The Door

You always end up where you are meant to be. I’ve trusted that deep down for a long time, but for a large portion of my life, I felt that truth had only been realized a couple times. I was meant to go to college where I did and make friends with the people I did. I was meant to experience the great adventure of living in Australia, learning about myself and the world in unimaginable ways. I was meant to spend an incredible five years at the preschool I was at and find a love for teaching and education that shapes me even now. These “big” moments are what I, and most of us, imagine when we think of being in the right place at the right time. As if we’re predestined for some great, life-changing path when we’re placed exactly where we’re meant to be. A plant in the most fertile soil, blossoming into the fullest version of ourself.

That’s what I’ve been waiting for ever since I graduated college with my masters in teaching over a year ago: another big moment where I end up in exactly the perfect situation and exactly the right fit for my life. I had hoped, I had prayed, deeply trusted that the right door would open for me and allow me to step into my destiny. In this case, ending up in the district and classroom of my dreams. And after much anguish, I think that maybe I’ve finally gotten there. But the road it took to get there was certainly long. In the end, it’s far more beautifully complex than I can describe in two paragraphs.

Way-Maker

To offer a brief recap of where I was back in early spring when I posted my last blog, after demoting myself from honorary sixth grade teacher to building sub, I struggled with a very unsure future and where I might be headed. I was, with almost all confidence, completely unconfident in how my career would turn out. Budgets were bouncing, positions I had hoped to leap into never materialized, and above all, I felt discouraged. Less than what I could be and should be. Because deep down, I know I’m a good teacher. I just needed the door to open for me. Something I started to believe was not going to happen.

And then, it did. My school went from having no open positions, to three in the span of a couple of weeks. Where I thought I had no shot of staying in the district I’d come to call home, I suddenly had what seemed like choice pickings for teaching eighth, seventh, or, the Holy Grail— sixth grade. Behind the scenes, battles were already being fought on my behalf. The way was being made for me. Now, I had to take it.

Of course, it would be unwise to put all my eggs in one basket. Being a teacher with slightly more experience than last year, I sat reasonably more confident that I could make the cut for interviews and beyond at any school I went to. My alma mater, which I’d previously interviewed for and had many connections, was hiring, giving a second shot at a position I’d once thought destined. So too was one of the schools I student-taught at. I’d found over a dozen schools that I thought a good fit, whether locally, near my college town of New Paltz, or even one near the Finger Lakes, and so, applied to all of them. And while I had hoped above all for sixth at my own school, I boldly looked forward to whatever opportunity God would present me. I just had to get there.

The List Narrows

I’ve been in this boat before. Last year, I applied to well over thirty schools, interviewed for five, faced three interviews in a row, and in the end, ended up in my maternity leave position with only two weeks to go til the year started. Hardly a fun time, but if I’d done it before, I could do it again, and this time, I was a step ahead— I had more experience, an earlier start, and again, an in at my district. It was that insider access that granted me my first interview, for eighth grade ELA. Now if I thought the jump from preschool to sixth graders was a massive change, the jump to eighth is even more so. I had some experience with eighth in my subbing adventures, and for the most part, working with eighth graders wasn’t too much of a challenge. Teaching them would be a different story.

I interviewed in May for the position. I’d interviewed with my principal before, and I knew the rest of the interview committee well, but still, it was nerve-wracking. Dressed in my (dad’s) nicest button up shirt, ironed tie, groomed face, writing and studying everything I could make notes on ahead of time. The interview lasted twenty-five minutes— a blur, if one ever existed. But by the time I got out, I felt good. I had several people even tell me so afterward. I’d impressed them enough to make it to the second round, but with one key hesitancy— could I be intense enough for eighth grade?

A fair question, and one that, for my next round— a demo lesson in front of eighth grade students— pulled at me constantly. Again, I hadn’t taught eighth grade formally. I hadn’t even trained in it; with my B-6 certification, 8^th hardly seemed within my range, even if I could extend easily enough. Teaching elementary students is one thing; preparing teenagers for high school is another. And so, the lesson… it didn’t hit. It lacked the depth, the intensity, and importantly, the higher level thinking, it needed. And so, I would not make it to the finals.

Strike one.

Two more opportunities existed: the one in seventh, and the one in sixth. I had to tread carefully if I wanted my shot. I semi-eagerly applied for different districts as well, though ultimately, I knew I wanted to stay where I was. Ideally, sixth grade. With the eighth-grade interview process done, I sat back at square one: the waiting game. Waiting for schools to call me for an interview. Waiting for my principal to set up interviews for the other two positions. And yet, nothing. Radio silence. Even now, with the experience I’ve built, was I missing something? Did other candidates have something I didn’t? Is the door really there, or am I staring at some mirage?

The Finals

Time passed, and with the end of the school year approaching, I desperately awaited any news about interviews— and I wasn’t alone. Plenty of coworkers, friends, family members sat cheering me on, and to an extent, the pressure was on more so for them than even my own sake. The clock ticking, with mere weeks until the end of the school year, I made it into the interview stage for the other two positions: seventh first, then sixth.

The first interview, the one for seventh, shattered. A mix of overestimating and underselling myself and my experience sealed my fate. Strike two.

I had one more shot, and the biggest reward ahead— sixth grade— if I made it through. There could be no slipping up. No mistakes. Go in with confidence, but humility. Expertise, but showing a drive to collaborate and learn. Don’t think about what you could be; show them who you are. Your drive, your success, your journey, reflections along the way. Own it.

I’d taken all the feedback I could from my previous interviews, and let the knowledge and experience I carried ingrain itself in me and my responses as I sat through the first round of interviews. Pass. For the next, I developed a lesson worthy of any sixth-grade classroom, owned the role of sixth grade teacher, ensured that every student was supported, heard, and had the opportunity to think. Pass. I knew at every stage I would have to present the absolute best I could. I’d face challenge, perhaps even opposition, but I would succeed. I had to.

To my dismay, I didn’t have an answer by the end of the school year— but it didn’t stop me (or my anxiety). But with one stage to go, I did make it to the final round: the superintendent. I had previous connections with the superintendent, I had previous success with these interviews, I had the previous experience of being a sixth-grade teacher for crying out loud, but, I couldn’t slip up now. And so, one final hurdle. I sat, I did the best I darn well could, I felt fine, and waited. I did everything I could. Now, it was up to the Invisible Hands.

Champion

If you haven’t guessed by now… I got it. The job of my dreams, at the school I loved, the job that I darn well may have been born to do. My purpose. I talk so much about destiny and doing what God wants me to and ending up where I’m meant to and now… now I’m there. The door was opened.

Only, looking back, it was always open. Because even in the little things, you end up where you’re meant to be. I was meant to end up not getting a full-time teaching job last year while all my friends did. I was meant to build the relationships I did at this school, whether student or staff, whether as teacher or as sub. I was meant to go through six goddamn interviews in the span of two months. You learn, you grow, help others grow, regardless of the outcome. Honestly, that’s what teaching is. Not great victories, but small, everyday moments that set you on a path for a better future. And I can certainly say that I’m ecstatic about getting the job. But it’s not over. Far from it— my work has only just begun.

"I know the work you’ve been doing. Look, I have opened a door for you that no one can shut. I know you have only a little strength, but you have kept my word and followed my teaching, and have not denied me." -Revelations 3:8

Long story short… the path you take to reach your destiny isn’t always grand, and doesn’t always turn out the way you expect. But the right door always opens at the right time. How you walk through it, is by being the best self you can be, every day. How I got the job wasn’t me pretending to be a good teacher. It was being one. Echoing my mom, echoing The Light everywhere I go. And for all the folks who are proud of me, for all the reason to celebrate, it’s not about suddenly finding my destiny. That was always bound to happen. It’s about the path you choose to take every day to reach it.

(Also, if you feel like donating to my classroom- which is by no means necessary- you're more than welcome to here)