Where Wonder Took Root
When people ask me why I became an educator, they’re usually expecting me to tell them about college, my first teaching job, or the moment I decided to become a teacher.
The truth is, my story started much earlier.
It started with books.
I was the little girl who always had a book in her hand. If my stepmom told me to go outside, I’d happily take my book to the trampoline, stretch out in the sunshine, and spend the afternoon lost in another world. Looking back now, I realize those quiet afternoons taught me something I still believe today: learning should feel like an adventure.
My childhood was filled with people who encouraged that sense of wonder. My mom and stepdad, my dad and stepmom, and so many others gave me opportunities to explore, imagine, and dream. Some of my favorite memories are family trips to Disney, where meeting Cinderella and riding Figment for the first time made me believe that imagination had a place in everyday life. I remember wonderful days at Dollywood, visits to the Kentucky Horse Park, afternoons riding horses, chasing the ice cream truck at Mrs. Sorey’s house, and hot summer days ending with a drink of ice-cold water from the refrigerator in the shed at my dad’s farmhouse.
None of those moments seemed extraordinary at the time.
Now I realize they were shaping the way I see the world.
Books taught me to wonder long before I knew they could also teach me to lead.
I Was the Kid Who…
I was the kid who always had a book nearby.
The kid who would rather spend an afternoon reading on a trampoline than sitting inside.
The kid who loved horses almost as much as stories.
The kid who thought Disney was pure magic and still smiles every time I hear the word “Figment.”
The kid who found joy in music, especially the day I picked up my mom’s old clarinet in fifth grade. My band director, Mr. Beasley, had taught my mom years before, and suddenly we shared something bigger than an instrument. We shared a story.
I was also the shy kid.
The rule follower.
The organizer.
My mom still laughs about the time I lined up all the children at daycare and started directing everyone where they needed to go. Whether I thought I was the teacher or the mom is still up for debate, but apparently organizing people has always come naturally.
The People Who Saw Me
When I think about the educators who shaped me, I don’t remember worksheets or test scores.
I remember people.
Mrs. Sharp made kindergarten a place I couldn’t wait to return to every morning.
Mrs. Gibson saw something in me that I couldn’t yet see in myself. She recognized that I needed a different challenge and suggested I skip second grade.
That decision changed my path, but it also meant leaving behind classmates and stepping into a completely new world.
That’s where Mrs. Pethel stepped in.
She didn’t just teach third grade. She helped me belong. She made what could have been a frightening transition feel possible, and she reminded me that great educators don’t simply teach content. They help students find their place.
Robin taught me confidence through horseback riding.
Mr. Beasley connected generations by placing my mom’s clarinet in my hands and helping me discover a love for music.
Looking back, I realize that every one of these people taught me something different, but they all had one thing in common:
They saw me.
Long before I ever became an educator, I was surrounded by educators who recognized potential, nurtured curiosity, and reminded me that learning is deeply personal.
Looking Back
Looking back, I don’t think my childhood made me want to become a teacher.
It made me fall in love with learning.
It taught me that curiosity is worth protecting.
That books can change lives.
That a single encouraging adult can alter the course of someone’s future.
That ordinary moments often become our most treasured memories.
Today, I still carry those lessons with me.
They’re why I believe every learner deserves to be seen.
They’re why I ask students for feedback and actually listen.
They’re why I believe every adult in a school or university has the opportunity to change a life, regardless of their job title.
And they’re why Perfect Chaos exists.
I hope this is a place where curiosity is welcomed, people are valued, and learning feels like the adventure it was always meant to be.