To the teacher who taught me more:

I forget exactly when I first heard the opinionated rumors, but I remember they started well before my first seventh grade class. Now, less than a month stands between my first day of classes for my second year of college. So much has changed, but one important detail hasn't: you taught me more.

Nearly four years ago, another teacher assigned a character essay; you were my character of choice. Tonight, I dug through my files to find it folded between the others. It starts with, "'He's not a good teacher' and 'He doesn't know when to shut up' and I'll-just-be-blunt-about-it 'I think he's an ass' comments were the kinds of things I used against him; I knew how I felt about him before I even met him." The sentence following reads, "I formed my first impression using the thoughts and opinions of others--mistake number one."

Many moments made new impressions: eighth-grade study hall prank calls, creative assignments involving drawings of potatoes, and days when his class was full of nothing but positive vibes. In the conclusion of the mentioned paper, I wrote, "Sure, he wears glow-in-the-dark shirts and cries more than many girls I know." However, those details are insignificant compared to the heart of this.

Starting freshman year, I found you to be more than a social science teacher. You became a friend, confidant, supporter, mentor, and counselor. You connected me with an old friend, helped me find new friends, and supported my thought-out decisions to leave some friends behind. You listened to any and all problems I encountered or created. Most importantly, you forced me to think outside of not only my box but also the boxes of others.

When we first met, I sat quietly--nearly submissively--in your classroom. I'm not sure you knew that I had a voice. Perhaps that is why you tried so hard to make me find it, as well as a path to find myself.

This week includes the day that I leave this town again, but this time, I don't have a set plan to come back. That result comes from a spur-of-the-moment decision to quit a job I love because it is no longer a safe-space for my mental health. While silently struggling with that decision, I nearly reached out to you. Then I realized what you taught me long ago: I can reach out to dozens of people, listen to hours worth of advice, and ponder countless possibilities. In the end, the decision is solely mine.

Thank you for being the person I reached out to--whether it be during classes I randomly left to find you or late nights when I needed someone in my corner. Thank you for giving me advice that always included some form of, "Take this with a grain of salt." Thank you for listening to me ponder possibilities.

Most importantly, thank you for proving me wrong and being one of the most influential people in the years it mattered most. Although months have passed since we last spoke, and that wasn't on good terms, I still think about advice you've shared, and some friends you've never heard of have in turn received from me.

As I leave again, with few goodbyes and hardly any new advice, I will think of yours. I will think of the recommendation letter you wrote including a statement about the large size of my heart, and I will remember that nobody else's opinion of me matters as long as I am happy with myself. Hopefully, I soon will be. And always--always--I will remember your forced encouragement to read John Green's Looking For Alaska, and I will never stop seeking my Great Perhaps.

Thank you--for everything.

-Lacee