An Infusion of Honesty

Dear Elena,

When I was a little girl, I was obsessed with Barbies. I collected countless outfits, pairs of shoes (yes, I made sure not a single one was lost), and little toys. I had [two] living room sets, a kitchen, two vehicles, and eventually, which is a story for a later slice perhaps, I convinced Nanita to buy a huge doll house. She only agreed because it was a quick solution to the infinite-tiny-thingies mess.

I lived for Saturday mornings when Nanita said yes to playing with Barbies early in the day. I rushed out of bed and turned the doll house like opening a magical and secret passage door into a world where pretend was mandatory.

Time would freeze during the arranging process as I made sure every piece of clothing was in place and all furniture was in its room. I loved the beginning of it, and not much has changed about me. Most Saturday mornings feel similar. Whenever I wake up before you, I rush out of bed and set a mental plan in motion. When presented in order of importance, these tedious tasks feel like a game to me. Where can I begin today?

Recently, though, I’ve noticed that my mind creeps into “planning mode” when avoiding other possibilities. Yes, you’re right; it’s a common symptom of procrastination. This time, however, I feel the urge to plan for the beginning of the next school year to protect my expectations. Even writing these words makes me glance at my bookshelf to see if my beginning-of-the-year Responsive Classroom books are here or at school.

Here’s an infusion of honesty: I don’t want to stay in the classroom, but I am stretching my passion for beginnings to decorate the “you better get used to the idea” space in my head.

George would say, “Leave.” But I don’t want to, just yet. What I want is to be happy with whatever outcome I get, and thinking of potential beginnings helps with that.

P.S.: How cool it will be to read these letters with you in the future and comment on how things turned out… Ah! The time capsules!