A few months ago a current student from my former university
called to request a donation to the scholarship fund. We had a short conversation about majors and
favorite classes at the small residential program in which we both participated. I made a donation and then went back to
making dinner.
She was so enthusiastic.
She reminded me of myself at 20.
The world full of possibilities.
Spending time thinking and learning and making meaning of these
experiences. The excitement of what was
to come with adulthood. I had big plans
for myself. They were rather undefined
plans but somehow I was going to save the world, make a difference, do big things.
But from the moment I saw my son being lifted out of that white
Range Rover in Ethiopia, my world shrank.
For the past three and a half years, my family has been my world. It has been enough. And probably one of the biggest reasons the
re-entry into teaching was a major fail in the fall.
Teaching at-risk, urban kids in a start-up school 45 minutes
from home requires a huge commitment.
Time and energy that I had once given fully for nine to ten hours a
day. Given happily. I love(d) being a teacher. This fall I just couldn’t make it all
work. Realizing I was not mothering or
teaching well was disheartening. Going
into my principal’s office to give my notice was tough. Several months after leaving I was still
having dreams about the school. Processing
it. Most of my self-pep talks fall back
on the much used phrase “I had to do what was best for my family.” As much as I want to believe I’m a rockstar
teacher, I was replaceable. But our
family was struggling and no matter how we tried to work it out in our minds,
there wasn’t a way to make it all happen in a reasonable way. For us.
At that particular moment in time.
(And I know that we are lucky that we can make decisions like this at
all.)
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ReplyDeleteThat balance is very tough. I'm with you on that one.
ReplyDelete