Part of Life is Leaving It Behind

 It has (after a long period of agonizing soul-searching that even took me to a psychologist) occurred to me that if you're ambivalent, you can't be fully committed, and if you can't be fully committed (and circumstances don't require you to continue), then that's probably a clue it's time to move on. So, if you'll pardon my self-indulgence, this is what I started writing (without any certainty that I wanted to publish it) as I wrestled with my decision about continuing my teaching career, until finally reaching the conclusion that my ambivalence was sending me a clear message -- I had already made the decision!
    So, on Monday, 3/18, I will be giving Carolyn an early birthday present, turning in my retirement letter. I'm hopeful that it's a present that I will enjoy, as well.

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I am treading water in the Gulf of Ambivalence, trying to come to a decision on whether to continue (or at least at what level--I'm close to full-time now) my career as a teacher. Being a teacher has always been more than a job for me; a teacher is who I am at least as much as what I do, certainly far more than just how I’ve made a living for the past 42 years.

We teachers are kind of like hosts at a big, annual party that lasts for 9-10 months. As a teaching staff we are responsible for providing the sustenance and entertainment for our guests, ostensibly while steering them toward a bright and productive future. The limits of my energy, time, and motivation have pretty much reduced me to bringing chips and dip. While I confess that I had the fantasy of ending my career as Mr. Chips, I had a more Peter O'Toole kind of image in mind. 

Of course, I like to believe that my chips are unique, that my dip is a personal brand developed over 40+ years. I also like to believe that my scintillating company is of value, because I really do care for my guests and take pride in being a congenial, stimulating host, worthy of their time and effort. Still, despite assurances to the contrary from students and their parents, I’ve come to wonder if I’m not spinning my world-view for my own convenience.

The truth is, I am no longer willing to invest the time to develop new recipes or get advanced training in party-giving. It’s not that I don’t want to work with my colleagues, to pitch in when help is needed, to contribute my expertise, such as it is, to the mix of ideas, or to be a part of group projects, but there are definitely limits to how much I’m willing to do to make my party room better. Sure, I’m always open to and on the lookout for minor changes to improve the ambiance or content of my room, to tweak my time-tested recipes based on my guests' needs, but I’m pretty much as good a room host as I want to be.

Sadly, but realistically, I am content to manage my own little room with its chips and dip, and enjoyable, sometimes, perhaps, even memorable conversations on wide-ranging topics, flavored with dashes of serendipity. I don’t lack for guests in my room; people always seem to be happy to spend time there, but that may be because I have become a purveyor of tasty junk food; what they may need are people willing to make them eat their vegetables.

The Party Biz has changed dramatically since I started hosting, with ever increasing demands for documentation and accountability. I concede that party-house management has every right to insist on certain standards, personal and party improvement plans, even a certain level of standardization. But, to paraphrase Bob Dylan, “That ain’t me, babe.” What you see is what you get and I can no longer commit to more than what I am already am. 

I recognize that a good room requires not only the artistry to capture an audience, but sufficient planning to implement that artistry. At this stage I confess that I rely more on my skills, experience, and 42 years of previous performances than new preparation. If that’s no longer good enough, well, then it’s time to go our separate ways, ideally with no hard feelings on either side.

Selfishly, I know that I may (probably will) miss being a room host; I’ll definitely miss working with my great team of co-hosts, professionals for whom I have the utmost respect. I’ll miss the interaction with my guests and visitors. (I do sometimes wonder if I need to teach or if I just need an audience.) Although I still love my kids and believe I help them grow, maybe it's time for me to take the advice I give my kids: "Good enough is seldom good enough." 
    It's kind of moot whether I can no longer give my best or if my best is no longer good enough. I’m becoming increasingly frustrated and dissatisfied with my own performance, and while I’m egotistical enough to think that my 80-90% is as good as many others’ 100%, the question is, “Is it good enough for me?” If I’m not sure, I’d rather go out a little too soon than a little too late. (I'd rather be Stan Musial than Willie Mays, although I don't claim teacher-equivalence to either of those baseball greats.) 

I am also aware that, personally, retirement may not be good for me, that I may, probably will, regret walking away from a keystone of my identity, losing the regular interaction with students and colleagues. When I returned to the classroom at Schechter four years ago, I came home that first day, hugged my wife and cried, saying, “I had so much fun today!” While I still have fun working with my kids, I’m not sure that’s enough, that it’s not just selfishness on my part. Their job is to learn, not make my life entertaining or pleasurable.

As noted way back in the introduction, I started writing this with no clear intent to publish, but simply needing to put thoughts down in writing to help me with the decision. It’s also possible that the decision is no longer mine to make, but that’s OK because I ceded that power; in fact, I may have retired myself by being open and honest about my lack of ambition in the professional growth arena. 

If such is the case, I can live with that (especially since I'm taking the decision back into my own hands now). It is now time to redefine my normal and find a new focus that satisfies my needs, but, for better and worse, it seems unlikely that classroom teaching will continue to be much more than the background of that picture.
Final note: The title is from a song (Adrienne Young).