I’m about 75% sure I’m going to quit my job this week. That sounds dramatic, so let me explain.

I was laid off this summer. But because I have tenure, being laid off doesn’t necessarily mean being unemployed. Instead, I became a “reassigned teacher,” which is one of those wonderfully bureaucratic phrases that means, “We don’t really have a job for you, but congratulations, you still work here.”

Honestly, my first reassignment wasn’t terrible. I wasn’t exactly living my educational dream, but I was getting paid, the commute was manageable, and nobody had set me on fire. At this stage of my career, I have learned to recognize a win.

Then today I got re-reassigned. I’m not sure “re-reassigned” is an actual word, but I’m pretty sure it is an actual CPS employment status.

My new school is approximately as far from my house as you can get while remaining within the city limits of Chicago. Any farther and I believe I would need to obtain an Indiana teaching license. Depending on traffic, I’d be looking at something close to a three-hour round-trip commute.

Three hours.

I could fly to Nashville faster than I could get home from work. So I requested another assignment. Maybe they’ll change it. Maybe they won’t.

But somewhere between looking at Google Maps and contemplating spending 15 hours a week sitting in Chicago traffic, I realized something:

I don’t think I care. Not in the bad way. In the good way. I think I might just be done.

When I was in college, there was a wonderful used bookstore on campus. One day I stumbled across a book of sayings by Hugh Prather. It was very 1970s, very philosophical, very “perhaps we should all sit beneath a tree and reconsider our relationship with the universe.” I loved it.

There was one thought that has stuck with me for decades. I don’t remember the exact wording anymore, but the idea was that there is another way to go through life besides kicking and screaming. I remember thinking that was brilliant.

Then I apparently spent the next 40 years kicking and screaming.

Excellent implementation, Ross.

But maybe I’m finally ready to try the other way. Because I’m tired.

I’m tired of CPS.

I’m tired of bureaucracy.

I’m tired of caring deeply about things while sitting in rooms where it sometimes feels like caring is an eccentric hobby.

I’m tired of pushing the rock up the hill.

Camus famously imagined Sisyphus happy. Good for Sisyphus. I imagine my Sisyphus checking his pension, dropping the rock, and saying, “You know what? Somebody else can push this thing for a while.” And then going home for lunch.

Maybe that’s where I am.

I’ve worked since I was in seventh grade. I’ve had jobs almost continuously for more than four decades. I’ve been in the Army Reserve. I’ve been a lawyer. I’ve been a prosecutor. I’ve been a teacher. I’ve had deadlines, bosses, clients, students, court calls, meetings, lesson plans, alarm clocks, commutes and people asking me to do things that could absolutely have been handled in an email.

Maybe I’ve done enough for a minute. Maybe I don’t immediately need another career. Maybe I don’t need a five-year plan. Maybe I can just stop.

I can wake up and decide what I want to do that day.

I can exercise.

I can read.

I can learn something completely useless.

I can practice an instrument.

I can cook dinner.

I can do things around the house that have been sitting on my list since approximately the Clinton administration.

I can volunteer at a food pantry.

I can help people who actually want my help.

I can explore hobbies.

I can write.

I can travel.

I can sit outside on a Tuesday afternoon and commit the radical act of not being anywhere else.

And maybe after six months I’ll be bored out of my mind and desperately searching Indeed for something to do.

That’s possible.

I know myself. There is a nonzero chance that by November I will have taken up woodworking, started a small business, joined three nonprofit boards and somehow become treasurer of a neighborhood organization I didn’t know existed.

But maybe not.

Maybe I can learn how to simply live for a while. That idea feels strangely uncomfortable. Which is probably a sign that I need it.

So, yes, I’m 75% sure I’m quitting this week.

Maybe CPS will give me a better assignment. Maybe they won’t. Strangely, that doesn’t seem like the important question anymore.

The important question is whether I really want to keep pushing the rock.

For the first time in a very long time, I think I’m willing to consider putting it down.

Hugh Prather was right. There is another way to go through life besides kicking and screaming. It only took me about 40 years to consider trying it.

I guess I’ll take job satisfaction where I can get it.

Let’s start with the most obvious positive: I’m getting my full salary.

That’s something.

Of course, that’s also what makes this a job and not a volunteer gig or a hobby, but after the uncertainty of the last few months, getting up, going to work, and receiving my normal paycheck is not something I’m going to complain about.

And there were some genuinely good things about the first day.

The day started with an all-school assembly welcoming the students back and laying out expectations for the year. I loved it. I begged my former school for years to do something like that, and we never did.

It seems so basic. Start the year together. Show a little enthusiasm. Build some community. Ease everybody into Day One.

And, most importantly, tell everybody the rules.

Here is what you can do. Here is what you cannot do. Here is what will happen if you do the things you cannot do.

Novel concept.

Before the assembly, I had already noticed students putting their phones in their lockers. And then something remarkable happened: I didn’t see a kid with a phone all day.

I’m sure there are some burner phones and dummy phones floating around. Kids aren’t stupid. But the school had already confiscated three hoodies that violated the dress code, so I don’t have much doubt they’ll take phones, too. And if they take your phone, a parent has to come to school to get it back.

Good.

My former school wouldn’t let us confiscate phones. It was a shitshow. We were basically asking teenagers to voluntarily ignore the most addictive device ever invented while it sat six inches from their hands.

You can guess how well that worked.

So, overall, I was impressed with how the school started the year. Clear expectations. Clear consequences. Some school spirit. Adults actually acting like adults and running the building.

Another positive came from one of the classes I’m working with. There are only seven students, but it’s an advanced class and every single one of them was awesome. Engaged, interesting, and fun to talk to. I think I’m going to love working with them.

The other classes weren’t anything I haven’t dealt with before. They’re teenagers. I’ve taught teenagers for eight years. Nothing particularly scary or shocking there.

So what’s the problem?

I’m bored.

And I don’t mean “teaching is boring.” I mean I literally don’t have enough work to do.

I had three free periods in a row today. That’s 165 minutes. Then I had a class. Then another free period. Then one final class.

Five free periods in one day.

Normally, a free period is wonderful. You grade. You plan. You answer emails. You make copies. You stare blankly at the wall for seven minutes wondering why you decided teaching was a good second career. At my old school, I had a guitar in my room to play during free periods, or I’d even go for a run.

But I don’t have my own classes, so I don’t have much to plan. I don’t have assignments to grade. I don’t have tomorrow’s lesson to create.  I don’t have my own classroom, so I’m not going to bring a guitar.

There are only so many times you can check your email.

It’s not the school’s fault. I’m here because of the reassignment situation, and they’re figuring out how to use me. But I realized today that I really don’t like not working at work.

I’d rather have a full schedule of my own classes. I’d rather be planning lessons, teaching, grading, complaining that I have too much to do, and wondering why I ever wished for a free period.

Instead, I have time.

Lots and lots of time.

Which got me thinking that what I really need is a side hustle I can do online. If somebody is going to give me five free periods a day and a laptop, there has to be something productive I can build during that time.

An online business? Writing? Something involving education or law? Something completely different?

Hmm.

That’s a problem for another day.

For now, I’ll take the win.

I have a job. I’m receiving my full salary. I have some interaction with students. I have co-workers to talk to. I already found one class I’m genuinely excited about. The school seems organized and willing to enforce its rules.

Would I rather have my own classroom and a full teaching schedule?

Absolutely.

But this is where I am right now.

And compared with all the things I imagined might happen when I got laid off, sitting around occasionally wondering what the hell I’m supposed to do with almost 4 hours of free time isn’t exactly a tragedy.

Could be a lot worse.

So, for now, I’ll take my job satisfaction where I can get it.

And maybe figure out a side hustle.

I had to participate in a Google Meeting today.  I don’t know how people manage to stay alive.

First, turn off your mic in a group meeting unless you are speaking.  I thought that was common freaking sense.

Second, and maybe the bigger one, PAY THE FORK ATTENTION.   I can’t tell you how many times someone asked a question that was already asked and answered.  Like multiple times.

Third, again, PAY ATTENTION.  Someone asked for a copy of the slides….uh, they were included in the invitation email.  You already have a copy, Tool.

This meeting took WAY longer than it needed to because of people asking the same question or a stupid question.

SMH

Life has definitely been a roller coaster the last few years. Today was another dip. I got laid off.

Now, before everyone starts sending sympathy cards, let me add a little context. I knew it was coming. It still landed with a bit of a thud, but as layoffs go, I’m probably one of the last people who should complain.

First, my wife has been the family’s primary breadwinner for the last 18 years. We’re going to be okay financially.

Second, I was only planning on working another couple of years anyway.

Third, thanks to the wonderful world of Chicago Public Schools, I get to spend the next school year in the “reassigned teacher pool.” Translation: They’ll keep paying me my full salary while they send me somewhere else. That somewhere will either be a school that struggles to hire people (draw your own conclusions), or I’ll become a full-time substitute. Neither option was on my vision board, but I can handle either for a year.

Honestly, I know a lot more than I did nine years ago when I first walked into a difficult school. I’ve made plenty of mistakes, learned from them, and I’m far less likely to let the job consume me. If I end up in a challenging building, I’ll survive. I’ve done it before.

Still…it’s weird.

I’m 60 years old, and this is the first time I’ve ever been fired or laid off. Every other job I’ve ever had ended because I chose to leave. There’s something about having someone else make that decision for you that feels a little strange, even when you know it’s coming and even when, logically, you know you’ll be fine.

And I will be fine.

In fact, sitting here, I mostly feel grateful. Our kids are grown. The house will be paid off in about a year. We don’t have student loans hanging over us or little kids depending on every paycheck.  We have been diligent about saving and investing for retirement, and were fortunate to inherit some money when my parents passed away.

I don’t know who else lost their jobs today, but I do know they’re almost certainly younger than I am. Many probably have toddlers at home, daycare bills, mortgages, student loans, and careers they thought were just getting started. For them, this could be a genuine crisis.

For me? It’s mostly an inconvenience.

Sure, it joins a fairly impressive collection of life’s little plot twists over the last five years. Apparently, the universe subscribed me to the “character-building” package. But compared to what so many people deal with, this barely registers.

Besides, on Friday, I leave for my annual summer trip to Utah. I’ll hike, bike, swim, kayak, and SUP. I’ll eat good food. I’ll spend time with great people. I’ll stare at mountains that have absolutely no interest in my employment status. I’ll breathe clean air, unplug a little, and remember that the world is still a pretty amazing place.

Life is funny like that. One day, you’re cleaning out your classroom. Three days later, you’re sitting on a mountain wondering why you ever worried in the first place.

It’s still a great day to be alive.

Years ago, my wife had a friend who was a world-class gossip. Whenever my wife came home from spending time with her, she’d have updates on everybody. Some of it was harmless enough – new jobs, family news, who moved where.

But most of it was catty. Judgmental. Mean. This person always had something negative to say about somebody. One friend was lazy. Another was selfish. Another was a bad parent. Another was cheap. Nobody escaped criticism.

Finally, I asked my wife, “D, if she trash-talks all her other friends to you, who do you think she trash-talks to them?”

Yeah. You.

That’s the thing about gossips and chronic complainers. People sometimes think they’re being included in some special inner circle. They think, “Well, WE are the reasonable ones. WE are the exception.”

Nope.

If someone spends all day bad-mouthing other people, eventually your turn comes too. That’s just what they do.

I thought about that after my interaction with Loud this week. Loud was furious at another co-worker and at one point called them a “fucking idiot” because they disagreed about a work issue. And all I could think was: what exactly does Loud call ME when I’m not there?

Because if someone complains about almost every person in the building, why would I imagine I somehow get spared? Why would anybody think they’re immune from a person whose entire social interaction revolves around negativity?

My wife used the word “toxic” when I told her the story. I usually roll my eyes at trendy buzzwords, but honestly, in this case, it fits. That environment is toxic.  But mostly it was the realization that I don’t want to be a part of that person’s negativity (as the hearer or target)

Yesterday I made the mistake of lingering in a co-worker’s room. Never linger. That’s how workplace documentaries begin.

I had only gone in to use the microwave. Let’s call this co-worker “Loud.” Immediately, Loud started complaining about an upcoming event. Secretly, I was delighted because it proved I was right. I had previously been asked to take on that role, but I declined because I did not believe the promise that “there won’t be mission creep.” Friends, there was mission creep. There was mission sprinting. The role has now expanded into a multi-department turf war involving various stakeholders, all of whom apparently have different visions and none of whom actually have power.

So while Loud is venting, another co-worker, the Immediate Boss, walks in and starts complaining about a third co-worker, Worker Bee.

Mistake #1: I said I agreed with Worker Bee in theory, just not in approach.

This led to a disagreement, which is fine with Immediate Boss because Boss and I can disagree like adults. We make points. We respond. We occasionally say things like, “I see your argument.”

Loud, however, debates like a guy trying to get kicked out of a Buffalo Wild Wings. Volume increases. Arms waving. Veins activating. Then comes the name-calling. Worker Bee became a “fucking idiot” and several other things that probably violate HR policy, FCC regulations, and possibly the Geneva Convention.

And that’s always my issue with this stuff. Can we not just disagree anymore? Why does every disagreement have to escalate into “this person is morally defective and should be launched into the sun”?

This tiny interaction is exactly why I don’t eat lunch or do the pre-work coffee thing with most co-workers in my department. It’s a vortex of complaining. Everyone leaves more irritated than when they arrived. It’s emotional secondhand smoke. Worse, I absorb it. I become more negative. Which is impressive, because my natural resting state is “mildly disappointed history professor in a 1970s movie.”

OTOH, this morning I had coffee with two other co-workers, and it was great. We talked about comedians, religion, current events, and random nonsense. No work talk. No complaining. No gossip. We disagreed on things like normal humans, and nobody called anyone an idiot or suggested exile.

The amazing thing is that these people dislike work just as much as everyone else. They simply don’t build an entire personality around complaining about it.

I left laughing and in a legitimately better mood.

So I’m recommitting to trying to be an uplifter. Not in a motivational speaker, “Live Laugh Love” sign kind of way. I’m still me. There will still be sarcasm. There will still be annoyance. But I don’t want to become one of those people whose entire emotional diet consists of outrage, complaints, and reheated grievances from the microwave room.

I don’t want to be someone who leaves people feeling worse for having spent time with them.  Just the opposite.  I’d like people to leave feeling better.

Where you drink your coffee matters.

There is a sacred annual tradition in high schools across America – Senior Ditch Day.

Like all great traditions, it is treated with the secrecy of a covert military operation. Whispered conversations in hallways.  Sudden silence when a teacher walks by.  Students acting like they are planning the moon landing instead of skipping fourth-period Government.

I knew it was coming because one or two kids let it slip, but most of them were acting like they were protecting state secrets.

Relax,  guys.  We know.

You are not the first senior class to discover the revolutionary concept of not coming to school in April.

What always makes me laugh is the assumption that teachers are somehow devastated by this betrayal.

Oh no.  Please.  Don’t ditch.

Don’t make me sit in a peaceful, silent classroom for six out of eight periods.  Don’t force me to enjoy the sound of absolutely nothing instead of listening to someone explain, for the third time this week, why they couldn’t possibly complete an assignment because their Chromebook was dead, their phone was at 2%, and Mercury is in retrograde.  Please don’t deprive me of redirecting the same student 56 times in 50 minutes, only for them to still turn in nothing.  Please don’t rob me of hearing inane conversations shouted across the room about who hooked up with who, who might fight after school, or why someone’s cousin’s boyfriend is “literally insane.”

I beg you – stay.

The truth is,  I don’t know many teachers who are going to deeply miss this particular group of seniors.  That sounds harsh, but honesty is important in education.  By late April, we are all just trying to land the plane without setting the runway on fire.

At this point,  if half the senior class wants to vanish for a day,  I support their journey.  Honestly,  I wish they would ditch every day between now and graduation.

Except my AP students.

They are absolutely forbidden from ditching.  They may begin their own Senior Ditch Season promptly at 12:01 a.m. on May 7, after the AP exam.  Until then,  they belong to me.  After that? Godspeed.  Go to brunch.  Go to Target.  Go sit in a parking lot drinking iced coffee and talking about college orientation.

You’ve earned it.

The rest of you?  You’ve also made a choice.

And apparently, that choice was to make Senior Ditch Day your most academically productive day of the year.