My family and friends threw me a 40th birthday party this summer (which was amazing, and such an enormous surprise that I think I disassociated through most of it, haha).
As the night was winding down, I stood around a table with some of my family while we flipped through an old scrapbook. There was a photo of me and my sister on what I assume was a first day of school. We had our backpacks on, our hair done nicely, and we weren't wearing uniforms (which rarely happened - special occasions only).
"Look at the wall behind me - see how insane I was!" I pointed out, gesturing at the world map, the calendar, the alphabet, and who knows what other educational posters I somehow got my grubby little hands on.
"Wait, that's not at school?" my cousin asked.
"No! That was my home!" I definitely shouted louder than necessary. My volume and enthusiasm were no doubt partially margarita-fueled. But it was also because at that moment, I saw it. Something profound clicked in my understanding of my own life unfolding.
My mind began speed-running through a Rolodex of moments.
Like those weird years when my kids were no longer babies but not quite independent enough for me to tackle a whole lot of dreams but I started feeling the pull to figure out what my life would be like when they were fully baked. "What is my purpose?" rattled around in my head full time. I asked my yoga instructor, a psychic, my husband, and about thirty self-help books.
Or that time when I first stumbled on the advice to consider what you liked to do for fun as a ten-year-old to help discover what your career should be. (I'd love to give credit where it's due for that nugget of brilliance, but since I can't remember, it most likely came to me via Gretchen Rubin - whether directly or shared.)
I'd admit that at ten, I wanted to spend every waking moment playing school with my siblings and neighborhood friends, viciously banning them from ever taking the role of teacher. But then I'd immediately write it off. I'd tell myself that ship had sailed - it was too late. I was too old, I had too many kids to finish a degree and pull off student teaching. So I'd say the other (more mundane) things - reading, playing with legos or building houses out of poster board, making crafts, writing stories, studying up on babysitting because I was determined to prove that I was ready to take on clients at 12.
And with frustration, I'd say none of those would really amount to anything because the truth was, it didn't matter what career paths might be related to those hobbies: I didn't feel the zing about them.
But, ya know, I still tried. And I thought about those moments, too. How I tried to grow an energizing bookstagram account and start a summer read-a-thon. How I got deeply into decorating my home. How I basically lived and breathed "babysitting" by staying home with my own kids for 15 years. Heck - I even wrote an entire novel.
And yet...something was still always missing.
Then came the serendipitously linked moments of the past year. The wild yet easy, peaceful, often impossible-feeling ride I've been on since last September.
And when I saw the actual in-color proof captured in time on that photo this summer, I realized why things have unfolded the way that they have. And what I learned in that instant, is that when you embrace your calling - when you stop making excuses for the thing that makes the most sense because it feels too hard, too far away, too good for you - everything falls into place.
The universe gets to work.
When you finally step into who you are - you harness the energy of all that is.
I'm not going to pretend that it was just that random day when I said yes to a casual interview to be a teacher aide that was responsible for finally becoming who I was always meant to be. There were years of therapy, soul-searching, working on myself, raising babies, research, and trial and error that all came before it. And I had to stand in that school at that brand new job that I never actually intended on accepting and decide that I wanted to go all in.
I can picture it, you know. That moment.
I was in room B-16 (which means nothing to you, I know, but it'll light a little glimmer for me in the future), leaning against the vents near the window, watching a masterful teacher do an amazing job during the second week of the school year. I scanned the room, looking at her decorations, noticing her organizational systems, watching the looks on the kids' faces as she spoke to them. I pulled out a notebook from my bag and made a note to look up degree programs that afternoon so I wouldn't forget, but of course, I wouldn't have. I only wrote it so I had something to do with the excitement that had just come over me.
And, well....the rest is history.
Since then, I've been taking exams, substitute teaching, and getting all of my ducks in a row. I'm learning so much I fear I'll run out of brain space soon!
Last week, I was subbing in second grade and chatting with the other teachers on the team during our lunch break. She was telling her co-workers how she peeked her head in the room where I was subbing a few times to check on us and was impressed by how engaged the kids were.
"You've got teaching in your blood," she said - and if I'd had one of those little x-ray screens from the Grinch at that moment, you would have seen my heart grow three sizes that very moment.
Because I do. I always knew I did. But when someone sees it and reminds you? There's nothing like it.
Do what's in your blood. 10/10 would recommend.
Comments
Post a Comment