Today has me looking back over posts that were never published. Of all of them, this one has stayed with me for months, tugging on my sleeve like an patient child:
It was a Tuesday that felt like a Monday. To be sure, it was the day after Labor Day, the kind of day that requires that you squeeze all the headaches of a Monday and the to-dos of a Tuesday into one 24-hour period. The day started when I walked through the door of my classroom and froze trying to find my starting place in all the work I had laid out over the long weekend. It was a kind of panic I had yet to experience this year. And that was before the kids walked in the door.
Then it was a day of “I’ll wait”s and “Let’s try that again”s. The kids were tired. I came unraveled.
It was a day where I slumped into Diana’s office for my pre-evaluation conference and confessed, “I’m not sure I know what I’m doing.”
She asked the kind of questions that only a coach could, helping me get to the heart of the matter.
Could I? Should I? Would I?
She looked across the desk and threw me a lifeline: “You do know what to do,” she said. “So do it. Just teach. Teach with abandon.”
Huh. Teach with abandon. It’s been with me ever since. Just like the conversation that opened me up to the world of making space, this one is life-changing.
Today, as I look forward to the new year, I can’t stop thinking about the other ways this applies. Write. Paint. Play. Love. Live. All with abandon. The worry—the could’ve, should’ve, would’ve worry—melts away. Or rather, gets left behind. Left with a sense of—you guessed it—abandon.