I can hear the bells....

I am drawing perilously near the end of my collegiate career. And here's a little something that should surprise no one: I have no clue what to do with myself after graduation.

Rather than coping with the natural reaction to this fact (i.e., hyperventilation and paralyzing fear), however, I can only rejoice as I endlessly chant this mantra to myself:

I am almost done with student teaching.

Let me say it again, for no one's benefit but my own:

I am almost. done. with student teaching.

I'll spare you all the laundry list of gripes I have with student teaching in general---99% of them relating to my indescribably lazy cooperating teacher, She Who Must Not Be Named. I'll spare you the thoughts that sleepless nights and endlessly whining students give birth to (among the more PG-rated: school-ditching daydreams such as If I called in a bomb threat, could anyone trace it? Can I willfully rupture my own appendix?) It's more than those things, though.

Never in my life have I felt as incompetent or isolated as I do in Room 18 of Riverview High School. And rarely ever would I succumb to and verbalize these feelings with such abandon. While at times I have the energy to put an optimistic, positive spin on things, I hope you'll forgive my present honesty--there's just such release, sometimes, in not trying to be cute or funny, and instead just admitting that there are so many days when my head's barely above water. But then again, there are days when it's clearly above the surface, and I can catch my breath. These days often follow each other, like a seesaw. I'm glad for that minute variety, I suppose--it's not much, though it does make the descent a little more manageable.

I'm afraid that I've become a negative person, and I'm not usually negative (at least, I hope not). Sometimes everyday feels like a head-on collision with the worst aspects of myself: my negativity, my pathetic fear of confrontation (even with 10th graders), my disorganization, my procrastination. An endless reminder of what I can't do; an endless frustration for why I can't seem to change. What scares me most is not knowing how much of my discontent stems from my situation, and how much is purely and simply my fault.

Does my unhappiness stem from inexperience, or inability? I'm not sure I want to know.

Nothing--especially school--is without its lessons, however. My student teaching has taught me two things. The first is simple and obvious: students who consistently do their work without complaining or presenting a thesis about why they don't have it done are precious, golden gifts from God. I have to restrain myself from falling on the ground and kissing their feet for the redemptive powers of their responsibilty.

The second is about bells. I have come to view bells as nothing less than sacred, much like Muslims view the daily calls to prayer. So many days each bell is a victory; audibal affirmation that I've survived another period, and that time is, in fact, passing. This is the most significant truth I've learned in the past 3 months: that even the longest, or the rowdiest, or the most frustrating periods eventually (and blissfully) end. Even the worst day has a bell at the end of it.

I'll spare you the obvious, cheesy real-life application. But I am thankful that it's there. And maybe not so cheesy at all--just true.