Thanksgiving Break

Every day I try to open my apartment with my classroom key. I pull staplers out of my backpack and slinkys out of my pockets. When I open google docs, I automatically open the detention submission form when I’m looking for something else. Everything I do, therefore, is a confirmation that teaching has completely taken over my life.

I used to take for granted how wonderful it was to only worry about my education—and no one else’s. The first month of teaching has been really, really, really hard, and I increasingly realize that I had no idea what it meant to be a teacher. I work longer hours, juggle more things mentally, and perform more impromptu public speaking than I had ever thought myself capable of.

My life here is so completely different than I had imagined. The school year is flying by, and yet I ask myself, how the hell am I going to make it until May? I do feel pretty isolated, and sometimes it feels like my life is simply back-and-forth—school-to-home-and-back-once-more. A sprint to Friday. A short breath in until Monday.

As a solace, I imagine Thanksgiving break, Christmas break, summer break, and life-post-TFA. Not exactly positive thinking, huh? I can’t get over the feeling that I’m in an interim period, even though I’m getting increasingly settled in every day.

I know the route to school like the back of my hand. I’ve developed a mental map of fast food and Target locations; I’ve slipped into a routine rather naturally. But I can’t deny that when I get home and slip off my watch—a new acquisition for teaching—I wish that time could stop dictating my life. I work more than I should, sleep less than I should, and carefully budget the minutes of every step of the day: will I make it to school on-time? Give students enough time to access their lockers? Enough time to complete the short writing assignment? Enough time to share with a partner, to take the exit ticket, to clean up their materials, to learn the material? I carefully budget time, endlessly, ceaselessly, so that I am ever so cognizant of the fact that I do not have enough time. Never enough.

Sometimes it feels as though the days drag on and on and on and then the weeks fly by. I keep hearing, “If you can make it to Thanksgiving, you can survive this year.” Well, I sure hope Thanksgiving will arrive quickly.

Currently I’m squeezing in doctor appointments, searching for a couch, slipping in a few last beach days before fall completely sets in, planning a unit, reorganizing seating charts, searching for vocab words, and scouting out flights home for Christmas. It feels like a maze of tasks that I am doomed to leave unfinished.

Yet, I try to reassure myself. My tummy has calmed down a bit as I head to school; my body has accustomed itself (mostly) to standing for long periods; my voice is gaining endurance; my nerves and confidence are learning to withstand the threat of teenage comments. Gradually, gradually I am becoming used to this new life of mine. How I hope that my teaching will show these steps forward and feel increasingly "right."

51 days. That’s all that stands between me and my supposed guaranteed survival as a first-year teacher.

But who’s counting the days, right?