Reflections at mid year

We've made it half way through our first year in Paraguay! There have been many changes, adjustments, and struggles, but it's finally beginning to feel like home.  As we returned from vacation, I heard over and over again from colleagues, "I missed you!"  and I could respond sincerely that I missed them too.  We giddily shared our vacation stories from around the world (literally) and were amazed at each other's adventures.  

 As happens each year, I was feeling annoyed, frustrated, and, let's be honest-just plain grumpy as the holidays and summer break drew near.  That time of year is particularly trying for all teachers and I was counting the days until it was time for a break. This is always the time of the year when I feel inadequate at my job and tired of feeling like I'm beating my head against the same brick wall over and over.  Some of the frustrations at this job are different than what I've felt in the past and I found myself feeling pretty negative about my job and our choice to move to another country.  After hearing from friends in the US about their teaching struggles, I realized that I missed those particular struggles and that my negativity was stemming from the fact that I felt like I was not making any impact in my student's lives here.  At my worst point, I decided I hated teaching rich kids.  For my whole career, I've worked with students who have every disadvantage and here, it's truly the opposite. I was having a hard time reconciling my passion for teaching struggling kids with working with a group of students that is bound for success no matter what I do.   I left for vacation feeling ineffective and burned out.

 I relished my vacation time-the first time in my career that my summer vacation was truly mine.  I honestly did not think about my job.  The vacation was long enough that I could take both a physical and emotional break from my work.  And then it was back to school and to a new semester.  

On the night before school started again, I happened upon this blog post from a teacher I follow, 
(You can read it here: What Students Remember Most) that is written as a letter of advice to the new teacher down the hall.  As I read, I came back several times to this section:

"I told you to remember that at the end of the day, it’s not about the lesson plan. It’s not about the fancy stuff we teachers make — the crafts we do, the stories we read, the papers we laminate. No, that’s not really it. That’s not what matters most.

And as I looked at you there wearing all that worry under all that strain, I said it’s about being there for your kids. Because at the end of the day, most students won’t remember what amazing lesson plans you’ve created. They won’t remember how organized your bulletin boards are. How straight and neat are the desk rows.

But they will remember you.

 Your kindness. Your empathy. Your care and concern. They’ll remember that you took the time to listen. That you stopped to ask them how they were. How they really were. They’ll remember the personal stories you tell about your life: your home, your pets, your kids. They’ll remember your laugh. They’ll remember that you sat and talked with them while they ate their lunch."

After reading this, I realized (which I suppose was obvious all along) that all kids need someone to be their champion, to challenge them, to support them, and to help them understand their choices in life.  While their struggles may be miles away from the ones I'm used to dealing with, my students here still need a teacher to push, question, empathize, and encourage.  My role is important, sometimes probably more than I realize; and teaching, real teaching, stripped down of all it's layers, is at it's core about building a relationship.

So, I started the first day of the new semester with this in my head and in my heart, and that heavy weight of inadequacy lifted off my shoulders.  I have a renewed sense of purpose in my work and plan to re-read this teacher's blog post any time I'm feeling frustrated this semester.

It's been a great first week.