An excerpt:
You fail to picture yourself in the moments of success, of happiness, but let’s try: you’re at the helm of the classroom, conducting a lesson that’s actually working. The kids are getting it; they’re into it, they’re laughing, they’re talking, they’re working together in the groups you reluctantly put them into because you always hated groupwork but they seem to like it. You’re doing it, you’re teaching without ever studying the art, you’re flying on that highwire that you love so much, the sweat running down your back, the what-ifs, the I-cans. You’re rock-hopping for sure but this is the good kind, the kind that leaves you gasping with accomplishment.
You have these moments, more than just moments really, mornings, afternoons too sometimes. Entire days when you’re lucky, which sometimes you are. Why do we fail to pay attention to these times? How come they don’t rise to the level of our consciousness? Maybe it’s not a we thing; maybe it’s just you. You keep a running fucking database of perceived insults, of embarrassments. You can name them off without even thinking. But the victories? They’re hidden down deep where you couldn’t find them if you wanted to. It’s a fucked-up parfait of sorts, the layering intricate and stupid all at once. You don’t want to dip a spoon in there. You may find yourself happy.
You wouldn’t want that.
No comments:
Post a Comment