and, as it turns out, i am finding myself in a similar situation.

i don’t own a huge computer company and make millions.

i don’t have nor am recovering from pancreatic cancer.

i am nowhere near as famous or powerful as steve jobs.

but, nevertheless, this week, i have left a job that i respect and love very much to focus on my health.

a public forum such as this one is certainly no place to go into details of such matters, for obvious reasons; however, this does not mean the subject is taboo.  i am most certainly willing and able to discuss the complexity of the situation in a manner that involves actual human contact.  i am not a pariah; i am not suffering away on some deathbed; i did not leave my job in a blaze of burning bridges.  suffice it to say, i developed some health issues over the last few months that became more problematic and alarming (not terminal, or life-threatening, so as to not freak anyone out) enough that it became clear that there was something wrong that was getting worse despite many attempts at a remedy.  in order to figure out what that is, i had to step away from teaching, hopefully temporarily.

i do not know when i will return.

i do not know if i will return.

i do not know what’s next.

i do know that this was an incredibly difficult decision made as easy as it could be by my sainted husband, my family, the staff at my school and my wonderful colleagues who i miss already.

i do know that i am taking a mandatory vacation for the next several weeks.

i do know that i’ve joined an online book club, and eaten much chocolate in the last few days.

i do know the one who is in charge of my life, and trust him implicitly.

i am hopeful.

for me.

and steve jobs.

so i stopped asking.

and i think i’ll begin again.

it’s good to think of things that are good.

i heard one of my lovely fellow teachers ask one of her students (in the midst of said student poring over the bleakness of her angsty teenage present) to tell her something good.  but she added something to this that i’ve literally thought about for days now; she said:

“tell me some legitimately positive things that are happening right now — not just the absence of a bad thing, but a positive thing.”

i never really thought of it that way.

such a subtle distinction, the kind that i implore the big brains in my care to notice, but an important one.

good things are not just the absence of bad things.  we need to not just be thankful the bad is at bay (or perhaps is not) but see the good.

this same teacher has resumed writing on her blog about 5 things that make her happy each day.   reading it is a small bit of lovely each day.   it reminds me of my well-worn, dog-eared, highlighted and written-in book that my grandmother gave me: 14,000 things to be happy about. leafing through this book is like taking a long walk with an old friend; remembering the goodness in the past helps me to see the goodness in the present, amidst my wildly unsure footing.

so.

here are my five good things for today:

- for feeling a bit steadier and having more anticipation for my job than i have in the previous weeks.

- doing the dishes while listening to band of horses

- for a sincere “thank you” from someone who recognized and appreciated the mercy shown to him

- dinner with my husband

- for a well-timed phone call from a friend last night

it reminds me of one of my favorite films, you’ve got mail [don't judge!], when joe fox says:

“don’t you love new york in the fall?  it makes me want to buy school supplies.  i would send you a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils if i knew your name and address.”

[emphasis mine, for the phrase that makes me just swoon.]

a bouquet of newly sharpened number 2 pencils would smell, to me, divine.  almost better than flowers.

until then, new folders will have to suffice.

i think these will be my new “to be graded”, “already graded” and
“dear lord, WHEN was that assignment due that you are turning in so egregiously late?” folders for each class.

my students call me miss.

and it’s not just me.  they call other teachers miss or mister (for female and male teachers, respectively).

[side note: this never happened when i went to school.  we called teachers by mrs. so-and-so, or by just their last name, or some abbreviation thereof, if they were a cool teacher and/or had an awesome name.  i believe we called my favorite teacher mcscruff the crime dog, but that's an entirely other story.  but, miss?  mister?  seriously?  anyone have this in their schools?]

i called them on this awhile back, for two reasons.  one, when i hear “miss”, it makes me think they don’t know my name, and in my classroom, everybody knows everybody’s name.  it’s a rule.  second, and more annoyingly, it makes me feel like i’m a waitress.

and if i am, then they seriously better start tipping me better.

so, i kept insisting they call me by my name, or ms. w for short.  one of my more vocal students finally challenged me back.  he advised that once they get to know you, then it’s just what they call their teachers.  it’s not a bad thing, it’s just how it is.

i demurred.

i now answer to miss.

so, why am i telling you this?

i had to create a temporary blog for my class for their research papers, because i needed a central repository for all of the guidelines, models and handouts that will accompany this next unit.   also?  i like blogs, and thought it would be fun.

the unfortunate part, though, is to make it easy, i just created it here on wordpress so i could quickly log on to all of my blogs, which at this point number still in the low single digits (3).  well, actually, that’s not the unfortunate part, the unfortunate part is that my profile’s signature appears the same on each blog.

and i couldn’t really have the students be reading the postings on their class blog coming from “sara, darling” which has been my signature for a really, really long time.

so, for the next few weeks, you’ll see me writing to you, dear readers, from the desk of “ms. w”.

i’m really not used to it, but in about 2 months, i’ll be called “mrs. d”, and that REALLY weirds me out.

but i’m not thinking about that.  i’m wondering how long it will be before i stop turning my head when my students, usually beckoning a classmate) call out “sara!” in my class.  good times.

and yet, i still want to hang this up in my class.

sigh.

ahem.

well, it’s been a daunting january around the smorgasbundle abode.  upon hearing the news (2 days before the first day at school) that i would be taking a block class of juniors for the entire semester, i promptly did what any other student-teacher-jumping-at-the-chance would do.

panic.

now, i’ve become a slightly more anxious person in recent years from time to time, as certain looming deadlines creeped closer, but nothing in any of the last decade of my life compared to the first weeks of school for me.

i literally felt like i was drowning, while being awake.

stricken.

i can’t exactly put my finger on the particulars of this perfect storm that tugged my boat under, but it just seemed like everything descended all at once in my head.

[i will interrupt this story to say that as i sit here typing, the french boyfriend keeps wandering in, playing with a yoyo while distractedly walking and talking to someone on the phone.  this image never ceases to make me smile.  he LOVES to yoyo.]

where was i?  oh yes, i was drowning in a sea of my own misery.  YES.

so, nobody i work with (and definitely not the students) really knew what was going on, because i at least have some modicum of composure and life experience to PULL MY FREAKING ACT TOGETHER, LADY! and not totally torpedo the class.  but standing in front of a class of students at 7:45am and trying to motivate them to work for nearly TWO HOURS first thing in the morning and planning an entire semester of curriculum, all the while knowing how boring you are being despite your best efforts?

i think i have an idea of how stand-up comics working the circuit feel.

i was praying the school would institute a two-drink minimum requirement for my classes.

joking! [mostly].

these are not bad kids.  quiet.  stubbornly disengaged and sleepy.  determined to do as little hard thinking as possible.  feeling the weight of the hopelessness they’ve been subscribing to for years.  did i mention quiet?

it took a week for one of the kids to finally say good morning back to me when i addressed the class.

these relationships, they take time.  which is difficult for a people-pleaser-want-everyone-to-like-me-instantly person like myself.  and this, ultimately, is why i found this time so trying, so baptismal (by fire).  because teaching is (and i contend that it always will be) a personality-driven profession.  you have to be genuinely you, each day, and set the temperature of the room.  as it turns out, i’ve always been the kind of person who adapts, figures out the tenor of a room and adapts to work within it.

so now i have to do the opposite, despite a lot of momentum pulling these kids the other way (when they’re together in a class).  alone?  they are often different.  if i could just be paid to tutor kids one-on-one, i’d jump at the chance.  that’s how much i like that part of my job.  the rest is by far the most challenging thing i’ve done.

but, we’ve rounded nearly the third week of school and are marching towards february and, well, march as the days move along, i continue to learn a steep amount.  Colin Powell said “There are no secrets to success. It is the result of preparation, hard work, and learning from failure.” pretty simple.  these are the types of things we like to put up in classrooms.  the reality of living that every day takes absolutely all my energy and much energy from the lovely people around me who continue to support me.  i can’t say that i feel happy each day, but i can say that i’m exactly where i need to be, and that’s the most i can ask for.  and that, THAT, makes me happy.

and now that i’ve come up for air, i decided to wave my flag and bring you over for a chat.  let’s not make it so long next time.

one of my favorite fiction writers, jonathan safran foer, is coming out with a new book called “eating animals”, which is about exactly what you would expect it to be about.

but that’s another story.  or, as he would say, a different story about a different story.

however, in a new york times article he wrote that was adapted from the book, i found another reason for why i’m in education:

“Children confront us with our paradoxes and dishonesty, and we are exposed. You need to find an answer for every why — Why do we do this? Why don’t we do that? — and often there isn’t a good one.”

oh, jsf, you fantastic writer.

this, by the way, is what i love about writing, and, consequently, also about reading:  buried treasure.  in an article about vegetarianism a good writer can clarify, succinctly and poignantly, what i have failed to articulate amongst the cacophony of questions in my head.  what is important to me in terms of education, and why do i still like it so much in spite of the sisyphian* task it appears to be?

because i need to be confronted with my own paradoxes.
because i need to continue to think and work hard at thinking.
because i need to do what i am requiring my students to do.
because there needs to be better answers to the questions, and better questions.

elsewhere in the article foer talks about a response his friend had to him when he discussed embarking on a new journey when his son was born.  his friend said: “everything is possible again”. this idea that new journeys are marked with new promise, a new hope and a renewed sense of possibility around every corner must be cultivated to live, thrive.

the effort to farm this sentiment is relentless, and exhausting; i do not look good with a pitchfork.

but, i think it’s true.  everything is possible again.  everything.  everything.  a great harvest is always worth the effort.

* hands down, one of the best and most useful adjectives.  use it.  own it.  gah, i love myth.

“the gay, straight, trans ALIENS are meeting in the library this week during A lunch.”

aliens, people.

cue my jim halpert look.

we have a gay-straight ALLIANCE club at the school.  or, i should say, we used to before someone couldn’t pronounce their words and called them aliens over the announcements on accident.  just kidding.

job security, folks, job security.