When Hurricane Harvey swept Houston’s Bay Area, I didn’t lose everything, but the storm unsettled me. Returning to class two weeks later, I faced students carrying grief far heavier than mine. Had I suffered a major loss like so many others, maybe the words would come easier. Monday couldn’t just be about economics—it had to be about steady ground and hope.
I spent years chasing the next season—summer break, holidays, even retirement—as if joy was always waiting just around the corner. Too often, those moments fell short of the anticipation. With time, I’ve learned the best days aren’t out ahead. Joy shows up in the ones we’re already living.
In a neighborhood of big houses, our modest starter home became the gathering spot for our boys’ friends. Maybe it wasn’t the square footage, but the warmth. Contentment isn’t in extravagance—it’s found in the quiet places that feel like home.
Tomorrow begins my 24th year of teaching, yet I still remember the first hour of my first day—hands shaking, voice thin, wondering what I was doing there. Since then, the classroom has been both a crucible and a gift: seasons of exhaustion, unexpected laughter, heartbreak, and joy. I’ve taught lessons in economics and literature, but life always had lessons waiting for me too. Students grow, but so do teachers—shaped by storms, successes, and the steady rhythm of showing up. This journey has never been perfect, but it has always been worth it.