I woke up thinking “I love you.”

I wrote my morning pages.

I typed my gratitude work.

I read daily reflections on the bus.

I sent silent well-wishes to strangers on the subway.

I sat up tall for five minutes, three times.

I acknowledged that, although I have a long way I want to go, I have come a long way.

I started this blog.

I agreed to help a friend.

I helped a friend.

I breathed conscious breaths on DoAsOne.org.

I returned the phone call of a friend and practiced active listening.

I chose not to scratch the eczema on my hand.

I chose to go to bed instead of read because rest is important.

[photo credited to Sara Krulwich/The New York Times]

My awesome friend fatgirlinohio knows I’ve been wanting to see Newsies on Broadway and also knows high ticket prices make me cringe, which is why she oh-so-thoughtfully forwarded me the link to yesterday’s Opening Night Lottery.

I figured that, with a hundred $30 tickets up for grabs, the odds were in my favor, so I spent a chilly lunch hour at the Nederlander Theater and ended up hearing my name being blasted over megaphone—aka, I won!

As the line of winners was slowly ushered into the theater for ticket pickup and the remaining crowd of disappointed fans dispersed, I felt like I’d won a Golden Ticket, except instead of being granted access to Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory, I was being allowed to pay a very low price for the opening night of the musical version of a movie I loved as a kid (and beyond).

I’ve never attended a show on Opening Night before, and I was excited. I thought I might witness some red carpet fanfare, but as it turns out the line for the common people was separate from the entry for the special people. I caught a glimpse of some reporters as I went through the doors but that was about it. Oh well.

It was an entertaining show, for sure. And since my seat turned out to be as far from the stage as you could possibly get—top tier, back row, right up against the wall—I can vouch for the fact that there is not a bad seat in the house. I could hear and see everything just fine, and it was thrilling to watch a stage full of acrobatic street urchins with New Yawk accents sell papes and tap dance in solidarity.

There were some great moments, no doubt, and the larger group numbers were especially rousing. But I must admit I repeatedly found myself reminiscing about the movie—Oh yeah! This song! I loved this song!—and at times using those memories to bolster what I was seeing on stage. (Case in point: It was obviously not feasible to have hundreds of actors show up for a rally, but in order to believe that one kid holding a sign could really represent an entire borough of newsies, I had to mentally add reinforcements from the film.)

And while Jeremy Jordan played a great Jack Kelly (he really, really did), I miiiight have once or twice pretended he was a young Christian Bale.

In conclusion, it was a delight to experience a film-flop-cum-cult-classic come to life on the Broadway stage, and I’m grateful I had the opportunity to witness the first official performance. But honestly, it left me wanting to re-watch the movie.

If you had told me ten years ago that I would still be connected to my high school journalism teacher more than a decade after graduation, I would have raised an eyebrow. (Especially if I knew how to raise an eyebrow.) But thanks to the magic of the internet, Carol Richstsmeier—known as Richie to me and her many students over the years—continues to educate me weekly, via her awesome blog.

I’m sure her Bellringers posts are especially valuable to her fellow educators, particularly those strong and brave souls who advocate for and produce quality student journalism in a time when the modern media doesn’t necessarily set great examples. But for me, an education outsider considering a career change, Richie’s contributions are meaningful because her candid, unflinching honesty tells the unvarnished truth of what it is to be a teacher.

It’s hard to be both onstage and behind-the-scenes, but Richie manages it every week, showing up daily for her students in the classroom and supporting them in their nationally award-winning efforts, and also finding the time to share her personal experience, telling it like it is and reminding me that snark and idealism are not mutually exclusive.

I am so grateful for her perspective, which reveals a not-so-shiny (but always entertaining) side of education, and it bums me out that she and countless other teachers don’t often get the credit they so dearly deserve.

I think Richie is more impressive than any award could ever be. (Not only has she found tremendous success in her field, inspiring multitudes of students and building not one but two journalism programs from the ground up to national acclaim, but she’s even published a book!)

Alll the same, I know it feels good to be recognized, which is why I’m publicly letting her know how fantastic I find her to be—and why I hereby nominate her for an Edublog Award for Best Teacher Blog. Here’s to you, Richie, and to your one-of-a-kind online lessons!