There’s a strange kind of wisdom that sometimes falls from the lips of fools. Polonius, that verbose courtier from Hamlet, is a prime example. For all his meddling and pomp, he delivers one of the most memorable lines in Shakespeare’s canon: “To thine own self be true.” The irony, of course, is that the man who says it is anything but. Yet the line endures. It endures because, like so much in life, truth is not always delivered by the most trustworthy messengers.

That’s not a bug in the system—it’s a feature. Truth, especially the kind that touches us, doesn’t depend on the purity of its source. In fact, one of the most useful critical thinking habits we can cultivate is separating message from messenger. The wisdom of Polonius isn’t invalidated by his hypocrisy. It’s sharpened by it.

This paradox is especially relevant for teachers—language teachers in particular—who often find themselves navigating between their ideals and the realities of institutional roles, global hierarchies, and personal insecurities. The classroom is part stage, part sanctuary, and the person standing at the front is never just a grammar technician. They are performer, guide, cultural ambassador, disciplinarian, nurturer, and occasionally, reluctant bureaucrat. However, how does one stay true to oneself amid all these shifting roles?

One answer lies in embracing the absurd. Enter the Dadaists.