Well, it happened. As of May 24, 2019, I am officially no longer an art teacher.
While in some ways this decision feels jarring and sudden, my subconscious has known this change was coming for a while. I don’t yet know what it was about this year, month, week, and why I knew now was the time, but it is. For all the lists, conversations, prayers, tears, and distractions, it took my patient husband sitting me down on the couch at 6:30am on a bright, sunny Thursday morning, and telling me he needed my decision before he left for work.
And yet I still didn’t wanna - didn’t want to seem like i was turning away from a career I had fought tooth and nail for. Didn’t want to lose face, that I couldn’t hack it in a profession that will simultaneously suck you dry while reminding you of the good things to come for this world. DIdn’t want to acknowledge that I don’t have a plan for what’s next. And while all those things are all true in some moments, what was even more true for me was that in order for change to happen, I had to instigate it. I had to do it. So I did.
So here we have it: 11 years, 9 grade levels, 4 schools, and 1 master’s degree.
And wouldn’t you know: all those things I have told my therapist over and over again that I want: stillness, calm, ease, quiet, peace. They have arrived. With no need on my part to fill the silence with noise.
As so the transformation begins.