“It’s not about time, it’s about choices. How are you spending your choices?” ~Beverly Adamo
You hit a point in life after which choices seem to become less and less reversible. As if they were engraved in stone.
No matter how many motivational posts about following your own timeline and going at your own pace cross your Instagram wall.
No matter how much you try to convince yourself that it’s never too late to start a new career, move into a new house, or find the right person. It’s not that you don’t believe it—it just does not work for you. It’s okay for other people to follow their dreams and dance to their own rhythm. But not for you.
You feel like you’re in school again, falling behind.
The more you tell yourself that you don’t have to live up to anyone’s expectations, the more you realize the only person you’re afraid to disappoint is the one looking back at you in the mirror.
I used to listen to this song that goes,
I wake up in the middle of night
It’s like I can feel time moving
And I did. I did wake up at 3:00 a.m., haunted by question marks.
And to think that I was doing everything right! I had graduated, moved in with my boyfriend, and started working as a teacher. I had a spotless resume.
Still, I was obsessed with the idea of time moving. Of time unstoppably reaching the point after which I simply would’ve had no choice but to stop seeing my situation as temporary and resign to the fact that no greater idea had come to my mind—and that I was stuck with that.
With my daily life in the classroom.
Now don’t get me wrong. I am not one of those people who ended up teaching because they couldn’t get a better job. On the contrary, teaching has always been my passion. It still is.
The classroom, on the other hand…
There was not a single day in my four years as a teacher during which I really thought this could be a good fit for me in the long run. Not once.
There were bad days, good days. “Easy” classes, tough classes. Small victories, daily failures. Parents who wanted to sue me and students who wanted me to adopt them—one of those end-of-the-school-year letters still hangs on my fridge. But each and every one of those days, I knew I wanted this to be temporary.
I didn’t want to stay in the classroom forever.
It’s hard to pin it down. All I wanted to do was to be myself and teach something I love. But, as a teacher, you and your students don’t exist in a bubble. You’re very much intertwined with the complicated, emotionally loaded context of the classroom. So, you’re forced to impersonate the role of the Teacher.
As the Teacher, I was supposed to feel comfortable in the role, to identify myself with it rather than question it every step of the way. I just didn’t feel at ease. As a facilitator, as a guide, as a tutor, I’d always felt whole—not as a teacher. As much as I admired and respected those who did, I couldn’t do the same.
I really, really did everything I could to solve my issues.
I tried to fake it ‘til I made it. I read all the books. Attended all the courses. Shared my thoughts.
Every time I told someone how I felt, they would reply with all the right things.
That it’s just…
