A Teachable Moment, 20 Years Later

Project 365, Day 9

I plan on writing about this further in-depth, perhaps in essay form, but hey, I have 51 weeks ahead of me here, so I gotta stretch some things out. Anyhow, the other day while I was scrolling, I saw an account I follow—and I’m sorry to say I can’t remember which one; I even went back to Instagram to see if I saved it but I hadn’t—post about the people in their lives that ushered them to where they are today.

This person in particular was sharing a story about a teacher of theirs who had pointed something out to them about themselves. Something that had changed their path…footsteps left behind in life that they could now see as they were well past school age. Hindsight.

I have a similar story. Never had I considered myself a writer. I feel like there are some people in life who recognize their gifts and talents early on. Then there are others who go through life never fully realizing theirs. And still, there are those who find out things about themselves much later in life…probably the majority of us. But I got a glimpse into one of mine when I was 16 years old thanks in part to my high school history teacher.

“I want to be an architect” was always my standby answer when younger. As a kid, you might remember, you get asked the “what do you want to be when you grow up?” question by basically everyone older than you who probably doesn’t know how to interact with you and this is their go-to query. But me, ever the A student, was always proud to proclaim that I, indeed, wanted to design buildings.

Of course, I can’t for the life of me understand where this desire came from as I think back. Sure, I design now (interiors), but architecture was never a “thing” for me growing up. I didn’t look at buildings and think “wow, look at those corbels, will ya?” Did I enjoy the heck out of a weekend model home tour with my parents? Of course, I did, I’m not a monster. Gazing at floor plans pinned behind plexiglass in the real estate offices of planned communities was pretty neat, but it didn’t come close to my need to journal and read. To be completely honest, I think it sounded cool and grown up and it was a different answer than any other kid. Hey Jenny, good luck being a doctor, I’m going to do something creative. Tom Hanks was an architect in Sleepless in Seattle, certainly, I could be, too, Awake in Orlando.

So that was my answer until the ripe age of 16. “Have you ever considered journalism?” he said to me. I can remember the classroom. Where I was standing, where the windows were placed—in just the spot to distract myself halfway through class watching the seniors get released from lunch. No recollection of what I was wearing, but I can say with certainty that my bangs were perfectly coifed because that was my thing. One day, I’ll write a post about my bangs. If you knew me back then, you need no further explanation.

“No, I haven’t.” My teacher was handing me back a paper I had written. We were deep into the year, so it strikes me now he must have been holding on to those words to share with me for some time. No one ever had implied to me that I could write. I always enjoyed it personally. I read voraciously as a kid, a practice I picked up from watching my mother do it every day. But certainly, that wasn’t something you got paid to do. Right? Magazines had always seemed so glamorous…my mind wandered. I knew newspapers weren’t for me. Too serious and fast for my brain that likes the beauty in life, and I take my time discovering it. “Northwestern has a great journalism school. You should look into it.”

There’s more to say here. I want to write further about it, but for now, I’ll leave it at this: Mr. Rogers, wherever you are, you probably have no idea that you changed my life that day. You set me on my path to be exactly where I am right now. Sitting at my dining table, pecking away at my keyboard on a journey to write every day for a year, waiting for my chicken wings to finish in my air fryer on a Friday night. And frankly, there’s no other place I’d rather be. Thank you.

I don’t write this necessarily to share an insight into my life. I’m writing about it because someone else prompted me to think about someone in my life who changed it, probably for the better, who guided my footsteps, and it felt really nice. Maybe my post today will just be a story for you to ingest, but maybe it’ll pluck out a memory of your own that you can smile about. I think it’s fair to say we all deserve something to smile about right about now.

See you tomorrow, friends.