Take a Mentor, Leave a Mentor

In the past twenty-four hours, I've had two blatantly obvious reminders that it's about time I do some teaching, rather than being taught. And that scares me just a little bit because in my mind, I secretly believe I'm young enough to watch this:

So it's kind of a big deal to realize that there is a certain point in time when you go from wanting to be an expert at something, to having to tell others what to do. Sometimes it's fun to order others around. I was the Queen bossypants when birthday party season came around (which, in my mind, started after Christmas and spanned all the way to July 28th). But other times, when people encourage and expect you to be a little bossy, you suddenly feel like you're playing dress up in a grown-up's costume.

My brother just started working the same job as me, and while I've gotten many valuable lessons in cool-ness, I haven't really acted as an "older sister." Unless you count older sisters as yelling "pipe down, will ya?" when they hear Five Finger Death Punch blaring through their walls. Having the role of experienced cashier is a bit like waking up and realizing that you can fluently swear at your dog in French; fortunately, telling my brothers what to do does not result in getting bitten on the face. So that's pleasant. 

Sometimes, you just wish there was a mentor who taught you how to be a mentor. Although I may have been resistant to that proposal in 4th grade, if it took away time from learning how to dump an entire bottle of glitter over the whole world.

While I've never taken a "how to be a mentor" class, I've had a myriad of influential teachers who have showed me how to love reading, how to write, and how to sound like Donald Duck. Perhaps I'm far from being an influential teacher, but through being taught well, I can do something other than run away screaming at the prospect of telling other people what to do.

Namaste.