Hi! And welcome back to Teachers in Transition. I’m Vanessa and I taught in the performing arts in public schools for 25 years because I left the classroom and went to work for a Fortune 500 company helping find people to fill positions for other companies. Now I help teachers just like you learn how to translate your skills so that you too can leave. Today on the show, we are going to talk about how books shape us, to help us remember important things about ourselves, and in the career transition and job search segment, we are going to talk about how to start to build a resume that will help you cut through the digital noise.
This week’s the Perspective Pivot (we call it that because it helps to look at things in a different way!) is about the books that helped shape us. I hope that as summer is kicking off that you get to do a little reading for fun and relaxation. I suspect get the same sense of safety when we re-read favorite books as when we re-watch favorite TV shows.
Recently, I went looking for a specific piece of writing I remembered from one of the books of Erma Bombeck. Erma Bombeck was a humorist and a writer from 1965 to 1995. I didn’t remember the exact title. I didn’t remember the page number. But I remembered what she said. I remembered the point. And weirdly enough, I remembered that the book was yellow.
And sure enough, when I finally tracked it down, it was buried in Aunt Erma’s Cope Book — with the yellow cover I remembered.
That sent me down a little bit of a rabbit hole. I started skimming through several of her books, and I was surprised by how much of them I remembered. Not just specific jokes or lines, but the way she saw the world.
She had a way of looking at ordinary domestic life and naming the absurdity inside it. She could make people laugh about laundry, children, marriage, school, expectations, and exhaustion, but underneath the humor there was often something sharper going on. She was pointing at the things women were expected to carry quietly and saying, “Does anyone else see how ridiculous this is?”
And as I was thinking about that, I realized that some of the writers we loved when we were young may have done more than entertain us. They also shaped us.
Example: I entered the mystery genre very young. I was reading Nancy Drew when I was six or seven. I was reading Agatha Christie by about ten, which does raise the question of whether children really need to know that much about murder and poisons.
But, by middle school, I was reading Robert B. Parker’s Spenser books, which may explain more about my personality than I am fully prepared to admit in a podcast.
But one of the characters who taught me the most was Agatha Christie’s Miss Marple.
Miss Marple solved mysteries because she understood that people behave in patterns. Someone in one village reminded her of someone she had known somewhere else. A situation looked new, but the behavior underneath it was familiar. She watched people carefully. She noticed the pattern. She understood the system.
Looking back, I suspect my never-diagnosed little neurodivergent heart was looking for ways to understand people, patterns, and systems. Stories gave me a framework. Mysteries gave me a way to study human behavior from a safe distance. Humor gave me a way to name absurdity without drowning in it.
And there we go.
The books we loved as children may not have been “just books.” They may have been early maps. They may have taught us what to notice, what to value, what to question, and what kind of person we were practicing becoming.
And I think this shifts by generation. Let’s talk about the GenX starter pack.
Nancy Drew. The Hardy Boys. The Boxcar Children. The Baby-Sitters Club. Sweet Valley High.
The adults were often nearby, but not especially useful. Kids solved the mysteries. Kids built the household. Kids ran the club. Kids navigated friendships, money, responsibility, danger, and social status with surprisingly little adult intervention.
The lesson was: figure it out. Be resourceful. Keep moving. Do not assume an adult is coming to rescue you.
Which is painfully Gen X.
In fact, in about 5th grade, we had to do a lengthy group project on a book called “The Girl Who Owned a City” which is about a world where all of the adults are killed by a mysterious illness and all that’s left are kids 12 and under.
The Boxcar Children literally begins with children creating a functioning home inside an abandoned boxcar. The Baby-Sitters Club is basically middle-school girls forming a small business, managing clients, schedules, interpersonal drama, brand trust, and probably more operational complexity than some actual organizations I’ve seen.
Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys wandered into danger with a flashlight, a roadster, and more confidence than any child should legally possess.
And then there are books like Matilda, which sit in an interesting bridge space.
For many Millennials, Harry Potter became one of the defining gateway stories. Not the only one, of course, but a huge one.
And that world was less “you are alone, figure it out,” and more “find your people.” Build chosen family. Stand against cruelty. Difference matters. Love matters. Loyalty matters. Tolerance matters. Institutions may fail you, but friendship and courage still matter.
The fantasy was not just magic. The fantasy was belonging. And then my own kids, who are Gen Z, came of YA age with a different kind of shelf.
They had Percy Jackson, Harry Potter, Twilight, The Hunger Games, Divergent, Maze Runner, and I Am Number Four. Different shelves. Different decades. Different kinds of danger.
My daughter is an elder Gen Z, and she was right on the cusp of being just a little too young when Breaking Dawn came out. So I read the books first, partly because I wanted to know what she was reading and partly because I wanted to know if there was anything I needed to debrief with her afterward.
That was not unusual for me. I actually enjoyed reading the YA books my kids were interested in. It gave me a way to enter their world, not as a gatekeeper, but as a fellow reader.
And sometimes those worlds overlapped in funny ways. I was reading Rick Riordan’s adult mystery novels long before he wrote Percy Jackson. His first Tres Navarre book was Big Red Tequila, and then years later my kids came to him through Greek gods, demigods, quests, dyslexia, ADHD, monsters, and middle-school chaos.
Different doorway. Same author. Same gift for writing sarcastic characters.
That is one of the gifts of shared reading. Sometimes you are not just watching what shapes your children. You are discovering where their stories and your stories meet.
Now, I grew up in an uncensored home, and I gave my own children broad, uncensored access to books. I have never believed that the answer is to hover over a child’s reading life with fear or condemnation.
I was also the kind of kid who believed the book was almost always better than the movie, which is how I accidentally picked up Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex book thinking I had found the novelization of a Woody Allen movie I was not allowed to watch.
Friends, in case you did not already know. That was not a novelization. That was an education no middle schooler really needed. But anyway and moving on…
I believe deeply in letting readers read. But I also know from experience that sometimes a young reader goes looking for a story and accidentally finds context. A lot of context. More context than anyone requested.
And I do think there is a difference between censorship and conversation.
There were times when I read ahead, not because I wanted to control what my children thought, but because I wanted to know what they might need help processing.
There was only one time I stepped in and asked my daughter to wait. When my daughter was 16, I asked her to wait on Outlander until she was older. If you know you know. If you don’t know, you should definitely never read that book because it will ruin you for all the other books you want to read in your life. It’s such a good book. Anyway… I asked her to wait on Outlander until she was older. Not because I thought she should never read it, but because once you read certain things, you cannot unread them.
There are some stories I did not want to keep from my children forever, but I did want them to meet those stories when they were old enough to process what they were seeing.
Once a young person understands that people like that can exist — not monsters in fairy tales, but humans with power, charm, status, and sadism — that knowledge cannot be neatly folded back up and put away.
Kurt Vonnegut wrote, “We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.”
And I think stories are part of that. The books we love when we are young give us these roles to try on. Detective. Rebel. Friend. Outsider. Leader. Protector. Truth-teller. Survival.
For Gen Z, especially elder Gen Z, so many of the big YA books were not just about adventure. They were about broken systems.
In The Hunger Games, the system is the danger. The story is about survival, yes, but also spectacle, propaganda, inequality, trauma, and the use of children as symbols.
In Divergent, the danger is being reduced to one category. Pick one trait. Fit one faction. Become manageable.
In Percy Jackson, the “problem child” becomes the hero once the world is explained differently. That is powerful for kids who felt different, ADHD, dyslexic, neurodivergent, emotionally intense, or just out of sync with school.
So where Gen X stories often said, “You may be on your own; learn to solve the problem,” and Millennial stories often said, “You may be different; find your people and fight for what is right,” many Gen Z stories said, “The system may be broken; learn to survive it, question it, and resist being reduced by it.”
Different shelves. Different decades. Different kinds of danger, but underneath all of them, children were…practicing how to live.
And that is why this matters for our mental and emotional health.
When life feels heavy, when burnout has flattened your identity, when you have spent too long being the responsible one, the flexible one, the patient one, the one who figures it out, the one who stays late, the one who makes it work — it can be healing to remember who you were before the world asked so much of you.
So tell me about your favorite books. What were your favorites when you were a kid?
For teachers especially, I think this matters because teaching can swallow identity whole. The grading, the meetings, the behavior documentation, the lesson planning, the parent emails, the Sunday-night dread — all of it can make you forget the person who existed before the job became so heavy.
But the books we loved may remind us that we were never only one thing.
We were detectives, rebels, caretakers, pattern-seekers, misfit-defenders, romantics, strategists, humorists, and people who noticed more than we knew how to explain.
And if you have a child or grandchildren in your life, this may be worth noticing too — not in a censorship way, and not in a “panic about what the kids are reading” way.
But the stories matter.
The books children choose, reread, carry around, quote, act out, and defend can give us clues about what they are trying to understand. Are they drawn to stories about belonging? Survival? Justice? Friendship? Power? Difference? Escape? Chosen family? Solving puzzles? Resisting unfair systems?
Ask what they love about the story. Ask which character they understand. Ask which part made them angry, or hopeful, or scared, or brave.
Because the goal is not to control what they read. (The goal is probably just to get the reading) The REAL goal is to know them better while they are becoming themselves.
And if you are a Teacher in Transition, maybe this question is for you too: What did your childhood bookshelf teach you about you?
Did it teach you to solve mysteries (or problem solve)? To build a family? To survive the system? To protect the vulnerable? To laugh at absurdity? To tell the truth? To look for patterns? To keep going?
I have been thinking about this a lot because I am writing a book. I’m writing a book for Teachers in Transition. And I do not just want to write another polished, distant career guide. I want to write something that helps teachers recognize themselves again — their humor, their grief, their intelligence, their skills, and what they have survived. It’s been a fun process. I will be sharing more as this process moves on.
First, I can tell you it’s a lot more than “I think I want to write a book. Let’s write a book! I wrote book! Ta da!!” (laughs) so much more than that!)
So this week, I invite you to revisit the books of your youth. Not because nostalgia fixes things, but because revisiting things brings comfort to our nervous systems and remember who we wanted to be. And that can be empowering (or liberating).
Those stories may still hold clues about what you value, what you notice, and what kind of courage you learned to practice before you even knew you were practicing it.
And if I start making lists of childhood books on social media, I hope you will come tell me what I forgot.
Because that is exactly the kind of conversation I want us to have.
And we’re going to move into the Career Transition and Job Search segment because I want you to have some practical advice to help you with your teacher transition.
Today, we are moving into some resume basics.
This summer, I do want to spend more time on the Build stage of career transition. Remember? There’s five stages to leaving the classroom: Decide, Clarify, Build, Refine, Attract. So, resumes, LinkedIn, job descriptions, keywords, and the practical pieces that help teachers prepare for a job search outside the classroom is the BUILD process..
So let’s start with the resume itself.
A modern resume is not supposed to be your whole life story. It is not supposed to include every duty you have ever performed, every committee you ever served on, every curriculum you ever touched, or every heroic thing you did with twelve minutes of planning time and a printer that jammed on every third page.
A resume is a focused career document.
Its job is to help a reader quickly understand who you are professionally, what kind of work you are targeting, what skills you bring, and what evidence you have that you can do the work.
Most resumes have a few basic sections.
At the top, you need your name and contact information. That usually means your name, phone number, professional email address, city and state, and LinkedIn URL.
Please notice I said “professional email address.” If your email address still involves a nickname from 1998, a fandom reference, or anything that would make a hiring manager pause and reread it twice, this is the moment to create a cleaner one. And as a teacher you know this, because you have seen emails from parents that made you question many things.
After the contact information, some resumes include a professional summary. This is usually a short paragraph or a few lines that introduce your professional identity, your target direction, and a few of your strongest transferable strengths.
I teach my clients to be careful with this section because recruiters are not sitting down with tea and a highlighter to savor your prose. In the first scan, they may only spend a few seconds deciding whether your resume belongs in the yes, no, or maybe pile.
That means the most important information needs to be easy to find quickly.
Current resume wisdom favors clear section headings, clean formatting, and relevant language from the job posting placed naturally throughout the resume. Not stuffing keywords. Not repeated awkwardly. Not dumped into a giant skills list like we are trying to summon the applicant tracking system through ritual chanting.
This is one reason I do not generally advocate for a separate skills section anymore, especially for experienced professionals.
A skills section can so easily become keyword stuffing. It can also make strong skills look weaker because they are disconnected from evidence. Anyone can write “communication,” “leadership,” “project management,” or “data analysis” in a list. And may have. And in fact, this was the accepted wisdom just a couple of years back. If you go into the back catalog of podcasts, you’ll hear me advocating for this. It’s not true anymore.
The stronger move is to show those skills inside your bullet points.
· If you want the employer to see communication, show the communication.
· If you want them to see project management, show the project.
· If you want them to see data analysis, show the data-informed decision as a bullet point.
· If you want them to see leadership, show the people, process, or outcome you influenced, or better yet – that you OWNED
For teachers, this matters because your strongest transferable skills are usually buried inside the stories of what you actually did.
Next comes your professional experience section.
This is where many teachers get stuck. A teacher resume often starts as a list of job duties:
· Taught sixth grade math.
· Created lesson plans.
· Communicated with parents.
· Managed classroom behavior.
· Collected data.
· Attended meetings.
All of that may be true, but it doesn’t show a potential hiring manager value. Yet. This is where the stories matter. Your bullet points come from the stories of what you actually did.
Think about a moment when you solved a problem, improved a process, supported a student… so many things,
That story is the raw material. The resume bullet is the polished version with quantifiable metrics.
For example, the story might be: “My students were struggling with multi-step word problems, so I created a small-group rotation, tracked the errors I kept seeing, adjusted my examples, and scores improved.”
The resume bullet might become:
Designed targeted small-group interventions for a group of 25 based on student performance data, improving comprehension of multi-step problem-solving skills with an average increase of 10% per student.
The story might be: “Parents were confused and frustrated because communication had been inconsistent, so I created a weekly update system and fewer things blew up in my inbox.”
The resume bullet might become:
Developed consistent family communication systems that improved transparency, reduced confusion, and strengthened follow-through resulting in 25% fewer follow up questions.
The story might be: “Every year, our field trip process was chaos, so I made a checklist, timeline, permission slip tracker, and communication plan.”
The resume bullet might become:
Coordinated annual field trip logistics for 125 students and 12 staff members, creating timeline, permission tracking, materials coordination, and family communication systems that reduced missing forms and last-minute issues.
Now, obviously, you would use your own real numbers.
Quantifiable results matter because both recruiters and applicant tracking systems tend to respond well to concrete evidence. We love those quantifiable metrics. Numbers make the scope of your work easier to understand. They help a recruiter see that you did not just “help with a field trip.” You managed people, deadlines, documents, communication, logistics, and risk.
The number doesn’t have to be dramatic. It just has to be true.
That is the work of resume writing.
You are not dumping your whole teaching life onto the page. You are choosing the stories that match the job you want, then translating them into language the employer understands.
There are a few other sections you will need.
Your education section should include your degrees, certifications, and relevant training. If you are moving outside education, you may not need to list every expired workshop certificate you have ever earned. Choose what supports the direction you are moving.
You may also include a certifications section, especially if you have credentials relevant to your target role. For example, project management, HR, instructional design, or other specialized training.
Some career changers also include a selected projects section. This can be useful if you have done work that does not fit neatly under one job title but still shows relevant experience. That could include the curriculum redesign you did one summer.
Now, a few basics about format.
Keep the layout clean.
Use standard section headings.
Avoid complicated graphics, tables, text boxes, or decorative formatting that may confuse applicant tracking systems.
Color is OK. Pictures, Graphics are NOT OK.
Use bullet points, not huge block-walls of text.
Focus on the most relevant information.
A one-page resume is not always the goal, especially if you have years of experience, but every line needs to earn its place and try to keep to two pages. No one seems to mind scrolling to second page, but by they’re getting to a third and wherever else page, they’re going to want to feel really “Wow-ed” if you went that long.
The most important resume principle is this:
The resume should be targeted. You do not need one perfect resume that somehow works for every job. That resume does not exist. However, I do recommend creating what I call an Everything Resume Template
Think of it like an everything bagel, but with more action verbs.
Your Everything Resume is not the resume you send to employers. Let me say that again because someone needs to hear it: do not send the Everything Resume to employers.
The Everything Resume is your master document. It is the place where you collect all of your experience, stories, accomplishments, projects, leadership roles, certifications, professional development, committees, curriculum work, technology tools, data stories, communication wins…all of it. (Dare I say it holds….EVERYTHING???)
It can be long. It can be messy. It can have too much information. That is the point.
The Everything Resume gives you raw material.
Then, when you find a specific job posting, you do not have to sit in front of a blank screen trying to remember every useful thing you have ever done while your brain plays elevator music.
You can go back to the Everything Resume and ask, “Which pieces of this experience best match the job in front of me?”
That’s how tailoring works.
You are not inventing a new version of yourself for every job. You are selecting the most relevant evidence from your real experience.
In future episodes, we will talk more about how to use AI wisely in that tailoring process. AI can and will save you a lot of time if you allow it to help you compare a job posting to your Everything Resume, identify relevant themes, and suggest ways to adjust language. But AI should not invent experience you do not have, and it should not flatten your voice into corporate oatmeal. I have a prompt for that.
The Everything Resume keeps the truth in the room. It gives you something real to work from.
My Skills, and Capabilities Observation Utility Tool helps with this. We call it SCOUT for short.
SCOUT is one of the tools I use with clients who work with me to help them explore possible career directions and translate teaching experience into language that makes sense outside education. It helps us look at roles, skills, patterns, and possibilities more clearly.
If you are already working with me, or if you join one of my programs, SCOUT becomes part of that process.
But even if you are not using SCOUT yet, you can start with the same basic habit: collect your stories, notice the patterns, and begin translating the evidence.
Because the resume you send HAS TO BE tailored and targeted.
But the document you build from? That does need to be big enough to hold the whole story.
So that is where we are landing this week.
The stories we loved when we were young may have taught us more than we realized. They may have taught us what to notice, what to value, what to question, and what kind of courage we were practicing before we had language for it.
And those stories still matter.
They matter when we are trying to reconnect with ourselves. They matter when we are trying to understand the children, students, or younger people in our lives. And they matter when we are trying to move forward, because the stories of what we have done become the evidence we use to build what comes next.
And if this episode made you think of a book I forgot, please come tell me. I know I forgot something. I always forget something. Somewhere, someone is already preparing a passionate defense of Ramona Quimby, Or Encyclopedia Brown, or a fictional dog who emotionally destroyed them in childhood.
I welcome all of it.
If this podcast supports you, encourages you, or helps you feel a little less alone in the transition process, I would be grateful if you would support it in return. You can follow or subscribe, leave a review, share the episode with a teacher friend (who you think also needs to read some more books), or send it to someone who might need a little perspective and a little hope this week.
Those small actions really do help other teachers find the show.
And if you are ready for more structured support with your own transition, you can visit Teachers in Transition to learn more about my programs, workshops, and coaching options.
Until next time, remember:
You are not “just” a teacher.
You are a whole person with a whole history, a whole set of skills, and a whole collection of stories that helped shape you.
And the next chapter?
That gets to be a story you help write.
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That’s the podcast for today! If you liked this podcast, tell a friend, and don’t forget to rate and review wherever you listen to your podcasts. Tune in weekly to Teachers in Transition where we discuss Job Search strategies as well as stress management techniques. And I want to hear from you! Please reach out and leave me a message at Vanessa@Teachersintransition.com You can also leave a voicemail or text at 512-640-9099.
I’ll see you here again next week and remember – YOU are amazing!
