It's been seventeen years since I was in the classroom.
A few things have changed.
The shoes I'm willing to teach in.
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.