There's this poem that I read to my students at the beginning of the year, you know, that time when we're all in the awkward getting-to-know-one-another phase. I hate ice-breakers, but writing - I like. Nothing but pure emotion scribbled in a spiral notebook, a safe-haven, where frustrations, triumphs and inadequate thoughts are hidden from the brutal confines of the "real world."
Trust yourself. Believe in your words - they have a purpose. My lecture becomes somewhat of a sermon, students looking bewildered, like "What the hell, Miss?" But then we read. We read passionately. And all the sudden, we unlock the doors to our hearts and let the feelings flow with our pens.
Today, a students whined, "When are we going to write stuff like we used to write?" For once, I was speechless. Almost. I blamed it on the strict curriculum. Teaching to the test. I placed blame on everything but myself. But I knew I was the one who had failed them.
"Get it, girl." A quote from a poem a student wrote back in September. I didn't get it anymore. Or perhaps I just forgot that I had it?
So I went for a run. Alone. And I thought about what I had "missed" with my students. I thought about the areas of my life where I "get it" all the time - is that possible? Does it happen?
I didn't come to a conclusion. But I'll get there. And in the meantime, I'll be content with the aspects of my life that, for the time being, I "get." Because life is too short to over-analyze - that I get.