Sailing into the Wind

Were every Storm so sweet

The Value could not be —

We buy with contrast —

Pang is good.

As near as memory —

Emily Dickinson, “The snow that never drifts”

I apologize for the long hiatus—it has been nearly a month since my last post! To all those concerned, I am alive and well! It has been a great period of adjustment as I began teaching and working with the students. There is much to say, and little time. I will do my best to condense my experiences into a digestible portion, but it is truly impossible to describe everything.

I have been challenged in every way possible.

I have very little teaching experience, but I teach students at three different grade levels at the same time. I have little behavioral training, but I manage several disruptive behaviors in class a day. I come from an entirely different background from the students in my village, but I make connections with them each day.

Every day, I am learning something new. I can now gut and fillet a salmon on my own. I know how to find a good patch of wild berries on the mountainside. I know how to book a flight on my own. I am learning bits and pieces of the Yup’ik language from conversations with people in the village. I know my students’ names, and I am understanding their passions and their struggles.

I am overcoming these challenges.

During the first few weeks, it was all I could do to drag myself out of bed to get to school. I could barely manage to get through the day, and I came home questioning myself.

Who do I think I am? Am I even qualified to teach these students? Can I do this?

These questions swirled in my mind, brewing into a tempestuous storm. I was clinging to the mast of my flimsy ship for dear life as self-doubt lashed at me in furious waves. So I cried out desperately for help.

My help swiftly came.

I reached out to our school’s social worker and a psychologist that works with teachers from our school district and shared my struggles. They both recognized my experiences and validated my struggles. They told me that it wasn’t uncommon for a new teacher to have these fears, nor was it uncommon for an experienced teacher to have them. They helped me to see the progress and the difference that I am making for the students just by showing up for them each day.

In my village, it is almost always windy.

Upriver, the soft tundra ground stores heat, which clashes with the cold air coming off the Bering Sea. Combined with the mountain valley funneling the air, this creates an near-constant bluster, generally accompanied by a persistent gray sky and fickle rain. Every morning, I wake up well before the light and walk for ten minutes along the muddied gravel roads to my classroom. Every morning, the wind pushes against me, the rain lashes at my jacket, the blackened sky mocks me.

But every morning, I walk to school. I teach my students. I come home and I know that I have done well.

I am learning the art of sailing into the wind.