pound it out.

“There are years that ask questions and years that answer”—go some of the best words from Hurston in Their Eyes Were Watching God. That phrase held tight to me this year; that phrase that held up a story in a novel stayed wrapped around my brain this year.

And I’m not sure which type of year these past nine months have been—but it (like always) has been a year that taught. And this year, I learned how to fight. I asked questions and God gave me answers and while both questioning and answering and breathing and running and dancing and yawning and crying and even staring blankly all happened—this year my answers came in the answer of a closed fist of the soul, ready to pound it all out.

This year has been like a track workout. Mile repeats. Pounded. Out. Mile. After. Mile. And while it has been good—made stronger—I’m tired. This year I fought for students and I fought for respect. I fought for time, time, time over and over and over. I fought self-doubt. I fought for marriage. I felt like you feel when your legs ache but you’re rounding the final curve on the track—again and again.

And honestly—I know things are going to continue at this pace, after summer, I mean. I’m coaching three sports next year and teaching two preps and I know Andrew and I will continue to have to learn to make each other a priority. But I feel like I’ve conquered something.

This was a good school year. And for the first time, I’m staying put. I’m not changing schools. I’m not leaving anyone behind. This was a good year of training—of fighting. Of pushing through the curve on the track and bursting into that final 100 meters.

It’s time to take a minute (two months) to breathe.
And do it again. Better and stronger. But still fighting.