I have been at this school for almost four semesters; two years. For the first time I'm repeating a book this semester, which means hopefully less prep time and a more experienced me. I'm remembering, as a page through the chapters that I taught that very first semester, how much I didn't know about teaching then. I remember how I handled my classes, how I handled the material and I cringe. If only I could go back and tell myself how to do it again. Yet, if I went back, I don't know what I'd say. I have no idea how to explain to the subtle art of teaching. My past self wouldn't understand my present self, anyway.

My present success is built on my past attempts. Without my past struggle, I wouldn't have the foundational experiences that give rise to my present ability. Floundering is part of life. Don't we often say, "Oh, you'll get the hang of it," and I'd always add in my mind, "Yeah, like ten years from now." Whether it be me learning something new or someone else learning something I know, the learning process seems to takes forever. In reality, we are amazingly adaptable and quick. Our brains take in and process billions of variables and somewhere in it all, we learn.

I really shouldn't be surprised that it has taken me this long to "get the hang" of teaching. After studying the piano for two years I could barely play with two hands; after skiing for three years I still often crashed; after playing volleyball for five years I would still miss a serve. Learning takes time. There's no reason to be impatient because it wont speed up the process. And it's no use dreaming about going back and giving myself a talking-to because I wouldn't be where I am without experiencing the past.