I’m sitting here in my classroom- one that was so ugly when I first met it, I almost cried. It was a thousand shades of beige with ripped construction paper and borders that didn’t quite meet around bulletin boards. It had dirty walls, smeared windows and it smelled like my grandmother’s basement. It had torn posters haphazardly dangling from the last cold remnants of sticky tack, a small collection of tattered books housed in a dirty plastic bin and 10 lonely desks stood in the center of the room.
I look around now. I have brightly colored material stretched over each bulletin board, cheerful border lining each one. I have a dazzling collection of books- on Robin Hood and magic and planets and a boy named Fudge filling a wooden bookcase and labeled bins and sorted in magazine holders. I have 19 desks filled with pencils and crayola markers and papers lined with thoughts of people young enough to still be brave enough to write down their wildest ideas. I have an orchid blooming at a reading table, the Mona Lisa hangs from the wall looking down and I have three dozen gorgeously fat tulips blooming on my desk. It is a room that vibrates with potential and possibility and excitement when you enter. It is absolutely everything I ever wanted my classroom to be.
The funny thing is, I’ve been missing it. September curb stomped me, wore me down until I was nothing but a shell that rose each morning at 5:20 am and came home each evening at 4:30 pm. I’ve been crabby and tired and when I looked around my room instead of seeing the colors and flowers and solved math problems of my genius class stapled to the bulletin board, I saw unfinished marking, the need for more books, a to-do list that multiplied every second I took my eyes away. I saw everything it wasn’t instead of what it was.
I have a poster hanging in my room. It’s a Dr. Seuss quote- one of my favorites, it says
"You have brains in your head
and shoes on your feet.
You can steer yourself
in any direction you choose."
I’m so quick to tell me students they can do anything, be anyone, accomplish anything- that I’ve been forgetting that I can do the same too. I can steer myself any direction I choose- even steer myself away from a career responsible, (but soul depleting) schedule that leaves me aching for more and settling for less. And sometimes accomplishing less- spending less time at the school, quitting before the sun has left the sky, refusing to battle the photocopier one more time, is doing more. Sometimes crossing off fewer things on your to-do list (or just chucking the to-do list altogether) provides a kind of sanity you can’t find anywhere else.
Happy Birthday Dr. Seuss.
