A Day in the Life of a New Teacher

An adventure is only an inconvenience rightly considered.

An inconvenience is only an adventure wrongly considered. -G.K. Chesterton

A couple things:
I met with Scott and the quartet on Friday morning to discuss our upcoming semester and our suggestions to improve the program for next year. When our meeting began, Scott asked us to do a free-write about a “typical day in the life of a music MAT student”. We all sat in silence, typing away vigorously as we combined all our best, worst, and “I’m not quite sure what that day was” days to give an accurate picture of our lives here. And then we went around and shared the main themes we discovered within our writing. I shared that I realized a lot of my day is centered around the inner battle within my mind- the negative thoughts, the worries, and the stresses that try to drag me down in the few precious moments I have time to think about myself. I thought I would go ahead and share with you my version of a typical day in my Alaska teacher life- pestering thoughts and questions and all. But just an added disclaimer: I was fully honest in my recounting of certain events and with sharing my thoughts, but please know that I love what I am doing this year. It just sometimes takes a second to remember that after a long day.

And before you come on this journey with me, I wanted to share some exciting news: after sharing my Independent Learning Project on SmartMusic with a contact from SmartMusic who helps me with student accounts, I have been asked by the Social Media Manager of SmartMusic to be a guest author for their blog. I am very excited about this opportunity, as I have developed quite an interest in blogging (both personally and professionally, as I was also an official blog writer for DePaul to recruit students)! I will keep you all updated as soon as I learn more details about it!

And with that, enjoy a walk-through of my life!

I wake up at 6 am and immediately want to go back to bed. “What time did I go to sleep last night??” I ask myself, feeling as if I should have gotten about twice the amount of sleep than I did. I roll out of bed to do my shoulder stretches I learned from my physical therapist, who I walk to see every other week during the school day. As I take my twenty minutes to stretch, I go through my day in my head, reflecting on teaching orchestra at the high school until I move on to thinking about my lesson plans for JAMM at Glacier Valley. As I ponder how I am going to get my group of high schoolers motivated to stay awake and make beautiful music together, I notice that my chest becomes a little tighter. But I take a deep breath and let my resolve strengthen as I think about rising to meet the challenge. After getting dressed in an outfit that needs to be professional, yet functional (as I often have to walk the mile between Thunder Mountain and Glacier Valley), I wonder if I look like a high schooler still. I rationalize and tell myself that appearance isn’t everything after I get a text from my friend, Sophia, that she is outside in her beloved car, Jeepy. I quickly rush out the door, whale lunch box in hand.

After catching up on our nights and mornings together and walking ourselves through our looming days, Sophia and I arrive at Thunder Mountain and knock on the orchestra room door so that our bass player who is inevitably always standing by it can open it for us. I walk into the orchestra room and immediately notice how bright the fluorescent lights are. Once my eyes adjust, I find that all my and Sophia’s students are sitting in their chairs, heads practically falling into their smartphones- and there they shall remain until just a few minutes until the bell rings. Sophia takes her group of advanced orchestra players into the auditorium, and I stay in the orchestra room with my intermediate orchestra of my aforementioned quiet students. We begin rehearsal with tuning, and then they warm up on scales as I excitedly yell over their playing that they should think about producing a big sound today. I look over with hope at my violin section and am sad to see that their bows are still moving at the -5 mph they were before I had mustered up all my energy to tell them to play out. We move through rehearsal, going through various spots in the four pieces we are working on. By the end of class, we have gotten through everything I had prepared the night before, and yet I am still wondering if I am teaching them anything and if they have improved on these pieces since we started them at the beginning of the semester. I take a mental step back and think about how much their sound and teamwork has grown in the past couple weeks and allow myself to feel proud of how I helped foster that growth.

The bell rings after this “zero hour” class ends, and the kids move on to the rest of their days. Within the next five minutes, I am tasked with pushing all stacked orchestra chairs and stands to the side of the room so that my Spanish students who will be walking in any minute will have nice, neat rows of thirty chairs set up for them to sit in. I sometimes recruit some of my early bird Spanish students to help and occasionally have some kind orchestra students who stay behind and volunteer to help. Those days give me hope for this future generation! Before I know it, the classroom is filled, the announcements have come on, and the Pledge has been said in a tutti monotonous tone. And class begins. I welcome the class using the Spanish words I was just trying to formulate in my head as I said the Pledge, realizing that it is difficult for me to fluently speak a language I studied for three years, 7 years ago! But I push on, hoping the students don’t notice when I mess up some of the words or have to stop and think for a moment. I continue with the lesson, gladly letting my mentor teacher step in when he offers to add something so I can take a break from the pressure. I go through first period, focusing on keeping the class engaged- away from their cellphones and not chattering when I am speaking- and speaking proper Spanish in front of them. By the time first period ends, I am exhausted from the worry and energy I spent keeping them focused on the tasks at hand. And then second period Spanish begins. Thankfully, it is the same class with just different students, so I already have practice speaking Spanish and going through my lesson plan, and it goes a little smoother. That group of students is also generally more engaged, so I don’t feel as much necessity to keep them awake and in class mode! Once Spanish ends, I stay back to check in with my mentor teacher and help him grade Spanish assignments, updating him on my orchestra class as we work.

By the time our planning meeting is over, I rush over to Glacier Valley to prepare for afterschool JAMM classes. Either my mentor teacher or Sophia drives me, or I walk to school. Unless the weather is dreary and rainy (which is a common occurrence in Juneau!), I welcome the walk because it gives me time to listen to music and collect my thoughts. I think through my JAMM lesson plans, imagining my next group of orchestra players who are now nine and ten years old and a lot more energetic. “Will I keep them engaged today? And is my lesson plan okay?”. These are the questions that run through my head as I get to Glacier Valley and rush between the Music Room at the other end of the school to the Library with the 12 music stands I must set up for our chamber orchestra class in the Library. As I quietly set chairs behind the stands while the kind, understanding librarian finishes up her reading class, I go through my lesson plan one more time and think about how I can make the most of this class time and really empower these oldest, most advanced kids to take ownership of their musicianship and grow in their final months of elementary school. I wonder what will become of each of them next year and beyond. I resolve that I will try my hardest once again to be an effective teacher as these kids line up outside the Library, asking me over and over again if they can have their cheese snack or if they can take attendance. As I ask the students once again to stand against the wall so the rest of the school can actually exit the building for the day, I am peppered with many questions, such as, “Miss Ruth, what are we doing today? Miss Ruth, can I go to the bathroom? Miss Ruth, can we go to recess yet?”, and of course, “Miss Ruth, where’s the cheese??”. I pull it out from under my arm, reassuring myself that these kids are well-fed enough to wait five more minutes for cheese and that it’s okay that I forgot to pass it out right away. I am pulled away from my line of kids to answer other students’ questions or to finish setting up the room and return to the line to find that none of them are against the wall anymore but are clumped in a formation that resembles a cheese ball. Once they are all lined up, I release them to recess, following them out onto the cold, wet playground and roving around to check in on the safety of all the JAMM students.

After ten minutes, I bring my chamber kids in and begin the tuning process with them. Once tuning finishes, I proceed to take them through the repertoire we are learning. This gives me another chance to practice keeping a normal, somewhat-clear conducting pattern and the whole “listening to everything at once and deciding how to make things sound better while still maintaining authority and healthy vocal cords” concept. We get through the piece beautifully, and things are going well! I look over to smile at my kids, amazed by what a strong group of musicians they are. The smile fades as I realize that I have gone five minutes over our class time, and the next group of JAMM kids are lined up outside the room, waiting to begin their class. I quickly wrap up rehearsal, trying to hide my embarrassment and stress, and I ask my kids to pack up as quickly as they can and head to choir. After gathering up all my things and rushing out the room to follow my kids, I inevitably leave something behind and come back for it. I then run over to choir or music technology or intermediate orchestra- depending on the day and where I am needed! By the time those two hours of being surrounded by 150+ kids up and down the hallways of Glacier Valley are over, I have the strong urge to lie down on the playground-pebble-infested floor of the music classroom. And then I try to stay in “adult with a grasp on common decency” mode and decide that I’d better remain vertical until I arrive home at 5:30.

After processing through how the day went with Sophia for the fifteen minutes back home, I walk in my hobbit-looking front door and am feeling ready for bed. But I inevitably have class, classwork, practicing, a meeting, or some other obligation. Or I just simply crave to do something that I once called “normal”, such as watching Netflix or talking to a friend. It is usually the former, as I am socially exhausted by the time I arrive home. In fact, as soon as I walk in the door, I retreat to my cave in the basement. If I hear talking in the kitchen, I walk as quietly and quickly as I can to my room. If no one seems to be in the kitchen, I go in and risk interaction with another human. My roommates are great, and I always enjoy our conversations once I am in them. I mostly avoid them because I want to spare them from whining about my 10-hour work day and how I have 2 or 3 hours of work left to do that night and no mental or physical capacity to do it. I try to keep my mouth shut as I make my lunch for the following day (something I hate doing and love to get over with!). I then make my dinner that is much like my lunch- a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with a handful of tortilla chips and some piece of fruit or a vegetable. I try to block my plate from being seen by my roommate, in case he or she glances over and discovers that I still eat like my elementary school students. As soon as I get into my room, I turn on my two warm-lit lamps and quickly pick out my “I’m a teacher who still feels like a student” outfit for the following day. I can finally get in bed and watch one episode of 30 Rock as I eat dinner.

The episode ends, and I realize it is time to get to work. I open my email to see that I still have 57 unread messages from over a month ago. I just can’t bring myself to face them all; I don’t feel emotionally ready for the stress, and I’m not sure I ever will! So, there they remain. I lock my phone and open up the various Google Docs on my computer that have all my assignments, presentations, lesson plans, and all the answers to life’s meaning. And I get to work. By the time 9pm hits, I am falling asleep in front of the computer and am wondering if this is what most 22 year-olds are doing with their evenings. I remind myself that life will not always be so busy and decide to finish my work early the next morning or push it off until tomorrow night. It takes the entire amount of energy left in my body to get out from under my warm, fuzzy blanket that is the only thing keeping me warm in my cold room, and I go into our pink-clad bathroom. I brush my teeth, wash my face, apply my various moisturizers, and look in the mirror for a second. My first thought: “Man, my eyes are cool-looking!”. Second thought: “Wow, I look tired!”. Third thought: “Alaskan water really does wonders for my skin!”. And those are my deepest, innermost thoughts at that point in the day. I walk down the hallway to my room, adjusting the floor mats that always end up crooked and scrunched up by the time I get home in the pitch-black dark, and I ask myself why they are even there and if they are really serving any positive purpose. I shrug it off, bundle up in my warm pants, thick socks, shirt, and a sweatshirt, and I cocoon myself in bed. If I am still coherent and motivated enough to do my short Bible reading, I read through it and try to have deep, spiritual thoughts that amount to more than “WOW, this is deep. I could never think so deeply! This is too much for me”. I set my alarm for 6am, wincing at how late it already is. “Man, it’s already ten-thirty! What have I been doing?!”, I ask myself as I attempt to pray for all my family members and friends I kept promising I would be praying for. I turn on my “Les Miserables” audio book and fall asleep just as Jean Valjean is roaming through the streets of France, looking for a place to sleep. So basically, two minutes in.

The next day, I wake up feeling even more resistant to leaving my warm bed. But every once in awhile, I take a deep breath in, lay in bed, and pray. I recognize my exhaustion and my losing fight to stay excited about the day. I think about the people I love. Or about these incredible, amazing, needy, talented, hilarious, adorable students with whom I get to spend my entire day. And then I think about how I get to see glaciers and snow-capped mountains that line an ocean every morning on my way to see them. And I know that through all of the challenges and cheese, I am going to look back on this year and miss it- all of it- and feel so glad I had such a crazy-hard, crazy-cool, Alaskan adventure.