Five years out of college—and taking a year off from teaching—I find myself in a precarious new position: dangling by ropes, 35 feet up a wall, a beginner again.
Learning to rock-climb is as exhausting and fun as I’d hoped. I’ve spent hours rising and falling, hauling my body from Point A to Point B, returning home too drained for anything but Facebook and Orange is the New Black. I’d half-forgotten how exhilarating and vulnerable it feels to begin something.
Because my mind exhales analogies (in much the same way that my body exhales CO2), I’m constantly drawing connections between rock-climbing and teaching math. In my own grunting and straining, I hear the graceless echo of my students’ efforts, but from the other side. Back in the classroom, I was the one holding the ropes, with two feet planted on flat, sturdy ground. I assured them not…
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