This morning in the shower, I underwent a crisis of faith. I had gotten up groggily and entered the show, but as I stood under its downpour, it occurred to me that I wasn't sure whether I had taken a towel out of the cabinet before entering the shower. If I hadn't, I would have to walk a longer distance to the towel cabinet than I otherwise would go and drip heavily upon the floor as well. I thought at that moment: Well, I'll just have to believe that I did take out a towel. I'll have to have faith in myself.
At first, this struck me as analogous to believing in God, that belief in God is a sort of test of faith — With no empirical evidence, we ask ourselves to believe in something that we hope will be there for us when we need it.
After mulling over that for a moment, however, a more prescient analogy came to mind. I began to compare the towel to my preparation in being a teacher. I am starting my first teaching job in a month and I am scared. This is not an uncommon feeling among teachers or people new to things, but it is occupying my mind and even more of my dreams. I went through an excellent teacher-preparation program — one of the best — and I think I've come to work at a very supportive campus, but in the end , it's just you and the kids, alone in the classroom.
Back to the analogy, I thought: My teacher preparation is like the towel. In the end, I'll just have to have faith that what I've learned and experienced will be enough. I have to believe that my former self made enough preparations for me to succeed. This is a modicum of comfort to my anxieties, and for that, I am grateful. We'll see as my year progresses how much my faith will be justified.
Incidentally, upon leaving the shower, I discovered that I had taken out a towel.