Every summer I leave school triumphant, reveling in the connections I have created with students. I pride myself in knowing my kids well, and teaching middle school English opens up plenty of space for student expression. Then comes September. With each new batch of kids, an old cohort drifts up through 7th, then 8th grades, and I'm left to the Sisyphean task of starting over. They are strangers, these new children, and I've lost my friends. No wonder I'm filled with a lonely malaise each fall, questioning my efficacy as a teacher, despairing my lack of career satisfaction. Bulletin boards of student work are empty, showcasing the fact that we've accomplished nothing. Were I to track my despondent feelings (and my internet searches of job postings), I suspect them to follow a pattern, with a nadir during the first month each school year. And though it is my nature to believe that the way I am feeling is the way I always feel, I have to remember the glory of spri...