This is me. In my final year of teaching at Laurier. Waking up, writing in my journal, prepping one class at a time, leaning into the work I love. This is me, trying not to be too fussed about the outcome, and being present to what is, being more willing to let things unfold. This is me, feeling like a grandmother or auntie in the best way, like I can revel in and take pride in my students and their work, without pressure, without anxiety about results.
This is me, being more grateful for my body, learning to be kinder. This is me asking for forgiveness. This is me, just being human, being flawed, being imperfect and being OK with it. This is just ME. Teaching students to be present with themselves and with their voices, present with their identities, letting them emerge like blossoming buds. I love this work, I love all these people, even the ones who challenge me to my core.
I’m noticing the simple things, the quiet things, the things I will miss and the ones I won’t. I am noticing the tiny increments of progress and absorbing the lesson of perhaps being more generous in my open recognition of those tiny shifts and naming them. (I can do better at that. I will). I’m trying to remember how it was when I was at the same stage as my students are and be compassionate for their missteps. Although I know very well that the world isn’t fair and that life doesn’t always (rarely) dish up what we wanted or asked for, I also recognize that this news is hard to stomach for someone young who has high hopes and big dreams. This is me, really trying to live daily what it is to be a teacher. Humble. Kind. Patient. Compassionate. Knowing that everyone I encounter is fighting a hard battle. Including me. So kindness all around, really.