11 Years Later . . .

When I graduated college, I really thought I could juggle writing a blog, teaching and writing novels.

Ah, the ripe naivite of being 21 years old.

I was passionate and ready to conquer the world back then. I had the passion for reading and writing and really thought these kids just needed some help to read. Then reality slapped me across the face so hard my neck cracked back. It was harsh, cruel but just what I needed to see that things are never so simple.

So you may wonder, what's with the title? 11 years later since when?

Since I stopped writing. I was still teaching, writing and reading, but I stopped writing a blog. Then I would say eight years later, I just stopped writing altogether. I'm sure you know how the story goes.

I just need to focus on my career, my students, my loved ones, and etc. You make all of the excuses in the world that sound good and feel right at the time. You try to fool yourself with telling yourself, hey I'll get back to it. But right now, I have to do this.

This is what adults do. We prioritize, we put the important things first.

And yet, every time I saw a student write beautiful, well crafted sentences, my heart would sing. It lit a fire into my soul and just made me so happy. But it would mourn for the time when I too could make sentences weave amazing pictures into readers head.

But then something else would come up. It's always something more important.

It's just easier to lay your own desires aside for the common good. That's what we do as teachers. We fight for our students and sacrifice for the greater good. We are martyrs for our students. Don't even get me started on the education system and how it is built on the blood, tears and ashes of burnt sacrifices. If we could just do this, then our students will finally learn whatever it is the test says our students need to learn.

We don't need time with our family. That can wait. I have to craft the perfect lesson and just sacrifice a little bit of time. It will be worth it.

Will it? When has it ever been worth it?

Time doesn't care about the students, lesson plans, grades, or principal. All it does is move forward, with or without you.

And here we are together once again. 11 years since I stopped writing and you'll laugh. There's only one reason why I am picking this up again: Time.

Okay, fine. It's not time. Even though it would have been poetic and just the right story beat for a movie. It was a class. A writing class. It was such a simple assignment. 7 of the most important events of your life. I started off with the easy stuff, but the more I wrote, the more I remembered. The more I remembered, my heart started to sing that same melody from five years ago.

Remember what it is like to write? Don't you miss it?

Tears rolled down my cheeks. A sudden intake of breath and suddenly the answer was clear: Yes, I do remember. I remember it all.

I remember when I first started to write and how free it felt to finally put my emotions into words. I felt free. I felt like I was flying and finally able to just be me. There's nothing quite like it. I had a voice. I had rthythm and rhyme. And it was all mine.

I couldn't help it. I'm a poet.

I remember that feeling so well and when I finally shared my poetry for the first time, out loud. It was magical.

Scary, but magical all the same. There is something so special about writing.

And yet here we are. I'm forced to write a blog about the special times in my life, and the most special one I could think of is the time I put the pen down. When I stopped writing and stopped thinking about writing. I would praise numerous students for their talent and they way they put words together. My heart would sing and the question would rise, but I would stuff it away. Praise the student, encourage them, remind them that they have a talent that can't go to waste.

Don't repeat my failures. Don't be like me.

It was a sacred whisper. A desperate hope to prevent them from turning from their gifts. Or simply using their gifts to craft witty emails and text messages to love ones. I'm sure they appreciate it, but it's not the same as writing a novel from scratch. Or finding the perfect word that rhymes with the previous one. Or writing a complete poem and your heart sighs with relief that all of those words are perfectly encapturing what was said. What was done. What you are feeling. There's nothing quite like it.

I just wanted my sacrifices to be worth it, but looking back, it wasn't. Sure, I don't regret encouraging my students, but I do regret putting my pen down.

Now don't give me that look. I'm not promising to keep my pen raised forever and ever. This is how I ended up in this mess in the first place, this endless cycle of praise, wonder, mourning, writing and putting it down. I have to do something different this time.

Just what?