It’s happened again.

Every semester, I await the first day of classes with nervous anticipation.  My last post chronicles the insecurities that incessantly nag away at my subconscious (and prevent me from precious hours of sleep).

But, without fail, when I enter the classroom, hear the introductions of students as they share a bit about themselves, watch them work together or individually on various assignments, answer their questions and begin to explore with them a subject for which I have a deep passion, I realize that this work is really my calling.

It’s a similar feeling to that which I used to feel in the middle school classroom, and that which I felt again in my work with new teachers as a literacy coach and inquiry group facilitator.  The closest thing that I can compare the feeling to is that of coming home after a long journey, except that really it is both the feeling of being home and the feeling of wanderlust combined.  Home in that I am just where I am supposed to be, and wanderlust in that I am renewed with energy to push further, climb higher, and explore ideas that I haven’t before (or at least that I haven’t with these groups of students before).

I am a teacher.

I get to make a difference every day.

And now, I get to teach teachers, who will have opportunities to make a difference each day with their students.

What an awesome privilege.  What an awesome passion….

…one that’s worth a couple sleepness nights every year.