So it finally happened. I resigned my position.
My wife and I are moving to Colorado.
I had to get the word out there. It was killing me otherwise. I just finished up what might well be my last year of teaching, my room is more or less emptied out, and it's getting harder and harder to keep a poker face when I get the "So what are you doing over summer break?" question. Oh man. Where do I even start? "Well, if you have any boxes, bring them over and I'll fill you in."
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| Room 167, sans me |
I really am not comfortable writing like this. My friend Youla, the big sister I never had but desperately need, assures me an announcement like this is warranted, but I can't help but feel like the guy on the soapbox in the town square, blathering to passers-by just trying to go about their day. Still, it has to be said. The reactions are already pouring in, and there's a range of them.
I'm getting "So...you're retired now?" Well, maybe from teaching; we'll see. Meanwhile, take a look at my resume. Did I spell "resume" right?
I'm getting "Wait, you're leaving?" Yes. I'm sorry. Or...you're welcome? Can't quite tell.
I'm getting "Wait, you're leaving?" I know, right? If humans could plant roots, I'd be one of them.
However, forget all that. I'm not writing this for autobiographical reasons. I'm just doing some necessary housekeeping. The dozen or so readers of this blog are used to me putting other people and events under a microscope: affairs of the day, issues in education, the random concert I stumble into. Self-expression has not been my thing for some time now. The whole "Look at me!" thing doesn't work as well with me, particularly when it seems to invite gravity and ceremony I don't always feel worthy of.
But since the ethos of my online presence has routinely included, if not almost entirely consisted of "educator, be he good or bad at it," it felt weird to me to not at least put in an aside on the change of affairs. "Oh, by the way, my two cents on partial credit for missing work are entirely inconsequential to my life now. Anyone know if Arby's is hiring?"
The whole move was a long time coming, and my family is very excited about the next chapter in our lives. As far as living in Colorado goes, I've never lived anywhere but the Midwest. I'm fully prepared for the inevitable throwdown between me and the natives out there. "Oh, great, another hipster white dude with a beard is here. What are you here for, hipster white dude? We've already got seventy craft breweries and sixty bookstores." I've been getting ready for a pummeling from any pro-gun neighbors I might wind up with, or any Uber-vegans who smell the sirloin on my grill and pin me down to the floor to fill my mouth with tracts on meat consumption and global warming. I plan to submit happily.
But as far as work and my career go, I haven't a clue--the last time I was this unemployed, Clinton was in the White House and the idea of our current iteration of the culture wars was reserved strictly for dystopian fiction. Maybe there's another classroom in my future; maybe it'll be something else. A close friend and colleague reminded me upon my exit to "fear not the unknown, for every wonderful thing that happens to us in our lives at one time is itself the unknown."
"Ok, but what do you mean?" I said. "Because that's unknown to me. And that makes me afraid."
"Shut up," she responded. And thus another memorable moment was ruined by me.
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| She also gave me this swag. I've been beaten up three times so far. |
The whole thing is exhilarating and scary and overwhelming and all kinds of sensations, but this is not good-bye. I hate saying good-bye. I loathe farewells. First of all, because there are too many of you I've leaned on and depended on out here; second of all, because, well, I refuse to allow this to be farewell. Most of the farewells in my life, I had no idea they even were farewells. So let's not do that.
Let's keep this in mind instead: sooner or later, I'll have a house out west with a guest room, working kitchen and, hopefully, a back yard to hang out in while my dogs exhaust themselves hunting wild boars and getting used to panting in a higher altitude. There will be a day when we meet there, or back in Illinois, or wherever.
I mean, sure, I might be so rich and powerful I can't be bothered to mix with the likes of you, that's true. Or I might be qualifying for government assistance by then. But it's very likely we'll have an open seat and some kind of refreshment to offer you. So let's just look forward to that, okay? Meantime, bug me about getting together over the summer and don't skimp on the random texts, invites and bonhomie thrown my way. It's the full life that's worth living.
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| A 21-year stint at teaching, writ small. (I couldn't find the ones from my very beginning) |
