In the Beginning Was Launch

submitted by Smitty Miller, Assistant Professor, Department of Information Studies

My first day in Launch was…how shall I put this…a lot. I was surrounded by a crowd of impossibly accomplished humans with lists of credentials as long as my arm. Meanwhile, I arrived with my master’s degree in Library and Information Studies and a fresh shiny case of PhD-level imposter syndrome. Although the facilitators and other participants were friendly and welcoming, I was convinced that everyone could smell the clerical error that resulted in my hiring.

It’s not that I lack confidence. In my own field, I’m solid. In teaching, I’m experienced—in workplaces, as a sessional at UFV, and even in non-library subjects. But stepping into a full-time, tenure-track faculty role felt like being parachuted onto Mars without a phrasebook. Suddenly everyone was speaking fluent Martian: protocols, committees, expectations, acronyms, jargon…and “pedagogy” (a word I had never used in a sentence, unless you count “How do you pronounce that?”)

Needless to say, in a room full of beginners, I was the beginner-iest.

I was awestruck by my colleagues’ expertise. I wanted to enroll in their courses. But I was also here because I love teaching—so I decided to lean in, with all the wide-eyed optimism of someone who clearly had no idea what she was in for.

Now, after completing my first term as a full-time Assistant Professor in the Department of Information Studies at UFV, I can safely say that this has been some of the most challenging work of my life. I have cried buckets—buckets! —of self-doubt. I have been lost on campus and in the system. I have worked every day of every week, and I have worried that my learning curve was greater than that of my students.

And I have loved every ridiculous minute.

Any success I’ve had—surviving, learning, not spontaneously combusting—I owe to two things: sincerely kind people and Launch.

My department head deserves a medal for fielding my endless stream of questions, ranging from “What should I prioritize?” to “Where is that building again?” She understood how new I was to academia and encouraged me to find my own rhythm.

And Launch helped me understand not just what I wanted to teach but why and how. I know “revelation” sounds dramatic, but honestly? That’s what it felt like.

I discovered that many of the teaching instincts and values I’ve carried for years actually had important-sounding names. And many of those names involved my new favourite word, “pedagogy.” (I now use it any chance I get.)

Meanwhile, in the chaos of learning a new LMS, navigating academic bureaucracy, accepting invitations for meetings about meetings about unfamiliar topics with people I didn’t know, Launch became an inconvenient oasis. Inconvenient because how could I find the time? Oasis because it became familiar.

Launch also revealed a well-kept secret: every new faculty member is at least a little terrified. And noticing that common starting point, we began to recognize each other around campus, learn about each other’s academic passions, and laugh together about our collective overwhelm. In other words, Launch facilitated the emergence of a collegial community.

Imagine steering a ship full of brilliant, sleep-deprived people who don’t have time for anything except the five things they’re already late for. I’m not sure I would have the wherewithal. Yet our Launch facilitators were consistently gracious, compassionate, flexible, and gently encouraging. Once, when I reached maximum overload and quietly slipped out of a session, one of them followed, chatted about nothing in particular until I could breathe again, and never brought it up afterward. That’s not just teaching; that’s pastoral care.

Every Launch module introduced new teaching methods—some traditional, some refreshingly odd—and they were often modeled in the workshops. I devoured it all. I left each session exhausted but inspired, reminded of why I signed up for this wild adventure.

My first term had its bumps. A few student challenges. A couple of classes I absolutely muffed. And my Zoom breakout rooms were possessed by gremlins for at least half the semester. Yet when a student told me that the course was fun, or when I saw that “aha” look in their eyes (those that had their cameras on), I felt fulfilled. I felt like I was doing something important.

Something noble, even.

I welcomed the responsibility of sharing what I know with people who want to know it too.

It’s safe to say that I have launched.

There is still so much to learn—and so much to teach.

I’m tired.

And I can’t wait.