Circle of Air

"What makes for a strong beginning?" Ann asked this morning. She's taking a teachers workshop on writing and unlike most teacher workshops this one is actually asking her to do what she must teaching -- writing.

My response: "How would I know?"

It wasn't a snippy response. It wasn't my attempt to be rude or sarcastic or unhelpful. It was honest.

At 49 years of age, I find myself deep in beginnings and as a result, a few endings as well. I thought about just this point yesterday when I put in my first 8 hour shift "on the floor" learning the differences between heart rate monitors and sunglasses along with the customers.

This is a new beginning, but in the grander scheme it is also an end to something other than just teaching. Last week, for instance, I found myself rushing around trying to be wherever I needed to be at work pumped up and ready for action. No one else around me was in such a hurry nor were they nearly as concerned about being perfect. It's not that I'm consciously TRYING to be perfect, but for years now, I've put pressure on myself to work to the highest standard.

This, I suppose is an admirable attribute especially when it comes to teaching, but in the middle of my frenetic gyrations last week, I realized that if I made a mistake (which is really how I see perfection...not making a mistake) the world still rotated on its axis. In teaching this was true as well, though now it feels like there was much more at stake. If a kid couldn't read, it was my job to assess what was going on and seek help for the student as well as inform her parents. If a kid was using drugs, it was my job to take the necessary actions to prevent harm. If a kid struggled with math, again I was the one to recommend a tutor or testing and in that place of authority, I had command of really important stuff, life-saving stuff.

Now, at REI, I might piss off a customer with my lack of knowledge or inability to find something in our stockroom, but it's not by any stretch of the imagination a life or death situation.

This doesn't mean I won't be a diligent worker. This doesn't mean that I won't care about my work. This doesn't mean that I'll take longer breaks or not clock in on time or take advantage of my co-workers or avoid long shifts.

What it does mean is that I can breathe.

I'm not used to breathing. I used to holding the tension and responsibility of my teaching tight at the core of me only playing out the stress of it in my dreams or night sweats. When I realized that my job now was simply a job and not life-saving work, I felt that first deep breath and smiled.

It's going to take practice to make that breathing an everyday, an every moment event, but even yesterday, while I was learning about all the "camping knick knacks" as I called them, I was conscious of my breathing in a way I never could be while teaching.

This then is both my beginning and my ending, a circle of air flowing in and out. I'm not very good at it, I told Ann after I explained to her my realization. She smiled in the way she does right before she's about to make me laugh and said, "Well, that makes for a strong beginning now doesn't it?"

Yes it does. Yes it does.