Hope and Oatmeal

I was fixing breakfast this morning when I glanced at the clock. It was exactly when I would have been leaving the house last year to get to school 45 minutes away. And now, this year I was standing in my comfy writing clothes mixing up some oatmeal in preparation for a long morning of writing.

My mind drifted to people and things from last year. The feeling of being in my classroom before school started and frantically trying to get last minute things done. The annoyance of meetings that weren’t necessary. The gossip and drama that mapped a little too closely to the stereotypical cliquish drama of a high school movie, except we were the teachers, not the students. The exhaustion I felt at the end of a day no matter how the day went.

And now I get to teach British literature to college students and write. My dreams have almost been realized. I am so grateful for being given the chance to do all of this, and to tackle my dreams that I don’t mind being tired and anxious about money or anything else. I have exactly what I want and need in life, with only a few exceptions. Even though there are things I worry about, I feel hopeful for the first time in a long time.

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