Blossoms, Petals and Morning Glory's

The sun rises and warms. Sprinkling the dew with magnificent shine. Blues meet yellows in splendor like sequins humming. It is morning and there is a newness, a subtle fragrance of beginning, that tickles my nostrils. I am excited, exhausted, and energized. A strange combination on the precipice of this day- this sunrise- this holler and quiet moment. This goodbye. I stare at the pinks and ruby that stream between the nimbus and stratus. “This is it,” I whisper. My breath is hesitant and rough from a sleepless night. But I say it louder, pushing past the hoarseness “This is it; this is it.”

 

It is chilly momentarily as each breeze encapsulates the stillness- it is whispering back. It is vibrating around me, warmth yet goosebumps- enticing me out of my dream. This street, this house, this city has been home for eight years. Three of my children graduated here, the youngest entered elementary school and is now moving to junior high. This was a home. Then mother nature swept in with water, cold and heavy- hurricanes and freezes- damage and loss. But it was still home, it was our haven.

 

Change is difficult for many- for some it presents itself loudly, beckoning frequent pivots. I appreciate the daily adjustments, the daily opportunities for growth, the mindful mayhem that finds me as I teach. But, big change, moving, letting go and starting over, has never been my cup of tea. I have taught at three schools in my twenty years- now I am heading to my fourth, my first charter school, my first mountainous city. A mile up, edged by Sandia's and wide-open skies. From sea level to the mountain edge, I go- and I am ready.

 

We have all been through a tumultuous year. Many have asked me why now, as our lives open up temporarily- why now do I venture to a new place? I often ask myself this question, now that I have travelled the distance and settled in Albuquerque. My only answer is, I felt it in my gut, in my soul that I needed to go. That something frustrating, stressful and beautiful awaited me. That I would stumble and fall between the sharpness of tumbleweeds and cacti - but that after- I would see the blossoms, petals and morning glories.

 

I am blessed to be able to move and buy a house- find a school I am eager to become a part of. I am lucky my family was ready to navigate the bumpy terrain with me. Uprooting and replanting in a new city, state, neighborhood. Quiet and energetic this place is thriving in its way. It is not expansive, yet it feels like it covers the desert. This high desert that is now my home. First week of school has passed- with flavor and grace- and a little mayhem. Like any other first week of school, it was full of adjustment and relationship building. Some isolation and anxiety. But positivity and optimism surrounded me.

 

I think that the most unbalancing thing was feeling alone. No common planning, so flex time is isolating. I am near the flex/cafeteria space and as much as I felt cordoned off, the din was constant- making it feel like I was on the outside looking in. A strange combination, in a new place, a new classroom, a new city. But I embraced this discordance- I focused on the juxtaposition and created my own rhythm. My cadence, my big band instrumental, merging with the calm sensation of solo guitar. This merge, this semblance of my tune.

 

I love to teach; my heart is one of an educator. I see my role and I embrace it. I want to be a part of a classroom where students need me- where I need them just as much. Conversations peaking and swirling around personal, content and mindfulness. I seek those moments where I can make a difference- eye contact from a mask covered face, corny jokes, stories of adversity and fulfillment. Listening intently to their tales of on-line learning and isolation. They remind me - I am just like them. Finding my niche, searching for my place. I love this time- and yet it still feels surreal- this space, not familiar. But isn’t that what shapes us? Unfamiliarity.

 

As we all enter new schools, new beginnings, familiar classrooms, or unfamiliar ones- we must remember we are not alone. Students feel apprehension as well. They need a smile from behind the mask- they can feel it beneath the cloth. They need our eyes locked with theirs, seeing them as the beautiful, unique people they are. We need to be ourselves, show them the genuine us. They do not want the facade- they want the real, the true, the glorious magnificence of the sprinkle, sparkle and sequin.

 

I can see my comfort expanding. I feel the sense of familiarity upon me. An eagerness bubbles inside, hindered only by my fear. I have always been a stranger in a sea of connectedness. People do not actively seek me out. I have always been alright with this. It is wonderful how my friends from afar are reaching out. Remembering me. Calming my nerves. I feel the tether back to them- strong and loving. I know there will be a new web of friendships here- time strengthens threads. For now- I will focus on them- the reason for my move- my students. Opportunities 44 days long to meet and bond before another population loads.

 

The clouds roll over the Sandia’s- a hello from mother nature. Pink and ruby glowing from within. It is a sight to see at the sunrise. Reminding me I am no longer there, but here. That this elevation is different. This space is new and fresh and inviting. That sunrises are unique every morning and if we take the time to really look- we can see a reflection of ourselves in their bursting, luminous, brightness. They tickle the senses, warm our spirit and light the way for opportunity to find us.

 

Between me and the mountains lies desert, appearing barren yet full of life- blossoms on cacti, petals intertwining with the sand, blanketing the earth with a tapestry of renewal. The morning glory of the beginning I set out on- willingly. Reminding me of that morning just a month ago- excited, exhausted, and energized. The fragrance of this day is different, the air a little thinner, the clouds more vibrant. I whisper, “This is it; this is it.” I made my pivot, I started over, and my voice no longer hoarse- sounds clearer now. Filled with hope and wonder and from within me- a tune, a hum, a song- I am just beginning to write.