Fucking Finally

Whenever I’ve thought of what I want to do, the only things I ever came up with were writing and teaching.

I have been writing. But we all know that doesn’t pay the bills. So I’m dipping my toe into the water of teaching. Just a tiny baby toe. I’m working one afternoon a week, at a high school. There, students meet after school to write and read poetry. In the spring, they will compete in a spoken word poetry competition.

I’m going to be a part of it all.

I was excited yesterday, to be in a room full of people who wanted to write, who are already writing, at fifteen or eighteen. I wish I had been involved in such a thing during high school, to have the healthy outlet for coping with raging hormones and petty friendships. I would’ve known that there are communities of people who are also passionate about writing and I would’ve anchored myself in one much sooner. I want to do high school all over again.

These kids are going to write some good fucking poetry. Really good shit. We’re going to do it together. It’s going to blow all of our minds.

I’m getting paid to write and teach writing. Can you believe it?
I’m thirty-four and I’m finally figuring my life out.

Fucking finally.