transitions

tran·si·tion
noun
  1. the process or a period of changing from one state or condition to another.

This is the place I am in.  Summer flew by in my new home so beautifully.  That transition was seamless.  Portland, Maine suits me in way that feels simultaneously like coming home and starting over again.  Growing up, I always wanted to move and be the new kid.  I’ve always been a “me first!” kind of gal (hello Aries sun!) and haven’t ever had trouble making friends.  This time, I return to the salt water, which is healing me right this moment, but I am also new here and that is exciting, in a trembling, fluttery sort of way.

I thought the transition I would be facing once I got here would eventually be marriage, property-buying, and planning logical parts of my future with my partner.  I think maybe most people that know me, would have agreed.  It just seemed like the next step from the outside looking in.  But, in true wild woman fashion, that’s not what happened.

Have you ever had a wake-up call so deep in your bones, that all of a sudden, you took a breath and exhaled and realized you’ve been holding it for a year? As if you pulled back a curtain to some forgotten dusty place in yourself, and were shocked to find that part of you was hidden in there?  This was my experience last month. This realization meant that my relationship was over.  By no means was it a knee-jerk reaction, but once I saw every step leading to this decision, I couldn’t un-see it.  The part of myself that I spied behind the curtain was my inner life, and it wasn’t matching my outer life at all.

Your outer life is easy to define.  Your job, your friends, what you do– the literal actionable qualities you embody on daily basis.  What is the inner life?  I see it as the goings-on under the surface.  The place where you contemplate the questions you don’t speak out loud, where your inner guidance comes through.  The place where you ask, “Should I stay?” And should you?  These two lives should not be too far off from one-another, as far as I’m concerned.

My inner life was consumed with supporting a person I loved (and still love in many ways) so deeply, that I believed it was my purpose and duty as a partner to be there no matter what; that just because I said I wanted this forever, I would diligently hold the weight and space for emotional growth all the time.  It was work I wanted to do because I thought at some point there would be room for me.  In the time frame where I needed that room, it wasn’t there.  I have to believe that is okay too.  It is okay to try your hardest, give of yourself everything you have, and at some point realize, this isn’t it and it won’t be it.  You are no less of a partner or person because you couldn’t make it work. I am no less of a partner or person because I couldn’t make it work.  The relationship we had, the growth we did make, is not erased or negated because we are no longer partners.

I’d also like to celebrate my former partner for being loving, gracious, understanding, mature and thoughtful through this transmutation of our relationship into friendship.  He told me that I gave him a gift through our relationship and even through the process ending it.  I’m watching him blossom into his best person and although sometimes I am sad that I have to miss it, and someone else will slip more easily into the space I occupied, I am so happy for him that it often doesn’t matter.  This is me trying to cultivate love without attachment.

I subscribe to the idea that we don’t own our partners or lovers (or anyone for that matter) and the only things we have control over are our reactions to the actions of others.  When I feel jealousy or sadness or any of those seemingly yucky feelings that happen with a breakup (or you know, in your life for whatever reason), I ask myself “Will I die of jealousy?  No.  Of rejection? No. Of disappointment? Negative.”  And we won’t.  I won’t.  My practice of loving non-attachment encourages me to ask these questions over and over.  There is a word in sanskrit: svadhyaya.  It means ‘self study’.  This is the lifelong study of myself.  Engagement with those feelings without becoming attached to them is key.

 

Now, I approach the age of 30.  For some people, a breakup at this juncture is debilitating.  Luckily for me, this is the most myself I’ve ever felt.  It is the most embodied, the most sexy, the most mastered, the most everything (Of course, there are hard insecure days, but I solo dance party the sh*t out of those and I generally feel better).  It all just feels so big and so good- even the parts where I feel like caterpillar soup inside my cocoon.  I am reveling in my ability to stay my own course, to have true aim, and to soften my edges and find strength in that.  The awareness I have at this point for the space I require and the partnership I desire is at an all time high.  My body feels amazing and my heart is tender but hopeful.  My clarity tells me that my inner life just leveled up.   Question:  Do you ever see the sun rise and your heart could just burst because you love your life and you’re so grateful and you just know that there is something really good coming your way?  I thought so. Me too.

xo.

 

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quietly beginning.

Did you know that when you just shut up and begin, magical things happen to you?  Part of my reasoning behind this idea, is that I have spent so much time NOT beginning anything, to the point of anxious exhaustion.  Beginning means that I have to acknowledge that maybe something has to change or :::gasp::: I have to take responsibility for something.  But when I just begin, even in a small way, I remember my divinity, even while cleaning the litter box.

When I entered January, I already knew I’d be leaving my current home.  I didn’t know that I had to be an active part of that beginning, that process of rolling slowly away from the place you’ve molded to fit yourself for the last 10 years.  In my last 5 or so months here, I have began (and completed) many challenges in my life.  The difference is that normally I’d make a big fuss about said beginnings and talk all about it, and congratulate myself.  This time, I did it quietly.  And maybe, now that I am expressing these, dare I say it, accomplishments, it may look like I’m being loud (and you’re the reader so you can make whatever judgments you please), but I believe that giving each of these pieces of my life credit will actually make be better at beginning.

In January, I quietly accepted a position teaching a college level course a week before it began and completely made up the whole thing as I went.  My superiors trusted my skills and experience in the field of Early Childhood Education, to tell me “You’ll be great. We trust you.”  So I began.  I liked it, although it was time consuming and stressful, and I never got used to “Professor Gismondi.”  My seven years in the field earned me an opportunity to share about what I’ve learned in that time, trusting that my experience could actually shape future educators.  Amazing.

I quietly accepted helping to facilitate my favorite festival of the year WILD WOMAN FEST, as a Love Crew member.  Basically, I’m getting paid to be on top of a quartz mountain on the full moon with 100 perfect women for a week doing ritual, taking yoga classes, eating chocolate and having moon circles. No big deal. (just kidding, BIG DEAL.) This is an event I used to save up for, and use a payment plan to attend.  Now I am being fed and housed because my skills are of use to this community.  This is a gift that I cannot express how I grateful I am to receive.

I quietly accepted an invitation to teach at MAYFest in Cold Spring, NY.  This is a yoga festival where I am considered an “artist” and am sharing a bill with Elena Brower, Nadie Sardini, Rusted Root and Ozomatli.  What? Me? Again, this is a paid gig and the bonus is that my dearest lady love is the production manager.  This is a relationship that I cherish, and I had no idea that by nourishing it, I would be gifted with such an amazing opportunity.  Her kindness and love, knows no bounds.

Perhaps the biggest deal to me is the most recent offer I have accepted.  Beginning at the end of August, I will be teaching at Breakwater, an independent day school in Portland, 3 minutes from my new apartment.  They took such care in hiring me, and I am so impressed by their staff and their very welcoming nature.  I’ve never heard my potential employers tell me over and over how thrilled they are to have me.  This is a community that values its teachers, and I’ve never quite gotten that vibe before.

Listing these things here, makes them real for me and allows me to let gratitude flow through me.  I’ve had my head down trying to complete the most difficult year teaching I’ve ever had and I haven’t taken time to honor these blessings.  This job is more difficult than being punched in the face twice last year.  That’s not a joke.  I’ve been quiet about this too.  It has also come to my attention that this job has made my physical health deteriorate in a way I’ve never experienced.

TMI forthcoming: Recurrent yeast infections, low libido, a panic attack and poor eating habits have been the majority of my year.  I was unable to admit that I was not okay, that I was upset with feeling no pleasure in my body, and feeling like something was wrong with me.  I did not want to begin because that meant, again- something was wrong.  I was wrong and bad and not worthy of anything.

Flash forward to this month.  After doing a womb cleanse with Sohkna Heathrye Mabin of MamaSutra Loving Arts and Anita Teresa of Embodied Leadership I realized that my work directly affects my ability to take care of my body, specifically my womb.  I highly suggest their work if you’re encountering challenges such as those I’ve described above. (Womb steaming is real, I just paused in the middle of writing this to do mine, and GOODNESS GRACIOUS ME OH MY!! What an experience. My partner just said “That smells GREAT!  If I had a vagina I would totally do that!”) Although I knew this last year, I know it now in a quieter way which, bizarrely, has been more powerful.  The ailments that I sustained were neither painful, nor loud.  Instead, they were a pulse in my body, a nudge over and over again…”Hello dear, please take care of me. I’m not angry, just needing love and support.”  The process of healing these wounds is not quick or easy, but it is deeply humbling and moreover essential to my life and work.  As a note: this month after taking great care of my mental, emotional and physical health, I have not experienced any of the above ailments.  Interesting, no?

Where does this leave me?  Astounded. Incredulous. Grateful. Humbled. The list goes on.  Consider contemplating what you do, in a quiet way.  What is the benefit of keeping your contemplation and secrets to yourself, until you’re ready to share?  What happens in that seeding time, where we allow our work to work within us?  What happens when we shut up and just begin?  I’m pretty sure it’s magic.

10 Years

That’s how long I’ve lived in North Adams.  It’s how long I’ve been teaching yoga.  Within those ten years, I’ve received 7 years of higher education, traveled to Spain 3 times, met my long term match, and created a supportive and loving community for myself.  Through those ten years in this sleepy little city, I’ve come into my womanhood, let go of relationships that didn’t serve me, fought to keep the ones that did, and learned that I am so much stronger and more resilient than I really ever knew.  It’s first place where I lived on my own, and came home to myself happy and whole.  Most importantly, it’s where I adopted my cats. Clearly, that is most important. Understand my priorities, thanks.

Emily Dickinson said “We turn not older with years, but new every day.”  As I turn new now, it feels familiar and lovely.  It also feels like a cycle has been completed. 15974838_833359240905_3503418042999369699_o

The day after Christmas in downtown Portland, Maine, Chris and I stepped out onto a sidewalk in blinding sunlight. First we were like “Sunshine??! In December? What is THAT?” Then we looked at each other and knew we HAD to move.  So there it is. I’m moving.

Wait.  Let me rephrase.  We are moving.  Come the end of June, we’ll pack the kitties and hopefully fewer belongings than we have now, and move north, just 4 hours from here.  I did leave a hint in this photo of my vision board, posted sometime around the new year.  Right behind the mermaid woman, next to the words NEW IMAGININGS is a tiny map of -you guessed it- Maine.  For us, Portland.

Now, I know what the North Adams folks are thinking (or maybe you don’t give a flying f*ck what I do with my life, I have no idea).  “But we’re just getting started!  Downtown revitalization! Business opportunities!  North Adams is growing!”  And you know what- you’re right.  My heart couldn’t be more full for this city that provided me with an affordable place to live and work (my ass off!!) right out of college, and how we’ve gotten some amazing exposure.  I hope it continues to grow.

However, impatient Aries that I am, it’s just not fast enough for me.  I look forward to returning to visit when North Adams is a thriving cultural hub, where I don’t feel guilty when a new business closes, thinking it’s demise was partly my fault, because I didn’t have time to frequent it enough.  To be perfectly clear, I frequent as many businesses as I can, and I see many of the same people doing the same thing I do!  That’s amazing, AND, it’s telling that the same people put their money into local business.  This is something with which I have struggled.  It’s not a judgement, but an observation.

I have dear friends here, who are living their dreams and are truly happy.  These friends are the reason I’ve stayed as long as I have.  They are the people that make this place a hidden gem (except during March blizzards when nothing makes this place inhabitable). My dreams include salt water and living closer to my parents.

See?  You can’t be that upset (were you upset? I’m just assuming you care about my life choices again. Sorry.).  If you’ve met my parents you’d know why I’m in the market to be less than an hour away from them.  Chris has family there too, and we couldn’t be happier to keep planning big Christmas parties where all of them are together.  If I think back to when my parents first moved off of Long Island up to Maine, I remember thinking that I’d like to be there in about 10 years.  I’m a few years early on my prophecy, but the time is right.

As the move gets closer, I’ll start to get down all of the things I will miss about North Adams.  Right now, I’m going to pare down my book collection again, and be content knowing I’ll be leaving this place more glittery and more enlightened than I found it.

 

I had a panic attack.

Hi.  I am a first and second grade elementary school teacher.  I have taught in various settings for the past 6 years. I am at a new job, with new people, new curriculum, and way less time to get my job done than previously in my life, ever. I have taught yoga for the past decade, and I’d like to believe I know how to Handle My Shit.  Handling My Shit is something that I thought I knew how to do all the time.  Until yesterday.

I got out of my partner’s car, and stared at the mountains.  I am only semi-cognizant of the tears on my cheeks.  The flight of stairs to our apartment seems long.  In our bedroom, I kneel down to open the drawer where my yoga clothes are.  I am also aware that I have to get dressed.  I am needed at the studio.  Thai Massage and Restorative Yoga.  Substituting. Helping. I get up.  He looks at me.

“You don’t look so good right now.”

Then, I can’t breathe and I am wordless.  Now I am crying. No. Sobbing. Long heaves, and I can’t breathe still and I have absolutely no idea what is happening to me or why.  My heart is racing.  He’s asking what I need. I am saying

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.”

And I don’t.  This has never happened to me before. I am scared.  He takes off my coat, and my sweater.  He’s handing me essential oils that I can’t smell.  Looking at the clock, realizing I need to be leaving, I am more distraught and it begins all over again.  Bless his heart.  He lays me down.

“Danielle? Are you serious? You’re not going anywhere.”

He makes the phone calls. I cry and shudder on the bed while he strokes my hair and my back for the next 45 minutes.  I feel empty and hollow and also like it will never end.  But it does.  Luckily the support I gave him in his hard times, is returned to me.  He takes care of me for the evening.  I am aware how lucky that makes me.

I’d like to tell you that I had no idea how I got here.  I take SUCH good care of myself. QUEEN of SELF CARE.  PRINCESS of Handling My Shit.  Pile it on, baby.  I’ve got you. Except sometimes, I don’t care for myself, because I’m afraid that if take the time to do so, something will come crashing down and I won’t be able to maintain whatever life I’m living.  This is pressure I put on myself.  I recognize this.

I am reliable and sunshiney and positive.  And sometimes, this yoga instructor and teacher extraordinaire CANNOT Handle Her Shit.  This is humbling and terrifying at the same time.  I completely lost it yesterday.  Full on-could not be a person, could not help myself, or help anybody else-meltdown.

I know how I got here.  I’ve been ignoring it for two months.  Two to three yoga classes a week and monthly workshops, as our yoga community recovers from a teacher that we trained, abruptly jumping ship and opening a new yoga studio less than a mile away.  A new job that needs my FULL ATTENTION if I want it to go well at all.  I get to work at 7am, and most days don’t leave until 5pm.  When I get home, if I’m not teaching yoga, I’m still lesson planning, because I have to plan for 2 different grades with kids experiencing debilitating poverty and a lack of social and emotional skills.

Or I might be supporting my partner with his work stuff and life stuff.  Sometimes I am at a coaching meeting, as I am being trained by my district to be a literacy coach.  Sometimes I am doing after school programming. I am just assuming you understand what it’s like to have a job where you are “on” solving other people’s problems all day long.  That’s what teaching is.  Somewhere along the way you teach them to start solving their own problems, but in a community where families might be blaming the school for the child’s lack of self-control, this skill is difficult at best.

I find this so hard to balance because my profession is not one where self-care is evident, let alone respected or held up.  The stereotype of a good teacher, or a caring teacher, is the one who goes above and beyond always.  We are always asked to do that much more.  My constant battle is how to be a great teacher AND take care of myself.  Often, I feel like I have to choose one or the other.  Taking a sick day or a mental health day should not feel like a moral dilemma. It always does!  Last spring, I made the choice to leave, but here I am, a glutton for punishment, back at it again!

Please do not mistake this for complaining.  I am not.  I am a lucky, lucky woman with lots of support.  I just forgot that Handling My Shit, is not Handling My Shit and Everyone Else’s Without Help, nor is it Handling My Shit is Actually Believing That I Can Neglect My Own Needs and Get Away With It.

So, in conclusion.

How To Handle Your Shit (especially when you are a teacher):

-Learn to say “no” with kindness and compassion.

-Tell your loved ones you are having a hard time and that you need support and understanding.

-Make time every day to just be with yourself and do nothing.

-As much as you love your students, you need to support yourself in order to support them.

-Having a panic attack does not make you weak.  It makes you human.  Try not to get there, but if you do, know that this is okay too.  Your body will tell you when you need to stop and take a break.

-Give love generously, and accept it too.

I am promising these things to myself.   We all do the best we can. That’s all. xo.

 

Photo by Joshua Jayindo.

http://www.joshuajayintoh.com

 

 

 

 

 

draupadi1There is a story about a woman named Draupadi, in the Indian epic of the Mahabharata.  In a nutshell, she is gambled by her husband who loses his bet and he has to give her up to some evil men.  In order to prove she is not worthy of respect any longer, they immediately try to disrobe her.  She is clutching her sari tightly and screaming for help.  This goes on for a while, until she can bear it no longer.  She finally lets go, and throws her arms up in the air.  As the men continue to pull at the garment, the god Krishna comes down in the form of a never ending sari, and all that is left is a pile of fabric that grows bigger the more then men pull at it.  As soon as she let go, the universe provided for her.

Remember that time I didn’t sign my contract to go back to teaching preschool?  I was meant to be free, and find my purpose, and not get punched in the face by children less than half my size (more on this later.)  When I chose not to sign my contract, I made myself promise to be open to hearing about every opportunity that came to pass.

Well, open I was.  During a conversation with a former college professor, he asked if I would be interested in teaching somewhere else.  I said, half jokingly, that someone would literally have to hand me a perfect position. Fast forward AN HOUR. I kid you not. ONE HOUR.  An email arrives in my inbox from my prof asking if he could introduce me to the principal at a small elementary school in rural VT.  They need a 1st and 2nd grade combined classroom teacher, and he thinks I’d be just perfect.

Turns out, I am.  I signed a contract this very day, and I couldn’t be more excited to go from Danielle to Miss G, come the autumn of 2016.  The past two years were very difficult for many reasons.  Most days I felt like a bad teacher, like I couldn’t serve children the way they needed to be served, simply because they needed more from me than I could give to them. I am not a special educator, (although I am happy to support those children in my classroom who need one), a therapist, a board certified behavior analyst or a child psychiatrist.  However, I know in my core I am meant to work with children in some capacity and I need to make sure I don’t miss that window.  I couldn’t turn this job down.

This year showed me that teachers with the best intentions and lots of love for their students get hurt at school.  I didn’t expect a child to give me a bloody nose that wasn’t an accident.  Restraining a four year old for my and their own safety was not on the list of things I imagined when I wanted to be a teacher.  I know what it feels like to have to “lean into a bite” in order to free your arm from a child’s mouth.  It’s not like these things stopped, I just got better at blocking and defending myself.  The hardening that you have to do in order to be able to do that kind of work, was something I couldn’t reconcile.  I was being told to stay two feet away from my kids.  Impossible.  They are four! FOUR.  They need closeness.  At the same time, the physical abuse on a daily basis was traumatic.  I sought therapy, and I felt ridiculous for doing so, because I essentially admitted that a bunch of children beat me up, and that it made me leave work crying every day.

That’s when I knew it was time to walk away.  Perhaps someone can do this better than I can.  Perhaps someone else has the capacity to handle this, where I can’t.  I hope someone does, because I love these kids, but I also value my sanity.  When I say I love them, I mean, I also cry at home to my partner about how I wish I could do more, but I have no idea what else to do.  And if you know me, you know I’m not standing there wringing my hands.  I have exhausted all of my resources and all of my reserves.  At the risk of becoming resentful, I had to step away.  When I let go, without an exact plan for what would happen next, I stepped into Draupadi’s shoes.  They feel good.  I feel good.  I don’t know what else to say except that I changed my mind.  I’d apologize for throwing everyone for a loop, but this is who I am.  I am a teacher, and I will never be sorry about that.  Stay tuned.

I changed my mind.

effort versus ease

Student mind, student mind, student mind, I am silently chanting to myself.  I am in an all levels, vinyasa flow yoga class, in Denver, Colorado.

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(Look! Denver! Continental divide!  It snowed for the entire time I was there. Womp womp.)

Brushing off my dear friend’s warning about Denver yogis being “athletic” and “competitive,” I rolled out a borrowed yoga mat, and got ready to be the student, instead of the teacher.  Why am I chanting this little ditty to myself?  Because as a teacher, it can be so difficult to let go and just be the student.

The class is decent.  As a teacher who is obsessively passionate about safe anatomy and alignment, there were some hiccups (transitioning from Warrior I to Warrior II. Owwies in your hip!! Frog Lotus Yogis, you know what I mean.), but all in all, I enjoyed it.  I let my body flow, and as I tuned into the energy in the room, I noticed something that doesn’t happen in the classes that I normally teach and take back home.

Effort. Efforting. I’m using that made-up word right now.  Efforting.  Because no one in that room was in a state of ease.  Surrounded by pushing, and huffing and “Work your core for bikini season, ladies!” I realized that was what seriously lacking here, was a sense of ease; ease to balance out all of the effort.

Now, while this is happening I’m thinking “Should I approach this teacher after class and give her notes?  As a teacher I love getting notes from other teachers.  Is that rude? Look at this student.  I could totally help her alignment!!” and so on and so forth.  I was mentally meddling with this class and these students!  I was in teacher judgement mode.  I WAS being rude, if only inside my head, but still. Spiritual yogi party foul, for sure.  I silently apologized, and found deep gratitude for this teacher, because she was teaching me something else very important.  Long story short, I finished the class, thanked the teacher and left, slightly embarrassed by the acrobatics of my inner mind.

What I am reflecting on now is this:

Effort must be balanced by ease.

This relates directly to my teaching journey.  I have spent the last 6 years efforting.  There has been little ease.  Few times, have I actually felt like I was using my true gifts and abilities.  When I told my teaching mentor that I was planning to leave, she looked at me wisely and said, “I understand.  You’ve had a rough go, and you need some wins.”  I believe she meant: You need some time to feel good at what you’re doing, to be in a state of flow, in a state of ease.  Not that it’s meant to be easy, but that there must be a balance, and that it’s not just effort for effort’s sake.  There is a time for that, but not every day in a teaching job.  Teaching is thankless, without a doubt, but being in despair all of the time, negates the effort.

Since I resigned, I’ve had countless offers pouring in, for all kinds of jobs and projects I never imagined.  It’s still scary, I still feel strange trying to explain to people why I have chosen this path.  But every day, I feel more ease, it becomes more easeful (another made-up word. you’re welcome.) and I am continually grateful, surprised and in a state of wonderment.  Thank you Denver yogis.  I bow in gratitude to your wisdom and your effort.  It is profound.  May you find ease, and killer bikini bodies.

“so, what are you going to do?”

Obnoxious sunshiney optimist that I am, I forgot about this part.  Now that I’m telling people that, yes, I am voluntarily leaving my profession for an indeterminate amount of time, they want to know what I’m going to do.  They look much like children, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape, as if I’m telling them the Easter Bunny isn’t real.  They don’t ask why I’m leaving, only what will happen next.

Perhaps this is because I have been the village preschool teacher for the last 6 years of my life.  By “village” I mean that I have taught in 4 different programs, all within a half hour of each other.  I know everyone’s kids, and I can barely walk down the street without a child running up behind me to give me a hug.  I’m many parents’ first experience with a teacher and putting a child in school, and they remember that.  So, I’ve tried on a lot of different settings. But not trying them on in any lackadaisical way.  Really trying them on.  Throwing myself in headfirst.  When they didn’t work, I left gracefully, but learned what I would and would not stand for.  (That deserves its own post, note to self.)

This is how my community knows me and it must make them a little nervous that this seemingly, steady stable woman, looks like she’s taking a deep dive into unknown waters, maybe with sharks. Ah! Sharks!  In college, people called me “the yoga girl” because I was the one teaching yoga and talking about it all. the. time.  Now, I am a preschool teacher by day, yoga teacher by nights and weekends, multi-tasking queen of the universe! (Okay, I made that last part up, but come on!!  We all need a pick-me-up.)  But soon, I am to be neither of these things.  I imagine I will teach more yoga, but who knows what that looks like?

When I lead women’s circles I tell my participants to come as they are, to drop the veil and that being seen is not about what you do.  What you do does not directly inform who you are.  Let me say that again.

 What you do does not directly inform who you are.

You are not just a mess of skills and degrees and years of experience.  Be proud of those accomplishments.  I know I am.  But remember that they only make up a part of who you are.    You are multifaceted and you have a soul.  As a culture we need to remember this.

Sometimes I get caught up in the scary idea that my worth as a human being and member of my community is contingent upon what I do.   Am I only valuable when I have a socially acceptable 9-5 gig?  When I am an adult with a 401K and a salary?  When I am coming from my place of knowing, I know this is crap.   I know that I have a use and purpose that I am still uncovering, and that is terrifying and and exciting and then terrifying again.  This is okay.

Today, my dentist (and my eye doctor-whatever, I have a lot of appointments before my health insurance runs out!) asked me “What are you going to do now?”  He’s a nice guy.  His wife regularly attends my yoga classes.  He was genuinely wanting to know my plans.   So, how do you answer this question?

Here’s the best part: You answer it however you want, with honesty.  I used to try to rattle off a laundry list of THINGS, I’m not going to do that anymore. It takes courage to say “I’m not exactly sure, I have some other opportunities, but this is the best decision for me right now.”  And as if I had spoken an ancient incantation, or had hit the right password, he smiled, wished me well, and off I went.

xo

 

begin again.

I’ve always loved beginnings.  There is magic there, in opening a new door, proverbial or literal.  Unfortunately, I’ve been hitting my face on the door for a long time now, and when I finally stepped back (because, ow! that hurts!), I saw the doorknob.  And it was shiny.  Very shiny.  I really  wanted to turn it.

Flash forward:  It’s taken me almost 5 years to turn the doorknob.  I’m turning it as we speak because I’ve just resigned from my job.  My very stable, benefits enrolled, socially acceptable job.  After obtaining two bachelors degrees and a masters in Education, I am walking away, simply not returning, for another year of being an early childhood educator.  After teaching preschool in 4 different settings, I came to the shocking realization that THIS ISN’T WORKING anymore.  It wasn’t sustainable for my mental health, and perhaps someone else could do it better than I.  (This thought is still hard to stomach, because don’t we all want to be the best at our given profession?)

I will not take this first post to tell you the myriad reasons why I am leaving this job (with lovely wonderful people committed to the growth and well being of children with special needs and in crisis.  Shout out! You are the hardest workers!).  This space now exists to tell you why it’s okay to make a change like this.  Why it’s okay to go to school for 7 years and then decide that you just want to be an innkeeper, or a beekeeper, or a keeper of anything else than what you originally had planned.  Why it’s okay to forge your own path, and ignore anyone who deems it socially unacceptable to choose SOMETHING ELSE.

So I’m still turning the doorknob.  I have not one clue as to what lies behind this door, but I feel hands at my back and support that makes this decision not easy, but the right one.  There is though, a small buzzing, a hum, that is getting louder.  It’s warm in my ear and in my heart.  This makes me think that there is swift movement coming my way and that the years I’ve spent cradling other peoples’ little babes, has not been in vain.  I’m not turning the doorknob because it is shiny.  I’m turning it because there is nothing else I can do now that I’ve stepped back and seen the whole door.  In all honesty, even if the doorknob was old and rusty, I’d turn it anyway.

So enough with analogies about doors and open hearts and trusting the universe and every other thing someone leaving their job has said.  I have to go figure out what to do with 3 degrees and 2 teaching licenses.  Maybe place mats would be nice.

xo.