You start today!

Follow ​Journal of an Evolving Teacher on social media!

---

“You start today.”

The news came two weeks early. I stood in the middle of a classroom in constant motion, the eye of a hurricane swirling with the momentum of eighteen six-year-old bodies. I was only supposed to substitute for the morning. I didn’t bring lunch. Would I just not eat? What about tomorrow? I don’t know where anything is. I’m supposed to be a calm stoic figure, a leader, the one who knows what comes next. Those three words spun my path, my direction. Where do I step now? 

The school’s secretary was the messenger. She delivered it with a hypnotizing repose, her bouncy gray-blonde wavy hair brushing against her cheekbones when she smiled. For just a moment, we stood together in the quiet. She reassured me without a single word exchanged: "Make it through today. We’ll take on tomorrow when today is done." And I did.
​

. . .

My heart is finally at rest for the first time in three days.

I’m sitting at a table for four at a coffee shop surrounded by Cedar trees in Two Harbors. Soph, one of my childhood best friends, sits across from me at the wooden table that accentuates the artisan vibe. Expressionist panoramas of birch wood and thematic portraits of Lake Superior hang behind her.

She chats away about her current art inspirations and the new fantasy book covers she wants to collect. I relinquish myself to her passionate rabbit hole about the updated Percy Jackson series covers. We scroll on Amazon, and she names V.E. Schwab and Ann Liang as her favorite authors. I make a mental note to look them up when I get home.

She requires my full attention. If I falter, I lose my place in the conversation’s underground labyrinth of invented worlds. I follow along the best I can. But I am so happy. I forget, now over a hundred miles away from home, about the weight on my shoulders, the tightness in my chest going to bed, the heaviness behind my eyes.

Whenever I have been left alone to my thoughts this week, they cycle back to what lies waiting in the classroom for me on Monday morning. It is a constant game of throwing boomerangs – one I don’t want to play, but every time I turn away, I get thwapped! on the head of another thing to add to my to-do list. 

But there is something about the North Shore that makes me forget. The distance, the separation, the quiet, the tranquility of the lake. I told Soph on the car ride from Duluth that winter in the North entices me to rest, cozy up by the fireplace, and drink chamomile tea while talking about our dreams and upcoming European getaways. 

My creativity flows with the silenced rush of a frozen waterfall. The motivation that was buried deep during the work week bursts open through an opening in the ice, flooding my mind with renewed energy and ideas I scribble down in my phone’s notes app before I forget. 

Forgetting: that’s been a looming fear of mine recently. The threat of forgetting a task, my past, or my community in Uruguay taunts me to tears. After coming home from school on Wednesday, I started to cry standing in the kitchen, winter coat hanging off of one shoulder. My lock screen of white roses covered in notifications of audio messages from Flor triggered the guilt of not initiating the next exchange. Mom ran towards me holding her hands out in desperation. Stop!

“Meghan, you are not going to forget,” she advised, her tone firm, gaze unwavering. I nodded my head in agreement, slightly stunned and blinking away tears. But she’s right: I am not going to forget. How can I?

In the past three days, my life has taken a 180 degree turn. I went from sleeping in until 9:00 a.m. every day to waking up at 5:30 or 6:00 a.m. I pivoted from not living by a schedule, most weekday afternoons spent at coffee shops or friends’ houses to working full time and coming home as the sun set. I was angry, really angry, at the carpet being ripped from under me. I lost my footing but had to gracefully regain it along with the responsibility of teaching mid-school year. 

But no, this was what I signed up for. Who am I if not an expert in overcoming the unexpected?
Living abroad for eight months was nothing but preparation for this moment. But this unexpected change was different because it occurred at home in Minnesota, my base for comfort and familiarity. I was not prepared for the unexpected this time. Regardless I took the reins of the bucking horse and held steady. 

Thwap over the head. Thwap over the head. Thwap over the head. I ground myself with gratitude in the supportive team and secretary that caught me from spiraling down the cycle of anxiety. They softened the blows. Despite the intense fear and deafening thoughts on the unlimited checklist I couldn’t fully picture, I know the unexpected happened in the best place.

---

Did you enjoy this post?

Consider sending a Venmo payment to the Journal of an Evolving Teacher business page!

I spend at least three hours on every blog post, from writing the first draft to creating accompanying graphics for social media. Your small contribution will compensate for all the work that makes this blog possible. Thank you!

Venmo

@journalofanevolvingteacher

---

Thanks for joining in the chaos!