Teachers and Introverts

Several people have asked me in the last few years what it's like to be a teacher and an introvert.  I've been thinking about this more than usual lately, as this year is especially people-intense.  In the midst of prayer and reflection on a retreat to the mountains last weekend, I stumbled on this analogy.  It seems like the best description of these days.

By day

I’m a bucket of water balloons,

expanded to bursting a while ago. 

Sloshing life and knowledge

bound in fragile walls.

I’m desperate to be thrown,

made to break merrily,

extravagant and poured out.

I’m spent,

splashed,

broken open. 

I’m vivid as electricity

each explosion an introduction

word sentence correction

complaint sigh

smile tear apology

farewell.

I’m made to be broken.

I’m an empty bucket each night,

fragments left behind,

scattered on the path,

soaking into the background.

I’m a million pieces now.

Start over, you tell me,

there will be more tomorrow.

More water (love patience peace hope),

more balloons to hold it.

Please promise to collect me,

and begin again.