Tomorrow in America, is the Great American Teach-In Day. It’s a day when adults speak to children in the classroom about what they do. 

A day we may consider the most important day of school for a child, as it’s a model of what’s possible. 

The day is tolled as being a day when children are exposed to local business owners, employees, parents of classmates who stand up and share a bit about their work. 

But to me, this day is so much more than about a potential career path. 

It’s about inspiring a child. 

It’s about opening a young mind to possibilities as yet unexplored. 

It’s an opportunity for sharing, discussion, listening and actually hearing each other. 

But more than all that, it’s a time to dive into who do you want to be in your life?

If you have one shot, not one career path, but one shot at this thing called life, how is it you want to show up each day?

Now adding that to today’s conversations would be powerful. 

We could literally change a child’s life by sharing that as an adult you don’t have to be serious, mad, stressed, upset, unhappy...

Because honestly, that’s what children are led to believe when moms and dads are running to and fro, no time to just be. 

What if today was a moment to press-pause and say,

Who do you want to be? 

How do you want to feel?

What if today children learned it was okay to do what they loved?

Imagine if they were encouraged to follow a path that made their heart beat faster and their lips smile wide. 

I’ll jump down from my passionate soap box now, but as you may recognize, I am passionate about the next generation, perhaps because I was once the Education Lady.

And I guess, internally, I still am. 

Did I mention I taught middle and high school for four and a half years in the public school system? 

Well, now you know. 

When I first started teaching, I had two responsibilities—teaching English to 8th graders and 10th graders. 

And it was a big deal. Luckily, I didn’t really know much about the state test nor how the future of our very poorly graded school hinged on the outcome of the reading, writing and math scores come the end of year.

But that’s another story for another time.  

Let me just say, I love teenagers. I love their energy. 

And teaching was not my chosen path but something I fell into on a dare and ten days later, I was handed keys to a bare classroom. 

No books at the ready. No budget to work with. No lesson plan guides. Nada. 

It was feet to the hot coals—ready, fire, then aim.

I had literally no clue what I was supposed to do with these students. As they filed in on that first day, all loud and excited or pissy and quiet for the start of a new school year, I knew I needed a moment to get my bearings.

Twenty to thirty pre- and full-blown teens herding in, all at once. That’s stampede-of-buffalo impressive and took my breath away each new period that day. 

They had expectations. Some even had pleading eyes that screamed, please don’t be a bore. 

So, that very first day, for each new period, I wrote my name on the board, as I’d seen every teacher in every movie do. 

But I didn’t stop there, as that would have meant turning around and literally meeting twenty-plus pairs of eyes and coming up with something to actually say. 

Instead, I wrote another line. The chalk slapping and flaking in snowflake bits to the patchwork, old-as-dirt, linoleum floor.

Who do you want to be this school year? 

I remember turning to look at all the faces staring blankly back at me. It was my do or die moment. Never letting on that my stomach was a knotted mess and my mouth, cotton-field dry.  

I shared they were to write one page, double-spaced, answering the topic on the board.

To say most of those sitting in the too-hard seats were horrified would be an understatement, but I projected confidence outwardly (even while internally quaking in my slip-on flats, missing my flip flops and yoga pants). 

Putting no attention on the moans, the groans, the Come on, lady, it’s only the first day of school! conversation.  

Instead, I planted myself behind my scratched, dented, written-on metal desk and proceeded to take roll while getting my heart-rate under control. 

And sinking into what the hell to do with these students next. 

And that’s how bellwork came to be. 

And reading those first pages of some 90 students that evening enabled me to get to know these kids better than anything I could have imagined. 

To say this was planned would be a lie. 

To say I was sure of what I was doing would be a joke.

To say I was scared sh*tless, now that would be the truth. 

But I stumbled on a win and grabbed it with both hands. That’s what I ask you to do, even when you feel like a fraud. 

Because guess what? 

Most people feel like a fraud each and every day.

But in that moment, on the very first day of school playing the part of teacher for the very first time, I created something that became magical. 

Bellwork. A daily assignment. And soon my students knew to come in, where they were greeted by name and with a smile. No stress on my part, rushing to prepare. Instead, time to meet and greet with focused attention. 

And those kids, they’d smile back, high-fiving me as they passed, just like you see in the corniest student-teacher-rom-com. Then magic. They’d sit down, dare I say orderly, and get right to work as the prompt was always at the ready on the board.  

And most were a-writing before the class bell even tolled. 

How beautiful was that? And honestly completely unexpected on my part as just like I said above, each day I showed up in that classroom, I still felt a bit like a fraud. 

But show up I did anyway. 

And I got to know my students inside and out.

Sometimes the topics were easy, lighthearted:

What makes you smile? or What do you like about yourself?

Other times they were more expository, detailing steps like making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich...

As the point, after all in school, was not to get to know yourself—
God forbid—

but to learn without thought
that which could be
regurgitated on a test. 

Head meet metal desk–back then,
and now,
hard.

At first, the kids whined and complained. Many hated it to begin. But day after day of the routine, the expectation, those moans settled into acceptance.  

But soon, I started to dread it. 

Daily bell work for 90 kids meant 90 pages of reading.
Every-single-day. 

Plus, weekend essays to grade, and whatever real work was assigned and let’s not forget the standardized testing. 

I was forever behind.
Constantly grading papers. 

Caught in a never-ending snare,
a trap of my own creation. 

Then another teacher gave me a simple and oh-so-brilliant tip, "Don't read them all." 

I went back to share with my students that I would read random days only for a weekly grade.

And in sharing and asking for their feedback on this new plan, a discussion unfolded. OMG, I learned teenagers actually had much to say. 

One girl , actually a writer in the making in my opinion, asked, What if I don’t want you to read a day? Can I choose what to turn in and not turn in? 

This led to a debate and imagine my surprise when all the students jumped into pros and cons, discussing possibilities and as one we came to an agreement. 

Each student was allowed to place a star at the top of their page if they didn’t want me to read that day's bellwork. Each day was still handed in for accountability and impact to their overall grade—don’t even get me started on that topic! 

Grades. Much like giving a kid an award simply for showing up, irks me. A chat for another time...

And this is where magic really began to unfold. 

From that moment on, when my students sat down to write their bellwork, they went inside themselves. 

There was no holding back, no hiding, no tampering of expression. 

They wrote for themselves.
Not for me.
Not for the grade.

I could feel the energy in the room shift. I could feel what kind of day each one was having just by watching them write it out at the start of class.

That ten minutes became the highlight of many students’ day, some later shared. 

This became their free space to create, to be themselves, to express anything bottled within. 

This bellwork allowed many of them to find their voice, own their voice, love their voice, use their voice. 

Even out loud.  

If the energy was right, we'd move onto whatever I had planned for that day. 

If not, we didn't. 

I didn't use the traditional syllabus—big surprise—good girl, rule breaker was I. 

But seriously, who wants to spend three months on grammar?!

When we were studying poetry, I brought in lyrics by Bob Dylan, Eminem, Dr. Dre. We discussed Madonna and Prince songs, comparing them to “known poets.” 

I added poetry from Edgar Allan Poe (creepy) and made Emily Dickinson (fun) but not always easy for them to follow.

I knew from my own struggles in school, and with learning, that when I was engaged I was more receptive, more able to absorb. 

So my daily intention was all about adding JOY to each students’ day. And providing a safe space, place where they were able to express themselves.

Written or verbal, that was up to them. 

Life is heavy enough, is it not? 

And I learned from those students and from my own past, being a teenager was no joke. Especially if the voice inside your head was flipping-forever negative.  

When something big happened at school or out in the "real world," the kids were granted the space to share, ask, to talk about it in my classroom. 

We had conversations and used our words to communicate, not alienate. 

The year I started, the school earned a D based on writing and math scores. 

The following year? An A. 

My students, half the 8th grade class and half the 10th grade class, learned to write, to communicate and that impacted their reading/writing scores. 

Dare I say their lives.

I’d even be so bold as to say my classroom allowed many to gain confidence in their own abilities and that confidence had a ripple effect into all their subjects—even math.  

This off-the-cuff idea of bellwork continued to give and give as kids stopped me years later, in the supermarket, post office, at a restaurant, to share things like 

"Oh my god, Miss Stevens, thank you for making me write a page a day. You have no idea. I can write anything. No fear of a blank page, because of you.”

Another would add something like, 

“I can articulate my thoughts. That was such a great lesson. Thank you so much!" 

And when one shared, 

“Because of you, I journal every single day and I swear it saved my life!” 

Yes, I did break down and cry because that is the power of words, of expressing yourself.

When done in present tense, positive you are actually drafting the story of your life. 

And that’s what my new book, Creating Your Most Delicious Life, is actually about. 

Some of the best things in your life are not scripted, much like I did not script nor plan bellwork. 

I simply allowed all to unfold. 

Magic will explode in your life when you focus on allowing—and in my opinion write a page a day. 

If you want to tap into that way of showing up in your life, you’ll want to get on the waitlist for my new book. 

And today, make it a point to do that thing that scares you anyway. Simply showing up, even when you may feel like you have no clue, that’s more than half the work, and more than half the population will ever do today.

When you do this, your children, if you have any, see this and are impacted. Your actions often speak just as loud, if not louder, than your words.

I’m finally writing as me,
and hot damn has it been a trip.
Get on the Waitlist & Get all the dirty deets.

Post Photo Credit: Arturo Rey @arturorey