OK--this is going to be a super duper quick post. I'm sharing it mostly because my journal is packed, and this is a moment I don't want to forget. But, first, a little background:
I'm a perfectionist. As such, I often find myself wondering if--maybe--I've truly made the best decisions. I wonder if I should have done some things differently or better--if, in so doing, I would be better off or happier. Or if the world, in general, would be better off and happier.
I wondered about that all the time as a teacher. I wondered if, perhaps, I shouldn't have pursued a more ambitious career, because teaching always came easy. I wondered if, maybe, I shouldn't have pursued dating more--because there were many days when I'd rather have been raising my own children in place of others' children. I wondered if the sacrifices I made were truly worth embracing, because they replaced other lives I could have been living.
Maybe I'm just a weirdo who over-thinks things. But here's the real reason why I'm writing this mini-post:
Throughout my teaching career, I've come in contact with hundreds of precious little ones. Each was different and so important and so special--all in their own right. Each a twinkling little star in my eyes. I want to tell you about one of them, but--as in the case of my last post--I can't tell too much about her story. You'll just have to take my word for it.
We're going to call her Ella. Ella, when I first met her, was quiet. Shy. In fact, events in her past kept her from speaking at all. Out of fear, she never spoke. As she worked her way through the grades, all of us teachers deliberately rallied around Ella. Our first objective was to help her feel safe, and all other objectives fell in line with that. As a fourth grader, Ella participated in my math group timidly. But she participated in whispers. My dear friend, Ella's homeroom teacher, worked tirelessly to find ways to help Ella--as did Ella's fifth grade teacher. (Also a dear friend.)
Fast forward to yesterday. At our school talent show, I was shocked to see Ella's name on the list. She had signed up to sing a solo. When she got to the stage, her cousin ready to accompany on the guitar, her smile was contagious. The song began, and Ella started to sing.
I've always prided myself on being the type of person who can hide her tears until she's alone. During Ella's song, though, the tears were free flowing. Halfway through the song, I had to excuse myself to catch my breath. This little girl, whom all of us had been cheering on for so long, was singing. In front of a crowd of her peers. And she was glowing.
To anyone unaware of her story, Ella's performance would have been another act in a talent show. For those of us who knew, though, it was a testament of courage: It was evidence of Ella's incredible and inspirational growth.
So, I suppose there are two lessons to be learned from this:
First, that fear is a lie. Ella found her voice, and so can we all. None of us ever need hide from our individual challenges. Rather, in confronting our fears--whatever they may be--we find joy in the end. Even if the outcome isn't what we want, our fear won't cast a shadow over us. And we will know that we gave it everything we had. No regrets.
The second lesson is a lesson for me, I think. It's this: If teaching was a mistake, if making a series of choices that eventually lead me into Ella's path was a mistake, then it was a wonderful mistake. It wasn't all puppies and rainbows, but--for me--this path was worth it solely for Ella's performance yesterday. As it usually goes with these lessons, I recognize now that I learned more than I taught and received more than I sacrificed.
Was it worth it?.... Yes, I suppose it was.
I'm a perfectionist. As such, I often find myself wondering if--maybe--I've truly made the best decisions. I wonder if I should have done some things differently or better--if, in so doing, I would be better off or happier. Or if the world, in general, would be better off and happier.
I wondered about that all the time as a teacher. I wondered if, perhaps, I shouldn't have pursued a more ambitious career, because teaching always came easy. I wondered if, maybe, I shouldn't have pursued dating more--because there were many days when I'd rather have been raising my own children in place of others' children. I wondered if the sacrifices I made were truly worth embracing, because they replaced other lives I could have been living.
Maybe I'm just a weirdo who over-thinks things. But here's the real reason why I'm writing this mini-post:
Throughout my teaching career, I've come in contact with hundreds of precious little ones. Each was different and so important and so special--all in their own right. Each a twinkling little star in my eyes. I want to tell you about one of them, but--as in the case of my last post--I can't tell too much about her story. You'll just have to take my word for it.
We're going to call her Ella. Ella, when I first met her, was quiet. Shy. In fact, events in her past kept her from speaking at all. Out of fear, she never spoke. As she worked her way through the grades, all of us teachers deliberately rallied around Ella. Our first objective was to help her feel safe, and all other objectives fell in line with that. As a fourth grader, Ella participated in my math group timidly. But she participated in whispers. My dear friend, Ella's homeroom teacher, worked tirelessly to find ways to help Ella--as did Ella's fifth grade teacher. (Also a dear friend.)
Fast forward to yesterday. At our school talent show, I was shocked to see Ella's name on the list. She had signed up to sing a solo. When she got to the stage, her cousin ready to accompany on the guitar, her smile was contagious. The song began, and Ella started to sing.
I've always prided myself on being the type of person who can hide her tears until she's alone. During Ella's song, though, the tears were free flowing. Halfway through the song, I had to excuse myself to catch my breath. This little girl, whom all of us had been cheering on for so long, was singing. In front of a crowd of her peers. And she was glowing.
To anyone unaware of her story, Ella's performance would have been another act in a talent show. For those of us who knew, though, it was a testament of courage: It was evidence of Ella's incredible and inspirational growth.
So, I suppose there are two lessons to be learned from this:
First, that fear is a lie. Ella found her voice, and so can we all. None of us ever need hide from our individual challenges. Rather, in confronting our fears--whatever they may be--we find joy in the end. Even if the outcome isn't what we want, our fear won't cast a shadow over us. And we will know that we gave it everything we had. No regrets.
The second lesson is a lesson for me, I think. It's this: If teaching was a mistake, if making a series of choices that eventually lead me into Ella's path was a mistake, then it was a wonderful mistake. It wasn't all puppies and rainbows, but--for me--this path was worth it solely for Ella's performance yesterday. As it usually goes with these lessons, I recognize now that I learned more than I taught and received more than I sacrificed.
Was it worth it?.... Yes, I suppose it was.
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