A few weeks ago, I had an intriguing conversation with a high school girl.

Leah was trying to convince me I should be a teacher. And that she’d take my class.

Kýrie, eléison.

Leah is a senior this year. A gorgeous 18-year-old brunette with brown eyes.

Christé, eléison.

I have a weakness for brown-eyed girls. Being placed in a position of “authority” over a room of underaged ones with raging hormones? Well, isn’t that a recipe for disaster?

Kýrie, eléison.

Then again…

Maybe she’s not wrong. Over the last thirteen weeks, I have taken a course and discovered a group of men I respect and admire very much. I am learning to reclaim my masculinity within a society that rejects it… in a way that respects all femininity. And one (of many) insights that jump out from the experience is this: “In order to understand, teach.”

Perhaps I don’t need to teach in school. Or become that eccentric adjunct in university that clearly does it because he loves it. Perhaps this student of life should become a teacher. Of life.

This morning, in my inbox, was an invitation. To become. A teacher.

Do you believe in serendipity? I am not certain I do.

Yet, it cannot hurt to follow up… can it?

Do I have anything to teach? Do I have anything to share? After all, my life has mostly been a series of failures… and avoidance.

Ladies and gentleman, it appears we have something to discuss.

Regret is a sin.