Reflection One - In the Time of Moving
Alright..reflection time. I haven't done this recently, lately, in months, at all. Not even after my trip, my soul-searching trip that became more cause and effect, catalyst moving, from blast to blast, no time for thought, just driving or climbing or driving or sleeping or driving or eating or driving or meeting or driving or reading.
It almost feels as if I'm not myself.
As a person, I thrive on a mixture of action and reflection, analyzing in motion, leaping and bounding while understanding each step and people think spontaneous. Nope, just fast and yet...it's almost as if one part of myself is on mute, watching and understanding, trying to share it with the rest of my acting frame, mouth working, arms waving gesturing wildly, begging for attention and I am obliviously going on and on and on to each next step, almost, probably, deliberately ignoring myself.
And I am sitting in my empty living room, in my empty house, after days of moving, five days to be exact, or really three months, after 24 hours over five days of driving back and forth and back and forth and back from Waco to Austin to Waco to Austin, on a sleeping bag on the concrete floor of my empty house, with dirt under my nails, dust on my clothes, sweat dried on my skin, in my hair, paint staining my hands, thinking maybe it's time to finally reflect, to pay attention to myself for a moment, before I wake up again tomorrow, pack my car again tomorrow, drive to Waco again tomorrow...maybe it's time to pay attention to myself before that.
And finally look at all of the closed chapters that have been stacked one right after the other after the another - my book's moving fast – and see what's past, see what I've left, to see what's happening next.
To start with – I am no longer a teacher. I was one for two years and it is the type of field that defines a person. There are teacher traits expected of us. We don't drink, yell, hurt, cry, cuss or make enough money but happy because we serve. We are these two dimensional beings restrained in life after work for the sheer displayable purpose of being a role model. The 9-5 or really 7 to doesn't end (I dreamed school, designed lessons and solved student disputes in my sleep, in the car driving to and from work, with my friends out at bar... that work life never stopped. Its volume turned down, but it was always there.) And I am no longer that person - the top-ten-percent graduate, student-teacher-of-the-year, only-first-year-teacher-hired-into-AGS, teacher-of-promise, best-teacher-that-listens-to-students, teacher-that-transformed-her-classroom-with-every-new-six-weeks-for-the-students-up-until-the-end-did-not-burn-out, teacher-my-boss-ended-every-conversation-with-“you-could-stay”-for-months-all-the-way-up-until-the-day-I-left. I was awesome. And it didn't make me happy enough. I cried the last week of school with my students, after cavalierly alienating my colleagues with a mixture of leaving the profession and stepping on toes at the end to make my students last six-weeks with me utterly amazing. I don't know which bothered them more, the leaving or the taking. But I thought my two years of bending over backwards, being super team player, second year defacto team leader, coming in early, taking on extra to make sure everything happened the way that it should, entitled me to a few perks at the end. I was wrong. I think it bothered them more because I stopped picking up the slack. It hurt. The lack of a real goodbye. But the silence said more. And the kids were completely worth it. This last year was perfect, even the squashed toes at the end could make me regret the amazing time I had with these students. They knew up until the very end how much they meant to me. I couldn't have asked for a better group of students. I felt that life was showing me that even the best wasn't enough for a life. It was enough for the end of this portion of my life for this year, but it couldn't be better than who I had and what I did, and even the best wasn't enough.
The freshman understood.
The sophomores thought I burned out. They didn't see me this year, didn't see that all of me was here, better than the year before, shining, and thriving and kicking ass all the way up until the end. I wasn't a burned person, a person reduced to ashes. I didn't leave the wrong way. I was here every single day and I cared every single day. There was no need for escape. I am using everything I experienced and learned to move on. The skill-set from the past two years is meaningful, impressive, applicable and necessary for the next chapter. I wouldn't do it any other way. There is nothing burned out about that.
Theresa, my boss, was the only one who really said goodbye. We went out for drinks. Talked. Laughed. It was a wake for the end of my teacher self, where we spent more time laughing about the time we had, than crying over what we didn't. It was a good goodbye. It hurt that it was the only real goodbye. Two years is a lot of time to take to realize how easily you are replaced. But I was replaced by the system but the 70 new facebook friends I have show that I wasn't and couldn't be replaced by the students. I am the only 9th grade English teacher they will ever have or ever know. My colleagues might have 4 or 5 or 50 new 9th grade English teachers to meet and work with, but not the students.
June 3rd – school ended
June 4th – moved my classroom into my garage
June 5th – packed my bags and car for the road trip
June 6th – drove, drove, drove away
It almost feels as if I'm not myself.
As a person, I thrive on a mixture of action and reflection, analyzing in motion, leaping and bounding while understanding each step and people think spontaneous. Nope, just fast and yet...it's almost as if one part of myself is on mute, watching and understanding, trying to share it with the rest of my acting frame, mouth working, arms waving gesturing wildly, begging for attention and I am obliviously going on and on and on to each next step, almost, probably, deliberately ignoring myself.
And I am sitting in my empty living room, in my empty house, after days of moving, five days to be exact, or really three months, after 24 hours over five days of driving back and forth and back and forth and back from Waco to Austin to Waco to Austin, on a sleeping bag on the concrete floor of my empty house, with dirt under my nails, dust on my clothes, sweat dried on my skin, in my hair, paint staining my hands, thinking maybe it's time to finally reflect, to pay attention to myself for a moment, before I wake up again tomorrow, pack my car again tomorrow, drive to Waco again tomorrow...maybe it's time to pay attention to myself before that.
And finally look at all of the closed chapters that have been stacked one right after the other after the another - my book's moving fast – and see what's past, see what I've left, to see what's happening next.
To start with – I am no longer a teacher. I was one for two years and it is the type of field that defines a person. There are teacher traits expected of us. We don't drink, yell, hurt, cry, cuss or make enough money but happy because we serve. We are these two dimensional beings restrained in life after work for the sheer displayable purpose of being a role model. The 9-5 or really 7 to doesn't end (I dreamed school, designed lessons and solved student disputes in my sleep, in the car driving to and from work, with my friends out at bar... that work life never stopped. Its volume turned down, but it was always there.) And I am no longer that person - the top-ten-percent graduate, student-teacher-of-the-year, only-first-year-teacher-hired-into-AGS, teacher-of-promise, best-teacher-that-listens-to-students, teacher-that-transformed-her-classroom-with-every-new-six-weeks-for-the-students-up-until-the-end-did-not-burn-out, teacher-my-boss-ended-every-conversation-with-“you-could-stay”-for-months-all-the-way-up-until-the-day-I-left. I was awesome. And it didn't make me happy enough. I cried the last week of school with my students, after cavalierly alienating my colleagues with a mixture of leaving the profession and stepping on toes at the end to make my students last six-weeks with me utterly amazing. I don't know which bothered them more, the leaving or the taking. But I thought my two years of bending over backwards, being super team player, second year defacto team leader, coming in early, taking on extra to make sure everything happened the way that it should, entitled me to a few perks at the end. I was wrong. I think it bothered them more because I stopped picking up the slack. It hurt. The lack of a real goodbye. But the silence said more. And the kids were completely worth it. This last year was perfect, even the squashed toes at the end could make me regret the amazing time I had with these students. They knew up until the very end how much they meant to me. I couldn't have asked for a better group of students. I felt that life was showing me that even the best wasn't enough for a life. It was enough for the end of this portion of my life for this year, but it couldn't be better than who I had and what I did, and even the best wasn't enough.
The freshman understood.
The sophomores thought I burned out. They didn't see me this year, didn't see that all of me was here, better than the year before, shining, and thriving and kicking ass all the way up until the end. I wasn't a burned person, a person reduced to ashes. I didn't leave the wrong way. I was here every single day and I cared every single day. There was no need for escape. I am using everything I experienced and learned to move on. The skill-set from the past two years is meaningful, impressive, applicable and necessary for the next chapter. I wouldn't do it any other way. There is nothing burned out about that.
Theresa, my boss, was the only one who really said goodbye. We went out for drinks. Talked. Laughed. It was a wake for the end of my teacher self, where we spent more time laughing about the time we had, than crying over what we didn't. It was a good goodbye. It hurt that it was the only real goodbye. Two years is a lot of time to take to realize how easily you are replaced. But I was replaced by the system but the 70 new facebook friends I have show that I wasn't and couldn't be replaced by the students. I am the only 9th grade English teacher they will ever have or ever know. My colleagues might have 4 or 5 or 50 new 9th grade English teachers to meet and work with, but not the students.
June 3rd – school ended
June 4th – moved my classroom into my garage
June 5th – packed my bags and car for the road trip
June 6th – drove, drove, drove away
posted by tayjay at 9:27 PM
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