I've never been much of a skier. I used to go with some family friends when I was younger, but once my knees started acting like my mother's (read: poorly), I gave up on the sport and resigned to being a snow bunny. I had an experience recently that brought me back to the feeling of the one time I decided to go down a Double Black Diamond...
Principal: GM, of course. I am free after 1pm.
Me: Great - I'll be down once my class dismisses.
After 5th period I take the chairlift to his office, my stomach in knots about what is to come. Imagining the steep slope that is about to begin, about the moguls I will desperately try to avoid, and feeling the massive pit that is my lack of experience of how to navigate this trail. My sweaty palms slip a little bit on the door handle to the main office.
"Is he in there?"
Ms. K shrugs. I go ahead and knock, secretly hoping that he wasn't.
"Come in!"
I open the door to officially commit to my future. I'm at the top of the mountain, overlooking the beauty that was my last 5 years at my school. I reflect on the previous trails that I have taken, the lessons I learned, and the falls I got up from. After a little bit of small talk, he nudges my skis onto the ledge:
"So, Ms. Walker, what did you want to meet about."
This is the moment that I have rehearsed for almost a month. This is the moment that I've met with various mentors about, asking for advice on how to navigate this conversation properly. How to make sure no one gets hurt. But that's not possible; as my dad tells me, skiing is a sport with a 100% injury rate, it's just a matter of time and severity.
"[Principal], it with the heaviest of hearts that I tell you this news, but I will not be returning to [School] next year."
I start slaloming down this unknown trail, the first one in 5 years that will lead me to a destination other than my school building. I explain that I wouldn't be true to myself if I said I was satisfied with staying in our building and only advocating for our 115+ students who are self-contained. There are hundreds of students in this district that are not getting half the education that my students are getting. How am I supposed to be ok with having a possible answer to the question of, "What does quality self-contained programming look like?" and not spread the good news? Isn't that settling? I don't know what will come next, but I know that if I want to make a real difference for my 115+ kids here, I must make sure I make the difference for the hundreds in this district, and thousands in this country, who deserve the same great education that my kids deserve. I will always be a [mascot], but I must go outside of these 4 walls to provide for what's inside them.
As I am weaving back and forth, trying to explain the direction I'm going, hitting a mogul here and there, stumbling a few times over my words, he is looking at me with sad eyes.
"This is a big loss for us, Ms. Walker, don't get me wrong. But I understand what you're saying."
We talk about my future, and what it can hold. We talk about my past, and what doors it has opened for students at our school. Most importantly, he tells me that he supports me and wants to make sure that I accomplish everything I want in life, especially when it comes to helping our kids.
I walked out of the office with watery eyes, very confused about my feelings. Was I relieved that I had made it down what I thought was going to be the toughest part of the trail? No. It was then that I realized that I was still at the top of the mountain, and the trail was much steeper than anticipated, and worst of all, I was very far from the bottom.
I hurried back to my classroom, hoping my vertigo will pass. When I sat at my desk, I immediately filled out my DINR (Declaration of Intent to Not Return), to make sure that I didn't try to climb back up and sit at the top of the mountain, waiting. I finished typing up my input for their feedback survey, and electronically signed my resignation.
Up until the moment that I clicked submit, I thought that the click was going to be a pressure release. I'd finally reach the bottom of the slope and I could go inside the lodge, sit with a cup of hot chocolate, and revel in my accomplishments of the mountain. It was a moment that I had built up in my head for almost 2 months, so as a person with an anxiety disorder I had pushed myself to the point of a mental breakdown over clicking this button.
When I clicked it, that was not how I felt. Everything changed, but I hadn't. The biggest decision I've made in 5 years didn't feel like it was really made. Could my entire life changing be reduced to a button? Was it that clean of a cut?
The unraveling of my "news" over the past 3 weeks is just in it's beginning stages. I told some select friends, and a few administrators. What I didn't expect was the feeling that I pushed a snowball down when I left the top of the mountain. It's as if I'm racing ahead of this snowball that is building and chasing me as I try to navigate this scary path that is my future. I may have had a head start by meeting with my principal, but clicking the button that was my resignation was the moment the snowball started rolling. It's been a race ever since I clicked that button. The race destination is dependent upon who I'm talking to.
What are you doing next year? You need to figure that out soon. Why are you leaving? You know the kids are going to freak out. Are you staying in DC? You know how much we would love of you to live nearby.
I'm far from the end with this transition, since it's just beginning. What I thought would be a clean cut has turned out not to be so. Looking back, I feel rather foolish for being so worried about the conversation with my principal. He was nothing but supportive and understanding. It's the conversations since that have been the most difficult.
When I spoke with my family about it, they were overjoyed. It was about time. Bigger things are waiting for me. I have big goals to accomplish. I should keep an open mind about where I go next, especially if it's New York. Let's connect you with some people. Did we mention that New York has plenty of job opportunities?
When I speak with my friends about it, they have mixed emotions. Those who are staying at my school next year are heart wrenching. They lay on the guilt. As if this decision wasn't hard enough, they had to remind me of all the reasons that prevented me from making the decision sooner. The faces, the needs, the accomplishments, the work I'm leavening behind. When I talk to friends who aren't working at my school now or next year, they shout, "good riddance!" and wave bon voyage. They think I'll get my life back, whatever that means.
Each conversation brings this impending avalanche closer and closer. I've started down the hill, there is no turning back. The question is, will I figure out how to navigate the hill properly or will I succumb to the avalanche of anxiety? While I know that I will be fine, I feel as though I won't be.
Not every decision in life is convenient. My decision to go to Cornell came at a time when I could no longer stay in high school. My decision to join Teach For America came at a time when I was going to be graduating from college. Now, this decision does not come at a natural time. There is no natural life transition that is pushing me on to the next mountain. This is my first time choosing to get on a different ski lift, or possibly choose an entirely different mountain range.
Even though nothing time sensitive has pushed me to make the decision to leave my school, I am more certain in this decision than I have been in any of my other Double Black Diamond Decisions. Maybe it's because I have a more intense sense of purpose than ever. Maybe it's because 5 years is the longest I've gone without transitioning since elementary school. Maybe it's because I've grown up and recognize that I need to grow professionally and that won't be able to happen in my building. Maybe I know that in order to know if the changes I've put in place at my school are long term, I need to let them run without me. Maybe it's because my principal was right when he said, "you're just tired, and that's ok, too."
Regardless of why I'm ok with my decision, I am. That's what matters. I just have to keep reminding myself of that. For once, I'm not overly emotional about my decision; this wasn't impulsive, and it's a logical time to leave. Contrary to popular belief, I am rather rational.
Of course, everyone else's emotional reactions to my decision make me emotional and often result with me in tears. Go figure. It's nice to know that some things never change?
