Teaching was never a smooth ride. Some days climbed with promise, others dropped without warning, and the turns came faster than I could prepare for. Lookin g back now, it wasn’t the chaos that defined the journey—it was how much I carried away from it. And what I recognized about teaching has turned out to be true for all of life.
A school year is a strange kind of rollercoaster. You strap in, ready or not, and before you know it the chain is pulling you up that first hill. The ride starts slow—syllabus days, names to learn, new shoes squeaking on the floor. But pretty soon you’re moving.
There are days that feel like free-fall—technology breaks, lessons flop, and you wonder if anyone heard a word you said. There are sharp turns too: surprise fire drills, last-minute assemblies, and kids who come to class carrying more than just their backpacks.
Then there are the stretches that drag on forever, where nothing seems to move except the stack of papers waiting to be graded. It’s the long climb before the next drop, and you feel every click along the way.
Of course, there are also the high points. A student who finally understands a tough concept. A class that actually laughs at your witty remarks. The rare day when the whole room seems awake at the same time. Those are the moments that remind you why you got on in the first place.
And like any rollercoaster, there’s noise—plenty of it. Some of it is excitement, some of it is fear, and some of it is just the sound of gum snapping. Occasionally, somebody throws up. Teachers aren’t immune.
But eventually, the ride slows down. The lap bar pops open, the hallways grow quiet, and you wobble away—tired, a little dizzy, but glad you made it through. Summer is the pause at the gate. We breathe, rest, maybe wonder why we do this to ourselves. And then, almost without realizing it, we’re back in line, ready to climb in and start again.