February came, and I got out of bed at an ungodly hour and jumped on a nearly empty train to Exeter before the sun was up. In fact I got to watch the sun rise behind the Exeter skyline through the fog, and it was a beautiful thing. I got off the train and found that things at the school were indeed, better, somewhat; and that my assigned classroom corner was indeed cold, as I had expected it to be. Despite that, I did not leave it much. I didn’t feel ready to be a teacher.

It didn’t take long for this to start feeling like a problem. After all the School Experience Handbook stated it quite clearly. I should have been feeling ready. And most other people in my year were, evidently. I sat in my corner and wondered why I was the odd one out, again, and why I just couldn’t do what everyone else was doing already, and why did nobody find it as hard as I did? And did I have to think about everything so much? What was wrong with me?

At this auspicious moment in my path towards becoming a teacher it was suggested to me that I might want to take the next Class One. Whyever this suggestion was made to me will forever remain a mystery — I certainly hadn’t done much besides sit in the corner, and think about it a lot. It just so happened, however, that it was made while we were standing in the playground, where the children who were to make up the aforementioned class –they were still in Kindergarten at the time– were playing.

And so I sat there, in the pale sunlight, or perhaps under overcast skies, and I watched them, and then I watched them some more. And then I felt something tug at my heart, and I knew that I just had to do it. I wish I could contain that moment in words. I wish I could describe that for you. It wasn’t spectacular, and it wasn’t like falling in love. It wasn’t like the moment when the band plays your favourite song and it didn’t take my breath away. There just was a small and subtle change inside me, and the feeling that I was called to do this, despite everything.

Oh, if only it was that simple. ‘Everything’ decided to fight back, and a great battle ensued inside me. Who did I think I was? What exactly made me think that I could do this? And what exactly made me think that I should do it? When I was well aware that I couldn’t even do as well as everyone else was doing, let alone better? When I couldn’t sing, draw or paint? (These are a big deal for a Steiner teacher.) When I was the one questioning the system the most, why was I also the one itching to work with it the most?