Posted by: LakeIris | January 26, 2009

Transitions

I’ve never been all that great with change. This may come as a bit of a surprise to those of you who are familiar with my work history (20+ jobs and counting) and/or my apparent fondness for relocation (17 moves since 1997). In fact, those numbers seem to indicate either serious commitment issues or at the very least some level of indecision.

Then there’s the fact that I’ve chosen teaching as a profession. Even when you stay at the same school, you get a new group of students every year.

So whether I like change or not, I should be used to it by now. All those new jobs, all those new homes. I’ve moved halfway around the world. Three times. I’ve survived my first year of teaching – my hardest job by far. Yet here I am, spending my last night at 25 Dorothy Street in Burwood East, ready to finish moving into a new apartment tomorrow…and six days away from the start of my second year of teaching…with that familiar sinking feeling in my stomach.

Dread. Anxiety. Worrying about something I can’t do anything about. I’ve felt it on the night before the first day of every single new school year. (Especially irrational for me. I loved school, was always an excellent student, and with the exception of the second half of 7th grade, had good friends.) I’ve felt it before starting some of the more important new jobs. I felt it for about two months straight last year as I made arrangements to move to Australia to look for my first teaching job.

And it’s back.

Maybe it’s because of my high expectations for my second year of teaching.
Maybe teachers never quite grow out of wondering “will the kids like me?”
Maybe it’s the uncertainty of a new roommate.
Maybe it’s the daunting task of finding new “usuals” – grocery store, gas station, drug store, movie theater, library.
Maybe it’s the extra financial costs: internet installation, new mattress pad, higher rent, etc.
Maybe it’s that my roommate’s parents came down for the weekend to help with the move…and that in all likelihood, my parents won’t ever get a chance to see this place, either.
Maybe it’s the email from my best friend saying, “I hate not having a friend like you — well, YOU to be precise — around. When did we get all grown up and responsible and OCEANS away? It makes me sad. I am sad. 😦 I miss my friend.” Because I miss her, too.
Maybe it’s just always going to be hard to say goodbye to the familiar, even when it is time to move on.

And so I pray for hope. Yes, hope, even if it seems just as irrational as the dread. Hope that within a few weeks I will start to feel at home again. Hope that I will continue to develop the skills necessary to be an effective teacher. Hope that it doesn’t take long before I get back that “I love my job” feeling. Hope that I can focus on all the possibilities of new life this new year may bring.

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