I remember my first day of teaching. I wore a really cute (but professional) outfit. I did my hair and makeup in a fashion that transformed my childish face. I had all my copies made and syllabi placed into perfectly rectangular piles on the front desk. I had my “game-face” on; I wasn’t going to smile until Christmas.
I had no clue what I was doing.
That changed, though. I can honestly say I am a good teacher. In the past, I had administrators who tried to convince me otherwise, but I know the truth, now. I had to leave my comfort zone in order to see it. No, I do not “go by the book.” I never have. I’ve made teaching my own and I will miss it if God chooses a different path for me next year.
I’ve been placed in an awkward situation. No one (within an hour of driving) is hiring. Print is going out, so newspapers aren’t hiring. I have three choices: accept the half-time contract from Clarke County, possibly work at Clinique full-time (for about the same pay as teaching half-time), or choose an alternate route.
I was supposed to have my answer by Friday, but received an apologetic email saying it would “take more time,” instead. This state of career-purgatory is driving me crazy. I wish I knew where I would be next year. I know I’m not working on my time, but I wish God’s truth would be revealed sooner rather than later. I know: I’m impatient.
I may not know about my future, but I do know this: today is the last official day of school — the last Monday. I don’t know if this is my last day teaching or not, but I must treat it as such in order to live for today. After all, we don’t know where we’ll be tomorrow. And if tomorrow doesn’t come, all we can do is be happy we lived for the present and not waited for the future — or, at least, didn’t waste our time worrying about it.
Hello (again), Monday. I am going to seize you.