When I was a young girl, I declared to my mother, “I will never become a teacher.”
My mother, with all her wisdom, said to me, “Never say never.”
Both my parents were teachers. Our household had the same routine year after year. Start of the year, mid-term exams, summer vacations, second-term exams, and then final exams.
The most exciting thing to happen in a year was for my parents to receive bundles of final exam papers to mark.
My parents would stay up late at night marking those papers. Then the absolute finale — to seal the bundles with molten wax and take them to the post office.
While other children’s parents talked about their exciting jobs. My parents talked about their students and their achievements.
It never bothered them they were not earning much. And their talent, dedication, and hard work went unrecognized, undervalued, and underpaid.
They were proud their students were doing well, and they played a role in helping them get there.
When I grew up, I wanted to be like the parents of my friends. I wanted to be applauded for the organization I worked for. The kind of work I did, and the amount of money I earned.
So, I did a Master’s in Biochemistry and became a scientist. Then, I studied software engineering and became a computer programmer. I worked in the corporate sector and in public service. I became a manager and then a director.
I became all I ever wanted to be. And received plenty of recognition, praise, and remuneration for my achievements.
But then, in the third act of my life, my mother’s prophecy came true.
I started teaching aspiring writers how to write, first through my articles, then through my courses.
And it was then I had the revelation – there is nothing more satisfying than teaching someone a skill that you have mastered.
Nothing has fulfilled me more than seeing my students doing well, taking part in a writing challenge or building a daily writing habit, or becoming a fluent writer, or writing a book in 30 days.
Now, in the third act of my life, I have become like my parents. A proud teacher, marveling at my students’ achievements.
