Is it that time of the year already? I sit behind my desk trying to figure out logistics… How much of what I had constantly put off during the year did I actually get done during the summer? Did I clear out all my drawers, did I organize my material, do I have unfinished business from last year? Have I rested enough, am I ready to believe that this year will be different and I’ll do everything better? Do I have enough to give, will I make it through another year?
We’re back at our posts as of tomorrow and, like every single year since I started teaching, I get that familiar feeling in my lower belly. I’m anxious! No, I don’t feel ready at all. I don’t feel adequately prepared to deal with everything that’s new this year, and, frankly, I don’t think I’ll ever be. There’s absolutely no guarantee that I won’t be making the same mistakes. There’s no logical reason why things will turn out different this year.
So, as always, I ask myself: How can you keep doing this? How can one deal with all these expectations, year after year? I have yet to meet a teacher who stood at the end of the school year, smiled inwardly and said: “Yes. This year, I did it all. I’m satisfied.” The truth is, most of us get harder on ourselves with each passing year. Because more experience means less excuses. And because the list of what we’ve done wrong keeps growing. And we grow older and less able to deal with disappointments and further away from our students’ experiences and a tiny bit more tired… You know, summer is blessed, it’s catharsis, it’s an absolute prerequisite. But as you get older, there’s a bit more residue left behind, your mental and emotional cleaning gear gets a bit more rusty and then it’s September 1st, sneaking up on you, catching you off guard.
Does this mean I’m not happy to be starting again tomorrow? Don’t be ridiculous, I’m thrilled! I’m only human. And that means I never learn. So I know I will lay awake tonight filled with anticipation. I won’t be able to stop smiling tomorrow morning when the corridors are reverberating with those familiar high-pitched cries. And by morning, I will have believed it: It’s going to be different this year.
