Who are you?

If there's a central question in my life, it's the one that Emily Dickinson asked:  "I'm Nobody. Who are you? / Are you Nobody, too?"  She goes on to tell her imagined, commiserating friend that they ought to keep their status quiet, that being Nobody is risky, that we risk "banishment".  As she continues, she wonders what it means to be Somebody.  What does it mean to be admired for being that somebody?  Her conclusion:  boring.  It seems boring to live life that way.  In her very private way, Dickinson seemed to sort out her own writing life in that poem.  Her writing, her poetry was meant for her.  She was not trying to be Somebody.  She was simply trying to exist in a world where, frankly, women weren't meant to be much anyway.  In her world, being Somebody was only compatible with men's work.  But, her writing did make her exist.  It bore out the reality that, in the end, all people want desperately both to be known and to not be alone.  She wanted a partner and she wanted to put words on a page.  She wanted communion, a shared experience of the world and a confirmation that our place in it isn't entirely meaningless, particularly if we extend ourselves.  If we reach out and if we say something, whether it be privately or broadcast to the entire world, we instantly become something that we weren't.  We become honest, and that honesty begs for validation.  Is this true to you?  Is this how you see the world?  I think we don't want to be alone in our understanding of these things.  But, still, I've struggled with the question of being Somebody my entire life.  Often, I've found myself believing that my self-worth can only be defined by the measurable amount of impact I have on other people's lives.  It turns out, this is very hard to measure and see.  Dickinson's poem is terse, it has a sardonic twist, I think, that points it's finger in the face of society, asking them why a woman like her is Nobody.  In the end, I don't think she believed that at all about herself.  So, in her footsteps, I'm setting out believe similarly, no matter what I decide to do.  For now, I'm wondering what it means to accept that friendship, love and a simpler giving of one's self is enough.

As I move through this last week of my "work," I return to the thought that this work has been primarily about friendship, love, reaching out and speaking up.  Teaching is an inside-out profession.  By that, I mean that you can't do it without great reflection and emotion.  In fact, I think it's rooted in an essential belief about human beings:  we are all Somebody.  As I think back, as I anticipate the cleaning of shelves and cabinets, as I listen to end-of-year student reflections, and as I say goodbye, I find great solace in the idea that I've pursued something passionately and that I know what it means to feel that.  Particularly, I know what it means to work in pursuit of something so hopeful.  I think in teaching, we(teachers) hope that we (students, teachers, schools) are all Somebody, people capable of change and growth.  By working with teenagers, I have learned so much, the greatest of which is that hope is inextricably linked with our ability to change.  When we can't envision a different path or envision a different version of ourselves, we stay mired in whatever current misery we might be experiencing.  For many of my students, that misery is a much more palpable version of anything I've ever experienced.  And yet, so many of them have moved forward:  college, graduate school, writing, performing, rebelling, becoming activists.  They've taught me that it's brave to imagine something different, and it is also scary.  I am incredibly grateful to have been taught that.  I will remember them for that bravery, and for reasurring me that I will never be alone in feeling like a Nobody.  Again, for many of my students, society has not expected great things of them, but they knew better.  They knew to reach out, to speak up, to make friends and to love.  The knew to carry on.  They are incredible.  And I know, somewhere out there, one of them thinks I'm a Somebody.  That's enough.

The Options

I have to say, I was incredibly nervous to make my blog public, but I've gotten so much warm and loving feedback that I wonder what I was so scared of.  I'm sure eventually I'll say something that will offend someone and I'll have to deal with it, but for now it's just comforting to know that I'm not alone in both my feelings and my desire to write about them.

On Saturday, I went to a party with my department, perhaps my last (though I hope not!).  For many of us, it's a rare chance to actually have extended conversation with our colleagues and we like each other so it's nice to talk.  But, I found myself in the uncomfortable position of having to answer the "So, what are you thinking about for next year?" question.  And I just don't have a great answer.  Sure, I've been thinking about a lot of things, but there's nothing solid, no viable lead or concrete idea.  For the first time in my life, I just don't have it planned.  I don't feel sure and I can't quite envision the thing that feels most fulfilling.  Instead, I'm trying to wallow a bit in the ambiguity and embrace it, to really feel my way.  But, that's a long answer to give to someone who's asking and I find myself trying to portray more confidence than I actually have or projecting commitment to one of the many ideas I've had.  Really, I vacillate daily between excitement about one thing and complete disillusionment with it.   I get caught up with these quite large questions about impact, authenticity, moral good and I lose faith that anything I want to do outside of teaching falls short of those.  And then, the next day I wake up and think, "Jeee-zuz, Erin, give yourself a break.  You can just be.  You can just shut up with the service to others shit."  For today...  (Don't read this if you don't want to find yourself in the ambiguous space my mind gravitates to these days.  Is equity a moral imperative?  Are better schools a moral imperative?  No, I forgot, it's having a two parent household that is imperative!)

So, while I try to figure it out, I'll keep updating here with my ideas, my "list" so to speak.  Look below for the current list -- wacky, diverse, dreamy and brazen as it is (read: foolish gutsy hopeful).  Help analyze this for me, people!  Vote, comment, give me some tips, your insight, encouragement, whatever...or just laugh with me at how irreverently I will rank these.  And if something looks like a "lifestyle business" (as Pete would simultaneously embrace & fear), be sure you remind me that I will not make any money and still work very hard.

The options?  As far as I can figure, these are they (hey, mom are you proud of my grammar?):

1) A different teaching job with more wiggle room around how I teach, possibly a different population of students that don't seem to need quite so much from me emotionally.  Can I survive school reform?  Not right now, I don't think so.  But, is there something about teaching that I adore? Absolutely!  Maybe I can experience the joy of teaching more if I do it differently! or in a different place?  But, this seems like the grass is greener fallacy and I'm pretty sure the grass will be just as needy.  Are there teenagers anywhere who do not desperately need an adult they can trust and who need you to be emotionally available, able to make phone calls home, answer emails, turn around their work with helpful comments and plan detailed lessons?  Um, nope!  Pretty sure I've answered number 1. 

2)  Teach less = difficult to do.  Tried it this last semester.  I don't know how to be part-time teacher.  I just felt like I was never there enough to do a good job, and not home with Clara enough to make it seem like a real balance.  And then working a lot from home.  And, of course, I want to be involved in lots at school, which didn't help.  I've gotten better at saying no, but then my self-worth gets all tied up in people's perception of the job I'm doing.  Ugh.  The worst.

3)   Be creative.  My job began to feel distinctly uncreative to me this year.  Maybe that''s my fault.  Or, maybe I didn't think about it in the right way.  Or, maybe when I don't have as many hours to put into it anymore, it can't feel as creative.  It feels perfunctory.  I'm bored with they way I've been teaching, because it involves so much teaching of the same thing (students need the practice, they do!  Insert teachy words like: spiraling skills, guided instruction/reading, etc.)   I've gotten a little bored and whiny about it all.  Not super helpful to my situation.  And, yes, a great teacher will make the teaching of skills seem exciting, to come alive with new materials and be creative every time she has to teach the same skill.   I've just lost the verve to do it.  I'm so tired and, frankly, wish I had seen different outcomes as a result of a lot of my work.  Oh so tired.  But, please, there are some amazing teacher, teacher-parents, sassy-keepin'-it-together-kinda people who are doin' it.  I love them.  Some day, I may need them to reinspire me and I hope they will. 

So, what else:

2)  Pediatric nurse; nutritionist; allergen-free cooking goddess for toddlers -- clearly fueled by Clara's own issues around food and my love of food.  Oh, and the disgusting food that I know kids eat in schools.  Super interested in food, learning, health & nutrition.  But, seriously, doesn't this mean paying for school again? 

3)  Other school options -- child development.  Do I want to teach preschool?  We'll find out.  I'm working in Clara's preschool once a week next year.  That, I do know.

4)  Start a business -- tutor; writing coach; blended online learning thingy (exciting or the ruin of books?)

5)  Write a play, write a blog, take a Spanish class.  Okay, at least two of these I'm doing -- yay, me!

6)  Stay-at-home-mom.  For being a pretty good multi-tasker in practice --while washing dishes, I envision my lesson plan for the next day and remember I'm supposed to bring in bagels; good thing I'm getting up early to grade, then I can make Clara's dairy-soy-gluten free smoothie (which takes 10 mins) and get out the door in time to grab the bagels-- it turns out that this mind-division actually very often does not help me.  The constant whir of my brain means that I am never thinking about the thing right in front of me.  Never.   I'm blowing a stop sign because I'm remembering that I forgot to look up a parent phone number.  I'm driving to our apartment instead of picking Clara up, because I'm thinking about what food is in the refrigerator.  I'm parking in a tow-away zone, late for an appointment, because I'm still thinking about why I didn't mail my packages earlier instead of standing in line for an hour at lunchtime at the post office.  Oh, and did I mention that then I'm taking a cab to the impound lot to pick up my car and pay $400 to get it?  Yeah,  I'm not here.  And I hate that (and really miss my $400).  The obvious thing to say to me is that it will not be different as a SAHM, but I'd like to believe that if I simplify a little bit, I might be able to enjoy my mind, my family, my life more.

7)  Part-time work at an organization I'm passionate about like the Homeless Prenatal Program.  If I could get paid a little, or even not get paid, but do something significant, I think I might be able to see another venue where my current skills are both helpful and needed.  Work in a night-time GED program for new moms?  Awesome.  Help new families get books to read their kids?  Double-awesome.  Work with other former-teachers to create something only fantastic teachers can do?  Undeniably vague, but also awesome.  I wonder if there just isn't a way to fuse my intense desire to care for my family with my desire to care for others.  Perhaps if they required more similar things from me, I might feel less frazzled.  More than that, I wonder if doing something that values my skills but also allows me to think creatively about how to use them isn't the real challenge ahead of me?

These are just a few things my brain cooks up at 2 am these days when it snaps on.  Around 4 when I stop sweating, I imagine myself drawing numbers on a blackboard, slowly and in large format, and I breath deeply to the imagined sound of chalk lilting down the cobalt.  There are no faces staring at me while I do it so I am able to enjoy the quiet, the peace, seeing myself alone.  I drift back to sleep, hoping that when I wake up, there will be the remnants of an epiphany.

I realize that even if things are seemingly staying the same, if there are no big changes in our lives, we are always working on the thing in front of us and it's just not easy to stay focused on it.   I'm hoping that I can focus on this thing in front of me, thinking positively and proactively about the choices I can make to change my life and the life of my family.  Since I operate in school years, I'd like to call it my New Year resolution:  "Just this."  I imagine more space to look at the things in front of me, "just this" one thing at a time.  I like my imagination.  I've missed it. 

Sail On, Silver Girl

When I was 18, I imagined I'd be a poet.  I had a plan:  my mom and I would run a bed and breakfast where I would spend the afternoons in a garret, writing away as the sun poured in.  There might have been a lot of Bronte or British literature in my high school experience that led to this.  Also, I guess I wasn't ever getting married or having children.  I wonder if my mom would have let me smoke weed in my room?  Just kidding, mom. 

When I was 21, I thought maybe I'd write plays.  I found my college experience in English to be duplicative of my high school experience and the relevance of analyzing literature, without doing anything to it or with it, left me lifeless (mostly because of what this guy argues the study of English should return to -- yuck!).  Plays were bold, they were full of life, their mutability attracted me, lured me in.  I didn't just want to be in them anymore, I wanted to envision them.  I took a sequence of classes at my university, with an amazing cohort of writers and felt transformed.  I skipped classes to write, I started going to plays again, reading more and more plays.  Obsession set in. But, it was a good thing.  It was a productive time for me; it reinspired me to think about the ways we portray people and things, and how we bring them to life.  Really bring them to life.

Right after my graduation from college, my father got sick and I moved home to help my mom take care of him.  My life changed.   Of course, life is dynamic, that it changes is a given.  That we don't know what will do it is harder to deal with.  Undeniably, my father's death changed my life.  It isn't that it changed my dreams, it isn't that it took them away from me, but my path was altered.  My apartment and job in DC, my friends there, I had to let go of them for awhile.  I acquired fear.  I retreated from a lot of things.  And...I ended up working in a law firm, debating law school like every confused English major/frustrated-mediocre-to-poor poet/playwright. 

But, while working at the law firm, I felt supported, encouraged and driven by other women who I saw as successful.  They were doing things in a traditional way to fit into a traditional model of success, but they were so amazing, so brilliant, and they believed in me.  I started to think of myself differently, as a leader, as someone who could create change, as someone who needed a mentor and inspiration, but someone who could also be those things to someone else.  I had a particularly transformative experience working on a death penalty case and felt I had found a calling, reaching out to people far before they were facing something like the death penalty.

In the end, I became a teacher.  I wanted to answer the moral imperative I'd always imagined would define my "work."  So, I entered teaching as I'd entered most things:  ambitious, driven, inspired, open-minded, and with shaky confidence but looking to learn.  And, I worked and worked and worked.  In fact, since my senior year in college when I took 18 credits and worked two jobs, I really haven't stopped working.  I'm pretty sure I didn't work less than 60 hours a week until last year...

So, this is where you start to wonder what this blog is about.  This isn't a blog about teaching.  If it were, people would probably read it, because that's interesting these days.  It's interesting to read about teachers who are making change and learning to buck the systems and trends that bind them and their students to failure or mediocrity.   It's interesting to berate them or reward them according to your politics, own experience or beliefs about the ability of others.  This isn't a place to sort that out.  Mostly, it's not about that because I'm not going to be a teacher anymore. 

This blog is a confession, like most blogs.  It's me confessing that I'm lost, again.  That I'm struggling with a job that I'm supposed to love (be good at, find balance in, be a leader amongst others) and I don't feel able to do any of that.  I love each and every one of my students.  I love getting to know them, getting to know their families, I love watching them enjoy their successes, I like planning a good lesson.  But, my job consistently fills me with anxiety and sadness, and the more I do it -- the more effort I put in while still feeling the same -- the more disconnected I feel from feelings of joy, confidence and passion.  And I unfairly resent people around me for it -- my colleagues, my students, my mentors.  I could tell you how I work at a great school, with supportive colleagues and an amazing administration.  I could tell you that my school is struggling, like many schools, with its share of problems.  And, I could tell you that we're working so hard to figure it out.  I could tell you the details of my everyday reality in this job, but I think you'd wonder why I'm leaving.  My school is great, really it is.  My job, my school really only gets us part of the way to understanding why I am leaving.

To be real, having a baby kinda messed me up.  Moms begin shaking their heads...

Yep, I'm a mom:  my daughter is 22 months old and, as you can probably guess, totally wonderful and brilliant.  Being a mom has messed me up in the very best and worst of ways.  And, I'm just struggling with what it means to be a woman, mother, partner, working person who feels "less-than" all the time.

So what do I do next?  Lots of people talk about what it means to be a SAHM vs. WAHM vs. WM.  I hear the comparisons all the time.  And now, as I face a salary that just barely matches my childcare costs, a job that compels me but does not fulfill me and an immediate need to regain a focus on joy in my life, I'm left wondering what it means to do something else?  What does it mean to do something that might be focused less on others and more on me?  Will I be plagued by guilt to make this kind of decision?  What does it mean to be morally "called" to do something vs. inspired to do something?  What's more motivating:  passion, joy or morality...or motherhood?

So, this blog is about that.  It's about the "something else" I want my life to become.  My mom used to cry every time she heard the song "Like a Bridge Over Troubled Water" because it made her mom cry.  Now, when I hear it, I cry.  I get it.  It makes me wonder, what will my daughter see about me?  What do I want her to know?  What am I modeling?  How can I be a person we will both be proud of?  How can I be a person that will first feel joy and not anxiety?  How can I be a person who demonstrates confidence in who she is, so that my daughter can do the same?

This blog is about learning to be the woman I want to be, so that I can understand more fully everything my daughter will face.  Perhaps then I might have some wisdom and confidence to say, "I did it.  I'm happy.  I have you, which is a lot of happiness, but not enough.  I needed something else, and needed this thing and it was..."

Maybe there isn't something else.  Maybe I just want to be a mom.  Or, maybe I want that for a little while.  Isn't this a journey, then?  One that many others have taken, to be sure.  Add to that, that I have the luxury to make a choice, right?  I mean, I could stay at home.  We would figure it out.  But, if you keep reading this blog, it wouldn't be because you're angry that I have the choice to stay at home.  Please don't keep reading if that choice makes you angry.  I lived for a long time on a crappy salary and I know how embittering it can be to read about someone who has different options.  So, if you're in that position, only keep reading if you're interested in a mom trying to figure out what it means to be a strong mom to her daughter.  What does the journey from an anxiety-filled, unhappy working mom to a "something else" kind of mom look like?

I'm hoping there's a bridge.

Dear god, I did it.  I succombed to a crappy metaphor. 

I promise it will get better.  Or messier.  And, no, I do not want to be Martha Stewart.