-embracing approaches may not work for certain students. Still, I am certain that when students feel comfortable and secure in their identities—ethnic or otherwise—they become better, more confident English language learners.

And as for wandering around the galaxy of a young teacher’s career, the tools of teaching—the technology—are the spaceships that carry us. In the past, blackboards, paper, and pen may have tethered us to one method or another. Now, with iPads, phones, laptops, social media, and projectors, we can move at light-speed. I use, and have used, technology abundantly to bring as much input and energy into my classrooms as possible, as reflected in the curricula I’ve designed and the videos I’ve created.

Like any galaxy, this longer version of my teaching philosophy is a bit nebulous and somewhat amorphous: nebulous because it swirls with many ideas and theoretical possibilities; amorphous because my career has not yet been thoroughly shaped by experience. To me, these are not disadvantages. If my philosophy is misty and protean, it can easily expand to fit a wide range of courses and students.