A former colleague posted this picture to my Facebook timeline today (thanks, Erika!), and it stirred so many feelings and reflections for me. This was taken in the spring of 2006. Ten years ago. I was 25.
My eyes immediately went to the superficial: My physical appearance. My hair hasn't been that short since. This cut was the result of poor communication in the salon, and I was really self-conscious about it. Looking back, I love its sense of ease and fun. My trusty Chucks. How many identical pairs have I worn through and bought since? Sunglasses cover much of my face, but I can see that it is unlined. I'm tempted to focus on the size of my pants - I loved these pants! They had a drawstring! - but, as my best friend is quick to remind me, this happened to be around the time I was first made aware of my anxiety disorder and, consequently, I wasn't eating much. It's not good to use my body at this point as any kind of benchmark for health.
This photo was taken at the end of my first year teaching, at my first school of employment. I began the year not feeling like I quite knew what I was doing with my life. But by this point, I was all in. I'd found my vocation.
I'd also found my husband, although I didn't know it yet. He'd come into my life probably mere weeks before this photo was taken. I'd temporarily put on hold my plans for grad school in Boston so that I could see where the relationship took us. Well, I didn't move to Boston. Ever.
Looking at this photo, I can't help but think of all that has happened in ten years' space: The milestones, the losses, the accomplishments. The people! I've since borne two children who simply did not exist in the world at the time of this photo. My brain can't quite wrap around this fact. And, although I struggle with the idea of "everything for a reason," this photo sure makes it seem plausible.
Probably my favorite part of this photo, though, is the interaction that is happening. This student of mine was three at the time. I still had a lot to learn and a lot of growing to do in my role as early childhood educator. But his little form is completely relaxed and confident in our shared space, in the soft grass under an expansive tree. We are talking - I don't recall the topic - but we are connected. Our faces turned towards one another. Our postures open. We are simply enjoying one another's company.
So often, I hear about how "cute" my students are. And yes, I suppose they are. But I forget about their "cuteness." I forget it because their personalities are so big. Their feelings, their thoughts, their moods are all life-sized. Fully human, fully present. Regardless of their age, they are my co-workers. They're people.
I love that, if I mentally crop out the student in this photo, I could be talking to a close friend. A precious fellow human, along for the ride. Really, that's all we students and teachers are. That's what this photo is. Just a couple of people.
Enjoying the shade of a tree.
My eyes immediately went to the superficial: My physical appearance. My hair hasn't been that short since. This cut was the result of poor communication in the salon, and I was really self-conscious about it. Looking back, I love its sense of ease and fun. My trusty Chucks. How many identical pairs have I worn through and bought since? Sunglasses cover much of my face, but I can see that it is unlined. I'm tempted to focus on the size of my pants - I loved these pants! They had a drawstring! - but, as my best friend is quick to remind me, this happened to be around the time I was first made aware of my anxiety disorder and, consequently, I wasn't eating much. It's not good to use my body at this point as any kind of benchmark for health.
This photo was taken at the end of my first year teaching, at my first school of employment. I began the year not feeling like I quite knew what I was doing with my life. But by this point, I was all in. I'd found my vocation.
I'd also found my husband, although I didn't know it yet. He'd come into my life probably mere weeks before this photo was taken. I'd temporarily put on hold my plans for grad school in Boston so that I could see where the relationship took us. Well, I didn't move to Boston. Ever.
Looking at this photo, I can't help but think of all that has happened in ten years' space: The milestones, the losses, the accomplishments. The people! I've since borne two children who simply did not exist in the world at the time of this photo. My brain can't quite wrap around this fact. And, although I struggle with the idea of "everything for a reason," this photo sure makes it seem plausible.
Probably my favorite part of this photo, though, is the interaction that is happening. This student of mine was three at the time. I still had a lot to learn and a lot of growing to do in my role as early childhood educator. But his little form is completely relaxed and confident in our shared space, in the soft grass under an expansive tree. We are talking - I don't recall the topic - but we are connected. Our faces turned towards one another. Our postures open. We are simply enjoying one another's company.
So often, I hear about how "cute" my students are. And yes, I suppose they are. But I forget about their "cuteness." I forget it because their personalities are so big. Their feelings, their thoughts, their moods are all life-sized. Fully human, fully present. Regardless of their age, they are my co-workers. They're people.
I love that, if I mentally crop out the student in this photo, I could be talking to a close friend. A precious fellow human, along for the ride. Really, that's all we students and teachers are. That's what this photo is. Just a couple of people.
Enjoying the shade of a tree.
