I began to seriously reevaluate my choice to become a teacher during my fifth year. The stress and anxiety compounded by my own perfectionism amounted to month-long migraines, nearly thirty extra pounds added to my five-foot frame, a silver dollar-sized bald spot, and a daily retching compulsion—all of which I desperately struggled to hide. At one point, I deliberated on dog-walking as a viable career option--I’d rather pick up dog poop than teach.
And then I got a dog.
And I went to therapy.
And I started running again.
And I am taking risks again.
And I am beginning to write again.
Which leads me here.
I have always been a teacher. And I have always loved language. From the time I was seven and prancing bare-footed door to door, inviting the island children to listen to my stories, I was teaching. As I brandished glossy picture books sent from America, enunciating each magical word, I was teaching. It was then that I realized the power of words to stir the imagination, to elevate the spirit, and to capture the heart.
My aim here is to continue to seek and grow in my love of language and teaching. I wish to continue to discover and rediscover specks of truth through the creative labor of teaching and writing. There have been and there will be ineffable moments of joy. May I always remember to forget the pang of disappointment, and yet not fear to fail.