…I have so far. The first day and first week of my first year of teaching have passed, and I am, in a word, exhausted. I really can’t let my weekends go this unproductively henceforth– but after clearing this initial hurdle, I wanted to relax. I did get in a bit of grading this weekend, but I’m not where I wanted to be– which is nothing new. This profession will force me to become better organized, which I desperately need to be, in all avenues of my life. I’m already tired of being at school past 6 p.m., long after everyone else but the second-shift custodian has vacated the building. Thursday, merely the third day of school, was Back-to-School Night. Facing the parents scared me more than facing the students, frankly, but I put on my professional front, blabbed a lot, and gave little indication of my inexperience, I believe. I got home just after 9 that night, but actually escaped at only 5:50 Friday afternoon.

I keep telling myself you’re pulling it together, you’ll be fine, and just wait ’til next year: it will all be so much easier. The horrible thing about your first year is that everything is, well, a first: you’re having to make it all up from scratch. This is not to say that I have not been supported, because I have, wonderfully; other teachers have showered me with materials as well as advice, even giving me their weekly plans and inviting me to follow along. That’s a relief, to be sure, but just having the materials in your hands doesn’t tell you how to teach with them. All the resources in the world don’t change the fact that when class time comes, it’s just you, the lone professional, the singular voice of authority in the room, the only one who can determine if the next 52 minutes will be a success.

I’m tired, but I’m not complaining. I love my job. I have no doubts that I made the right decision for my career; the only thing being tested is my resolve. I will survive, and moreover, I will thrive. And so will my students.