Throw in the Towel…
Last night I resigned.
I’m done. I threw in the towel. And, strangely enough, it feels pretty good.
The funny thing is, I actually liked my job. Not necessarily this job, in its current bizarre incarnation, but the actual job I signed up to do. I liked teaching. I liked working with kids. I liked creating lessons. I liked those moments when a student suddenly understood something, or got interested in something, or just stopped staring at me like I was an obstacle standing between them and lunch. There was a reason I chose teaching as a second career.
Unfortunately, at some point the job I liked became a smaller and smaller part of the job I actually had. What remained was the dysfunction.
The uncertainty over where I would be working. The uncertainty over how long I would be working there. The possibility of being moved every month or two. And finally, the announcement that I was being sent to some bizarre assignment almost as far from my house as one can travel while still technically remaining in Chicago.
Three hours a day in the car. For what? Nobody could really explain.
That, of course, was almost beside the point. The way it was handled was simply another example of how seemingly everything is handled.
Eventually I realized I was in an abusive relationship. Sure, there were some good times. And the paychecks were nice. Really nice, actually. Let’s not pretend I won’t miss those. But eventually you have to stop saying, “Maybe they’ll change.” They’re not going to change.
So I packed my metaphorical suitcase and left CPS.
I don’t know what’s next. That sentence is as scary as it once might’ve been in my life.
With the exception of a few years when I was transitioning careers and staying home with my kids, I’ve worked since middle school. Since then, I’ve almost always known what came next. School led to a job. A job led to law school. Law school led to being a lawyer. Eventually, law led to teaching.
There was always a next thing.
This time there isn’t.
I can’t really say I’m retired. But I also can’t really say I’m not retired.
Maybe I’m retired for a month. Maybe six months. Maybe forever.
Maybe there’s a third career out there waiting for me.
But keeping with my relationship metaphor, I’m never going to meet the right one if I insist on staying with the bad one.
So, for once in my life, I’m going to see what happens.
I have some ideas. I’d like to volunteer. I’d like to get involved helping adaptive athletes. I’d like to find some game nights and meet some new people. Maybe one of those things will turn into a job. Maybe something completely unexpected will turn into a job. Maybe nothing will. That’s okay too.
Because I already have plenty to do.
For starters, my travel calendar somehow looks considerably busier than that of someone who supposedly has nowhere to be.
Labor Day in Wisconsin. Boston in October. Ohio and South Carolina in November. Ohio again in December. Skiing in Utah in January. A West Coast hockey trip in February- three games, three arenas. Skiing in Banff in March.
And that’s just what I’ve booked so far. Apparently unemployment requires a surprising amount of travel.
When I’m home, I’ll practice guitar. I’ll strength train. I’ll train for triathlons. I’ll read. I’ll cook. I’ll volunteer. I’ll kayak while it’s warm and ski when it’s snowy. And maybe, occasionally, I’ll do absolutely nothing.
I’m going to have to practice that one.
Mostly, though, I’m going to enjoy my life. That’s it. That’s the goal.
Not necessarily for the rest of my life. I’m not making any grand declarations about what I will or won’t do six months from now. For the next few days, weeks, months – or maybe years – I’m just going to enjoy myself and see what unfolds.
I’m letting go of the idea that I need to fight everything. For roughly 30 years, my professional life has been divided between two systems that desperately need people willing to fight to make them better: criminal justice and public education.
I fought. Sometimes I even won. I helped some people. I hope I made things a little better for a few of them. I know there are students I helped. I know there are clients I helped. There are probably some people I helped without ever knowing it. And there are plenty of battles I lost.
For years I’ve felt a little like Sisyphus, pushing that damn rock up the hill, watching it roll back down, muttering a few obscenities, and then getting behind it again.
Well, somebody else can grab the rock. I’ve done my shift. That doesn’t mean I don’t care anymore. It doesn’t mean the problems aren’t important. It just means I’ve finally accepted that I don’t have to fix them myself.
Someone else can fight that fight.
I can walk away with my head held high.
I showed up.
I cared.
I tried.
For 30 years, I pushed.
That’s enough. So I’m throwing in the towel. I’m putting down the rock. I’m walking away from the fight.
And for however much time I have left – whether that’s 30 years or considerably less – I’m going to try something radically different.
I’m going to enjoy it.