I’m not sure that I have ever experienced such bright depths of emotion in such a short span of time: three days, seventy two hours, and brimming with moments that I never want to forget. There is a special kind of nostalgia for the place you grew up… The place you made your first friend in Kindergarten. The place you took your first tap dance lessons. The place you navigated friendships and hardships. The place you got your first job bagging groceries. The place you graduated from high school. The place you have favorite local restaurants and a near-standing appointment with a local bakery at the Saturday farmers market. The place you got your first professional job. The place you learned to be great at your job. The place you experienced the pandemic. The place you raised a puppy. The place that, as an adult, you moved away and moved back to twice in less than seven years.

People say that home is where your people are, and I do agree with that. Being back in Sioux Falls reminded me that, though I have left home, returning is hopeful and happy and energizing in a way I wondered if it would be. My people have always championed my adventures and opportunities, for which I will always be grateful. But they have also always welcomed me back with open arms.

So yes home is where your people are, but home is also a place. It’s where you can drive around town without needing to use your Maps app. It’s where you cannot pop into Target or the grocery store without seeing someone you know (or someone who knows you). It’s where, when you drive by your childhood house and see that it is painted a different color, you wonder who lives in your old bedroom. 

Especially as I reflect on my professional career as a teacher at BV, I feel immense gratitude to the people (colleagues and students) who supported me, lifted me, challenged me, laughed with me, cried with me, read with me, planned with me, and cared for me. My cooperating teachers became my mentors and colleagues. My mentors and colleagues became my friends. I learned to craft lessons. I learned to set boundaries. I learned to be a voice that spoke up. I learned that it doesn’t have to be ‘kids over content’. I learned that relationships beget rigor. I learned that nothing in my pedagogy is more important than care: care for students, care for stories, care for the better world that education can empower us towards. 

I so deeply felt missed, appreciated, and loved this weekend. Going away can be brave, but I think it takes courage to go back too. To, after almost a year, return and look back at your life and wonder if it had the impact you intended, you hoped. The sheer volume of hugs and shrieks and wide eyes and grins cracked my heart right down the middle, in the best way. It means more than I can write here that my presence was a happy and welcome surprise to so many people that matter so deeply to me. What a gift to celebrate my last group of students’ high school graduation and also get to see their older siblings, parents, and community folks who have walked alongside me too during different parts of my teaching career. 

The days are long, but the years are short. I mean that, truly. Maggie from 1 year ago, 5 years ago, and 10 years ago would be simply gobsmacked to know what life would have in store. When you are in the weeds of daily struggles and successes, the long term can feel elusive and intangible. So much of my time in South Dakota, especially across my adolescence and early adulthood, was spent focused on the next big goal or adventure that I sometimes forgot to cherish that “in between” time. That in between time is where many of my most impactful life moments accumulated, bit by bit, day by day, week by week, year by year. My in between time gave me friends, opportunities, relationships, challenges, growth, leadership, and much more. So, if you are in your own in between time right now, don’t forget to soak up the moments. After all, “What the hell is life, […], apart from moments?” (Ramona to Peter, Beartown by Fredrik Backman).