It’s nice to think that maybe I have a carrying capacity for moping. So in the doctor’s waiting room today I pull out my catch-all binder– this is the one my Afghani refugee student neatly covered with Christmas wrapping paper in June two years ago, with hospital corners and invisible tape. I find my chewed up pencil and a blank sheet of looseleaf, and I’m talking to myself. “OK– we just finished this little unit on poetry, and this, this and this worked well, so I think we can revisit– ooh–what if we did this just before Thanksgiving next year? And that nonfiction essay workshop I’ve been dying to take is running in August, so I’ll be ready to implement that stuff next spring…”

And so on. Until I really remember that this is the name of the game. Some folks I know are dismayed at the idea of spending another three decades in their current employment. Me? To me it means that I have 30 years to cover my walls with books kids love, illustrations of graphic novel heroes based on figurative language, and student analyses of snarky t-shirts. To arrange poetry slams and birdwatching data collection. To take the entire 7th grade to Stratford-on-Ontario. And even if I don’t get to any of that: it’s 30 years to get as a teacher a little better, and a little better, and a little better. Truthfully: I can’t wait.

You might recognize this tune from a commerical for Toyota, featuring an adventurous wheel. Enjoy.