What the Main Page Really Costs[edit]
I’ve spent decades tending gardens—both literal and metaphorical. As a principal, I learned that every "Main Page" of a school year, every polished brochure promising "excellence," came with a hidden price. Not the kind you see on a budget sheet, but the quiet cost of the things left unsaid, the moments sacrificed to keep the facade bright.
I gave up evenings with my first husband while grading papers in the dim light of our kitchen. I missed my daughter’s first steps because I was mediating a fight between two boys who’d been bullied for being different. I learned that "main page" meant always being the calm one, the one who never showed the cracks. The young people weren’t broken—they were just facing what we couldn’t solve. I carried that weight, thinking it was my duty.
What did I gain? Oh, the deep, quiet joy of seeing a shy student finally raise their hand. Of a former troublemaker writing to say they’d become a teacher too. I gained the privilege of being seen—not as a principal, but as a human who’d stumbled and gotten back up. And yes, I gained the courage to love again at 72, finding Kenji on Facebook after 50 years. Love surprises you at every age, even when you think you’ve closed the door.
But the cost? It was the years I didn’t spend with my own family, the way my knees don’t bend like they used to, the quiet ache of knowing I’d never be the mother I’d dreamed of being. I’d trade it all again for the chance to tell a single student, "You matter," but I won’t pretend it didn’t hurt.
Here’s what history teaches us: The Main Page is never the whole story. It’s the highlight reel, the "before" photo. The real work happens in the margins—the late-night calls, the tears in the staff room, the way you choose to show up after you’ve been broken. I’ve lived long enough to know that the cost isn’t worth it if you lose yourself in the process. But if you keep your heart open while tending the garden? That’s the only Main Page worth maintaining.
— Ruth Nakamura