Today was so long. I felt myself reaching the very, very end of my rope. My head hurt, my eyes were tired, my throat was dry, and I kept on leaving my sweater in different classrooms.
I love knowing the names of students when I see them in the halls or on the sidewalk after school.
Working at home and on the weekend symbolizes to me that this job is real. I’m resisting it.
I’m afraid of being tied down to a job with so many unknowns. I’m afraid of things that I am not immediately good at. I have to tell myself all day, every day, that it is ok for me to not know everything about teaching. I will never know everything about teaching.
Sitting in sixth grade, I want to talk with them about One Direction, Mexican soccer players, the origin of their name. I don’t yet know how to connect what I do as an artist with what they can do as artists starting out.
It is humbling to be so tired by 3:30pm. I’m tired because my brain is being used every second of the day. My mouth is running constantly. I’m performing this dance that I don’t fully know. Sometimes I love it and feel really good at it, but other times my limbs feel heavy and I want to sit down, alone.
I find myself wanting to be alone, or to be with people who make me feel really at ease, people who know that who I am as a person isn’t solely based on my success as an educator or the work I produce or the amount of money I make or how good I look at the end of the day.