Does everyone feel like this?

10 February 2020

Sixty. That's how many years I have occupied space on the earth. Sixty years, six months and twenty-five days to be exact. On one hand, I can hardly get my mind around the fact that so many years have passed since I graduated high school and college, or since I was young and had babies. But on the other hand, I wonder how long I'm going to have to wait until I can retire.

I spent precious years during which my career was rearing my children and keeping my home. But for almost two decades, I have been a public school teacher, spending most of that time at the high school level, with a five-year patch in middle school. The funny thing is, I went into teaching on a whim. I hadn't majored in education. In fact I earned my BA in theater arts, which allowed me to start my career as a drama teacher. After the first year, I switched to English, and later spent seven years as a media specialist, returning to the classroom eight years ago. Now, in my twentieth year, I marvel that I've made it this long.

I spent that first year feeling like I was barely keeping one nostril above water, and the next many years wondering when someone would realize I was faking it. Somewhere along the line, though, I managed to learn a thing or two, and in the last couple of years, I can call myself a teacher without feeling like a fraud. At every single meeting, in-service, or training, for most of my tenure, I left knowing I did not belong in this field. But . . . and this is will sound extraordinarily juvenile . . . since this was a "real" job, I had to stick with it. I earned tenure and was placed on a professional service contract; those no longer exist for newbies entering teaching. My pay increased at a snail's pace, but I'm still making more than I have made doing anything else. I never saw myself as a career person, so when I was young, I didn't invest time and energy building a career. The one thing I knew I was put on earth to do was be a mother, but the pay is nothing to write home about. By the time my children were all out of elementary school, I started to feel like I should find a paying gig.

The truth is, I began to feel bored at home. My kids were increasingly self-sufficient, so my role as a mom was less demanding. I didn't garden, nor did I have a passion for any particular crafts or hobbies. Eventually I felt like I was wasting time. So at the age of forty-one, I became a teacher. The best training I had, preparing me for this role, was being a mother. The same instincts necessary to parent well, are also employed in the classroom. And having had a brood at home was a practicum in classroom management.

But back to my question: does everyone feel like this?

Like what?

I'm glad you asked. Is it universal to reach the point at which you just want to be done? When you either don't have to set an alarm, or if you do, it's because you have something special you're doing, and you want to get up early for it. Is it "normal" to just not want to play the game anymore? You know, the political games necessary to keep those around you happy . . . or at least . . . not miserable. Don't get me wrong. I work with some outstanding people, and I can and do find creative outlets in my work. And yes I know it is a great paradox to say that though we are grossly underpaid (in my state and county), we do enjoy more than average amounts of time off. Still, I just want to not have to do it anymore. I want my time to be my time.

So, tell me, dear readers . . . is this universal? Is it normal? The closer I get to closing this chapter, the more I believe I will not for one moment look back and miss it. I wholeheartedly believe that on my last day of teaching I will breathe a sigh of relief, drive home with a smile on my face, and turn off my alarm clock. I don't want to do nothing, but I do want to be able to choose where and how and with whom I spend my time. I want the freedom to choose. Yes. That's what I'm looking forward to. Freedom. All things being equal, and barring an unexpected (but highly desirable) windfall, that freedom is still about five years away. And given the speed at which the previous sixty years have flown by, five years will pass in the blink of an eye. In the mean time, I will continue to set that alarm, and do what I do, finding joy along the way.

Until next time . . .