Silly me for taking it so seriously. Silly me for feeling guilty or ashamed for not being able to fulfill my duties.
This morning, NOLA.com featured an article about the charter school movement in New Orleans.http://www.nola.com/education/index.ssf/2010/03/new_teachers_working_long_hard.html
It didn't reveal anything I didn't already know first hand, like long hours, low pay, an excessive drive to raise scores, but it did reveal a mind set about burnout. I assumed that my leaders were too busy driving culture and curriculum to have thought about what happens to a teacher who is burning out, but apparently, according to Andrew Rotherham, it was all apart of the plan.
He states, "I don't think turnover is inherently bad," said Andrew Rotherham, publisher of Education Sector, an education policy think tank. "Planned turnover or turnover you can deal with without yielding quality is fine." * I think there is a typo there, and I assume yielding should say "affecting" or something like that.*
Turnover is such a nice word. Reminds me of fruit filled pastries or when it's time for a back rub. But what does turnover look like? Do I look like turnover?
For anyone who looks at my blog, it's not called Ariel Pork for nothing. I feel like the flying pig, a laboring soul who spends so much time with his nose in the mud, never remembering he's got wings. I've been practicing Zen for 7 years, practicing yoga for 2, in A.A for 1, and seeing a therapist (off and on) for a year. Given my background of growing up in relative chaos and shaky households, I've always had a tough time with depression, anxiety, and worst of all, panic attacks. Teaching in the Recovery School District has seemed to amplify every condition, which is good and bad.
Good or bad, it's been quite disruptive. And it comes with a good bit of shame and guilt I have to constantly defuse, let go, and accept. (Is that so bad a skill set?)
The whole country knows that this charter school movement found a peitre dish in post-Katrina New Orleans. Coming from a long lasting horrible tradition of public education in the city, it didn't seem that there was anything to lose. Accept maybe yourself.
If Andrew Rotherham thinks my burnout is an acceptable cost, maybe he should know what it looks like: Waking up at 3am not being able to breath, drunken escapades on Bourbon Street followed by extreme Zen retreats, crying, crying when the relationships failed, crying when you lost the dog, crying in front of students, violence, hitting another teacher, violence, having students push you, and you push back, screaming, feeling lost, feeling worthless, feeling less-than, feeling hopeless, feeling doomed, with glimpsing visions of the solace of death.
All over A,B,C and 1,2, 3? I must be kidding myself. I should thank Andrew and be on my way. There is a great matter to attend to and I don't think it's whether or not we all know how to explicate a poem or identify a gerund.
It's tempting to make a big stink. I know my activist Buddhist friends will think I should write an op-ed or make a statement, and frankly, I do feel like filing for disability, taking the care I should have taken for the last 3 years while I worked long hours ( holding a record at school for 6:30am to 11pm- ask my principal). But they don't give disability for resentment. And my panic attacks and depression are manageable, even if I did miss 3 days of work last week.
Honestly, I am thankful. The students I have encountered, the hard drive, the amplification of all my ancient twisted karma, is perfect in a way. How long would it have taken me to really sink into my zafu? How long would it have taken to recognize alcoholism as a real thing and not just some club my Dad, Grandfather, and Grandmother belong to?
And I've got 3 months left. I put in my intent to return and I'm letting go of all the mess (and the glory). What will I do next year? No clear idea, but things seem to work out, and for once, I don't have my entire future locked in.