It was one of those days where every minor thing is stressful and annoying. Nothing dramatic, just the little things that add up. Rude people on the street, inconsiderate drivers, litter everywhere. And then a bunch of obnoxious teenagers were jerks to my daughter and her friends at the pool (and in a totally legal but mean-spirited way, so I couldn’t even unleash my temper on them). I was done. We stopped on the walk home to order pizza because I just didn’t have the energy left to be a responsible dinner-making parent.
So we’re standing on the sidewalk and I’m ordering online with my phone (breaking at least three of my own personal rules for acceptable behavior) when out of the blue one of the teachers from the children’s lit class I took last year — the one that kind of killed my self-esteem for the better part of a year — approached me. She asked if I was still writing and what I was working on. I admitted that I’d taken a break because I lost confidence after the class. She apologized if she or the other teacher had made me feel that way — and obviously it wasn’t their fault, it was a combination of things aligning at a moment of insecurity and basically my own damn fault for being too sensitive — but it was really nice of her to say it, anyway. She encouraged me to keep working, especially on the middle-grade mystery I’d shown the class, and she was just generally really nice. Because of course she was — she’s a nice person and a good teacher and not some malicious confidence-devouring hellbeast.
I’d already been on an upswing, getting back into writing again and having a good long vent about the process of rebuilding self-esteem, but this random encounter gave me another boost. I’m happy to have reversed some lingering negative emotions from the class, and I’m really thankful for the reminder that even a rather solitary practice like writing needs communities. I’m going to try a little harder to be part of mine.
michelle heimburger 