It’s been nearly 2 months since I last sat my ‘arse’ down to write. My last case of C.S.M.A.D. came in response to a self-provoked abstinence from liquor. This was not the case this go-round as palomas are my new found love & I don’t see taking a hiatus from them anytime soon. The duo of cabinet painting & website building generated the pause from my craft this go-round, but, nonetheless, my brain has been brewing this post for months.
I enjoy a little history with my spooky, so right before Halloween I began watching The Salem Witch Trials. Right away, the movie explained that during that time period, a woman was suspicioned of being a witch if she walked around muttering to herself. Well, shit. I had been grumbling to myself at work nearly every day. My griping was less about what I was doing and more about what I wasn’t doing, but I’m sure it made me miserable to be around. One day, however, I stopped myself midstream word vomit because I had promised not to become this person 13 years ago in a paper I wrote.
During the time, I had 3 years of classroom teaching under my belt and had accepted a new position as a reading teacher. Each day I would go into 1st grade classrooms to swoop up a small group of struggling readers to reinforce basic skills. This allowed me to witness the teaching styles of 5 different veteran educators. One of those teachers inspired my aforementioned paper. She was one of my first examples of What Not to Do. She made me realize that I didn’t want to stay in the profession past the point of when I needed to leave. I didn’t want to become a Teaching Witch.
This teacher wasn’t Matilda’s Agatha Trunchsbull or anything, but she was just Done. During a phonics lesson, my colleague would sit at her desk and tell the students what words to spell on their dry erase boards. After a short pause, she would announce the way they should have spelled the word. The students were then told to erase their boards. Hit repeat, again and again. I realize that doesn’t sound horrid, but most 1st grade classrooms have a teacher floating around, offering encouraging remarks and soft corrections as budding readers & writers stumble with our unpredictable language.
My heart was broken a little more when my colleague told me in October the students she had slated for failing the following May. A teacher of any subject or skill normally recognizes that the coveted student “ah-ha” moment can come at any time & any place. In this classroom, students were given up on before they had a chance to show it just took them a little longer to understand.
Mid-20 Me was ‘judgy’ of this woman. But now, I get her. She had seen it all, been there/done that, and was tired. Years of riding the pendulum swing of mandated methods, constant changes in textbook series and grading requirements, unsupportive administration and unreasonable parents had all led to her lethargy. After 15 years of teaching, I understood her. Hell, if you remember the post about cigar smoking, Bad Teacher Me, you know I almost was her.
Over the years, I’ve entered and exited many, many job roles for numerous companies of different sizes (click here for the list). I have found that the disgruntled employee is a universal character. At any given workplace, you can find an employee who is unhappy as hell (and will damn sure tell you about it) but is too close to retirement to make a change in the direction of happy.
The individuals who dig their heels in and continue showing up to a job they hate may have the right idea, financially. Sticking with a company for the long-haul usually gains an employee more vacation time and raises, and they normally know the ins and outs of their profession. The scenario reminds me of athletes who could have gone out on top, but stick it out a few extra years as their body fizzles and their reputation and skills decline. I just can’t.
In my paper, I wrote that I hoped I knew when it was time to remove myself from the classroom. I think I did a good job with that…but needed to keep myself in check to not become the cancer at my current workplace. I knew to count my blessings. Retaining an income during uncertain times and having moved past the company responsible for The Great Staple Project of 2019 was truly appreciated, but, my soul can’t help but strive for Happy. I remembered years ago when my sister incessantly complained about her marriage. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I told her she needed to do something about it or hush up. It sounds harsh now but I was post-divorce and knew what was up. (She is much happier now, by the way.) Knowing I offered that kind of advice, I couldn’t look myself in the mirror if I didn’t do the same.
I would like to say that I walked right into my boss’s office when I had this revelation. In all honesty, I hem-hawed for days, giving myself a headache and peeking into his office for just the right time. When I felt like I was going to vomit more than words, I finally told my nicest boss ever that…I was probably going to cry when I said this…but I was struggling. I wanted to paint and build websites and work for myself and follow my passion. I told him that when I looked at my 44 years of life, I recognized that there are fewer and fewer years ahead of me. I said that I know I am responsible for making sure the days that make up those years are satisfying and enjoyable. I said I didn’t know if my actual job was what made me a grouch or the fact that I lack freedom to do what I love when I want. Although he’s the same age as me, he’s a wee bit less emotional. He suggested I try part time, evaluate if that’s a good fit, and go from there. And, so, he allowed me to tip-toe into this next endeavor instead of jumping in with both feet.
For the last few weeks, I have felt balance and peace. Believe me, these feelings are not related to the global happenings around me nor do they have anything to do with Christmas. (I despise shopping and, more importantly, being forced to do so.) Since I began my hybrid schedule, I’ve heard others complain at work. I sometimes try injecting a morsel of positive (“Yeah, but it’s almost Friday.”) or deflecting the conversation (“Work does suck but your nails look great!”), but mostly, I just let the person vent. I have hung up my pointed hat for a season and am happy to see what comes next.