Staring Out of Windows
Something surprising happened last week when I traveled to my old hometown for a high 
school reunion.
Nothing mean or sad. Nothing embarrassing or weird. Nothing involving Imposter Syndrome (although that is very real!).
I caught up with my lovely classmates. We enjoyed delicious food (see below), laughed a lot, and shared what we’d been doing with our careers and families.
What surprised me was this: I got to reconnect with some faculty members who had once taught me. In fact, the first person I met when I showed up on campus was one of my former English teachers, Mr. Herzfeld. He retired a few years ago, but he looked almost exactly the same as I remembered.
I told him that I quoted something he once said to our class in my upcoming novel.
“What did I tell you?” he asked with trepidation.
“You said, ‘poets need time to stare out of windows,’ and I never forgot,” I said.
He had reminded our class that there was a place for daydreaming, for looking out of windows and thinking about the possible, and the impossible.
That wonderful teacher told me I was a writer.
Even in high school, I knew I wanted to be a doctor, so Mr. Herzfeld pointed me to the work of doctors who were also writers, like Richard Selzer and William Carlos Williams. He told me I didn’t need to give up writing, no matter what I chose as my career.
My life has been full of wonderful teachers—teachers who opened up the world and taught me the skills to make sense of it, who treated me like an intellectual equal, who demanded my best and pushed me to do even more. I met librarians who taught me how to research, and helped me find the perfect next novel to read. My teachers convinced me I could do anything and everything, that I didn’t need to limit myself.
And they were right: I studied government in college…and Shakespeare and calculus and Michelangelo and quantum physics and French. I did go to medical school and became a physician, and I’ve been humbled and overjoyed by my medical career.
But when, several years ago, I decided to try writing fiction, I had my teacher’s conviction to fall back on: I was a writer. Once I remembered that, all I had to do was write. And now, I have a second career writing books for children.
Through the years, I’ve watched diligent, brilliant, incredible teachers help my own kids expand their universes. And I’ve watched my teacher friends put everything they have into their students, and get them excited about all kinds of things—including wonderful books, some written by people I know.
I am a writer. I am also a dreamer, who stares out of windows. Because of my incredible teachers.
Please share your reflections on your teachers in the comments!
But first, a recipe. One of my classmates made this delicious shortbread for a reunion event. It’s deceptively simple, but absolutely scrumptious.
Deliciously Simple Shortbread
Ingredients:
3 1/2 cups all purpose flour
1 cup sugar
3 sticks (8 Tablespoons each) unsalted butter, chilled and cut into slices
1/2 teaspoon salt
Directions:
Preheat oven to 350F
In a large bowl or food processor, combine flour, sugar, and salt.
Cut in the butter using two forks, a pastry blender, or by pulsing in the food processor until fully combined and crumbly.
Press into a 9” x 13” pan and bake for 20-25 minutes until the top is light brown.
Allow the shortbread to cool on a rack. Cut into pieces while still slightly warm. Enjoy!
Giveaway Time!
In honor of the teachers who instruct and inspire their students with care and passion, who spend time and money and love on their pupils, who help show children that they really can do anything and everything, this month’s giveaway is just for educators. Enter to win an assortment of debut middle grade books by incredible diverse authors: THE SERPENT’S SECRET by Sayantani DasGupta, FRONT DESK by Kelly Yang, THE FIRST RULE OF PUNK by Celia Pérez, and HURRICANE CHILD by Kheryn Callender.
