Space and Doubt

Our internet has been down for the past week. We needed a new modem, or so said the cable guy who replaced our old (6 years) one with a sleek new one. Now life is speedier and some bit of technology is off to a landfill.

I have 18 days left as a teacher. Actually, almost 17 days as this day is close to over. I am filled with a desire, an obsession to find space both in my head and in my life for doing nothing. Now my life is filled with too much. The end of the year is always like this -- projects, presentations, organizing, report cards -- but it feels particularly anxious as I know that after 18 days I will really not want to be here finishing up all the minutiae of this career.

I long for the day when I do not have to carry 7000 items in my head -- did I take attendance? Did I copy those assignments? Did I enter grades? Where did I put that file? Did I write that email to those parents? -- and on and on and on. I want to clear away the clutter in my brain and stretch out in the open space of nothing. Well, not of nothing really, but of less.

Last night, on my drive back from a dog training class, I thought about all the names in my head. There are the names of my 19 students and the names of all the past students who still walk these halls. There are the names of all my co-workers and the names of all the parents. There are the names of all the marine invertebrates we're studying and the names of their phyla -- arthropods and cnidarians and mollusks and echinoderms and on and on. There are the names of all our community partners who I must remember to put on the program for our final performance. My head is filled with names related to work and still there are names of my friends and family that must squeeze their way in there between the folds of my memory.

But it's not just names that elbow each other like an angry crowd. There are schedules and events, errands and appointments. There are lists for groceries and projects and little things I must remember, reminders I must hold for myself, or pass on to others. I should marvel at the capacity and brilliance of my brain, but instead my head feels heavy and tired and longing of wide open spaces.

Ironically though, when I am able to clear my mind for a moment -- like last night at the dog obedience class when I could solely focus on getting the dog to lie down, to stay, to walk right at my side without a leash -- the open spaces fill with doubt. Am I doing the right thing? Am I capable of making a shift from teaching to something else -- a dog trainer? A writer? A part-time employee?

Everyone around me says "yes." Everyone around me is supportive and understanding. Everyone around me is encouraging and positive.

It doesn't appease the doubts. They creep in, mostly at night, but occasionally when I least expect them.

I love the nights when I must take Rubin to dog class, but last night the doubts even crept in there. He was a monster. He was a clown. He was a goof-off. He was everything but obedient. At one point, we were to trot by all the other dogs in class leashless. All the other dogs were leashless, too. The first pass went great. Rubin trotting merrily by my side gazing up at me in that obedient, loyal way of his. The second pass was a disaster. With a huge smile on his face, he raced to the middle of the field and looked over his shoulder, an invitation to all the other leashless dogs to follow. The four German shepherds in class leaned in unison, tempted but obedient. The young black lab who never stops wiggling broke for the chase. The King Charles spaniel hid under his mother's legs. The aggressive mix lunged for Rubin. And I was left calling for my dog who would not come.

And I want to be a dog trainer?

"You're too hard on yourself," Ann laughs at the training story. "Think about all the mistakes you made in your first years of teaching."

And immediately I thought about all the mistakes I make every day while teaching.

How do I vanquish doubt? How do I walk with confidence into this next phase, set aside worry and allow myself to make mistakes and learn from them? If I am to make space in my life and in my head, how do I make certain that doubt doesn't flood the open spaces drowning me in ulcers?

I know I can't rid myself completely of doubt, but I do want to be "less" hard on myself, a bit more forgiving of myself and my dog as he romps out of control oblivious to my commands. I want to have patience and not allow worry to drive me away from these new life choices and back into the comfort of doing something I know how to do or requires little effort or thought.

I have 18 days left. I wonder what will happen on that 19th day when I can let it all go? Maybe I won't even feel the difference. Maybe the open space won't become apparent until late summer when I generally have to gear up for the new school year. Maybe then I'll notice a void. Maybe then I'll notice a pause in my life. Maybe then I'll breathe deeply not as a way to make it through the next few days or next few hours, but as a way to truly relax and revel in the emptiness of my mind.