Tuesdays are hard.
I wake up with a knot in my stomach knowing that today will be a long one. I go through my normal routine, feed the dog make lunch, try and relax for five minutes watching Brian Baumler.
Then it’s off to work for a full day of teaching which I love because it gets my mind off the rest of the day. After work, there’s a meeting. If it’s not a meeting, it’s preparing for a presentation, or planning a field trip, or marking.
Then I drive for 50 minutes to the mountain. The mountain is where I first started my post-secondary journey nearly forty years ago, taking classes in dance and psychology. It’s where I graduated with a BSc in 1999 as a single working mother with a 10 year old daughter and where I completed my post-graduate diploma in education.
It’s where I will be going on Tuesday nights and summer days to continue working on my practice. Where I will join a new community of thinkers, all who share a common passion for teaching.
When I read and write and reflect,I know that I am doing the right thing, that I am where I should be. I know that the struggle, the anxiety and the stirring in my gut is letting me know that nothing worth doing is easy (or that I need to cut down to one cup of coffee in the morning:).
But man I wish I could make it easier on myself. It’s my internal reaction to external factors that concerns me. I’m prepared, I do what’s required, I get engaged and excited. So where does the terror come from?