Starting to Live

Have you ever felt like you were drifting through life, suddenly realizing that everyone around you seems to be living while you’re just watching them live?

That's me.

I’m a late bloomer. At 51 years old, I’ve barely seen the United States, let alone the world. I’m just now getting comfortable with what I call dating out loud, which simply means I’m no longer hiding now that my children are grown. And somehow, at this big age, I’m still figuring out what I want to do when I grow up.

I’m an educator. I never felt like I could just be an educator and still have a life. The pay was limited, and as a single mother, I was always chasing extra income to make things work. I was focused on surviving, supplementing, and stretching what I had so my children could have a comfortable, happy life. Over time, survival stopped being a season and became my default.

Teaching served its purpose. It gave me meaning. It made me feel useful. I love young people, and I love interacting with them. But here’s the truth I finally admitted to myself: I don’t love teaching in the traditional sense. What I love is connecting with students and teaching life through academic content. I love my coworkers, the conversations, the community—and teaching just happens in between. Education was where I found my tribe.

For most of my life, I made decisions based on what was expected of me. After 21 years in the classroom, I’m finally ready to ask a different question—not what’s expected, but what actually fits me. I still love education, just not boxed in the way it often shows up. I’m an entrepreneur at heart, even though stepping out on faith has always felt risky and unfamiliar. I don’t thrive being stuck in a building or tied to a curriculum that doesn’t truly serve students or the people responsible for them. I’m always thinking about better, more creative ways to support learning and stronger ways for community to partner with public education. And now, instead of ignoring that pull, I’m giving myself permission to take small steps toward it.

That pull toward something different is also what keeps me thinking about how education could work better—beyond buildings, bell schedules, and blame. The truth is that teachers are tired. Parents are tired. We spend so much time blaming one another that we forget we’re in the same boat, needing the same thing: relief. But that’s a conversation for another day.

What matters right now is this: I’m finally living. Not rushing. Not proving. Just living. I’m wiser. I spot the BS a lot faster. I don’t take myself so seriously anymore. And for the first time in a long time, I actually like myself.

I spent years searching for the lesson—trying to learn it, master it, get it right.

At 51, I finally understand something simple and freeing:

Life is the lesson.

When I say life is the lesson, I don’t mean there’s one defining moment that teaches you everything you need to know. I mean that every experience—good, bad, confusing, joyful—is part of an ongoing curriculum. You’re meant to learn what you can, carry it forward, and keep moving.

Life isn’t about perfection or arrival. It’s about awareness, growth, and continuation. You don’t “pass” life—you practice it.

Life will keep presenting material until you engage with it. Sometimes the same lesson shows up in a different outfit. Sometimes you miss it and it comes back louder. The goal isn’t to avoid the lesson, but to recognize it, learn from it, and not let it stop you.

By Karen (Renee) Beatty French