The End of the Tunnel

There’s three days left of school until graduation. Just THREE days. We’re at the end of the Alphabet Countdown. Graduation binders and being packed and end of the year crafts put together. Every day we take the kids out and practice our songs for graduation (with some days having more success than others). The heat is on, chaos ensues. The kids are antsy, hell, we’re antsy, going one day after another after another until we reach that coveted day: graduation. It’s not the way we want it to look exactly; previous years included bouncy houses and big cookouts and giant cakes. But hey, it’s the best we can do in a year like this. And for one thing, it’s my first real graduation.

This is the moment every teacher waits for. To see all their work throughout the year paid off, seeing their kids grow and prosper and proud of all they’ve accomplished. The smiles on the kids’ faces as they dance for their songs and the eagerness as they run up for their diplomas and presents and pictures with teachers. Knowing how far they’ve come and seeing them ready for bigger and better things as they grow. It was a wild ride. Lesson planning. Behavior managing. Dirty diaper changing. Trying to keep your own head above water in the craziness. Not to mention the other challenges this year brought along with remote learning and pandemic protocols and the like. All the agony of running and maintaining a classroom that can’t stay clean and kids that can’t stay entertained, it’s all coming to a close. The kids are ready to move on, and in a way, you are too.

The light is at the end of the tunnel. Not just with nine months of school, but also, (fingers crossed) with the pandemic too. I’ve said before how incredibly long it’s felt to be going through all of this, and yet, how looking back it seems like a year and a half has just flown out and escaped us. All of us are ready to move on. Ditch the masks. Ditch the distancing. Ditch everything. Everything about this year has been crazy and chaotic and sucked. Right?

Living in the Moment

I’m not very good at coming up with plans for the future. I’ve honestly sort of just fallen into everything I’ve ever done since high school. I didn’t necessarily plan on going to school at New Paltz. I didn’t have any idea I’d ever make it to Australia. I never would have guessed I’d be working in a preschool. But, with the world opening up again and me having been “status quo” for some time now, half of me is kind of excited to start doing some of the big stuff again. Trips across the world. Grad school. Finding a girl. Potentially even moving out someday. Granted, I haven’t done much planning any of that (and writing this, perhaps I really should), but at least I’m excited by ideas that not too long ago were somewhat unfeasible.

I’ve been wanting to be somewhere else doing something else for a while now. It’s good to feel that way, to an extent. Again, looking farther ahead isn’t something I do well or often. But when it overtakes the feeling of where you are now, that’s when it gets troublesome. And I’ve realized more and more that I’ve been wanting to hit the fast forward button on life for a while now. Talking to my friends some weeks ago, I was rambling about how much I wanted things to be over: the pandemic, the school year, spring; just about everything. I try not to be the kind of person that complains too much, but I was at a point where I’d just about had it. Maybe it was too many rainy days, too many toddler meltdowns, I don’t really know. I just know I wanted it to be over, whatever it was. It’s the question that’s been on everyone’s mind since last March: when will this be over?

But while I was carrying on about it all (apparently enough to make a bit of a scene), one woman brought herself into our conversation with some helpful advice: don’t wish your life away. Whether those were her exact words I don’t know, but it made me stop myself and think. I could wait for life to move on and things to brighten up. I could trudge through and do little else but survive best I could. Or maybe, I make the time I’m living worth it.

The Torch in the Tunnel

Imagine going into a deep, dark cave. You’re not really sure where you’re going. You’re not really sure why. As you descend further and further, the entrance of the cave that you keep turning back to becomes smaller and smaller overtime. Eventually you can’t see the world that was before. There’s only this unknown world ahead of you. At first it’s strange: damp and dripping and dreary, perhaps. But you step further and further into the darkness, torch by your side lighting the way. The light guides you, comforts you, gives you warmth and direction as you press forward. Step by step you discover that this world too, has beauty hidden beneath it. Colorful cave paintings that envelop you. Rock and mineral formations that make the Sistine Chapel jealous. Handprints of old decorating the wall, showing that you are not alone. The world of the cave isn’t the world you necessarily know and love. Yet its mysteriousness draws you, fascinates you. And with the light guiding you, you even begin to feel a sense of wonder and comfort where you never thought you could.

Now, you don’t have to be Indiana Jones and try to find treasure every time you’re in the cave. But don’t miss out on the adventure that’s there. Coming from experience, I realize now that this year has gone by so fast that I’ve almost missed it. There were a lot of difficult things, yes, but, if I look harder, there were a lot of beautiful things too. Games and cooking groups and art projects with the kids. Getting a dog that is slowly becoming more comfortable with me (he’s taking a while still but he’s come so far in four months). Spring break and trips with friends and family. Sharks and minnows. Burgers and bike rides and building a computer and little league baseball. And that’s just since my last blog.

I have a lot more optimism than I did back in March and April. Maybe warm weather helps. Maybe an end to the pandemic helps. Maybe graduation and a change of year helps. But maybe it’s simply a change of attitude that gets me going again. I want to believe that things are getting better. But I shouldn’t wait for it. I should live it.

Looking Back

Back to graduation. Is it a chance to be proud of having made it through? Yes. Is it a chance to start fresh again? Yes. Is it in some way a relief? Yes. But, more than all that, it should be a chance to appreciate the amazing year I got to have. The beauty that was within. The smiles and laughs and silliness all around. (Not including drive through graduation), this is my first real graduation and my first full year. Some of these guys have even been with me since I first started teaching. Watching them grow up over the course of two years and especially this year has been incredible. It'll be hard to watch them leave, of course. But I've absolutely loved being a teacher to these twelve amazing kids and am so thankful for this year with them. I’ve become so proud of each of them, and hope that above all I’ve been able to be a light in their lives. Experiencing the craziness of this year was, well, crazy, but I wouldn’t have wanted to do it with anyone else (also, shoutout to my coteaches, who also made this year amazing and who have become great friends).

I’ll look back on this year and be proud of my kids (and myself) for how we’ve grown and excited for the future. But I’ll also look back with fond memories of what wasn’t always a perfect or easy year. I’ll look back on this pandemic and be glad I’ve gotten out it and hopeful for what comes next. But I’ll also look back at how I managed to make the most of a chaotic time and even come to enjoy some of it. Hope for the future is certainly important. As is an ability to be proud of where you’ve come from. But also, there’s an ability to appreciate the now that is just as important. The nitty, gritty, trying and tiring now.

"Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it." -Ferris Buller, Ferris Buller's Day Off

It’s not about stopping to smell the roses. It’s about the little flowers that peek in through the cracks. It’s not about waiting for things to get better in summer. It’s about learning to enjoy the rain of spring. It’s not about the light at the end of the tunnel. It’s about stopping for a moment and looking at how beautiful it is in the inside of the cave. The limestone surrounding. The stalactites hanging from the ceiling. The paintings on the rock walls. Taking a torch and bit of light into a dark situation and seeing what beauty there is within.