The threshold of the door is wide and bright, A circle gathers, laughing in the glow, And I am here, caught somewhere in the light, Desiring more than just the names I know. I see the surface, beautiful and clear, The pleasant currents where we dive and play, But oh, I want the ocean deep from here— I want to wash the quiet guard away.
I want the late-night, sitting-on-the-floor, Unvarnished truths, the fears we never speak, To open wide the heavy, bolted door, And show the places where the walls are weak. I long for ties that weather through the storm, The kind of tether time cannot undo, Where sitting in the silence keeps us warm, And being known means being valued, too.
But heavy armor isn’t easily shed, And stepping closer feels like stepping blind. The words I mean to say stay in my head, While careful, safer phrases wait behind. It is so hard to pull the veil aside, To offer up the soft, unshielded part, To trust the spaces where I usually hide And lay the raw geography of heart.
So here I stand, a newcomer at bay, With arms that ache to open and extend. I take a breath, and try to find a way To cross the bridge from stranger into friend.
I will be writing a series of blog posts about my experiences at the Ron Clark Academy (RCA), documenting this transformative professional development journey.
Part 1 Traveling to Atlanta
This trip marks a significant personal milestone, as it is the first time I have traveled by air since before September 11, 2001. The experience felt somewhat surreal; even the airline check-in agents expressed surprise when they realized how long it had been since my last flight. Over the years, the rising cost of air travel had made it a luxury that simply wasn’t a regular part of my life. Consequently, this journey served as my formal introduction to modern TSA procedures. Being unfamiliar with the current strict regulations regarding liquid sizes, I unfortunately had to surrender my lotion at security. Despite this minor setback, the overall travel experience was positive and smooth.
I am fortunate to be traveling to the Ron Clark Academy thanks to a generous scholarship provided by Sonic Drive-In, which is covering all major expenses, including our hotel accommodations and flights. Our logistical arrangements have been efficient; we utilized Lyft for transit from the airport to our hotel, and the Academy provides a dedicated shuttle bus for the daily commute between the hotel and the school. I am filled with excitement for this opportunity, especially since my own school implemented the Ron Clark Academy House System about a year ago. Recently, however, I have noticed that the initial momentum and enthusiasm among our staff and students have begun to wane, and I hope this visit provides the spark needed to revitalize our program.
The timeless rule of arriving at the airport early remains a necessity in modern travel. I felt grateful to begin this trip at the Evansville airport, which is relatively small and manageable. While the TSA process in Evansville was straightforward, I am mentally preparing for our connecting flight to Atlanta, which I anticipate will be significantly more crowded and chaotic—likely a “10” on a scale of difficulty. To mitigate this, we plan to head to the airport exceptionally early for our return trip on Saturday morning to ensure we can navigate security lines and terminal crowds without unnecessary stress.
My experience checking bags also provided a moment of relief. I was initially anxious after encountering technical difficulties while trying to pay baggage fees online. However, when I reached the counter, the agent informed me that because my bag weighed under 20 pounds, there was no charge at all. I was incredibly relieved that my online payment attempt had failed!
I must admit that the logistics of this trip were somewhat intimidating at first. Having been grounded for so many years, I worried about the complexities of navigating large airports and maintaining a tight schedule. I am very thankful to be traveling with a fellow teacher, as having a colleague by my side has made the entire process much more comfortable and enjoyable.
This trip marks the first time I have traveled by air since before September 11, 2001. It is a bit surreal; even the check-in agents seemed surprised by how long it had been. Since flying has become so expensive, it simply hasn’t been a regular part of my life. This journey provided my very first experience with modern TSA procedures. I was completely unaware of the strict regulations regarding liquid sizes, which unfortunately meant I had to part with my lotion. Despite that small hurdle, the experience was positive.
I am traveling to the Ron Clark Academy (RCA) thanks to a scholarship provided by Sonic Drive-In. They are generously covering all expenses, including the hotel and flights. We utilized Lyft to transit from the airport to our hotel, and the Academy itself provides a shuttle bus for the commute between the hotel and the school. I am incredibly excited for this opportunity. My own school implemented the Ron Clark Academy House System about a year ago, but lately, it feels as though the initial momentum and excitement among the staff and students have begun to wane.
The necessity of arriving at the airport early remains a constant in travel. I am grateful to be flying out of Evansville, as it is a relatively small and manageable airport. While my first encounter with TSA in Evansville was smooth, I am anticipating that the connecting flight to Atlanta will be much more crowded and chaotic—likely a 10 on a scale of 0 to 10. To prepare for this, we plan to leave exceptionally early for our return trip on Saturday morning to ensure we can navigate the security lines and terminal crowds without stress.
I also had an experience checking my bags. I was initially quite nervous because I encountered difficulties trying to pay for the baggage fees online. However, upon arrival at the counter, the agent informed me that because my bag weighed under 20 pounds, there was no charge at all. I was very relieved that the online payment hadn’t gone through!
Admittedly, the logistical aspects of this trip were a bit intimidating. Having not flown in such a long time, I was worried about navigating the airports and making sure I reached every destination on schedule. I am very thankful to be traveling alongside another teacher, which has made the process much more comfortable.
Part 2 Hotel
The flight to Atlanta was remarkably smooth, which was a relief given my long absence from air travel. Since I had not been on a plane in such a long time, I felt incredibly fortunate to have secured a window seat. Watching the world shrink below as we ascended provided a perspective I had truly missed.
My children have never had the opportunity to fly, so I made sure to record a video of the takeoff to share the excitement with them later. I often wish I had the financial means to provide them with this kind of travel experience firsthand. However, the logistics and cost of flying with all my children would be quite expensive. That said, with the current rise in gas prices, I sometimes wonder if driving the same distance would end up being just as costly.
As we made our way to the hotel, we didn’t see much of the local landscape as we remained primarily on the interstate. Eventually, we transitioned through the downtown area, which was visually appealing with its urban architecture; however, as anyone who travels knows, a city is defined by much more than just its downtown district.
The hotel itself was truly remarkable. I have never stayed in a facility with such unique aesthetics. After checking in, I went to inspect my room and was particularly struck by the bathroom design. It was unlike any I had ever encountered. The shower lacked a traditional door; while it initially resembled a standard shower with a sliding glass partition, the panel was actually fixed in place. There was simply an open space at the rear for entry. Furthermore, the bathroom door did not close completely. While this may be a contemporary design trend, I was quite relieved to be staying alone, as the lack of privacy would have been awkward with a roommate.
Later, we gathered with representatives from Sonic on the top floor of the hotel for a scheduled dinner and networking session with educators from various regions. I found myself acting with uncharacteristic confidence; I simply walked over to a table of strangers and joined them for conversation. Those who know me well would understand that this is not my typical behavior. I was pleasantly surprised by my own social initiative, though I reasoned that since most of us had traveled with only one other colleague from our respective schools, we were all in a similar position of not knowing many people. Regardless, I was genuinely impressed with my ability to step outside my comfort zone.
The lines were drawn in quiet ink, A map of “yes” and “stay,” I feared the bridge would surely sink If I turned the other way. I held my breath to keep the peace, A ghost within the room, Fearing that my own release Would seal a friendship’s doom.
I thought the cost of being me Was more than they would pay, That if I spoke, they’d turn and flee And leave me in the gray. But then the weight began to gall, The “jokes” that left a sting, The way they made me feel so small While I gave everything.
So I stood up, a sudden flame, And watched the masks descend, I finally spoke my truth, my name, And waited for the end. They met my strength with cold disdain, With anger and with slight, They saw my joy as their own pain And walked into the night.
And in the silence left behind, The truth began to bloom: The friends I was so scared to find Were never in that room. For if a boundary breaks a bond, The bond was but a thread; Of people who are truly fond, There’s nothing left to dread.
If standing up meant losing them, I lost a heavy chain, A false and hollow stratagem That only offered pain. The ones who leave when you grow tall Were never yours to keep; It’s better that the shadows fall So you can finally leap.
The tapestry of life has threads of gloom, Where toxic darkness drains the spirit’s bloom. Some things in life are toxic, subtly sly, Environments that stifle, habits that deny Our health, or institutions built on lies— The silent poisons that before us rise.
As harmful are the ties that bring us pain, Some people in life who are toxic, they remain Emotional vampires, constant critics cold, Passive aggressors, stories to be told Of manipulation, thriving on the storm, Suffocating potential, leaving us worn.
Beyond the things and people we may face, Some activities are toxic in this space. The compulsions offering distraction’s grace, But long-term regret we cannot erase: The relentless pursuit, the endless scroll, The cycles that entrap and take their toll.
So why do we still use these things we know? Is it comfort, fear, or letting inertia grow? And why do we still talk to these people too? Is it guilt, obligation, hope that’s often through? Why on the altar of connection’s name, Do we sacrifice our peace to feed their flame?
If the outcome’s negative, why do we stay? Why do we still do these activities every day? The self-sabotage, the deeply set-in need, Why do we torment ourselves by doing the same things repeatedly indeed? A closed, agonizing loop of self-inflicted harm, Where inertia holds us in its harmful arm.
But the moment of reckoning demands its due, A crystallizing truth, unflinching, strong, and new: Enough! I am done! a line across the sand, The absolute refusal, a sovereign command. To the source of the poison, the message is clear, Take your toxicity and your self-righteous attitude and leave me here.
Leave me be, so I can move on and find my peace, Grant me the space for wounds to heal and cease. Leave me be and stop pretending you ever cared, The charade of concern, its hollow core laid bare. Leave me be and let me live my life as it should be, Unburdened by your shadow, finally free.
My future is my own, not for your design, Leave me be and stop pretending that you ever cared is the final sign. Severing the chains of a love that was a lie, Walking into freedom beneath a clear, blue sky.
The words, sharp and unwarranted, slice through the fragile shell I built. Tiny, invisible blades, their power immense, carving my heart into scattered, irreparable pieces.
My carefully constructed dreams, ambitious plans, vital goals— all crumble before this onslaught, a lifetime of building reduced to dust. My essence, fractured, lies on the cold floor.
Why do these ephemeral sounds, mere vibrations in the air, hurt so? Why grant them such devastating power, to tear the fabric of our being, to leave us utterly immobilized?
With a deep, shuddering breath, I rise. Muscles protest, heavy with despair. I kneel, picking mangled, bleeding pieces from the unforgiving floor, cradling the remnants, a silent cry.
I try, with feverish intensity, to mend— reaching for glue, tape, harsh staples. But none of them hold. The cracks are too deep, the breaks too fundamental. A heart shattered by words cannot be fixed by physical objects
Again, the haunting question returns: Why do I give words this power? Why allow such deep, lingering pain?
Yet, the act of kneeling has shifted something. I stand up, not whole, but resilient. I place my broken, but still beating, heart back into my chest, and with a final act of defiance, I dust myself off.
The reality remains: Words possess the power to tear us down, to reduce us to rubble, weapons that wound the soul.
But words are not solely destruction. They possess the capacity to restore. A single, well-placed phrase— of kindness, encouragement, or understanding— can be the foundation upon which we rebuild.
Love, in its purest expression, is the ultimate healing force, articulated through sincere, positive words, what ultimately saves us all.
Words can tear you down. Words can also lift you up.
Choose your words with the highest intention. Strive always to lift a spirit, to reinforce worth, to acknowledge a presence.
Never fail to be kind. Kindness is the shield against the world’s harsh words, the balm for its inflicted injuries.
Remember this immutable truth: Words are a powerful, double-edged sword. They can drag someone into the deepest pit of despair, or elevate them to heights of strength and hope.
Use this profound tool with meticulous care. Wield your words to heal, to encourage, and to restore.
