Advot in Action

At the beginning of this winter, I was scheduled to teach seven weekly classes—nearly twice as many as I’ve ever taught with Advot. This increase came on top of my other responsibilities, during a time when we were navigating staffing changes and expanding rapidly.

I was anxious about the load. Planning takes time. Travel takes time. Teaching demands a specific kind of energy. I wasn’t sure how I would manage this schedule alongside everything else on my plate.

Then I tallied my first week of classes.

I worked with 89 unique, hilarious, complex students. I could write at least 17 different blog posts about the students I’ve met this session alone.

I could write about a student at Boyle Heights Tech Center who wanted to draw the Disneyland Cinderella castle as a place where she felt her best—until perfectionism crept in and she folded her paper away. Or her classmate, a member of the Firefighter Academy, who still makes time to paint whenever he can. Or another student who is non-verbal, who drew themselves as a tree overlooking a graveyard and communicated with us through post-its, participating fully in every exercise.

I could write about a student at the Homeboy Youth Re-Entry Program who could easily help lead the class, given how thoughtful and articulate he is about relationships. Or about how hesitant many students are to stand in front of a group—until they jump into an improv exercise and have us all cackling with laughter.

I could write about the girls at Camp Kilpatrick, who loved trying on wigs: one styling another to look like Pebbles Flintstone, another choosing a bright red curly wig and naming her character Strawberry. Or about the girl who wrote a letter to her younger self, reminding herself how much she loved her 10th birthday party. Or the student who advised her 10-year-old self to take a shower before she “gets in the damn bed.”

I could write about the young adults at Homeboy Art Academy, who are equal parts tough and tender. They push our games toward raunchy and hilarious, then turn around and draw and reflect with real depth. One student drew his son as his self-portrait and wrote about how he hustles and shows up, despite every challenge.

I could write about the rare students who show up to every class and quickly become role models. Or the students we meet just once who jump right in. Or the ones who give us the hardest time—who crawl deepest into our hearts and end up giving us the most meaningful feedback.

Even during the busiest seasons, I have to remember this: there is always at least one moment—and usually many more—that makes the long hours of planning, traveling, and prepping worth it.

These students are a joy and a privilege to teach. I’m lucky to get to do this work.