Wednesday, April 4, 2018

Looking Back Before Looking Forward

For the past few months I've been itching to write again. But I haven't had the slightest clue what to write about. Everything about my life seems so different than when I started this blog 10 years ago (what?!). I feel compeled to move forward, but first I have to look back.

Back in Black began in July 2008. Recently fired from a mere 8 weeks at my one and only grown-up job I found myself back at Kroger, still living at home, and yet to go on my first date despite being 23 years old. I certainly felt like a failure, nothing was going like it was supposed to. However, by the end of the year I'd decided to go back to school for a Masters in Education and become a Spanish teacher.

2009 was a blur. Everything listed above was still true, but now I was a full-time student again. I completed a two-year Masters program in 11 months and landed my first interview to be a teacher. I was fortunate enough to be hired as a Spanish teacher at my alma mater, Lafayette High School, (inspite of rocking a decent cold sore at the interview) and my new career would begin when classes resumed after winter break.

When I began teaching in January 2010, I'd clearly found my calling. My purpose. I was in love. Sure there were hard days and frustrations, but I loved it. I loved the kids and I loved what I did. I spent almost every waking hour either teaching, grading, or working on lesson plans. And that was life. Throw in some thrills like a successful run with Nutrisystem (I like to mark my life by weight loss accomplishments, rare and fleeting as they are), exciting food allergy discoveries, and getting my sweet puppy Lola and it seemed as though everything was coming together. Life went on like this until late spring 2012.

Then I got pink slipped. My first (spoiler alert) pink slip. To quote Ron Burgendy, I was in a glass case of emotion. Anger. Sadness. Frustration. About a month later I self medicated at my best friend's wedding by getting drunker than I'd been since my college days. Always a solid idea. I spent the summer going on my first mission trip to Honduras, eating any feelings regarding unemployment, and applying to countless jobs. The end of the summer was fast approaching and I was soon #blessed to be hired at Squires Elementary School (despite my fly being down during the interview).

Teaching elementary school was hands-down my favorite teaching experience (no offense to my high school students, y'all were great too...but those little one, aww). I was thriving. And by December 2012 (after countless misadventures in online dating) I not only went on my first date (finally, at 27) but began a relationship that is going strong to this day.

A lot of things happened between 2012 and 2014. I fell in love. I spent 3 weeks teaching English in China. I started my Educational Specialist degree. I got engaged. There were so many great things happening, I suppose life had to balance things out. Enter pink slip number 2. That one hurt. I actually didn't even write about it. Looks like I was in for another summer of managing emotions and applying for jobs...oh, and planning a wedding.

But I survived. And why shouldn't I? People have been through much worse. Anyway, I was hired at East Jessamine High School and things were good. We got married. I moved to a teeny house in Frankfort. There was a lot of adjustment...but life was going good. So good that I didn't blog a damn thing.

2016 hit me like a ton of bricks. I was in my second year at EJHS but the new administration was changing everything I loved about the school. It wasn't the same. I had a feeling I wouldn't be returning for the next school year.

And then the shit hit the fan like never before in my life. I lost my baby girl, Lola. After about a week of being sick, an x-ray showed us that she had ingested some sort of small metal object (perhaps a needle?) and required surgery. Around 11 pm January 8, 2016 we received a call from the surgeon. There was too much damage and she recommended that we put her down. We drove to Lexington, called my mom who met us at the animal hospital, and together we said goodbye to my little girl. I took off work and I sobbed. Honestly, I'm sobbing as I write this. I received so much love and support from my family, friends, and students, but nothing made me feel better. On a good day, I was numb. On a bad day, I was blaming myself for everything. She must've gotten ahold of a pin or needle I used for cross-stitching or sewing, meaning I'd killed her. Why didn't I follow through with my plan to go by the hospital and visit her before her surgery instead of telling myself that I shouldn't get her worked up because she'd be home soon? It's been over two years and I still struggle with those thoughts from time to time. On an in-between day I wondered what I could do to myself to be able to feel again.

Slowly I began to feel normal again. We decided to get a puppy. Another Morkie, from the same breeder that I bought Lola from. It didn't feel too soon. My heart was literally broken, and this seemed like something to help me heal.

And that's when I got my third (and final) pink slip. Sure, I'd already been looking for other jobs, but that was on my terms. This wasn't. But, if the beginning of 2016 had taught me anything it was the fact that shit happens. Well technically, Forrest Gump taught me that. I went on more interviews than ever before. Applied for more jobs than ever before...including at middle schools (EEK!).
Sidebar - I was interviewing at a middle school and someone on the panel asked where I lived. Since we were in Frankfort, I responded "here" and one of the interviewers asked, "Frankfort?" Ever the comedian, I automatically smiled and joked, "No, the school." What? Who does that? Who thinks that's a good idea during an interview? Answer: Me, aka the person who was not hired at that school.
I swear, not every interview was like that. I actually had some sense in most of them (I think). But there were no jobs to be had. The school year began, without me. For the first time in my teaching career, I wasn't teaching. I decided to serve as a long-term sub for a friend going on maternity leave. She taught AP Psychology and AP Government, but I know all the lyrics to Hamilton so I was basically an expert.
Did I mention that all of this coincided with our house selling? We'd literally just had a conversation about taking it off the market until I had a job and we got an offer that we couldn't pass up. Funny how life works, isn't it?

I interviewed for everything an anything under the sun. I accepted a state job with The Office of Vital Statistics and between my sub job ending and starting that job, I got a better offer from the Department of Education.

And that's where I've been since November 2016. While I enjoy my job, not teaching has been a huge adjustment. I find myself unsure of what to do with my free time. For the first time since 2010, my evenings and weekends are my own. I'm not constantly grading and planning. I'm not spending my own money on classroom supplies, decorations, and special treats for students. I miss teaching, specifically teaching elementary school. I struggle with feeling that I'm not making a difference. It's hard to match the heartwarming feeling you get from teaching. Now I have job security. No more struggling towards tenure only to have it yanked from my grasp. And when we decide to start a family, I'll spend my off the clock hours with them instead of on paperwork.

I started this post with not only a declaration of my desire to return to writing but also an admission of fear and uncertainty in doing so. For weeks (months?) I've asked myself tons of questions: Where do I start? Do I still have it in me? Is my gift for writing and story-telling still there? What do I even have to write about?

Although I can tell my writing skills are rusty, I can also tell that they're still there. I think I needed this cathartic word vomit of how my life has changed to get me going. Now I can return to my special brand of stream of consciousness riddled with extremely specific pop culture deep cuts.

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