State of the Teacher

I'm now a little over halfway into my third year of teaching, and I love it more and more. As with anything, there are days I want to escape, change my name, and find a different career path altogether, but those times are few, far between, and always short-lived.

My first year was the roughest by far. I was naive - okay, MORE naive - inexperienced, sheltered, and completely unprepared for the challenges I was up against. I went in as prepared as a first-year fresh out of the cap and gown could be, I'm sure, but it was your garden variety trial-by-fire experience. Not only in the job, but personally - it was my first time living completely on my own, and I was miles and miles from any family or friends. During a time when I needed more support and encouragement than ever before, I was alone, scared, and unhappy. It didn't take long to realize that I needed to get back to a familiar place and be around my people, so I searched for and found a teaching job closer to the area where I had attended college, which had become home.

The pace at my new school was more laid back and I bonded really well with my new students. I grew to know them and love them in no time, and it was a relief not to feel watched and judged all the time as a first-year. Plus, I had more privacy and if I made a mistake, I was the only one who knew about it most of the time, and I could fix it in peace without feeling like a moron. I saw myself staying there long term, and even though it was quite a commute from home, my then-boyfriend, now-fiance and I were beginning to discuss moving to the area to get out of the white-washed, "safe" suburb that was wearing on us, and into a more diverse and stimulating urban scene that meshed better with our twenty-something characters. But then spring came and with it, the budget crisis. Teacher jobs were on the line, starting from the bottom, where I was. I had to decide between sitting tight and riding out the rumors of teacher jobs getting cut, hoping I'd be spared, and looking for a job somewhere else. Always playing it safe, I held onto my job, but quietly searched. If an offer came from a different school before a decision about my current job did, I'd split. If my job turned out to be safe, I'd stay. The summer creaked on and I waited impatiently, both for interviews, and for a decision. In late July, just as I was transitioning from stressed to hyperventilation, I got one interview.

The worst interview I ever gave.

Not really. My very first interviews as a beginner were much sadder, but this definitely was not one to be proud of.

I had a week to prepare. I studied up on the district, the school, their testing history, the demographics...everything I could find. The day before the interview Andy and I rehearsed interview questions as my nervous hands fidgeted with beading jewelry. I did pretty well despite being a nervous wreck. Andy coached me on not rambling too much, a habit of mine anytime I'm nervous, uncomfortable, or self-conscious, which is a huge slice out of my daily moods pie chart, if there is one. But I was prepared. The night before I pressed my most professional pinstriped suit, picked out one of my beaded necklaces to wear with it, rehearsed professional hairstyles, and didn't get any sleep at all.

I woke up in plenty of time to get ready at a leisurely place. I'd been by the school only once early that summer to drop off a resume, but couldn't remember the route I had taken because I had found it completely by accident. I had been driving around town with nothing to do, had a stack of resumes in the car to mail off, stumbled upon the school, and decided to swing by. The doors were locked and no cars were in the lot, so I left and forgot about it. On this, my interview day, I remembered the school just being a couple miles away, having driven by it regularly years ago when I lived down the street from it, so I wasn't concerned about needing directions. Anxious and ready early, I hopped in the car and headed in that direction, with just under an hour until my interview, to a neighborhood I'd been through dozens upon dozens of times a few years earlier. I decided that I get there, make sure I knew where the place was, swing by Starbucks for a coffee to calm my nerves, and arrive at a good solid 15 minutes before my scheduled time.

And I freaking got lost. In my own town, two miles from my apartment. Because that's me.

I didn't panic right away, because I still had forty minutes, and the school was there somewhere in the winding neighborhood streets. Surely I'd see it through a back yard any minute.

Minutes burned away, and I was starting to panic as I looped for the third time through the same streets and not a school in sight. I called my mom, knowing she'd be at work on her computer and could pull up directions. Of course, she was not familiar with my town and it took a few minutes to orient herself. She got me heading in the right direction (thanks Mom!) and I realized I was several blocks north of where I needed to be, on the wrong side of a busy main street. I tried calling the school to let them know I would be cutting it close - no answer. I figured there would be no secretaries on duty in July, but I had to try something. I called the number the principal had called me from days earlier, not know whether it was a home number, an office number, or a cell, but there was no answer there either. As I pulled into the school parking lot, trying desperately not to cry (smeared mascara and bloodshot eyes are never okay for an interview) my cell phone rang. It was the principal. "You had an interview with us for this time. Are you still interested in the position?" I quickly and ungracefully explained the situation, knowing it was futile because everyone in the interview must assume I had slept in or forgotten or something idiotic. I would have thought that.

I hurried in, apologized again, quickly explaining what had happened, again. The interview began and when I left I didn't remember one question, one name, or one face. I just went home and cried. Cried because it was the one and only interview I had landed all summer, I was probably going to lose my job and certainly not get this one, and I'd have to move back in with my mom and work the night shift at a gas station or something. All because I was overconfident about stupid directions. I felt like an idiot. How unprofessional. How unprepared. I wouldn't blame them for crossing my name off before I even burst in, five minutes late. Because I'd do the same thing.

Days later, the principal offered me the job. I'm learning a lot about myself and about teaching this year, more than my first two years combined, probably. The standards are higher, the pressure is greater, and the spotlight on me feels brighter. The year before I worked only loosely with the other teachers in my grade level. We followed the same plans, but I took care of all my own needs and duties. It was a very "every-man-for-himself" environment. I liked being able to go about my job quietly, independently. There were few school committees, which was not necessarily good for the school, but for me it meant I could focus more on teaching, and less on remembering that it's my turn to provide breakfast or to attend this meeting or turn in that data. Again, not necessarily good news for the school, but easy on me as a beginner in the field who is already just trying to tread water. This year I'm adjusting to the perspective of "us, the team," and not "me, the individual." My team works very closely together, which is a huge plus for me, getting to watch, do, and learn, and also for the students, who get more out of an education that is built so strongly, so sturdily. It's been a struggle for me to come out of the shell I had built around myself - the "leave me alone and let me do my job" shell. My responsibilities this year with all these committees and programs has increased tenfold, and I feel like a juggler who was just getting used to three balls and has just been thrown twelve more. Some of the balls, sometimes all of the balls, fall. And when I look at my new team members who appear to juggle all of theirs, and more, with seeming ease and grace, I hate myself. The biggest struggle by far this year has not been my new students - I click with them more than any of my other classes. Not the faculty, who are extremely knowledgeable and professional. It has been to not hate myself for my mistakes. My job literally began with feelings of shame and regret, and that first impression of myself has stuck with me. Shrugging that off can't happen when day after day the mistakes - little inconsequential ones that are easily fixed - pile up. I am hyperaware of the fact that I'm being watched, even judged, and every mistake is a black mark against me. And with every black mark a piece of my self-confidence crumbles away. The more stress I put on myself, the more mistakes I find myself making. Recently I decided I wasn't reaching out to my coworkers enough or offering to help when they needed it, usually just because I wasn't aware of the need. So I resolved to make myself aware by listening carefully, keeping mental tabs on people and trying to sense when they could use an extra hand. In my zealousness to be helpful and put myself out there, I mistakenly double-booked myself for helping with two separate before-school duties, at the same time on the same day. That meant I needed to either figure out how to be in two places at once, or renege on one of those people. Smooth.

I try to be easy on myself, remind myself that I'm still a beginner, even though I hate, hate, hate being "the newbie," "the naive one," "the probationary teacher," "the temporary teacher." Hate it or not, it's still the truth. I'm still learning, I'm still struggling, I'm still not very comfortable in my skin. I have a fresh week ahead of me, and the goal this time: relax, take a deep breath, and forgive myself. I may aggravate my older and wiser coworkers in my struggle to be as good as they are, but so what? They were once in my shoes, and I'm sure deep down somewhere, they understand. And if they don't, there's little I can do about that except to keep marching onward one foot in front of the other, one day at a time. With experience, I'll be an amazing juggler.

My Violent and Noble Work

Be regular and orderly in your life, so that you may be violent and original in your work.
- Gustave Flaubert


Every noble work is at first impossible.
- Thomas Carlyle



Once again snow and ice have demanded rest and relaxation from the local population by closing schools and businesses, including mine. I love nature's power of command - deciding for us with seductive sunshine when it's time to abandon responsibility and play on the beach, or cook up a backyard barbecue. Or even threatening us with icy roads and bitter chills to stay indoors where it's warm and friends and family - who nature also chose for you - are inescapable. Unfortunately, at times, Mother Nature gets carried away or human technology is simply weak under her influence, and we lose heat and electricity to her icy grasp. Fortunately, that has not yet happened to me. I like to think that Nature has smiled upon me in my willingness to follow her command without argument. But maybe, as usual, I'm making up stories. ("I reject your reality and substitute my own!")

I've spent a good chunk of my free time these two days shuffling around my apartment, cleaning and repositioning furniture, preparing for next weekend's arrival of oldies-but-goodies friends. They haven't seen me in my element since early college or even high school, when I was still feeling out my personal style and identity with multiple stylistic mistakes, so it's important to me now that they perceive from my living space a style and identity I'm both worthy of and that is flattering. It needs to be clean, comfortable, and well-put-together. But being a recent college grad with limited opportunities and funds for collecting pieces that suit my identity, I'm a little worried about the modesty of my space. Their opinions, in this matter at least, are more important to me than anyone else I can think of, because of how supremely I've held their opinions since middle school. I've tried vainly and in vain to model after these friends in fashion, character, manner, and intellect. Only recently have I felt fully confident in MYSELF, and it's a struggle to feel all these old, suppressed knee-jerk insecurities wriggle back up to the surface. In all areas of my current life, people around me have met me at the start as confident, assertive, articulate, and congenial. Not one of those qualities did I claim as mine when I knew these friends who are due to arrive a week from today, but I want them to adopt and accept these qualities just the same. First impressions are difficult to change, more so for the giver than the receiver. And with that in mind, I should really relax.

Here are some projects I've mentally tabbed recently for occupying my free time.

1. First and foremost finish my bride-to-be friend's wedding centerpieces! Five down, five to go, and I'm running out of days!

2. Painting for bedroom wall art (shown). I recently found a large print at Kirkland's of a young woman sitting in a flowing pink gown at a vanity. Her position was facing away from the mirror, gazing to the side, and she seemed like she had slipped into a vulnerable moment of relaxation either before or after putting on the necessary poise and decorum her status commanded. Even her gown in all its femininity momentarily betrayed a no-longer-a-girl-not-yet-a-woman repose as it didn't quite hang on her body as it was meant to. I felt an immediate connection to this print, but even on sale it was out of my budget. So I resolved to draw inspiration from it in my creation.

3. Valentine glass glitter balls. Mom gave me a box of clear Christmas ornaments to decorate. I didn't get to all of them, so I thought they'd make a nice Valentine's Day decoration in several shades of pink, red, and purple, arranged in a bowl on the dining room table. Unfortunately, I broke two as I was hanging them to dry. There are few things worse than wasting glitter.

4. I have an old, ugly bookshelf that has held my books since I can remember. Now it holds my craft supplies and a box of tissue, but it's pretty unstable and wobbles back and forth easily. I want to attach a backing to give more support and paint over the dark brown varnish to dress it up a bit, as it's still useful and carries enough memories to make me unwilling to chuck it.