The subtle insanity of being a teacher

Being a teacher requires a certain kind of insanity, a level of self-delusion that every lesson has the possibility of being perfect. Such a goal is, of course, not only unobtainable, but is probably also undefinable – what even would a perfect lesson be? And yet, every class, I walk through the doorway filled not with hope, but absolute certainty/insanity (certinsanity?) that this will be the day that everything goes perfectly. And every day, I fall short of my goal.

You might think that such a gulf between reality and expectation would bring about crushing depression or, at the very least, existential desperation. And yes, some nights the plan went so terribly awry that there is nothing to do but wash my face, look myself in the mirror, and ask the reflection:“how did that happen?”

But that is not what happens. Not normally. Normally, I walk out of the classroom, technically having failed, but somehow satisfied and happy - jubilant even. It is because of you. You, my students, are kind, brilliant, and forgiving. As December draws to a close, as your transition to a new grade draws nearer, and as the reality of you no longer being such a large, important part of my life begins to sink in, gloom threatens to take over. But more than gloom, I feel incredibly grateful. Thank you for your effort, your smiles, your laughter, your jokes, and your time. Thank you for 2019, and may you have an even more amazing 2020.

Love, your teacher,

Patrick