A once-in-a-lifetime journey. Slowly placing one foot in front of the other, poles in hand, I deliberately but slowly hike up the trail. 3870 feet. A big day for a not-quite-in-the-shape-I’d-like-to-be hiker. I am on the Tour du Mont Blanc, a famous trek around a mountain that straddles Italy, Switzerland, and France. Here, the scenic rewards are worth the climb. My anticipation is excruciating.

At last, in the early afternoon hours, we reach the high, balcony trail stretching along the side of the mountain. This path overlooks what, for over a year of planning, I have greatly anticipated — incredible views of Mont Blanc, its glaciers, and the wondrous valley below.

Breathless, I gaze out into the expanse, snapping a photo of the view…

The mountains hide behind dense fog. I swallow down my disappointment.

It’s all my fault After all, I knew it was foggy; so why did I make the climb in the first place? A total waste of energy. Instead of bathing in this freezing nothingness, I should be down in the valley quaffing Rivella and savoring Beaufort cheese..

Strangely, as an educator from Chicagoland, I did not need to travel half-way across the world for that vague, sad, futile feeling. We teachers have familiarity with the feeling of wrestling our way up mountains to fog. The 2024 Illinois School Report Card showing that only 28% and 41% of students scored “proficient” on state testing in math and language arts, respectively, provides a murky view. Not to mention absentee rates, poverty, student behaviors, and an underfunded teacher pension system. There’s the student we worked with who started to make progress, but slid back into poor learning habits. The student with whom we thought we connected, but was just suspended again. The call from a frustrated parent admonishing us that her child’s school struggle was clearly our fault.

So what can we do? Go back down to the valley and pretend that the view really wasn’t that bad? Choose a different mountain to conquer? Slump down on a rock and have a good cry?

Many of us continue to climb. Slowly but steady. We focus on our breathing, and continue the work – looking for new pathways and vantage points. Leaving impressions on the trail that we hope will ease the climb for others who will continue on the learning journey with our students.

And sometimes the fog thins out a bit. Peering intently, we can just make out an outline. A peak glimmers through the haze in a magical, majestic moment.

Then, the foggy curtain swishes shut in swift retraction:

Was it just a vision? Certainly not.

Beauty is there!

With hope, gratitude, and resolve to see it through the fog, we climb on.