I still remember the shine of the wax on the freshly refinished floor of my new classroom that year. I can still smell the new paint, and see the old surfaces recovered. I could look out my classroom window and see the Mississippi River, from my 3rd floor view in South City St. Louis. I hadn’t met my students yet. But I already loved them. This empty classroom? It. Was. Mine.
It’s almost hard for me to believe all the time that has passed. Gifs are no longer cool on websites and blogging has become a thing. I’ve learned what it’s like to be a parent and love a tiny person you’ve just met. I’ve watched education evolve, but my love of learning?
It has grown. Deeper. Stronger. Farther. The kids I’ve learned from, the husband who’s been there every step of my journey, the daughter who reminds me that the world is not about labels, but it’s about overcoming and embracing who we are. The adventures at NASA, the degrees that added letters to my name, a trip to the White House, moving to follow one dream and finding another. I take none of it for granted. No regrets. There are days I’d love to forget, but there isn’t one thing I’d take back. Because every single step has led me to where we are now. Like some crooked path that’s unfolded through a forest, exactly the way it was supposed to. I use to just forge ahead. Eyes on the trail, searching for the next thing. A keynote. A goal. Another blog post. Another box to check in my list of goals. Another degree.
So, I think I’ll just sit down here for a while. Right here on the trail.
Sit. Step. Reflect. When I think back to the students I spent that first year with, I realize how quickly the view became a moment in my rear view mirror. These days? They pass too quickly. And before we know it, we realize we’ve got to slow down. The moment in front of us? It’s all we truly have. And it matters more than anything else.
So tonight, when I say goodnight to my twelve year old, hug my husband of almost 15 years, and make some plans for tomorrow, I’ll remember how much it all matters. I can still smell the wax on the floor of my first classroom and I can still see the kids that first year, on that first day. It somehow makes my heart hurt that it’s gone and swell that it happened.
I just hope I never lose sight of those details. The things that mattered to me then? They matter to me now… even more. Helping colleagues. Creativity. Inspiring others to dream big and take risks, or dip their toes in. Integrating technology beyond an event. Catching pieces of the world in lessons that matter. My classroom webpage said it all my first year of teaching… “Let Learning Take You Around the World.” And over time I’ve realized it’s not just about going around, but through. Relationships. Growth. Pushing yourself and supporting others.
And sitting down to realize what’s happening. Because sometimes we realize we have so much right in front of us. And if you found out that this was going to be your last year on earth, and you realize that what you are doing is EXACTLY what you’d continue to do even if it was your last year, you realize something. The trail you are blazing, it’s filled with amazing details all along the way. This place you work in? The people you spend your days with? What a huge gift. You are both challenged and supported. Your dreams are both expanding and coming true.
And you’d sit down and take a look.
And breathe.
And write this blog post.
It wouldn’t matter if there were a hundred tomorrows or just one more. You’d be satisfied with exactly where you are in the moment.
And that? It’s the best feeling in the world.
Because right this moment is all we have. We can’t hold on to it, but we can make it count.