Welcome to Room 206.

As you cross the threshold, you walk through curtain streamers that remind you to leave your worries in the hallway and step into a space of shared learning agreements, courageous conversations, and trying new things, all with an underlying sense of joy.

You’re immediately struck with the comfortable flexible seating of couches, ottomans, and a cozy carpet, standing lamps, and bright natural lighting. A song of the day plays from the interactive white board surrounded by $10 Amazon LED lights.

But wait, is that who I think it is? Is that Ryan Reynolds hanging out with Buddy the Elf?! Yes, yes it is. This is my classroom — a place where students are invited to be fully themselves.

Like many teachers I know, I stepped into the “family business.” One of the main influences in my decision to become a teacher is my father. My dad spent his career teaching and reaching the students that others had long forgotten about. The students that were labeled as “problems” in elementary school carried that weight like a chain through middle school and on into high school.

By the time students made it to my dad’s class, they had been kicked out of other traditional learning spaces and brought to him in the alternative setting. When students entered Mr. Bryan’s classroom, they were able to shed their labels and burdens and consider the real world in a new way. No longer were they faced with judgment from peers for not picking up on the hypothetical scenarios, but instead they were greeted as young professionals with great potential.

A simple act of compassion and recognition created a place for joy to bloom.

While I don’t teach in an alternative school, I strive to create an alternative experience for my students. I treasure my classroom as it’s my aim for it to be an inviting space for all students. I want my students to enter the space and feel as though they are at home.

As teachers, we need to welcome students from all backgrounds so they can feel seen, safe, and valued regardless of the labels they may carry elsewhere. Their stories are important, and the more students feel welcomed and valued, the more likely they are to engage and to flourish.

It matters for educators, too. I spend nearly nine hours a day in this room. When I feel inspired and at ease, I’m more likely to try something new, take risks, and bring energy to the work.

When we say teachers are the “guides on the side,” we also have to be stage-setters.

Joy doesn’t just happen — it’s designed.

With this in mind, the joy we create in our classrooms can filter into the hallways and around the whole building. As the lead mentor for my school, I intentionally hold our monthly beginning teacher support meetings in my classroom as a model for purposeful connections and a comfortable space for the school culture as a whole to grow and instill inspiration and belonging. The feelings they gather in my space can be reproduced in their own unique ways in their own classrooms, because it’s not just about the desk arrangement or mood lighting…it’s about establishing joy in a way that serves more people in order to inspire and create a more joyful school.

Now, some may say, “I don’t have enough room in my classroom to have anything but desks,” and to that I ask, “But have you tried?”

In the fall of 2024, I had a class of 44 seniors in my Honors English IV, and there were some linebackers and over 6’3” basketball players, and it worked! It’s not about square footage. It’s about prioritizing the feel of a space just as much as the function.

Teaching from a space rooted in belonging and connection is about taking risks and experimenting with surroundings in a protected environment. If we shift our focus from form and structure to flexibility and discovery, perhaps we can create bonds with students who trust their teachers and thus are more willing to find the best versions of themselves.

Imagine that we can be the conduits for engagement and collaboration between peers that leads to a sense of fulfillment in the high school years, which can be so difficult to navigate independently without connection.

Some of the greatest affirmations I’ve received as an educator have come not from evaluations or performance data, but from student voices:

“Wow, that’s a cool place to learn!”

“I just needed a moment of peace, so I had to come here,”

“Ahh, it feels good to be home!”

These words from students are more than compliments — they’re proof of what’s possible when we reimagine what a classroom can be. When we lead with care, and teach from a place of joy, we offer students something far greater than content — we offer them connection and confidence. And because of what I’ve established in my four walls, I see more than the labels and difficulties of my students’ pasts. 

I see brilliance. I see resilience. I see young people capable of shaping a world that sees and values the stories of others and is more compassionate than the one they’ve inherited.

Teaching with joy is a daily decision, and in that decision comes honoring that every voice matters. We must choose, again and again, to meet students where they are and believe in where they’re going.

It means showing them that school can be a place of peace — not pressure. A place where joy isn’t occasional but intentional.