Once A Teacher, Always a Teacher.

It’s been seventeen years since I was in the classroom.

A few things have changed.
The shoes I’m willing to teach in.
Smart phones.
Pronouns.
Adjustments for a pandemic.
Protocol for lockdowns.
My last name.

Many things haven’t changed.
I still love it with every bit of my being.

When I observed my own spark and energy, my therapist pointed out: this is the first time in twenty years that I’m returning to something that I know.  For the last two decades, everything has been new.

I had never had a baby.

I had never had two babies.

I had never been a widow.

I had never written a book.

I had never written a book, again.  (Like a child, each one is different.)

I had never been a single mom.

I had never been married a second time.

Never had I ever.

And now I’m back in my lane.

Turns out, it’s like riding a bike.

It’s like falling off a log.

I know how to do this.

I feel like a fish in the sea.
I feel like a star in the sky.

I’m where I’m meant to be.

“What if somebody thinks you gave up on writing books?”

You can tell them I didn’t.

I didn’t give up – or give up on – anything.

I’m still writing the books, with two underway as I write this sentence.

I used to say, “I’m a teacher by trade and a writer by love.”

Turns out, I’m both now – by trade, and by love.

But I will say this…

I got invited to two first graders’ birthday parties this week.

And that’s higher praise than any Amazon review.