In the midst of everything lately, I have become laser-focused on the concept of my own comfort zone. This is not just a boundary of physical space, but also a mental periphery of my privilege that extends beyond the tone and color of my skin, my socioeconomic status, my personal education, access to resources and networks, and my formative years of experience. As a teacher, I have been thinking about the status of things that I have grown comfortable with for a long while. Because in my classroom, I am all things comfortable. I own that space because I have made it mine. I have filled it with two cups of love, one cup of understanding, a heaping mound of constantly learning new strategies and resources, and a dash of a look across the room that can say “Please, don’t try that same stuff with me today.” My classroom is where I often feel the most like me.

However, I wonder if that comfort zone is just a thing in my mind I have created to develop a sense of mastery. I am reminded in this process that there is no mastery when it comes to being an ally to my students who are Black, indigenous and people of color. There is only fighting against the comfort zone. While there are many things I disagree with about the system of education and my role as an educator, I have spent 10 years teaching and not much has changed.

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