Let’s get this out of the way first: I’m not a blogger. I go in bits and spurts—I might post for days and then ghost for months. I’m also not a writer. Not in the conventional sense. Not really. I’m a teacher, an instructional coach, a curriculum nerd, a lifelong insomniac, and someone who never learned to half-care about anything. I read constantly, think too much, and talk to myself like I’m being interviewed by Jon Stewart. Or maybe Colbert. It just depends on the day.

I’ve spent over two decades in education, trying to make learning matter and helping students and teachers find their voice. I’m also a history junkie, a wannabe fiction writer, a cat lover, and a firm believer that tacos, curling, and collective efficacy can save the world—though probably not in that order.

I feel things deeply. I get fired up. I talk with my hands. I’m not for everyone. I’ve adopted the simile: I’m like stinky cheese to describe myself. (Personality, not hygiene.) I am an acquired taste—and I’m finally okay with that.

Most nights I don’t sleep. I lie awake replaying conversations, writing essays in my head, rewriting the ones I didn’t finish, or ranting at the ceiling about education, justice, inequality, grief, and why social media makes me both hopeful and horrified at the same time. Eventually, I get tired enough to think: you should probably write this down.

So I do.

This blog is the result of all of that: too many thoughts, too little sleep, and the feral kind of grace that comes from telling the truth out loud