When I was in high school I told my parents I wanted to major in psychology "so I could help people with their problems." Both were aghast at this notion of their daughter literally listening to others' tragedies, traumas and stressful lives all day long. I have always been a very sensitive girl. Not that I cry at any little thing. But since I was little, I have always been much in tune with others' feelings. I was the girl who defended the nerdy kid who sat in the back of the room. I was the girl who, in sixth grade during my first year at St. Agatha (I had two friends at the school at that early point in the school year), stood up in religion class and said, "You two think you're a bunch of hot shots. You're not." I was referring to the class cool guys, J and C.

J and C weren't downright cruel, but they had a very arrogant, self-obsessed way about them that bothered me. Neither of them were ever mean to me, but I didn't like the way they treated the majority of the class. So I told them what I thought. Both of them went pale. All the "others" cheered silently but smiled openly.

I know when I should stand up for what's right. I don't and will never understand people who don't stand up for: themselves, those who can't speak for themselves (animals and children) and people who are weak of mind for whatever reason.

Back to my parents. I listened to their pleas, which were something along the lines of, "You will struggle separating yourself from their problems. You will suffer too much. You will always bring the weight of your work home."

I changed my major a handful of times and took too long to graduate because I wasn't sure of what I wanted to be when I grew up. Finally I took my aunt Sylvia's advice, which was to just major in what you love. I love writing; I chose journalism.

Fast-forward to Feb. 3, 2011. I teach at my alma mater and I absolutely love it. I love my students, the material, my coworkers and feeling that cozy sense of being home.

Being a teacher, there is a very fine line that we should not cross. It's hard for me. I see a sophomore who is usually happy and social come to school a few days one week looking sad and melancholic. All I can ask is, "Everything OK?" I can't get into personal matters with them because, despite the fact that they could all use the advice of an intelligent, caring, been-there-done-that adult, I can't blur the line of teacher and friend. If they see me as a friend, they start treating me as such. That'd be a problem.

You may be wondering what my hot shots story has to do with my initial desired career story and what those two things have to do with my students.

Well, ladies and gentlemen of my blog, I have an announcement. I am seriously considering graduate school in counseling. Maybe I had to choose journalism so I could write and do what I love but then I had to start teaching so that I could see how much I care about adolescents to then realize that while I love teaching, my passion is people. Helping people, that is. And not just people. Young people. People who have their whole lives ahead of them and who could truly be whomever they want to be if only they had the right guide steering them in the right direction.

I'm not making any pretenses about the fact that some kids will still do drugs, behave sluttily, send their parents to hell and back and all that other bad jazz no matter who is manning the ship.

Still, because I am nothing if not an optimist, I leave you with one of my favorite stories of all time.

The Starfish Story

adapted from The Star Thrower

by Loren Eiseley (1907 - 1977)

Once upon a time, there was a wise man who used to go to the ocean to do his writing. He had a habit of walking on the beach before he began his work.

One day, as he was walking along the shore, he looked down the beach and saw a human figure moving like a dancer. He smiled to himself at the thought of someone who would dance to the day, and so, he walked faster to catch up.

As he got closer, he noticed that the figure was that of a young man, and that what he was doing was not dancing at all. The young man was reaching down to the shore, picking up small objects, and throwing them into the ocean.

He came closer still and called out "Good morning! May I ask what it is that you are doing?"

The young man paused, looked up, and replied "Throwing starfish into the ocean."

"I must ask, then, why are you throwing starfish into the ocean?" asked the somewhat startled wise man.

To this, the young man replied, "The sun is up and the tide is going out. If I don't throw them in, they'll die."

Upon hearing this, the wise man commented, "But, young man, do you not realize that there are miles and miles of beach and there are starfish all along every mile? You can't possibly make a difference!"

At this, the young man bent down, picked up yet another starfish, and threw it into the ocean. As it met the water, he said, "It made a difference for that one."

Many years ago, a dear friend named Noelle told me about a book she was reading called The Four Agreements. I frequently think of these simple yet complicated agreements, especially when I'm guilty of not following one. I thought it would be a good idea to interpret each agreement in my own way; do my own spin on Don Miguel Ruiz' ideas.

1. Be Impeccable With Your Word.

In other words, don't talk sh*t about people. You know that sinking sensation in the pit of your stomach you get when you somehow find out that someone said mean things about you? Now, would you ever want to be the cause of making a fellow human being feel that way? Karma, anyone? That said, this one is so hard to follow. When someone at work or at home or even on the road upsets us, our first instinct is to rip that person to shreds to the first person we speak to. But does it really do any good? Does it erase that bitchy look a coworker gave you by the coffee pot? Does it do away with that time when your brother gave you attitude for no apparent reason? Does it revoke the license of the bad driver who cut you off in rush hour traffic? No times three.

2. Don't Take Anything Personally

When my students give me a particularly hard time (I'm talking to you, sixth period), sometimes I have to fight back tears. I honestly think, "I'm a horrible, ineffective teacher. I can't get these kids to stop chatting or calling out. I'm in the wrong profession. Can I just leave and never come back?" Truth is, they're teenagers. They're hormonal, imbalanced, trying-to-be-cool teenagers. Is this my fault? No. Does that mean I should stop learning classroom management skills from veteran teachers? No. You follow?

3. Don't Make Assumptions

"My boyfriend didn't tell me he loved me when we hung up the phone today. Something must be wrong. What could be wrong? Is he still mad about that argument from two nights ago?" NO. If something bothers you, ask the person who'd be the best source. Stop worrying. Chances are, your assumptions are wrong. No, scratch that. Assumptions are always wrong. We all know what happens when one assumes...

4. Always Do Your Best

Your best will change from day to day. You're not going to be the same superstar you were last week when this week you have the flu or are feeling really blue or are going through a breakup. "Your best" is individualized to you and your circumstances and your abilities. But don't sell out. This means don't resort to laziness, mediocrity or excuses. And when you do -- because we all do sometimes -- snap out of it as soon as you can because you're really robbing yourself of joy. When I put my all into a lesson and really take my time preparing it, it shows. I am so happy to present this lesson I worked so hard for to my students, that I am genuinely excited about the material. This is contagious. Would you rather learn from a person who looks like they'd rather be gardening or a person who is smiling and joyous? This can be applied to any job at any level.

"Know that truth, forgiveness, and love can heal the world... The world would become a place where all of us live in love." ~ don Miguel Ruiz