No Preconceived Notions

 Two days into a new school year, teaching all new classes, at a new-to-me district, and I have many (so many) thoughts.

Numerous people have told me in the last week, "Congratulations on your move to Okemos! I think that will be a much better fit for you."

And while I am still processing that statement (and so much more), here are some of my thoughts and questions.

1. Isn't it strange that it's only other adults (parents, teachers, colleagues) who are saying this? Not a single former student of mine has said this. Only people who have never actually had me in class. What gives? Where do these ideas come from?
2. What are their assumptions that are driving this statement?

What are their assumptions about Okemos?

What are their assumptions about me as a teacher?

What are their assumptions about me as a person?

What are their assumptions about Bath?

Every year at Bath, at the start of a new year, students would tell me, "Hey, I had heard you were a real Bitch. But you actually are really nice."

So, why was it so impossible to change my reputation, if every year I was informed that my reputation was wrong? Is it ever possible to change what people believe about you, what a community believes? Or do you just have to leave, start over, and try again?

What was driving my reputation? 

And how in the hell do I avoid that reputation following me, going forward?

My new students know nothing about me. No reputation. No preconceived notions. All they know is what I show them, what I tell them, what they see on paper and in Zoom.

There is an incredible freedom to being able to start fresh.

Maybe, going forward, things will be different.

Maybe I will be accepted at face value.

I will be a little fish in a big pond. There is so much water here! So much space.

I'm going to take a deep breath and jump in.

Photo by Zen Maldives on Unsplash

Endings. Beginnings.

 Divorce is hard.

It's never an easy decision. You don't just give up and walk away, no matter what the self-righteous married folks will tell you. You will fight, often for years, to stay in there and make it work.

But sometimes it just doesn't work. You can't make it work. You can't break through all walls you've built to protect yourself from the rocks being thrown and you're out of band aids after all the paper cuts. year after year. 

And once it's broken, once you are broken, it all becomes unfixable.

Today I turned in my keys and my letter of resignation to Bath High School.

I have been there for 21 years, almost half of my life. I have taught at least 3000 students in those 21 years. I have been called every name in the book. I have hugged so many kids. I have written 100s of letters of recommendation. I have proofed countless Common App essays. I have fought so many fights with so many people, trying to explain why they should care, why it all matters, why what we say and what we do--why it matters.

Today, I gave away 5 t-shirts, 7 coaching shirts, a sweatshirt, and 3 running shirts. When you break up, you bag up those clothes and you give them away. You think about setting fire to them in your front lawn, but that seems a bit melodramatic. You're an adult. Also, you loved being a Bee. You believed. Beelieved. 

You are so tired.

Tomorrow is the first day of a new year. You'll build a new wardrobe. I think it's burgundy? You'll meet a whole new group of students, ones who don't have preconceived notions about who you are.

Maybe you can beat the reputation this time. Maybe the name-calling won't happen anymore. Maybe the staff will accept you at face value, and not assume that you have some underlying ego thing driving every damn conversation.

Maybe. 

Divorce is hard. There are so many things you wish you could say. So many things you will never say. So many pieces of the past that you will continue to love, while you extricate yourself from the dysfunctional relationship you have been in for far too long, and move forward, into the unknown.

Into your future, whatever that may be.

You can hope.

I have hope.

Photo by JOHN TOWNER on Unsplash