Working Alternatives

My survival these days depends upon long walks in the inclement weather. My cheeks are flushed from a brisk cruise down by the lake with Rubin in tow. Walking is my meditation and when I walk I think about my life -- past, present, and future.


Last week was no exception. In the waning winter light I thought about leaving teaching and everything that might mean. I'm ready to leave, but in the wake of that decision are doubts. Who am I if I'm not a teacher? What skills do I have to be anything else other than a teacher? What if, when I make the leap to dog training and writing, I fail?

Fear defines my wake along with the doubt and a whitecap or two of insecurity about myself, my skills, and my desires.

So when I came home from my long, pondering walk I talked with Ann.

Me: How are you feeling about my desire to leave teaching?

Ann: Fine. You're ready.

Me: Yeah, but what if it doesn't go well?

Ann: How wouldn't it go well?

Me: What if I don't like what I've chosen, what if I fail, what if I can't earn enough money?

Ann: (Who is putzing around the kitchen never stopping to look at my fears with me, just moving intently from the fridge to the sink to the garbage can to the stove...) Well then, I guess you can always be a lesbian prostitute.

This, of course, makes me laugh. Ann is not a worrier. She just takes things as they come. She may get upset about something, but generally that something doesn't linger long -- she moves on and in her wake is a uniformed set of waves disappearing in the wide expanse of her life.

Later that night we're watching TV. I'm still chewing my arm off with worry. Ann's talking about the landscaping that's currently happening in our muddy yard.

Ann: It looks good, doesn't it?

Me: Yes, though I'm tired of the mud.

Ann: (Who can see beyond the next few months...) Yeah, but next year, it's gonna be great and we can have dinner out on the new deck and really enjoy it.

Me: Unless I'm in the poor house.

Ann: You won't be poor. You'll be "the wife" making the meals and cleaning the house. (She smiles.)

Me: That would be okay with you?

Ann: Sure! Why not? Who doesn't want a wife?

Me: Okay, I promise to be the best lesbian prostitute wife you've ever had!

Ann: Actually, you'd be the first!

We laugh and though I know she'll never let me starve or be homeless or feel guilty about being "kept woman" I still worry that this is the right move at the right time.

Yesterday I met with our school's "consultant" who meets with the staff to talk about issues that might be running under the surface. My issues are personal and have to do with how I go about telling everyone (especially my teaching partner) that I'm leaving.

Consultant: Telling is a series of stories. You don't just tell this once. You'll tell it over and over and every time you tell it, your narrative will refine itself and the truth will emerge.

Me: The truth?

C: Sure. Right now the truth is emerging even as you tell me. First your story was focused on the issues here at school and then, the more you spoke, the more the story became about you and your self awareness that you are becoming something you don't admire -- a cranky, bitchy old teacher. The more you tell the narrative of your leaving, the more the story will be about you and not everyone else. That's the truth. You need to leave to stretch yourself. You need to leave to pursue other passions in your life. You need to leave because you need to be fulfilled and challenged and after 22 years of teaching, that's not happening any more. You are at a key place in your life -- you either leave now or you stay for the next 10 years and retire. People will understand that story. People will understand the service you've provided for 22 years and they will be grateful for you, they will be supportive of you, they will be sad, but they'll wish you well, too.

Me: But what if I fail?

C: You won't fail. Life will just be different. And if it's a difference you didn't want, you'll find your way back here or to something that does feel right. You aren't going to do nothing are you? You don't strike me as a person who's going to do nothing?

We laugh. No, I'm not that kind of person. If I was, the worry about doing nothing would eat me alive, one limb at a time.

After my talk with the consultant, I spoke with our Assistant Head of School. I love this man. He's kind and sensitive and I trust him completely. When I told him about my conversation with the consultant, he nodded and said, "I won't lie. This is hard for me. It's going to take me awhile to get over your leaving. You are one of the finest teachers I've ever known."

I was stunned. "Thank you" was all that popped out, before he continued, "But don't count us out completely. We're looking at hiring master teachers who would work part time with our younger faculty to support them. Keep that open as an option."

When I think about it now, I realize I have many options -- clerk at REI, dog trainer, writer, part-time master teacher, wife, and lesbian prostitute. Maybe that's why I slept so well last night -- my wake didn't look so choppy with doubt and fear any more.

And now Rubin wants his morning walk. It's windy and cold outside...just what I need to chill off my doubts.