Just about every teacher I know experiences the school year as an emotional cycle.

We love the work. We love our colleagues. We love our students. We love the creative energy of the profession.

The art of learning and growing together is fire, as the kids say. It’s pretty magical.

And then the work starts to gain weight.

Students misbehave. Colleagues disappoint. Administrators miscommunicate. We mess up. Parents complain. Grading accumulates. Emails bury us. The days got darker. The commutes get longer.

Then, when our mental-emotional tanks are at seasonal lows, we enter reporting periods. Our workloads multiply and intensify.

It’s in those seasons that we hardly have time to sleep, let alone cook nutritious meals, fold laundry, or exercise. Loved ones gently ask why we are so absent, so listless, so emotionally guarded and withdrawn.

Because I’m a teacher, we respond.

It’s then, in the depths of overwhelm, that we’re washed over by waves of escapism, by dreams of a calmer, more stable 9 to 5 life.

Sound familiar?

I get there sometimes

My education content brand is Teachers on Fire. I think a lot about what it takes to help teachers remain on fire instead of burning out. As a vice-principal who cares for my teachers, sustainability is EVERYTHING.

Like, we can talk about learning, instruction, access, inclusion, and technology all we want, but if we’re losing good teachers, what’s the point?

But I too get pulled under by the escapism wave sometimes. Failure, fear, and relentless fatigue combine at certain points in the year to make me dream of other ways of existing in the world.

A thought experiment: list the things you would miss

Paradoxically, it’s when I get most serious about moving on from teaching that I get most practical about what I enjoy every day.

Visualizing an alternative work life loops me back to humility and gratitude.

This isn’t some lame attempt at let’s-talk-ourselves-into-this. Stay with me here.

What I’m suggesting you to try is to think clearly, rationally, and honestly about the amazing wins of this work that you will freaking miss once you’re out of schools for good.

Here are just some of the actual things that I get to do on Monday that I will no longer be able to do if I quit tomorrow.

• I get to see the light bulb moment.
• I get to comfort children in despair.
• I get to make a lot of creative decisions.
• I get to inspire children and build dreams.
• I get to play soccer at recess with passionate third graders.
• I get to goof around and share jokes with middle schoolers.
• I get to work among people who show genuine care for me.
• I get to facilitate relationship repair between little humans.
• I get to learn names and attribute value to growing human beings.
• I get to laugh with and learn from adults that I admire and respect.
• I get to create school podcast content that delights my community.
• I get to do work that leans into my most deeply held beliefs and core values.
• I get to hear friendly greetings of “Hi, Mr. Cavey!” over 100 times a day, I’m sure.

At some point, I will be gone from the classroom. And so will you. We all will.

But not yet. Not today.

Today, I still freaking get to do this.

Today, I’m teaching.