Mediocrity

There's nothing quite like being a first-year teacher to promote a healthy sense of humility. I guess it goes to show just how absurdly privileged my life has been, but the times I've had to settle for being merely mediocre at anything have been few and far between. And now there is teaching.

There are days when I feel entirely overwhelmed, like it's all one big act, just pretending to know what I'm doing and praying the kids don't see through me. No matter how hard I work, there's always more I could be doing, should be doing. I want to be extraordinary right away, and it frustrates me to no end that I simply can't be. I waver back and forth between feeling like a very competent, talented teacher and like I'll never be able to get to where I want to be. Truth is, those two aren't as mutually exclusive as they might seem.

That's the thing about teaching: you can be exceptional, phenomenal, the best there is, and you'll still be thinking every night about a dozen things you should be doing better. I could spend every waking hour doing nothing but planning and prepping and teaching and reflecting and grading and analyzing, and it still wouldn't be enough. Plus I would've lost my sanity--not to mention my enjoyment of teaching--long ago, and if that were the case, my kids would hate my class because I would too. So I stay late at school, but I come home and cook and talk and write and visit and play soccer and tennis and violin, knowing that even if I can't be an extraordinary teacher overnight, achieving any sort of well-balanced life in this first year is pretty extraordinary in and of itself.