25 years as an educator—and at least a dozen more before that coaching, mentoring, running camps, leading arts programs, and engaging in general kid-centered monkey business (some of which may have included dodgeballs, duct tape, and popsicle sticks).

It’s been, quite literally, a lifetime of working with young people—changing lives, dodging glitter explosions, and watching the world change in return.

Now, as I step into Year 26, I find myself closer to the end of the tunnel than ever before—and yes, the light at the end is looking suspiciously like a recliner and a Costco-sized tub of Red Vines.

For the first time, my brain has wandered into the “what happens after this?” zone. Not in a midlife crisis way—nobody panic—but in that quiet, slow-blink, standing-in-an-empty-classroom kind of way.

It’s just… new. Unfamiliar terrain.

There’s a lot to look back on: the wins, the weirdness, the wild ideas that somehow worked. And there’s still plenty to look forward to—kids will always be weird and wonderful, and coffee will always be essential. But yeah… I’ve gotten more nostalgic.

The work has always mattered, but now it feels even more personal. The names, the stories, the hallway laughter, the quiet wins—they all land differently.

So here’s to another year of showing up, staying curious, laughing often, and maybe—just maybe—finally earning the respect of the copy machine.

Still learning. Still laughing. Still here.