In fourth grade I transferred schools. I’ll never forget watching Super Bowl XLIII with my family, eating my mom’s annual half-time show lil’ smokies, wondering what life would be like when I stepped foot in the Bergman Academy the next morning. 

To my surprise, Mrs. Konrad’s classroom was everything I had always been craving (even more than the lil’ smokies). From day one, she treated me as I was and as I am: a capable, talented, growing girl with the potential for greatness. She was one of the first people to instill that belief in me, and it was apparent from day one. 

I learned very quickly that there were no cutting corners in Mrs. Konrad’s classroom. She held everyone to a high standard and didn’t waver when people complained or pushed back. She knew we could rise to the occasion and always challenged us to do so. 

On that first morning, she passed out poems and announced everyone would be reciting them for the class on Friday. And by reciting, she meant memorizing and standing alone in front of the class to perform it. And by the entire class, she meant everyone—including the new girl. 

I looked down at Shel Silverstein’s “Bear In There” on the page before me. It was… so long! This was unlike anything I’d been challenged to do before. I mean, we were only 10 years old, for crying out loud. Transferring schools and making an entirely new set of friends was stressful enough, let alone standing in front of them, afraid I’d forget one of Silverstein’s brilliant bear references.

Until Friday, all I could do was practice, practice, practice. And pray I didn’t toss my cookies (read: lil’ smokies). The week flew much too quickly for my liking. When the big day finally arrived, I hopped out of the carpool line, pulled my backpack straps tight over my shoulders, and marched through the vestibule, around the atrium, and down the hall to Mrs. Konrad’s classroom. I was really hoping the other students wouldn’t notice I was shaking. 

Before I knew it, I was standing in front of the class (many of whom would become dear friends) and reciting “Bear In There.” Which, yes, I still have memorized 13 years later. That fact alone should give you an idea of how much I practiced reading the poem that week. In fact, I think my parents could still rattle it off if asked. They were subject to a lot of second-hand poetry slams. 

There are few words that capture the relief I exhaled as I sat down at my desk after the reading. It was over! I could breathe again. I could stop worrying I’d mess up or make a fool of myself. But perhaps the greatest relief of all was Mrs. Konrad’s assuring smile and affirming nod. I did it! I accomplished what seemed scary, daunting, and nearly impossible just a few days earlier. 

Over the next few years, I learned things in that classroom that have lasted a lifetime. I owe so much of my work ethic, passion for writing, and presentation skills to her. But when I think back to those classes, the lesson that rises above the other priceless skills is this:

Sometimes you just have to jump into hard things. Especially the ones you don’t think you can do. Sometimes you just have to start. To take a step toward your vision. To get messy and attempt to figure things out—even if it means failing along the way (which, it most certainly will). That’s where the resilience and grit come in. And you don’t build resilience until you are standing outside of your comfort zone. 

When you have a project, a vision, or a dream you can’t stop thinking about, you simply have to take the first step. You have to jump in and see how things shake out. Because your hard work and dreams matter. If you haven’t had a Mrs. Konrad to instill this in you yet, I’m here to say that you are a capable, talented, growing girl who has the potential for greatness. 

And it’s time to jump in.