A Slice from the Very Beginning

*Spoiler Alert: You’re a writer after all.

Dear 2012 Ana,

I see you seated in that naturally-lit auditorium, probably making weekend plans or debating what to have for dinner. You’re waiting for a meeting to begin, notebook in your lap, pen clipped to the cover—because that’s what teachers bring to meetings. Maybe you’ve saved a seat for Andrea, Carlos, or Fabi. You’re not expecting anything life-changing.

Let me tell you now: you won’t be taking any notes.

The ideas you’re about to hear are too grand to capture in writing—not yet, at least. They’ll need time and practice to take root.

You’re just now discovering Writer’s Workshop. Rose and Emily are sharing what they learned at an institute in New York, and I know exactly how you’re feeling—both inspired and suddenly small. You’ll be scribbling fragments but questioning whether you belong in that world.

Can I teach that way?

Will I be able to help my students reach that level of confidence and skill?

Who had the brilliant idea of painting students’ minds with such a vivid palette of creativity and purpose?

What’s that voice inside of me that pulls me out of the teacher’s perspective?

That voice wanted you to see beyond the classroom walls. That much we know now.

Something else is beginning. A quiet part of your identity is stirring. Sure, you’ve been blogging for almost six years, but you’ve never thought of yourself as a writer.

Sure, I write. But I’m not a writer.

I know how that felt. It was a mix of “I don’t know anyone at this party” and “I want to dance with those over there. They look like they’re having a blast.” 

Don’t despair, 2012 Ana—things are going to change.

You can’t envision this now, but you’ll go from that unsure teacher in the audience to leading professional development for other writing teachers. You’ll get closer to calling yourself a writer, take on writing challenges, attend retreats, and even have a real-life writing partner!

I know it’s hard to picture, and I’m here to tell you, you don’t have to.

For now, know this: it may not seem like it in this moment, sitting there and listening to this grand idea that stretches too far away, but teaching writing will become a doorway for you. It will lead you to a version of yourself who appreciates the creative process, accepting the cracks that show. You’ll experience vulnerability at a whole new level.

You’ll write about hard things, notice echoes of other writers’ craft in your own words, and experiment with genres. You’ll surprise yourself with the form your creativity takes as you embrace writing with more intention, and even share personal stories with strangers between lessons and lobster dinners.

In several years, you’ll be seated in your office, listening to a funny beats playlist, connecting the dots backward through writing. You’ll see how the dots go all the way back to that moment in the auditorium, when you let yourself be moved by an idea.

Look forward to it. That clipped pen? You’ll pick it up again—and this time, you won’t put it down.