The Scoreboard

I've been very quiet in the past month. Sometimes that means I need time and space, sometimes that means I'm busy, but other times it means I'm at the lowest of low points.

Lowest of the low. That is where I am.

Last month, after l got the news about that job, I mourned, but I didn't want that news to beat me. I desperately wanted out of my situation, and feeling sorry for myself wasn't going to make that happen. I knew I had to stand back up. So I did just that--I got back up, applied for positions in and out of the classroom and was able to land two interviews.

One interview was for an independent school I've dreamed of teaching at--literally DREAMED--and when the English department chair and one of the directors requested an interview, I knew it had to be. Since my life has become a shit spiral, I've lost faith. Maybe others in my situation would cling to it all the more, but as life has pounded me, my faith has eroded. But when these two women requested me--wanted me--I felt a spark. A sense of worthiness came over me, and I believed. I believed that with the love and support of this school, I could find my teacher soul again. I believed that if they thought I was good enough to teach in such a prestigious school, that I must be. I believed that maybe, just maybe, this dark cloud would be lifted, and I could start to rebuild my life. As I talked to both women, I felt connected to them. I could see they would challenge and push me in a way that would make me a better person and teacher. I knew--like I haven't known anything in such a long time--that this was my job, that these women would become my colleagues and friends.

The second interview was for a charter school, and while I wasn't oozing with love over the school or the position like I was with the independent school, my interview was solid and I was delighted the principal asked me to do a demo lesson. Delighted meaning I was delighted she asked me to move on to the next round, but I was terrified at the prospect of getting up in front of admin and kids since my last experience was nothing but embarrassing.

In this moment, I found odd parallels with US gymnast Jordyn Wieber. I certainly don't pretend to know what it's like to walk in her shoes, but the feeling of working your entire life towards something only to have it robbed from you via arbitrary rules or technicalities--I feel that. The whole world staring at you as you sob, helpless, watching the scoreboard and trying to understand why--I feel that too, in a sense. I believe my career and my experiences in the classroom have been manipulated by laws, rules, budgets, people, and that my joy and love and passion have been robbed from me. And while the whole world isn't staring at me, I am watching life's scoreboard, waiting and hoping for something different. When Wieber pulled it together to help her team win gold, I felt like this was my moment too. While this isn't the way she was expecting victory, she achieved it nonetheless, and I truly believed that one of these jobs would help me find my victory.

The demo lesson, thankfully, occurred minus a car accident and lateness. I arrived in plenty of time to get set up and transform into teacher mode. The kids were incredibly quiet and shy, and though that threw me a little, I was calm and poised. I could see myself teaching at this school. I could see myself with these kids. I could see my posters hanging on these walls. After the demo lesson, I spoke with the principal again. I felt more connected to her than the previous time. I asked a lot of questions, and her responses encouraged and intrigued me. No, I didn't feel the same level of connectedness as I did with the independent school, but I knew I could reach out to her and I knew she would help me be a better teacher.

When I got home, I felt exhausted beyond belief. The amount of energy it takes me to be "on" these days is extraordinary. I stretched out on the couch, turned on some music, and as I started to drift off, my phone beeped with an email. My independent school found "another more qualified candidate." There I was, staring at the scoreboard, and this time it did feel like the whole world was watching. I didn't cry, though. I think I was just dumbfounded more than anything. I reread the email probably about five times until I really understood what it was saying. Even then I still didn't cry. I couldn't cry, because they couldn't have been talking about me. I had already played out the conversation we'd have when they offered me the job. I heard it, I saw it. But this? No, this wasn't supposed to happen.

This morning when I woke up, I wanted to read that email again to be sure of what it said. Instead, I opened an email from the charter school, and this email was most unexpected. The email was about me, but I was not the intended recipient. The email was from the principal to one of the other admin watching my demo lesson. She agreed with an unspecified concern, said I was a "pass," and back to the drawing board.

School starts Monday, and here I am, staring at the scoreboard. I don't qualify. The gym is empty; everyone has gone home. I look around and remember the routines, what it's like to perform--the focus, the adrenaline, the emotions, the stamina, the crowd. But I am not that performer anymore. I want to walk away, but I can't. I'm trapped in the place full of the echoes of the person I once was. It haunts me and reminds me of what can never be.

         

Who Am I?

Throwing in the towel is hard to do when there's no place to go.

While a part of me started to suspect the job was not mine, it nonetheless felt like a punch to the gut. Another "more qualified candidate" filled the position. I was sitting in the parking lot of a Walgreens when I read the email. It's never a good thing to receive bad news in a public place.  I started to cry, so I drove away, wondering what I'm supposed to be doing, where I'm supposed to be. While I wanted to flee the scene--have my little breakdown in private--I almost wanted to drive away from my life. A part of me felt--and still feels--like I've made such a mess of my life that I want to start over, wipe the slate clean.

With a month before school resumes, I guess that's what I'm attempting to do. Though I may not have been hired for my dream job, I know there are other places out there. So far I've applied for three other positions and have found five jobs today I'm interested in. One of the applications requires a personal statement addressing who I am and why I'm personally invested in a particular cause. My resume is up-to-date and I've written an amazing cover letter, but I have no idea how to describe who I am.

I could describe what I'm not. I'm not an optimist or an idealist anymore. I don't have any pretenses about next year--that things can get better with a different attitude, that summer break will refresh me and the kids. I'm not a dreamer. Or a fighter. I'm not passionate. Or a believer. I'm most certainly not successful. I've become a person who is operating and existing on survival mode. I'm financially and emotionally broke. I'm lost and experiencing loss. A profound loss.

But I can't say any of that.

In the meantime I guess I just put on this face of contentment, exude this aura of confidence, write about who I want to be. It feels ridiculous, like a child's game of dress-up, but what choice do I have?

Emotional Soup

I'm still waiting to hear about the job, if you can believe that. I thought for sure they had already hired someone and not told me, but I sent a follow-up email last week and learned the final decision will be made by the end of this week. Well, it's the end of this week and no word yet, but I'm hoping.

The past few weeks have felt like an emotional soup. I have so many feelings that emerge on the average day. Sometimes while driving to work I will feel very at peace with things or incredibly depressed. Sometimes I feel both in the same car ride. At school I will suddenly feel invigorated and inspired, then become almost hostile. Driving home something will hit me and I'll start tearing up. I don't always know what these emotions are about. I mean I do on the surface, but I know they go deeper than that, like a bunch of tangled roots.

Last Tuesday was our graduation ceremony. Work wife and I met up for lunch since it was a short day, and she accompanied me to the ceremony. I was already on a little high from seeing her and having a real lunch that did not include 100 kids in my hair. Then, once we were back on campus, the faculty and seniors were getting into their gowns, and I felt this twinge of excitement. Seeing everyone cleaned up and dressed so "academically" changed the tone of our normally drab campus. There was a sense of pride and respect that I've never before felt on our campus. Walking into the auditorium was an experience on another level. My kids told me afterwards that there are graduations, and then there are "black graduations," just like there is church and then there is "black church." They are quite correct with that comparison. The parents went nuts. There was so much love and enthusiasm around, and I felt happy. Really and truly happy. That feeling extended throughout the entire ceremony. There was singing and clapping and dancing and preaching and applauding and hugging and rejoicing. I wish that we could have had more moments like that this year.

But then there are the lows. This year, more than ever, I feel them so potently. Because of these volatile ups and downs, I started taking anti-depressants last year, and I've recently re-started talk therapy. My emotions are more than I can handle, and this is nothing I'm ashamed of. In fact, I think the world would be a better place if everyone were in regular therapy. However, I've never really shouted this from such a public forum, but at the same time, I think I need to say this in such a public way. While there are other circumstances in my life that contribute to my depression, my job weighs heavily upon it, and that is a profound statement. While the surface answer is to get another job, that's all easier said than done. I'm working on it, but what happens if I don't? What happens to me then?

The Final Lessons

I'm still waiting to hear about that job, and the longer I wait, the more discouraged I become. I just want to know so I can move on or prepare to leave. Either way, for whatever reason, I feel in the deepest part of myself that in the next three weeks I am teaching my final lessons.

Last week was state testing, so as I proctored, I used that time to set my schedule for the three weeks that will follow. I wanted to do something really meaningful for both the students and for me, so I decided to recycle a unit I had used several years ago on The Crucible and modern witch hunts. I was both relieved and amazed. Relieved because I don't have to recreate the wheel, but amazed because I used to be such a good teacher. I put so much time and energy into what I did, and it showed. The work I demanded of my students was intellectually and emotionally rigorous, and now? Well, I feel ashamed. My class is a vacant representation of who I once was.

I wonder, are these final lessons meant for me or for my students?

If they're for my students, the lessons are what I've intended to teach all along. Lessons that urge them to be more open-minded, accepting people who are politically aware, who are critical consumers, who are prepared to pick up a pen or exert their own voice.

If they're for me, I don't know. Lessons in how a teacher dies a slow death in this system? Lessons in the consequences of budget cuts and high-stakes testing? Lessons in the futility of our current educational system? Or maybe the lessons are personal ones.

I took a hike yesterday in a place I've never hiked before. I had no idea where I was going--I was just following the path ahead. I kept wondering Where is this path going to lead? That's how I feel about my life right now: I have no idea where this path is going to lead. All I know is where I've been. Along the way, I've had some amazing experiences and I've met some amazing people, but somewhere on this path, I lost myself. I started to not trust what I know and what I feel. Somewhere on this path, someone else took control. Now I have to get that control--get myself--back.

It's terrifying not knowing, especially when I don't trust, especially when I don't have faith. If anything, these last two years have taken both from me. I don't like admitting that. It sounds so victimish, so weak, but it's true. And while I don't trust or have faith this job will happen for me, I trust and have faith in my instincts about this job. It feels right. It feels me. I can't remember the last time I've felt that about anything.

I don't know where this path is going, but I know where I want it to lead. So maybe these lessons aren't about my students after all. Maybe they are meant for me to prepare myself for where I want to go.