Fifty-one school days . . .
About this time last school year, nineteen years into my teaching career, I decided to take a deep breath, lift a glass I’d been holding for years to my mouth, close my eyes and chug. I spent the whole of the second semester reading, writing, observing and thinking. I was going to be prepared.
The month of May came and brought conviction with it. I resigned from my teaching position. It was a difficult decision, but six months later, I still am confident it was the right one. Unemployment, particularly by choice, has a way making us hasty. I threw myself at nearly every job opportunity with which I was presented, but, to the frustration of many, I ultimately rejected every single one. Something just wasn’t right. My desire to be right, in complete alignment with the Universe’s plan, trumped my need for security and, let’s be real, even food.
In June, I took a leap of faith and made the decision to move to San Jose, CA in July with nothing but a nest egg, a place to rest my head, and a friend who said her friends would certainly become mine. I pored over job ads in anticipation, but still nothing piqued my interest. “I’ll get a job teaching something,” I eventually conceded. “It won’t be what I’ve been obsessing over for months, but I won’t starve. I’ll pay my dues now and get what I want later.”
On July 7, I boarded a jet bound for SJC. Upon my arrival, a woman I’d never met opened her door, and her heart, to me. At her house, the very next day, I met the woman who would eventually open the gate to my path. She introduced me to a principal who had one opening for which I am qualified at her school. As fate would have it, it was the exact role for which I had been preparing myself for months.
I engaged in the requisite stalking, including googling and driving slowly past every side of the school, which is a short 1.5 miles from my house. It was love at first sight! I interviewed for the job and was hired the same day. In my twentieth year as a professional educator, after years of consideration and months of thoughtful preparation . . .
I was finally going to be a kindergarten teacher!
Fifty-one days of school later, I’m absolutely intoxicated. I’m drinking daily, at all hours, from the glass of five-year-old giggles, hugs, innocence, brilliance, awe, and passion for life. You guys, I’m on a Kinder Bender and I don’t care who knows!
Kinder Bender 