Wait, I am grown up.
But there is still a lot of growing that I have to do, and learning.
It’s not that I want to give up on teaching. I read some statistics in my paper the other day. More than half of the residents in CT’s capital can’t read beyond a basic (elementary) level. Those sort of statistics scare me. They make me think of places other than America, foreign countries maybe, places without education systems. They make me wonder about bigger cities like NYC or LA and what the numbers are there. I guess that’s why I want to teach. Not because I think I have superpowers,or think i’m better or more capable, and definitely not because I want to change the world. I just want people to be literate. I want them to be able to read and write and think for themselves. I like the uncertainty of teaching; the never knowing what to expect; the seeing people change and grow and be before your eyes. I like the moments of teaching, the try/fail/try again moments of teaching.
But I still do want to write. Every book I read makes me itchy. Not scratch myself itchy, but the dreams deferred kind of itchy. The gnawing feeling that I should be doing more than what I’m doing. It’s not the same burning desire I had when I was younger, but it’s still there.
But those are occupations. And I want to be employed, but…
What I really want, more than anything, is to be strong and brave and truly myself in every moment. I want to be compassionate and confident and curious and aware. I want to live every moment to its fullest, even when its scary. I want to give. I want to see what’s right in front of my face and to never take for granted the meaningful moments with my family and friends. I want to remember where I came from. I want to be happy where I am.
I want to be a complete person today, tomorrow, and the day after that.