In the classroom I teach in there is a globe broken in half. One half rests on Africa the other half cradles on Mexico. The globe sits on this shelf by the door next to the tissue box, a box of stale Saltines and a spiral notebook with the cover falling off.

Every time I tell my students to journal they do it in complete silence. And while they do this, I stare at the globe. The way it looks like an orange sliced in half. How, for the last four weeks I have been in the classroom, the globe has not been touched or even attempted to be put back together. Or how, when I pointed it out to a student one time when they asked me what I keep staring at, she said: "Yah, that's what my world feels like."

I grew up with globes that were always put together. They spun really fast when I would take my fingers and force them in a direction. I would close my eyes and slam my finger randomly on any point. The globe would halt and under my finger print would be some body of water or land mass where I would announce: "This is where I will totally go one day when I am rich and awesome." It was what I did to escape fifth grade or seventh grade or even high school. It was a way I told myself that one day I would make it and be in that place I always wanted to be in... somewhere far from where I was... somewhere better for me. The world, when I was younger, seemed so flawless... so attainable... so easy to hold.

But globes can't spin when they are in pieces.

So, the other day I bring super glue while the kids were at lunch. It was the kind that sets as soon as you smooch whatever you are gluing instantly. I grab the globe and set it in my lap trying to line the crack perfectly. England's half touching it's other. Antarctica starts meeting up along the bottom. I struggle with trying to match up Russia. I uncork the glue and trying to cleanly mesh the seam. But the globe keeps slipping--the glossy coating slides against my jeans. And just when I think I have one part holding steady, the bottom starts slipping out... the globe falls back in to pieces.

After fifteen minutes, I give up and put the globe back on the shelf. Defeated, I now ignore the pieces as I walk in and out of the classroom.

When you're twenty-five, it's funny how much different the world can look.