On Bliss and Unseen Doors

Next fall, when that first school bell rings, I will walk into a classroom and feel that nervous excitement of meeting a new class, of starting a new year. Instead of stepping in front of a room filled (and I mean filled) with eager faces, instead of opening my mouth and straining my vocal chords for yet another year, I will listen and respond. I will reach into my bag and take notes. I will read, write and share. I will not be the teacher, I will be a student. It will not be third grade, it will be graduate school. We will still be studying reading and writing.

In November, 2010, I wrote about standing at a crossroads. Now the bus has arrived. I have been accepted to the MFA in Creative Writing at Mills!!! It has opened its door. Do I get on board? Yes.

I think of the students I won’t teach next year, the role I won’t play in my school, my community, my reality. I think (constantly) of the financial risk for my family, the utter selfishness, the scary, uncertain void beyond the two year program. What then? What then? It echoes in the darkest chambers of my mind.

When I let all that subside, I think of my excitement, of me dancing on my classroom desks when I got word. I feel the power of this leap, the possibility, the amazing adventure of following my bliss and pursuing my dream of writing, of taking time to see who I am at my core. I remind myself of one important thing. If I didn’t take this risk and make this huge change, I would never forgive myself. I must trust my instincts.

I have no answer to students and parents who accuse me of turning my back on our school and the children during this very difficult time. Yes, I am leaving the classroom for now. It is a completely selfish move. I am thinking about my self. I am taking care of my self. Self, self, self. It’s true. It turns out you kind of need a self, and a healthy, happy one at that, to truly make this journey we call life.

I have been doing my best to educate and care for other people’s children for 16 years. In spite of all the challenges, I have loved it. It has never been easy, no matter what I learned, what lesson I repeated and taught better, no matter how wonderful the children…never easy. The rigors of the classroom are inexplicably intense, demanding, often brutal. No matter how many songs we’ve sung together, stories we’ve read, journal walks, tech tricks, ah-hah moments, no matter how many words and cards full of thanks, hugs, all of it, I was still managing a room full of children from 8:30 to 3:00 each day, sleepy children, grumpy children, struggling children, arrogant, wonderful, timid, aggressive, amazing children, lying, honest, gentle, angry, helpful, loving children. Teaching is one of the best ways I know to have a fabulous mental breakdown. They’ll find you lying buried in heap of misspelled thank-you cards and tiny gifts.

I will be a teacher all my life, but I am also a writer. Writing is, as my former principal said, in my blood. I am very excited to jump off the diving board and do a triple flip into this next period of happy poverty. My family will make it work somehow. I will change my hat from teacher to parent at my children’s school and will, I think, make an effective, dynamic volunteer/tutor (and I am excited about playing that role).

So, here’s to the lion finding his courage. Here’s to bliss. And here’s to unseen doors…Opening.