Sometimes, I'll do this at the least opportune moment so that I can feel awful when I'm, let's say, teaching a classroom full of students and can't possibly have the meltdown or pity party I want to have right at that moment.
Sometimes, I forget who I am, what I've accomplished, and what really matters and will ask the heavens in a shaky little voice, "Why am I here?"
The question ridiculously implies that I've had no control whatsoever over my past decisions and that some Greater Being just plopped me down into a completely foreign place. And I think we both know that's not true.
And it's on days like those that I am grateful for little signposts.
The night of my stupidity and comparison relapse I decided to take my dinner break in the classroom. Almost all the students headed to the cafeteria and only one student stayed behind, pretending to not be hungry while surfing the internet. I began to chat with my left behind student about his low grade in my class and told him he was too smart to be failing when he turned around and with big eyes began to pour his little heart out to me about his personal life.
I let him talk and talk until he ran out of words about his hometown, how much he missed his family who moved away to the other side of the world the minute he left home, and how scary real life is for an eighteen year old kid. We talked about my first time away from home and how frightening it was to only be two weeks out of the house when 9/11 disrupted the world's plans and America's comfort level. I told him how it's always rough to be someplace new for at least the first six months. And he smiled. And he told me that I was right, he really was too smart to be failing my class.
He smiled. And he knew he was smart.
That was all I needed. I knew why I was there. I had always known, but sometimes I just need those little signposts, those little messages that tell you you're right where you are supposed to be and all is as it should be.
