misty.

it is so quiet here in vermont.  i can hear the tiny feet of the squirrels on the pine tree outside my window, and the country birds calling morning to each other is a cacophony in the silence.

i'm almost embarrassed to press the keys down, bringing such rough-and-tumble noises to the neighborhood.

in a few hours, i'll be embarking on my first spanning study at the institute for descriptive inquiry, laying bare this question: in a profession that is so personal, how can i balance inserting myself as a member of the classroom community without saturating the culture of the group with my own values, beliefs and personality as a teacher?

i'll have three days to work on this question with other educators, people i know and don't know, and it will all begin this afternoon with me giving them my personal history.  giving them the story of my life, or one version of it.  i'm a bit scared.

i know i am safe here, that what i bring to this place is sacred in its own little way.  i will try to present myself without judgment or inclination, and lay bare my teaching self for all to see.  naked in my paring down of thoughts.  

it feels like a weight right now.  

but then the open windows give me just the tiniest of cool breezes, and i hear the squirrels chasing each other up and down the branches while the jays tell them to stop fucking around, and i know it will all be okay.  i will be okay.  i am always okay.

the day moves forward, and so do i.