If you were a part of my life four years ago, you would remember my time as a TA in England. The GAP year when I lived and breathed children. My days revolved around them. I got them up, fed them, sent them to school, taught them in class, coached them in sport (rounders…really?), helped them with their homework and put them to bed. There were excursions, tears, homesickness, graduations, accidents, new pets, excitement.



Children. Everywhere. All of the time.
So obviously, I chose a teaching degree when I came back to Australia (well, after awhile, but we all knew I wanted to). Because I am good at it. I am. And I care about kids. They’re hilarious and they always force me to take myself less seriously.
The difference now?
Now, I would rather be the student than the teacher. As I’m preparing my lessons, all I can think of is the questions that I want to know the answer to. Questions that the 11 year olds I’m teaching wouldn’t even know how to ask. It’s not that I find it boring to teach them how to square a number. It’s just that I’d rather they learned it as quickly as possible so that we can move on to something exciting. Something that is more complex and builds on that simple skill that they haven’t even learned yet.
Case in point – a math assignment I did for uni when I was supposed to be discussing 3 dimensional shapes. What did I find myself doing? Writing a mini essay on the fourth dimension and researching string theory.
To teach primary school kids.
So, again my indecision, always the indecision. What do I really want with my life? Do I finish a degree that frustrates me on number of levels, just to get a degree? To begin a career that I’m already drawing away from before I’ve even started? I love to teach, truly. It’s not like I will never teach. I intend to – here, around the world, in volunteer positions, even my own kids in the future.
I just don’t think I’m ready to yet.