Six years ago, the butterflies wouldn't settle. You know the feeling where your stomach feels like it is being separated from the rest of your insides as that flutter perpetually persists? There was nothing that I could do that morning to calm my nerves. I tried drinking a diet Coke (which I never do in the morning), but the caffeine didn't work. I tried taking a deep breath, but the butterflies still were dancing a fierce waltz. I had done this for a dozen years before; why was the first day of school so hard this year? For one, I was teaching IB English for the first time. I knew going into it that these students were so incredibly smart yet sometimes judgmental of new teachers. At least that's what I had been told. I don't remember my lesson that day, but I do remember a boy in the back of my classroom with his hand raised before I even started. "Yes?" I asked him.
"How long have you taught IB English?" he asked, arrogantly. It was the kind of question that I could tell he already knew the answer to.
"There's a first time for everything. This is my first at IB," I stated meekly. And there were the butterflies. My lack of confidence propelled me backwards. I didn't know how I would face those kids the next day and the day after that when they clearly had no faith in a teacher who had never taught the course. I was uncomfortable.
Yet, that year, I learned that sometimes we need to take a step oustide of our comfort zones. If we never take chances, if we are always comfortable with where we are and what we're doing, we will never see change and progress and growth. In a poem by T.S. Eliot called, "The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock," Eliot writes, "Do I dare? Do I dare disturb the universe?" Later in the poem, he talks about measuring his life in coffee spoons. In other words, do we go about our daily lives making a large impact in what we do or do we just go along with the monotony of life--the coffee spoons? That first year of teaching IB English was a challenge for me, but I grew as a teacher in doing so because I dared to disturb the universe, because I stepped out of my comfort zone. For those of you in that first class (who incidentally are rising seniors in college), I hope I did you justice and prepared you well! And to the bold young man who asked about my tenure in teaching IB, I applaud you now. That took courage to ask me that; I didn't like the question at the time, but I so appreciate it now.
The past few weeks I've had to remind myself of this idea of stepping outside of my comfort zone. I recently was asked to participate in a video to be shown for our opening school convocation. If any of you know me well, I can't stand being the center of attention. The mere mention of my name in a crowd makes me uncomfortable. It always has. I watch people receive awards with confidence or truly enjoy the spotlight, but I would rather just be another brick in the wall, another face in the crowd. It's not that I don't want to be awarded; I'm just better at focusing attention on others. I've always been shy--painfully shy years ago. I've actually done a lot to overcome that. Our world teaches us to always be front and center and in the spotlight. I watch so many people comfortable there. I'm just not. I never will be. I found myself in the spotlight more often than not this year for various reasons (I even have a fat head of myself from Mr. AHS thanks to one of you to remind me of that feeling).
The spotlight will always make me more than uncomfortable. So, when I was asked to do this video, I was hesitant--not only because it is a video that the entire school division would see but because I had to sing in the video. Honestly, I love to sing...in the shower, at home, in my car with the windows rolled down, but singing in public on a video that every teacher, administrator, school board member in Hanover County would see is not my style. I did it, though. And while I bribed the communications specialist to edit me out of every shot, I am proud for doing something that made me more than uncomfortable. I learned that one of my strengths in this whole thing is that I may not have a voice but I do have a sense of humor. My face hurt from laughing when we filmed that video. And I'm sure it will be bright red when I have to actually watch it among my Atlee colleagues in a week.
I also found myself courageously in an online writing course last weekend. I've never taken an online course, but I signed up for this one willingly; I have had this lifelong dream to publish my writing one day and was hoping this course could be a catalyst for that goal that still sounds more like a farfetched dream than a reality. It was one of those courses where I watched a live stream of the teacher in the course, and on the side was a panel where the students in the course could discuss information and share writing. My shyness really made this a challenge at reaching out to others online who I didn't know just to share my writing. It put me in a vulnerable position. I watched as instant "friends" were made and Twitter handles were shared. Some students in the course had already written their novels. Some wrote poetry. I was the only English teacher-want-to-be writer. Yet what I got from that class was an affirmation to keep writing even when it's hard or makes me feel vulnerable. I also have so many ideas for my classes this year. Get ready to write if you are headed my way!
Perhaps the day that put me most out of my comfort zone, though, was the day spent at King's Dominion. I'm not a large fan of amusement parks. There are usually too many people, the lines are too long, and then there are the roller coasters. For twelve years, I've happily avoided roller coasters and watched my kids on the small, kid-friendly rides, occasionally going on the carousel with them. Yet this year, everyone was over 48 inches--tall enough to ride the roller coasters. I panicked. I really did. At first I thought I would be the mom who took pictures and held everyone's stuff while my husband and three kids braved the coasters, but Katie looked at me and said, "Mom, are you coming?" And I realized that there's going to be a point in time when my kids don't want to ride a roller coaster with me. Time is of the essence, and if I don't make these memories with my kids now, there aren't going to be any opportunities for memories later. So, I begrudgingingly got on the Rebel Yell to start. I didn't feel like a rebel when I got on, and I certainly didn't feel like one when I got off. I rode many more coasters that day...the Stunt Coaster, the Woodstock Express (which, by the way, for a kids' roller coaster was terrifying), the Grizzly (in the dark, which was petrifying). My kids had no idea I was scared. I was far away from my safe zone, and maybe I would have not felt my heart racing for hours on end had I just taken the pictures and held their stuff, but I am glad I did get on those roller coasters. It taught me that sometimes everything you've ever wanted is outside of your comfort zone. I found a connection with my kids. I found happiness. I found my sense of humor these past few weeks and now have a music video on my resume. I found affirmation to keep writing.
Each time, I stepped out of my comfort zone, I did grow as a person, though. These experiences the past two weeks were no different....the music video, the writing course, even riding roller coasters put me in more of a spotlight than I prefer. Yet, the experiences also connected me more with people.
Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Six hundred minutes
How do you measure - measure a year?
In daylights - in sunsets
In midnights - in cups of coffee
In inches - in miles
In laughter - in strife
The song continues to say we should measure a year in love. Truly, I am in love with this idea of weighing our experiences by the love we share with others. In thinking about this, I would be remiss this week not to comment on what happened in Charlottesville recently. The attrocities of violence, racism, and injustice are horrifying. I am not one to often take a political stand (another thing that makes me uncomfotable) but this issue isn't quite political; it's human. It's a situation that should not exist in 2017 or any time for that matter, and one that makes me more than uncomfortable. What if we had the courage to love? Imagine who we would be. And so, I can only find myself resorting back to my comfort zone of my friends, the Beatles: "All you need is love. Love is all you need." And that's how I will try to measure my life.
So I leave you with this: How do you want to measure your life? Do you want to measure the 525,600 minutes of the year in daylights? In sunsets? As T.S. Eliot poetically states in coffee spoons? Or Do you want to disturb the universe and step out of your comfort zone? Recently I put my unsweet tea and Beatles music aside. I was far from my comfort zone in that music video, online writing course, and on those roller coasters. And as I did so, I was reminded of Shakespeare's line from A Midsummer Night's Dream:
"Though she be little, she is fierce."
That's how I want to be remembered--the one who is fierce, who does disturb the universe, who dares to do something that scares her more often than not, who steps outside of her comfort zone every once and awhile, who measures her life in moments of love. It's a new world every time I step out of that comfort zone, but I have no regrets and know I can always come home to a book, a glass of unsweet tea, and the Beatles. They will always be waiting, but memories and experiences often will not. 
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