I have this habit of writing down things that my teachers say during class on the edges of my papers.  At the end of the year, when I’m flipping through my notes to study for finals or look back on everything I’ve learned, I find scraps of advice and observations scribbled in the margins beside equations and dates.  Months later, when the facts themselves have faded, the words of my teachers never do.

“Life is a process of becoming disoriented and reoriented.  It doesn’t stop.”

As I experience my last year of high school, I’ve been thinking a lot about what defines me.  I’ve been thinking about how I got to where I am today—about where my passions, my loves, my joys came from. I’ve been thinking about who I am and why I am.

“Ultimately, we study history to become better people.”

No matter how many ways I approach the source of myself, though, I keep coming back to one group of people to whom I owe my complete gratitude: my teachers.

“We are all just conduits for language.”

I think a part of me has always believed that I would be a teacher when I grew up.  When I imagined my future, schoolrooms appeared whether I was 7 or 17.  This wasn’t due to a lack of creativity; instead, it’s because I couldn’t go to school every day and interact with such a brave, hardworking group of people without fiercely wanting to become one of them myself.

It’s as I prepare to leave them that I’ve realized this fully—how important my high school teachers are to me.

“It’s only the mind which imposes order on reality, which is artificial.”

My teachers have been my greatest role models.  They’ve seen me struggle, fail, and become frustrated.  They’ve seen me at my worst, and they’ve shown me that I have the strength to transcend that.  They’ve revealed to me how my own mind works; they’ve made me familiar with the beauty of its operation.

“Your body has to remind your brain that it isn’t a body.”

My teachers have told me not what to dream but how to dream.  They’ve shown me—by example—what it means to be passionate about something.

“Imagination is the most important thing when it comes to history because it allows you to feel it.”

When I think back to the many school communities of which I’ve been a member, I realize that within them it was always my teachers who were my constant warriors.  They offered me a home—in books, in conversation, in learning.  They gave me a place to rest and to grow.  They revealed to me wonder, every day and in every class.

“I love that about history–it’s all ‘allegedly.’”

It’s for this that I say teaching is the noblest career—because, for me, it has meant being willing every day to create love and safety and warmth.  My teachers have sculpted a place for me—and for so many students—to become our greatest selves in, and I can’t express how thankful I am to all of them for that tremendous kindness.

“The stories you tell yourself about yourself are part of what makes your identity.”

Flipping through my notebooks for the last time this year, I’ve found the words of my teachers past and present to be inked into my skin. They surface at unexpected moments, giving me strength, hope and comfort for the years to come.