SDAWP SI 2023

                                                                   Choosing Words https://new.express.adobe.com/webpage/WRLK1DhVE9HTM

I did not come to teaching right out of college or even as a first career; I entered this profession after spending years in the corporate world and struggling to find something more than just a job, a paycheck, or a title. Once I realized that the job wasn’t enough, more money was not enough, and having the job title, office, and important meetings with C-levels (CEO, CFO, etc.) were not fulfilling, I knew it was time to follow my heart and do something I loved. Or at least a career where I didn’t feel like I was part of a soul-crushing, money-making machine. I just wanted to find a job where I did not dread getting out of bed and going to work.  So, what was missing?  Why did I feel so empty? The answer lies in the first word of that last sentence.  Why.   I had been working my way up the corporate ladder, and with that, I was lucky enough to have some great mentors and personal development coaching,  both of which served as guideposts that helped me navigate ...

  Teaching Climate Change and Managing Climate Anxiety

  I was brought into this world on my mother’s birthday.   My mother’s name is Dale Bach.  Even though she is now happily married to her 5th husband, she keeps her first husband’s name because she likes the way it sounds.  From an early age I understood that my mother holds power.  Not only does her beauty give her access and privilege, but her lack of predictability and daring nature give her an edge.   She is wild.        Wild in the way that makes your pace quicken and palms sweat.    Wild in the way that I rarely appreciated until I was grown and                her reckless abandon was deemed “cool” by my peers.   Wild, in spirit and in dance.  She is a wildflower of her own germination. When my mother walks into a room, you notice.  People in her circles would say she has a strong aura.  She cha...

     Photo by Rajesh Kavasseri on Unsplash    Music has been on my mind a lot recently. My mom was teasing me the other day about how I never performed all the songs from Phantom of the Opera like I promised. I immediately started turning red, thinking about my poor Yamaha stowed away in the back of my closet, where all half-forgotten hobbies slumber. After that phone call, I looked into the opaque darkness of my closet. I still haven’t installed lights like I intended, and this space benefits from little natural light.  I plunge my hand into the back, feeling along the rough plaster wall. There’s an old fold up table I still haven’t given my dad, a red dress I thought the washers ate, a box of embroidery threads that also fills me with guilt, and finally the bumpy plastic of my flute’s case. I grope along until I find the handle of the case and pull it out.  It looks nearly identical to how it did when my parents bought it for me nearly 8 years ago...

Photo by Quino Al on Unsplash   I believe that teachers, as humans, can only do so much with the time and resources given, that as overburdened as we are–  something always gives. Sometime this past spring, I received a forwarded email from the principal about a parent’s concern. With this forwarded email I was asked to get on the phone with this parent to touch base. I had already been emailing with her consistently, despite having been told that the issue mentioned was already cleared up between her and the principal. I was being asked to do something I was already doing, while also trying to support students who were struggling academically, and personally.  When I look back beyond that bright, blinding betrayal, I see the long reaching shadow of regret. I regret I spent too much time in unproductive meetings, spent too much time emailing about issues that had already been addressed, on tasks that were ultimately performative. Empty.  I regret that I didn’t spend...