I am typing this post on my phone at 4 in the morning. My husband R is awake to begin his commute to school in San Francisco. Usually I sleep right through his morning routine.
In the midst of going full time next school year, I’m sometimes struck with waves of emotion. This morning is no exception.
I don’t know what grade I’ll have nor where my classroom will be. I don’t know my schedule. I have not signed a contract.
The anxiety of not knowing is sometimes overshadowed by the excitement of it all. While I have almost seven years of classroom experience, the years are relatively far and few between. I’m grateful for the years that span almost twenty years but also realize that it feels like starting over each time.
I thought I would be one of those teachers who spent decades in the same grade in the same classroom but little did I know that would be a fleeting thought once I married the navy. And it’s only now at 4 in the morning that I realize this is not just another job assignment, but a chance to prove to myself that I can still be that teacher.
Time is and is not on my side. True, the decades of teaching in front of me are limited to two depending on retirement restrictions. But in the golden age of R’s retirement, of the years of living apart, and of the foresight to buy a house while the housing market was at rock bottom, time is finally on my side.
Unfortunately a good night’s sleep is not.