The mother, yelling at her children, is my teacher.

The couple, out to dinner, who hardly look at each other, are my teachers.

My ex-husband, in unexpected acts of kindness, is my teacher.

My daughter, mirroring my impatience and laziness, is my teacher.

The traffic jam, on a day I’ve tried to fit in too much, is my teacher.

My beloved teacher, kindly asking me (for the 1000^th time) not to jut out my ribs, is my teacher.

The man, angry about the long line, who curses out the cashier, is my teacher.

My students, who stare at me blankly after an ambiguous instruction, are my teachers.

My clients, whose issues uncannily reflect what I need myself, are my teachers.

My mentors, who so bravely reveal their imperfections, are my teachers.

The stranger, who asks me what I do for a living, and listens, is my teacher.

My cable modem, which occasionally decides to stop working, is my teacher.

The gruff-looking man, who grabbed my arm as I almost fell down an escalator, is my teacher.

The woman in stilettos at the supermarket, unafraid to be brazenly sexy, is my teacher.

My daughter, who loves who she loves with a fierceness that knocks them over, is my teacher.

That ache in my heart, where love has broken me open, once again, is my teacher.

The sun, rising every day, no matter what, is my teacher.

Where are yours?