Alexandra Diane's Blog

Share a lesson you wish you had learned earlier in life.

I’ve lost so much looking to the stars waiting for an answer. I allowed my heart to rule my destiny, ignoring the pull within my soul. I wonder what I would have been if I had chosen a different path. Would all the dark and vile things still have happened? Or would I have been safe wrapped in fate’s warm embrace? 

It feels pointless to spend time on the what ifs. There is no time machine to change the past. Even if there were, I wouldn’t know where to start. 

Would I go back and never say yes? Would I never give my number to a blonde mohawk in a sea of black? Or would I go all the way back to the beginning and have the courage to answer a simple question with the fire that fueled my heart?

It’s hard to face reality. My youth is behind me, and I have spent more time avoiding following my dreams and passions because I allowed the wrong people to guide me. Fear of the unknown has held me back more times than I can count. 

I tell myself time and time again that I won’t let fear win. At times, the darkness seeps in, settling into my mind, and doubt swells like a bitter tide. Sometimes, the warmth of the midday sun is hidden from me, leaving me cold and alone, isolated while I am surrounded by people. 

And while I dig myself out of the nightmare that is my mind, the world pushes me back down. 

An incident at work has triggered my PTSD. Digging up parts of my past that I thought I had recovered from is robbing me of the joy, comfort, and protection of my classroom. Forcing me to be uncomfortable in my skin as I have to see a person related to the wretched interaction every day. 

What will it take for me to finally break? Will I reach a point where I can no longer pick up the pieces of my life and force them back together? Wearing this mask everyday to pass for functioning is draining. How much longer will I play this game?

To those who celebrate the murder of someone they don’t agree with on a political level, please rethink your humanity. Wishing death upon someone you don’t agree with dissolves a piece of your soul. Hoping and praying someone loses their life is vile and disgusting. 

When I saw the video of Charlie Kirk being shot, I watched it about six times. The first few were hoping it was AI. The next four I turned on my news brain and was trying to figure out how somebody would cut this for a broadcast. I did the same with the awful footage of the woman being stabbed on the subway. Unfortunately, I’ve been desensitized to horrible and senseless acts of violence. It’s easy to become desensitized to violent content after editing footage of men being decapitated for not disavowing Jesus or young girls being burnt alive for refusing to become sex slaves before you become numb to the content. 

Even with being desensitized to the graphic video, it has not stopped me from being disgusted by the public’s response. 

People were hoping, praying, and putting out into the universe that this man would lose his life. Why? Because he holds open conversations with the public, discussing ideas and concepts that some deem controversial. Instead of the public being open to a civilized debate, this man was shot in the throat and has died. Allegedly, someone tweeted, “I hope he gets evaporated,” followed by “Let’s say something big is happening tomorrow.”

Violent tweets are not new. However, I never thought I would be alive to see people publicly write “hopes and prayers to the bullet.” Even more disturbing was seeing “Best wishes for the bullet and its family,” “best news to come out of my state,” along with “I’ve never wished a man dead, but I’ve read some obituaries with great satisfaction.”

When people live behind a keyboard writing hate, they forget that the people they are writing about are human. Online hate is dehumanizing. It spreads toxic political discourse with its dangerous violent rhetoric. Violent rhetoric can lead to real world violence.

Don’t rob someone of their life because you dislike them, but you allow them to live rent-free in your head. There is not a single person in this world who will make another perfectly happy. There are those who will always find a reason to disagree with you. Again, just because someone may dislike you and your lifestyle doesn’t mean you deserve to die. 

Stop wishing for politicians and those you politically disagree with to be assassinated.

Instead, go out and vote every two years and actually change our world. Be better humans and stop wishing everyone dead because they believe differently than you. 

When does violent rhetoric end and the actions begin?

We have to be careful because once that bottle pops, you can almost never put the monster back in. Because those who murdered men and women disagreed with them on a fundamental level. When do we cross the line and act like those in Russia who jail and murder their political adversaries? 

We as a nation are better than that.

Certain actions demand a death wish: rapists, murderers, and perpetrators of sexual assault of all ages. Those are the people whom you can wish death upon.

Everyone else, just ignore them. Don’t listen to their rhetoric. Don’t hate watch their content and make them famous.

Life is too short to hate. Be smart about what you put your energy in. 

Remember, the political tides always change, but murder is wrong no matter what your beliefs are. 

Chose to be better. Just because you have a difference of opinion does not give you the right to go after someone.

Friday out right sucked. 

When my students came in, I had a full-blown panic attack. My anxiety took over, and I allowed my stress to control me. One of my students asked if I was okay, and the tears just started flowing. I asked her to grab our AICE coordinator to come watch my class because I knew there was no way that I was going to get myself under control until I removed myself in that situation.

 When she came in, a veteran teacher was with her. The coordinator sat with the class while the other teacher walked with me so I could just breathe. The coordinator was talking with the class, and one student said, “oh she’s just having a bad day.” The coordinator just looked at her and asked, “How can she just have a bad day when you guys are her first class?”

Living with anxiety is taxing. The last time I had a panic attack this bad was over a decade ago when I was living in Brazil. Loud noises surrounded me. I was in a dark space with people that I didn’t understand the language, and my ex-husband was getting blackout drunk. I felt so helpless in this situation that my brain just shut down because that was easier than dealing with how lost I felt. That night broke me so much that I knew my marriage was ending. 

Breaking in my classroom like that really made me wonder if I needed to end teaching and move on to a different career where I don’t invest my emotions that strongly into the workplace. 

When I broke in my classroom, it was because I was at a loss, but differently. The administration’s way of dealing with students on their phones or causing disruptions is to write them up, issuing a referral. I don’t want to do that because, for seniors, if they get any referral they are no longer allowed to participate in any of the fun activities. So instead of giving them a referral and stopping them from going to Grad Night or prom because they don’t want to stop talking while I’m trying to teach, I repeatedly asked them to stop doing whatever they’re supposed to not be doing. 

I broke because I’m trying to protect them from destroying their senior year within the first three weeks of school, but not a single one of them was thinking about what they were doing to me. And when it’s the students that you look forward to seeing most that end up being the ones on their worst behavior, it takes a toll on you. 

If I had been at home or out in public somewhere where I wasn’t worried about my job, I wouldn’t have had to swallow all of this negative energy. I could have screamed, yelled, or told them to just stop at a level that a mom does with their children that puts the fear of God into them. 

But I don’t want to be screaming at them. I don’t want to do that to my children at home and I don’t want to do this with kids, who are almost adults, that I’m trying to work with them at a professional level. A large majority of them have worked their butts off to earn that respect. 

But there are those who forgot that this is a classroom. They have forgotten that I’m a teacher and that they still need to learn. What is worse is that they forgot that their actions have full consequences. 

I’m no longer going to be protecting them. I need to protect my peace. And if writing them a referral is the only way to get them to understand that I am very serious about them learning and bettering themselves, then so be it. They don’t deserve to go on all these fun things if their behavior doesn’t earn it for them. I won’t allow myself to swallow all the negativity again. They not only affect me at the workplace, but they affect me at home. And the children that I have at home don’t deserve to get that backlash that I swallow for 8 hours every day. It should be those who are mistreating me that deserve that response. 

How are you feeling right now?

I’m not.

Not good.

I’m disappointed.

I feel empty and betrayed. 

I came into this school year excited. I spent most of my summer planning out interesting ways to teach genres and trailer concepts to my students. I started with horror and built it from the start of the genre.But it seemed that, since I wasn’t dancing for TikTok or breaking up my lecture into two minute dopamine hits, a small amount tuned me out. Usually that is fine, but these students are loudest with their opinions. They are the ones who cause the most chaos. 

It sucks to have to fight with teenagers just to get them to stop talking. Hearing groan after groan makes my skin crawl. A few of these students switched into my class because they didn’t want to be in the other class. I don’t know what they expected from me. But it wasn’t to sit and listen to them bitch and moan. We are at school. You have to learn. Instead of watching trailers to watch the evolution of the genre and have all the pieces broken down, they could just read a textbook. I promise that would suck.

I started the week explaining how I stopped watching horror when I began working in news. There isn’t anything a filmmaker could create that is worse than what humans actually do. So on Thursday, the day after a monster shot up a Catholic school while children prayed at mass, I broke. 

I didn’t want to talk about death and destruction. 

I wanted to be distracted by what my students were planning to create. So as the juniors went off to their class meeting about rings, I spoke with my seniors about what the next two months looked like. Those who had me before were amazing. Scripts were already being planned out and teams built. But again there were a few who thought my class was a fuck around class. 

I hate it.

I will not be up the kids’ asses.

It doesn’t work for my class. 

My upperclassmen usually know that when I am giving them freedom, they are working one way or another. But some believe they must use their phones, shouting out things. I didn’t have the energy to fight yesterday. I just let those continue to make the same mistake over and over again. I hoped that I wasn’t going to have to collect phones from the almost adults, but it looks like I’ll be treating the majority like freshmen because the loud few can’t respect rules. 

I thought that was going to be the worst. Until a handful of my trusted kids broke my trust. I am not spelling out ‌what they did because it will be blatant who I am talking about. I have enough students who read my blogs and stalk my Instagram that they will know who I am talking about. But when people go back on their word and I find out, they are burned. There is not enough time in the school year for them to earn it back. They will graduate soon, and the years of trust that had been built has shattered. 

It sucks because I am here to listen to my students’ trauma dump all over me when they have problems. I help them with their classwork, look for jobs, scholarships, and things that are more than just teaching TV Production. If they had that elsewhere, they wouldn’t be asking me. I am not jaded in my belief that everyone has a stable home life or that they have an adult to seek guidance from. But because of that, I think they have forgotten I am the adult. I am not their peer. The disrespect has festered, and I am over it. 

So that is how I am feeling right now. 

I need a three day weekend to decompress without looking at a single email from parents accusing me of trying to fail their student because their child did not turn in work. 

Today was probably the most conflicting day I’ve had in a while. We finally had a PD set up for all the TV production teachers in the district to work together. We shared every level of equipment and what software people can use, and as a group we were successful. Teachers were asking questions, guiding others in how to use software in different ways. We didn’t just sit through the same training that most of us have experienced for years.

However, when we walked into the district mandated Khanmigo training, it took that feeling away. How are we supposed to feel as humans and as educators being forced and told time and time again to use artificial intelligence in place of our teaching? The replacement is a reading between the lines because the trainer said that Khanmigo was to be treated as an assistant and as our partner. Unfortunately, the entire presentation showed how human teachers could become null and void. 

Palm Beach County spent billions of dollars developing this artificial intelligence teacher assistant. Students are mandated to have at least 10 interactions with the artificial intelligence system a week or a month; I can’t really remember. But these interactions are supposed to hold a conversation with the robot. One teacher suggested we just have them log in and say hi to the AI. I shut down that idea quickly. I don’t have time to say, okay guys, don’t pay attention to me; ask the robot whatever you want. The amount of stuff my students have been flagged asking Khanmigo is absurd. Most usually ask about why some people in history killed themselves. Or how they can do horrible things to the robot. I would love to say here, ask the robot this question, but then the students will continue talking to the AI and ignore that class is starting. 

My real problem is that they don’t encourage us to have one-on-one conversations with our students. The county already is shoving down our throats this trusted adult system, but why are we not actually working on developing a strong bond with our students? Students are being encouraged ‌to ask questions and develop a relationship with the robot. It seems counterproductive. Maybe instead of our classrooms being heavily focused on tests, and earning money for the schools, we actually teach what we are trying to have the robots teach.

The session started with an example of a poorly written “Khanstruct-a-Prompt” about scriptwriting. It was truly degrading to read. But it was supposed to encourage teachers to develop one that would work better to engage with our students. And the next example did just that. The AI chooses a scene, does a scene breakdown, gives examples of how to write a script, elements needed in a script, and helps the students write their own scene. But all of this is passive. The student isn’t being engaged with. They aren’t checking in on what the student understands. 

At this point, I don’t have a job. That is what I teach my students at the beginning of their film class. I spent hours finding sources and examples for my students. Going over every way to write unique elements of a script. But it seems like it was all pointless if I tell the students, enter this prompt and talk to the robot. Mind you, I have done it with the robot; it gets stuck. It doesn’t understand the nuances of dialogue, and after a while, it keeps pushing out the same nonsense over and over again. 

After a few more examples, we filled out a paper and chose the role of AI. We filled in the instructions and standards the AI is to use, how it is to support the students, and the expectations of the students. But aren’t all of those elements what teachers are supposed to do? 

I am confused. I thought I was supposed to teach, not robots. Or is the district trying to figure out how to get rid of teachers outside of being glorified babysitters?

Now, this whole concept isn’t totally evil. Especially for teachers who don’t care about their job. I have heard plenty of students say they have teachers who don’t actually teach. I’ve had to help them learn how to research and write papers. If they have math questions, I just tell them I will pray for them and to go ask their teacher. They end up rolling their eyes and just googling the answer and never learning how to solve the problem.

But what about the teachers who actually teach? 

Are we supposed to stare at the back of the kids’ heads because we have prompted the AI to act like a teacher? That was a suggestion repeated multiple times in the session today. That we should prompt the AI to act like a teacher. The presenter kept referring to the Khanmigo as our assistant and encouraged us to talk with the AI to collaborate with it. 

I find it amusing that it’s named Khanmigo, aside from being a production of Khan Academy. The name Khan only brings two people to mind; Genghis Khan and Khan from Star Trek. Both are villains. I’m just trying to figure out what kind of villain this software is. Is it ruthless invaders or is it somebody with vengeance trying to destroy an entire race because they were wronged? 

Either way, I can see the forced implementation of AI in this way could destroy some teachers. Outsiders wonder why teachers are leaving the profession in droves. Once upon a time, the answer was rude kids or nasty parents. But now, more than not people don’t want to fight with the new mandatory “resource” that is to help “supplement” our lessons. 

This summer, my family headed to Cooperstown in upstate New York. For weeks, we watched the weather. It was a tease, promising cool temperatures compared to the sweltering heat in Florida. It also promised rain. So much rain. But I came prepare for both. All the moms had more than a handful of baseball shirts made, and those would fit perfectly under a hoodie or light jacket. And because of the rain, I finally committed to buying Sperry duck shoes.

To get to New York, we flew. This was Bennett’s first time on a plane. To say he was excited was an understatement. He ran from window to window in the terminal, yelling at the planes. He also just ran everywhere because my two-year-old is feral and keeping him still is impossible. In truth, I let him run everywhere because I wanted him to get his energy out. Even though it was a late flight, we knew he wouldn’t sleep.

My husband and I packed the essentials to keep the kids entertained. Snacks on snacks on snacks, so we wouldn’t go broke before the plane taxied out. Coloring, laptops, and tablets, everything a kid could dream of. My kids… they were happy with the window before we boarded the plane. Well, not the middle schooler. He was glued to his phone and talking to his teammates. That’s until he became in charge of hunting down his little brother when he would escape.

The flight was easy and smooth. The worst part was trying to keep Bennett’s seatbelt on. He does not like being “trapped” as he calls it. The most anyone heard of him on the plane was when the PA would start and his movie would pause. His verbal frustration would earn laughs from all around him. The grownups didn’t like their movies being interrupted either.

The whole time I filmed little bits and pieces. I wanted to capture more moments than just on my phone. I’ve never done a vacation vlog before and figure this would be the best moment to do so. I borrowed the Osmo pocket 3 from school and let loose. There was something powerful about capturing these memories with a camera not attached to a phone. There were no distractions or urges to instantly post what I recorded. I simply turned on the camera record and went back to enjoying what was going on.

The whole Cooperstown 12U torment was something else. Every single day baseball, baseball, and more baseball. But the most fun was Opening Day. This was the day when the boys ran around and got to be 12-year-olds. No pressure, expect, finding that perfect trading pin. Some parents had a hard time letting the boys go crazy on their own. But this place was better than Disneyland for the boys.

I gave Mark the camera, and he went crazy filming all sorts of things. Experiencing the 12-year-old’s perspective was awesome. At first you can hear in his voice how uncomfortable he was with asking questions to strangers. But as the morning went on, he was popping off questions left and right. At some point, one of his teammates took the camera and asked his own question. Sometimes the questions would get lost and Mark would take the camera back and start the mini interview over.

What was cool was seeing the boys wait for the opening ceremony to start. The parents were having their own problems, dealing with rain, finding each other and organizing twelve pairs of adults. With how busy we were, I don’t think most of the parents thought about how bored the boys were down in the mass of kids, just waiting for their chance to run.

Mark captured what they did. I only had to edit out a few things. Because let’s be real, when you give a 12-year-old a camera, you’re going to hear a few things that never need repeated.

The vlog ends with Mark following his baby brother around in the chaos of waiting for the home run derby.

I couldn’t have been more proud of how my kid took himself out of his comfort zone and tried something different. We may have been there for baseball. But all the boys got a small taste of learning how to function without their parents hovering over them.

Do you practice religion?

The question, Do you practice religion? feels vague and like a loaded gun all at once. Practice feels up to interpretation.Yes, I practice a religion. But the how feels so heavy-handed. I grew up in a Presbyterian / Catholic household. Now my father, the Catholic, was non-practicing. While my mother, the Presbyterian, is the one who took my brother and I to church. We would go to Sunday school, say prayers at dinner and bedtime, and celebrate a few holidays. But I never truly considered it practicing a religion.  

I never understood the inner workings of the faith I was being raised in. I’m not sure my mom did either. When we would go to church, we would listen to the pastor’s message and take it at what it was. I know my mom’s bible had notes in it and if I would look at it now, there would be scribbles from when I was a bored child. In my Sunday school classes, I would listen to the favorites of the bible like David and Goliath or the Garden of Eden. But once I walked outside those doors, I never gave it much thought. I knew God was with me and I didn’t care what was the origins of the faith I was following. 

As I reached middle school, I developed a fascination with the Tudor family. Now you may wonder what the Tudors, a royal English family, have to do with religion. Well, it deals with it a lot. Until King Henry VIII sought a divorce, the English were Catholic. It wasn’t until the Pope refused his divorce did he become interested in the reformation of the church. I had never heard of the reformation before. I knew there were different branches of Christianity, but I never knew why. I chalked it up to different flavors, kind of like ice cream. You picked what you liked best. But after reading how King Henry broke away and created the Church of England. This made the wheels in my head spin. How was the Presbyterian Church created?

I ate up book after book learning about the faith. 

In high school, I would go to church with my mom still, but it felt empty. My faith felt empty and lukewarm, as if I had sat in bathwater for far too long. A lot of my friends were making their confirmation. But there was a part of me that couldn’t do it. I was trying to unweave how the Presbyterian Church was related to the Church of Scotland, but how the American Presbyterian churches followed along the path of Calvinism. It overwhelmed me. I couldn’t confirm my faith to one that I didn’t fully understand. 

College was where I had the chance to truly pick apart different faiths. I stuck with the Abrahamic religions. Those were the ones that made the most sense. But the more I picked them apart, the more I fell in love with how the Catholics worshiped. The traditions that were rooted so deeply that if I went to a different state, I would receive the same message. Yes, the homilies varied; they differ at every Mass, but the readings remained the same. 

It wasn’t until my mid twenties did I feel comfortable enough with my decision. I began the reformation class, which I needed to convert. I felt grounded in the rich history and speaking with the priest. I also appreciated that he didn’t shun or shame anyone for the faiths they grew up in. When I was younger, I remember at the two different churches how the youth pastors would dog on the other christian faiths. It didn’t sit well with me. We were supposed to love one another, not rip each other apart. What stuck with me the most was my priest expressing how jealous he was that the Protestant prayed. As if they had an open connection with God. He said that he wished more people in our congregation felt that they were open about prayer and their conversation with God. It made me feel comfortable with the idea that my prayers had still been heard even though I was of a different faith. 

I would go most Sundays. Not as a show of someone who was and wanting my face to be seen, but for my soul. I felt a great deal of comfort in the rituals. I never had that at the other churches that I went to. They always seemed to be something the pastor did on the fly. I know they had their sermons set up, but it just felt off. 

But even with all this, I never considered myself practicing. I had a rosary that I would hold and do occasionally. I didn’t read the bible anymore than I did before. And I just took the warmth in my heart and leave each Sunday and go about my life. 

It took a while for me to figure out how to add my faith to my life outside of nighttime prayers. I wanted things to feel natural and not forced, so I went back to what drove me to the feeling of comfort. Studying my religion. Oddly, social media, which I gave up for Lent, offers many helpful tools. I found the Hallow App that has guided prayers and the rosary, which I use more than I thought I would. The daily homilies are quick and easy to listen to in the car. For mass I started to use a journal from Every Scared Sunday. This allows me to reflect on the messages and I feel less guilty when I miss a Sunday service because I am still reading the Mass readings. My cousin discovered Blessed is She and purchased their advent journal for my daughter and I. It was nice to break down the days leading up to Christmas and see it as more than just a reason to buy gifts. These silly little elements have made me engage more with my faith. I am no longer a passive member, just sitting in a pew each Sunday morning. By journaling, I can apply the readings to my life.

Being active in my faith is what was missing from my youth. I know others may have had similar tools, but they didn’t resonate with my soul. I didn’t fully understand what my faith was and made that was the problem but I am glad it sent me on my journey. I love the peace I have found. 

What does “having it all” mean to you? Is it attainable?

What does “having it all” mean to you? Is it attainable?

What does “having it all” mean to me? That’s a loaded question, especially since its meaning has changed over the years.

A suffocating narrative shaped the millennial generation. The lie that “having it all” meant the “Boss Babe” persona. Earning a high level degree and working the corporate ladder until you reached the top. 

To me that sounded, and still does, exhausting. To think I could get through life all by myself without the help of a partner. No, thank you. 

Even if millennial women found a partner, they weren’t meant to be a helpmate. In fact, we were led to believe their presence would be more of a burden than a help. Somehow we were persuaded to believe women that a full-time job, combined with being a present wife and mother, was the only path. 

And they weren’t wrong. That is having it all. 

But what they forgot to mention is the burnout that comes with juggling all of those titles. 

I never bought into the idea that was being sold to millennial women.

In high school, I cared about my grades, but I didn’t exhaust myself worrying about straight As. I knew what my strengths were and in some subjects; it wasn’t a possibility. So instead of pushing myself to the breaking point, I did my best and knew that was all that mattered. I put my energy into what brought me happiness. And it worked out for me. I could refine what eventually became a career. I put money in my pocket working in theater and broadcast. I never would have learned those skills if I were hyper focused on making sure every single academic class was perfect. 

So on paper, I didn’t have it all in high school. But none of that matters. Having an A in geometry or chemistry wouldn’t have helped me find a job. But the hours spent backstage being a stage manager did. 

College was much the same. I took classes that fueled my passion. Film theory classes gave me a better understanding of how and why film makers do what they do. I did all I could to keep my grades up, so I would maintain my scholarships. But instead of living my life in the library or on campus, I traveled. 

I spent a summer in California. I learned I could never live there. It just wasn’t my speed. But that summer I learned more about myself than I expected. While I took a deep dive into my soul, classmates were taking extra classes so they could graduate in 3 years. I started my second year feeling refreshed, unlike my friends, who looked as if their brain had been in a blender for two months. 

I watched classmate after classmate change their degree. They didn’t want to put the work into succeeding in our career. I don’t blame them. Broadcast, film, and news is truly a lackluster career. The hours you have to put in to make it in our industry are endless. Those who left wanted instant glory. Not something someone really could have achieved in 2009. There’s more of a possibility now with social media. But even so, we’re starving artists for a reason. 

After graduation, so many people left south Florida. 

“You can’t make it here,” they would tell me. 

But what were they making? A paycheck? Sure, Florida doesn’t always pay the best, but what else brought them joy? When I was younger, I had money. I could go where I wanted and do whatever I wanted. But I was missing something. I wanted someone there next to me to enjoy those moments. 

I gave up job opportunities out of state that would have taken my life in a multitude of directions, but to me, a job would not make my soul happy. I learned early in life I was looking for someone to share my journey with me. Watching so many people uproot their lives chasing a buck and returning years later with the same cloud of longing I know made the right choices. 

Having it all isn’t about where you work. It’s about being happy with yourself. It doesn’t matter where you move or who you are with. If you are restless and chasing a feeling, you have to look within. The letters of CEO, MD, PHD might look successful. For some, that might be what brings you happiness. But I see a lot of friends and acquaintances whose lives look great on paper but good lord. I think they spend so much trying to find someone to share these successes with that they are empty. 

What was the point of chasing a dollar if that dollar can’t bring you what you really wanted? 

I say this all as a broke ass teacher with a kid in travel baseball. If you know, you know what I mean by that. My husband and I give up nearly every weekend with our oldest chasing his dream. At this point, we had our chances. We lived what we wanted to. My husband has a lifetime of experiences that can never be replicated. I traveled to different states and countries, absorbing what I could of the world. We’ll get our chance to do what we want once our oldest heads out on his journey. 

But whenever I wonder if I should have taken the jobs in Arlington, Bristol, or Chicago, I get notes from students. They tell me how I am the reason they are staying in school or alive. I look at my own children and see how happy they are that I am at every game or event. Something that I wouldn’t have been able to do working at a bigger network. 

So do I have it all?

I have a husband who spends every weekend with me. My kids are happy and healthy. Do I have as much money as I once did? No, I am a travel ball mom. But I wouldn’t change it for a job or a false ideal once sold to us when we were kids.

Chase your own dream and who cares what people say. Success is what brings you joy, nothing more and nothing less. 

To the class or 2025,

Now that you are grown adults outside my classroom, I can finally say I must favorite well wishes. 

Good Luck fuckers.

And I mean this in the most living way possible.

Because class of 2025, you are my graduating class’s mirror.

First, the dark reflection:

During our middle school years, we experienced the horrific event of Columbine and safety in schools changed. During your youth, we faced the tragedy of Parkland. Safety in schools has been transformed once again.

Desert War ended for us when we were young and for the class of 2025, the war in the middle east finally ended. Though not as smoothly as we would have wished. 

The class of 2005 had their world forever changed with 9/11. Because of those horrific events, your lives will never know how simple traveling used to be. 2025 also faced a world changing event, covid. Your generation was shaped by the most isolating event in recent memory.

 But your class, the class of 2025, didn’t shut down. I watched you all as eighth graders reached for one another and built each other up. I could not be more proud of how your class has strived to never be alone. Checking in with each other and reaching out when they were worried for a classmate. There are a few that I know I ensured saw the next day. 

 I never thought I would watch you all walk across the stage as grown adults. Parts of me wishes you wouldn’t reach the other side because I will deeply miss you all.

Now the brightness:

The class of 2025 I watcher you all see things you didn’t like about the class of 2024 and changed it. The mentorship and guidance you gave to the underclassmen in our program made every single one of them feel welcomed. You didn’t care for the spotlight and shared it. You built a team and encouraged them to grow and learn. I hope you keep this in mind whatever journey you find yourselves on. 

Right now, it looks as if you will head into adulthood in a recession just like we did. And it may seem scary, but it’s not the end of the world. Just live. Travel everywhere. Eat all the delicious food. GO DANCE! And for the love of God, don’t worry about being cringe. Because when you do, you’ll miss out on everything. 

You may have been told that you that you have to follow a certain path, but it’s all lies. Rules don’t exist. Get your degree now or travel the world. Doesn’t matter. Go back to school when you feel ready. Work in a blue collar job or a white collar job but do whatever brings you joy because life is too short. There is no promise of tomorrow. 

So once again, good luck with adulthood. Remember everyday above ground is a good day. And when you wake up in the morning, it is your chance to start over and bring joy to the world. 

In high school I remember smart mouth kids saying “If you can’t do, teach.”

 For some reason, they were taking digs at my English teacher that day. She was a young woman, twenty something and was still in her first three years of teaching. A woman who spent her college career with the goal of educating these smart mouth brats. I wish I could smack all of them. But thankfully, they were quiet during class. 

Now as I am teaching, How to Break into the Film Industry, I wonder how many students have that thought running through their mind. I know all the steps they need to follow. I know how hard the journey is they must take if they want to be successful. But why didn’t I do it?

First, no one showed me. 

I didn’t get an 85 page slide show presentation breaking everything down. The internet was in its infancy; the trades were only available in magazines and I didn’t even know that was a thing. Living in South Florida might as well have been another world compared to California. The internet was in its infancy and trying to navigate it to find websites and information was basically spy work. 

No wonder why millennials can search out a human who thinks they have no online footprint with ease.

In that 85 page slide show I have links that direct students where to find casting class, production jobs, and locations to submit scripts. Those didn’t even exist really until a decade ago.

Secondly, I chose a school that was more about film theory than the physical creation of movies. That’s my fault 110%. FAU is ten minutes from the beach. I didn’t take college seriously. I just wanted to be done with my four years and I allowed other people to distract me. I worried about dating, partying, and traveling. I would never regret traveling the world. That is something I would still want to do. But partying and dating those were a waste of time. A waste of my location. 

Living in South Florida gave me an opportunity others didn’t have. I was close to the Miami Heat, Dolphins, Marlins, and the Panthers. Games were held nearly every day. I could have started doing grunt work and found my way into directing live sports events. At least I would have been on my path rather than waiting for an opportunity to come to me. It’s easy to look back twenty years later and think about how I should have sought them out while I was in school instead of heading to Ft. Lauderdale for other fun reason. 

Maybe that’s why I have put so much work into explaining to my students how to follow their dream. I need a big sign that says DON’T GET DISTRACTED.  

At one point, after a bunch of personal shit went down, I made it out to California. I met with kids going to Film school and talked to them. I learned they were in their third year and just starting film theory classes that I had already covered in my freshmen year. So there was a give and take. It’s also where I discovered I hated LA. It was like a far dirtier Miami. After a month meeting people with the same passion as I had, I learned I didn’t have the passion to sell my soul to the Gold Coast. I was east coast through and through. 

Being out there also taught me I loved writing; however, I enjoyed working in news. I missed the world of live theater and broadcast news blended my passions into one. 

I had to make the best of my degree: Communications and New Media. 

Filling my classes with subjects I was passionate about because I knew I wasn’t giving up my life to make movies. I wasn’t gypsy enough to worry about living job to job, moving my life around. If I wanted to do that, I would have joined the Air Force, and at least with that job, I wouldn’t have had to worry about a paycheck. 

With my students, I sit down with them, breaking down each college they are looking at, showing them what classes are offered. Do those classes meet their passion? Because recruiters talk a big game. They make their school look like the best no matter what. Thorough analysis into that is what it takes for a student to discover if the school is truly offering the subjects they want to learn.  

But what does this all have to do with the saying “If you can’t do, teach.” 

Well, I could do it. I did do it. And I learned I didn’t want to. Making films in school was more fun than 12 hour set days worried about if we went over budget and would get dropped. There was no fear of living paycheck to paycheck and hunting for the next job. And after working in broadcast for so many years, I was tired and ready for something fun. 

So maybe the saying is true for some teachers, but those ones don’t last. We can do it. We just don’t want to anymore. 

P.S. 30 days left of work until I get two months off…. Bliss!