I have now taken plenty of education courses, volunteered in multiple classrooms, and got a job working with children. I have spent lots of money and time in the education program. I have countless books telling me how to be a teacher and the history behind it. I wrote my educational philosophy essay and I’ve submitted it to professors. I even have a mug that says “Teachers change the world one lesson plan at a time.”
And as I sit at my desk, writing this, staring at the books and drinking a not-so-yummy cup of coffee out of my now useless teacher mug, I fully admit to myself I do not want to be a teacher.
I do not want to be a teacher. My eyes are filling up with tears. Am I pathetic? How have I spent the past three years telling myself it was my dream job when I have known deep down in the depths of my heart that it is not what I want to do?
Writing has been the love of my life since I was seven years old. I would write about the people in my first grade class (nice things I promise), and little dreams my mind thought up. Writing has helped me through bad breakups, my parents’ divorce, and my sister being diagnosed with cancer. It has saved me when I didn’t love myself. It has given me the right words when I didn’t know how to speak them, it has given me strength when I thought I was too weak to take action. Writing has a piece of my soul. My notebooks that are stacked on my bed side table are my prized possessions. My heart overflows with my love for writing. My hands ache for a pen when I have a new idea. My life is significantly more beautiful the minute I relive it by writing.
I want to write.
Forever. Whether I’m alone, or married, or with dogs, cats, friends, 1 child, 7 children, I want to write. Even if I’m old and my hand shakes as I hold the pen, I want to write out every sparkling memory, every thought that runs through my mind.
Admitting to myself that I want to write was terrifying. Listening to the voice inside my head was a whole new experience. I have silenced her for so long. I have told her to reach for things more attainable, to believe in dreams that I’ve already seen fulfilled. I have gone to sleep hearing that same voice tell me, “Please, go after exactly what you want. Everything will unfold as it should” and instead of listening, I tuned it out and continued with a plan I wasn’t sure was ever my own.
We let our dreams and our view on life get shadowed by what we think other’s view may be. I was in this marathon where I believed I was chasing exactly what I wanted only to find out I was chasing what everyone expected of me. If we take the time to reflect on what road we want to take, we would realize that our truest self has been pointing us in that direction all along. We all have a purpose embedded deep inside us and our truest self has always been with us. We just have to stop listening to other voices and listen to our own. My truest self knows what I am capable of. What I realize now is no matter how far you try to stray from who you are, your heart leads you back to where you must be. My heart sings a different song when I am writing than when I am doing anything else. My purest form of happiness is scribbled among notebooks, napkins, and pieces of scratch papers, words upon words upon hope. My hope is to become all that I already know I can be. To toss aside fear and doubt, and head fearlessly towards exactly what I want.
I felt as though I hit rock bottom when I had decided to switch majors and start again. This state of rock bottom is not a burden, but a blessing. From it, I will build a stronger foundation. Hitting rock bottom felt like shattering in a million pieces. And instead of cutting myself on the broken pieces, I’m gathering new ones. And this time I am building something even better, even truer, than the girl I was before.
A TDL Reader