| Random thoughts on Purpose | for everyone |
I admit that it's a character flaw, albeit one I don't worry about, but I find very little satisfaction in the mundane. I feel no great sense of accomplishment in cutting grass, raking leaves, doing dishes, painting, maintaining the house, etc. But I mostly find those tasks either boring or frustrating, or both (now there's a deadly combination!).
Essentially, however, my life has been reduced to the mundane. After 37 years, I feel like I have so much knowledge and no one to share it with. One of the things I loved most about my career in education was that I could find constant stimulation because there were, and are, an unending supply of problems, both macro and micro.
I started out wanting to save the world, or at least education in the United States. That didn't keep me from using the local district as the laboratory, encouraged by my graduate program at Webster University (then, College). I really hadn't mastered either my craft or my classroom, but I was reasonably certain I knew how to fix the multiple problems facing kids and education in the 1970s.
As my career progressed I narrowed my focus, first to just worrying about my district, then my building, and finally my classroom and the kids I was to teach. Although I was always frustrated/bored by the mundane aspects of teaching, the profession itself always filled me with a sense of purpose, no matter the breadth of my focus. When that was so rudely taken from me (and, at least equally important, the kids I might have helped) I was left to try to discover a new purpose.
I'm thankful for the chance to work with some Webster girls coaching softball. But as much as I love the sport, as much I enjoy working with my kids, as much as I understand that the value of sports is not in the winning, losing, statistics or skills, and even though I've stayed in touch with some Webster girls from my past teams, I'm under no illusion that I'm making any significant difference. (I admit, however, that you never know.)
My focus has now narrowed to my one remaining "student," Becca. Whether that's really a good thing for either of us remains to be seen. I know I sometimes drove my daughter into severe eye-rolling with my constant efforts to add instruction into too many things. As precocious as she seems to be, Becca isn't really ready to be taught, nor does she need that as she learns on her own daily, and I don't want to interfere with that natural progression. She needs to find her own way; she doesn't need direction.
Essentially, however, my life has been reduced to the mundane. After 37 years, I feel like I have so much knowledge and no one to share it with. One of the things I loved most about my career in education was that I could find constant stimulation because there were, and are, an unending supply of problems, both macro and micro.
I started out wanting to save the world, or at least education in the United States. That didn't keep me from using the local district as the laboratory, encouraged by my graduate program at Webster University (then, College). I really hadn't mastered either my craft or my classroom, but I was reasonably certain I knew how to fix the multiple problems facing kids and education in the 1970s.
As my career progressed I narrowed my focus, first to just worrying about my district, then my building, and finally my classroom and the kids I was to teach. Although I was always frustrated/bored by the mundane aspects of teaching, the profession itself always filled me with a sense of purpose, no matter the breadth of my focus. When that was so rudely taken from me (and, at least equally important, the kids I might have helped) I was left to try to discover a new purpose.
I'm thankful for the chance to work with some Webster girls coaching softball. But as much as I love the sport, as much I enjoy working with my kids, as much as I understand that the value of sports is not in the winning, losing, statistics or skills, and even though I've stayed in touch with some Webster girls from my past teams, I'm under no illusion that I'm making any significant difference. (I admit, however, that you never know.)
My focus has now narrowed to my one remaining "student," Becca. Whether that's really a good thing for either of us remains to be seen. I know I sometimes drove my daughter into severe eye-rolling with my constant efforts to add instruction into too many things. As precocious as she seems to be, Becca isn't really ready to be taught, nor does she need that as she learns on her own daily, and I don't want to interfere with that natural progression. She needs to find her own way; she doesn't need direction.
I'm trying to use this year as a possible transition to... well, that's just it, I don't know to what. I'm loving the time with and closeness to Becca, and Carolyn and I enjoy each others company, as well. And I don't really know what else I want to do (or can do). I'm not ready to volunteer/donate what I believe are skills and knowledge that have value. Is that selfish? I'd hate to think so, but that may be the case. Maybe this has something to do with not having voluntarily given up my career, even if I voluntarily gave up the protections I had as a full-time educator.
Or maybe this is, in fact, a transition. I used to (half) joke, "If you don't like me, just wait a few years and I'll be different." Turns out that was a good thing because a significant percentage of my friends weren't initially enamored of me. Few, if any, of my incarnations were planned metamorphoses, so this may be another in a long line and I'll just deal with life as it comes. So I continue to spend this year in limbo, probably sounding whiny. I was asked by friends last week if I would go back to Hancock if they asked me (apparently the new superintendent's days are [deservedly] numbered). I don't know. I'd really like to find a place where I could teach a class or two, but perhaps that train has left the station (and I'm not motivated enough to check the schedule for other trains). Or maybe this spring I'll quit feeling sorry for myself and work to find a new train. I recognize that no one is going to drive it up to my house and offer me a ticket.
Terri Kung wrote on Dec 2, '08
ReplyDeleteTransitioning is difficult, especially when you're not sure where you're transitioning. I envy my husband his very definite decision 5 years ago to transition to a completely different field after 10 years as an electrical engineer. I've been transitioning for the past decade and still have no idea where I want to end up. Of course, I can always just be "mom", which I've discovered is a far harder job than I had ever anticipated. I find myself dabbling in a lot of different things now: private ESL tutor, teaching cooking, writing, doing voiceovers ... After over 15 years of teaching ESL, I thought that I'd had enough, but I keep coming back around to it. Maybe I just needed a break. Maybe I need inspiration. Maybe I need a retreat. I'm not sure how to figure it out. If you figure it out, let me know!
Drmist1 wrote on Dec 6, '08, edited on Dec 6, '08
ReplyDeleteI know the transition thing. My first three teaching positions ended that way. I was young, and full of idealism... and myself, and felt damaged but otherwise un-flawed. Youth disappears as wisdom shows up, and I now realize I was flawed, but undeserving of the damage. And here I sit, employed, working hard, head down and sweating the details.
We put on the Middle School Christmas Concert, and one building level administrator showed. But why should the others? I mean, they see us perform in the classroom, right? The supe showed. Not a word to either teacher. Assistant supe liked the show, and said as much, and I believe she believes it matters to be nice, to say something. But then I always remember for whom we do this, and the fact that I see and speak to so many parents, and that they appreciate what we do. I spoke to the father of a kid from last year's guitar class. There was a point in the year when my class was his only success. Apparently, he liked the feeling of doing well, and according to dad, is now holding his own or excelling in all his classes, and will probably graduate on time. (For those outside education, this is more significant than you know. For those outside this district, this is more significant than you can imagine.) Dad credit's me with the turnaround. Absent the concert and the parents interest, I would never have known. You are right, Bob... you never know! This Thursday is the High school concert. We'll see what we'll learn there.