Dear Spiraling Teacher,
Hey there, friend. It's been a rough day, hasn't it? Okay, let's be real. It's been a rough week. Heck, who am I kidding? It's been a rough year. You're weary, aren't you? I know. I am too. And you know what. It's okay to admit it. In general, teachers are hard-wired to be a people who are constantly motivating others, smiling through the pain, and always, always looking for the silver lining, but sometimes finding the bright spot is harder than wading through a septic tank for a diamond.
Truthfully, writing these little blogs is about the only thing that brings me solace these days. I hope they do the same for a person or two along the way, but even if they don't, I suppose it's still worth the writing because the person being changed the most is me.
You see, these days I am on the go a lot. This week alone, I have been to five different schools and remoted in via a computer screen to several more. On my drive to these schools in different parts of the county, I've had some time to think and survey the world outside my window. The post hurricane landscape isn't a pretty sight- limbs are gnarled, fences are bowed, roofs are patchy.
Sure. There's still a semblance of normal, but nature is titled off its axis, to say the least. Then, I enter schools, and I see faces that mirror the crying, grey skies above. It's sad, which is a pitiful adjective for an English teacher to settle for in terms of description, but I honestly don't know another word to use.
You've seen it too, haven't you? A somber, masked hush that seeps down deep in the uprooted soil.
Teachers are spiraling. They're angry. Sad. Confused. Exhausted. And anyone who doesn't see it isn't really paying attention.
I am paying attention, very close attention. You don't have to look very far to see all the bad stuff. There's enough of it to cause a layer of black mold to grow over your heart and turn you into a stinking mess beyond repair. I don't know about you, but I've had enough mold and mildew this week to last me a lifetime. And what I have learned about mold is that once that smell gets in, there's really no undoing it. There's no choice. You have to throw away the whole towel, which is what I plan to do.
In doing so, I am reminded of the comforting words of my dear friend, Atticus Finch, when he offered six year old, Scout some pearls of wisdom. Scout, he said, "People generally see what they look for."
I want to be looking for the right things.
Even if I have to wade through sewage to find them, I've decided to be a gem collector this year, and I'm going to share these treasures with anyone who sticks out a hand.
Don't get me wrong. I'm no expert at finding these treasures yet, but I'll tell you a trick if you want to spot one of your own. It's the same as spotting a dolphin at the beach. You start with a desire to see one. Then you turn your eyes away from the shore. Next, you fix your eyes on the horizon. Then, you wait patiently, ever so patiently. Before long you'll spot that grey, velvet arch- that silver lining- and you'll feel like the luckiest person alive.
Ironically, the second way to spot a dolphin requires little to no effort. You're simply going casually about your business, and then you're caught completely off guard by its rare and delicate beauty.
If you're extra lucky, there might even be another dolphin behind it. One for me and one for you.
Aren't you glad you decided to pay attention?
-CDB