The tables have been bumped out of alignment, the whiteboards are covered by a film of dry-erase marker residue, and the floor is more of a a matte burnt ochre than the glossy gray of August.

My classroom at the end of the first quarter mirrors my own physical and mental state–well-worn and a little frayed around the edges. But then again, a classroom is meant to be lived in, and teaching is not supposed to be easy.

Amidst the fun of getting to know a bunch of new faces there were the numinous flashes of wonder and joy that brightened eyes, lit up faces, and make teaching such a magical profession. Some goals were met, and some were not met yet, but I am better for having had the privilege of sharing space with all of the students who have me as their teacher.