the sun shone all the while
A year ago, I was supposed to be on the road in a little RV that a friend had lent me. It seemed like so many things had aligned for this opportunity to become a reality, and I just needed to take a little time to iron out some details. Then life happened, as life is wont to do. But in May of this year, I purchased the new love of my life, Virgie—short for Virginia Woolf and her seminal essay, “A Room of One’s Own,” which argued that women need space, both literally and figuratively, to think and create. Virgie is a beaut. A Ford Transit conversion van with everything I need to travel, explore, and write.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s travel back in time. A year ago, almost to the day, I moved out of the house I had lived in for 9 years and tried to remain calm as 4 tenants moved in to rent my home. A month earlier, I submitted my resignation at Decker Elementary, where I had been a librarian for 2 years. And in June of 2022, I spent my last day on campus at NYOS, where I taught middle and high school ELA for 9 years and where I had been raised up as a teacher. Add to that my other teaching endeavors in Montessori and college, and I was closing in on 15 years as an educator. 15 years of struggle, self-doubt, grit, tears, laughter, learning, wins and loses, and support from new friends who became family. Over the years, my friends listened patiently to my rants of frustration about the education system and my musings about leaving, but I continued to go back year after year. When I finally decided that I needed to step away, it still took me years to actually pull the trigger. Why so long?
Guilt.
Any teachers reading this will know what I mean. When you are called to educate and raise up other people’s kids, it’s a drive that comes from a place of deep caring and a profound sense that you will have a positive and long lasting impact on some young people’s lives. Regardless of how difficult the job is, that feeling sticks in your craw. Even the thought of leaving the classroom sent waves of guilt washing over me.
It’s built into the system as well. Administrators, superintendents, and politicians love to wax poetic about how important teachers are, how we make such a difference. They’re not wrong, but after hearing it for so many years but seeing no tangible evidence that we might make money commensurate with our worth, or be given more support, more time, etc, it starts to feel like the game is rigged, the accolades hollow.
I’m still processing the grief. Most days in the year since I left, I feel relieved I’m no longer in a classroom. Some days, the grief hits me like a truck. On those days, it’s hard not to wonder if I made the right choice. I miss so many things about working with my students. I miss being goofy and laughing with them. I miss the days where something clicks for the first time and you see their eyes light up. I miss the days they come in crying or upset and need a shoulder or advice. I miss the hugs and the notes and celebrating their successes. I’m so grateful I was able to spend the bulk of my professional career connecting with and learning from young people.
Initially when I decided to leave, I said things like, “I’m just taking a sabbatical,” or “I’m not saying I’ll never go back into a school.” But in this past year, something has crystallized for me, and I feel pulled in a new direction—one that prioritizes movement, exploration, and creativity. My friend Michael said to me recently, “Being a teacher is just who you are — you are a teacher whether you're in the classroom or not. I know you had guilt about leaving, but I think this journey will only bring you closer to serving that purpose in new and better ways, even if you’re not in a classroom. Because you're a whole person, not just a teacher. Reaching this point of authenticity, exploring your calling more broadly, beyond boundaries that don't nourish you anymore will only help you discover even more powerful ways to teach and to learn in ways that only you can do." It’s time for me to slough off past conditioning and seek out my fortunes on a path less traveled. I feel called to the open road and to following in the footsteps of all those intrepid explorers before me who used their uncertainty as stepping stones.
So, as I set out on this experimental adventure, I’ll be documenting my travels and insights with this blog. Writing, for me, has always been tantamount to thinking and processing, but unfortunately I’ve gotten out of the habit over the years. Hopefully, thrusting myself out of routines and strictures that no longer serve me, will allow me to delve back into something that has always brought me joy. So, here we go! Out into the unknown!
Virgie and I set out on our maiden voyage on Tuesday, June 24th, with some fortuitous energy in the air. I was supposed to leave on Wednesday morning to head to McKinney Falls State Park, but the previous Sunday, I decided to book an extra night and go one day early. An hour after I booked the extra night, my friend Courtenay texted me and asked if she could invite a mutual friend to a new moon gathering at her house in Elgin on Tuesday evening. Turns out our mutual friend was out of town, but I was going to be in town! Huzzah!
I learned from my friend that Tuesday would begin with a Jupiter cazimi. Now listen—I had never even heard the word cazimi, and I know nothing about astrology, but we’re going to go on this journey together. A Jupiter cazimi is when the Sun and Jupiter are conjunct at the same place in Cancer at the same time. Jupiter is known as the Great Benefic and is associated with good fortune, abundance and expansion. I was told Jupiter will remain in Cancer for the next twelve months, so it’s an excellent time to make things happen. Cancer is in my 10th house, which is related to career and public roles. Say less. So I drove to Elgin and met some wonderful women who are smart and successful and funny and compassionate. Even though I only knew my friend Courtenay, I felt certain that she would have cultivated a special group of women to spend time with during this auspicious evening, and I was right. Spending time with thoughtful women always fills my cup. Courtenay offered to do Tarot readings for anyone who felt so inclined. As I shuffled a beautiful Aquarian Tarot deck, I spoke about my years in education, my departure, the guilt, and my hope for the future. I flipped a card. Temperance reversed.
My friend explained that Temperance Reversed can indicate imbalance, excess, self-healing, and re-alignment.
If you want to read more about this card, you can do so at Biddy Tarot. Here’s a little sample: “If you have recently experienced a period of excess, Temperance Reversed is your invitation to restore balance and moderation as soon as possible. You may have been over-eating, regularly drinking, buying things you can’t afford, arguing with loved ones, or engaging in negative thought patterns. These activities are taking you further away from who you are and what you are here to do. So, it is time to stop. As they say, “Everything in moderation!”
During this year off, I have been resting and recovering from 15 years of stress. No alarms. Sleeping a lot. Eating a lot. It has felt good and necessary, but of late, I have realized that it’s time to get back into a routine of moving my body more, eating better, and pursuing new goals.
“Temperance Reversed may reflect a period of self-evaluation in which you can re-examine your life priorities. You may need to change your living arrangements, relationships, career, and daily habits so you can cultivate more balance and purpose in line with your new priorities. Similarly, the Temperance Reversed can be a call for profound self-healing.”
Change my living arrangements? Check! Change my career? Check! Profound self-healing? Check!
My goals for this year are to live on the road, to travel and write, and to be open to new opportunities as they present themselves to me. To continue to heal, but to find that healing in movement, not rest. So I started the first day of my journey with a 2 and a half hour hike where I explored waterfalls carved out of limestone, stood under a huge bald cypress tree hundreds of years old, walked underneath a rock overhang that provided shelter for people from the 700s to the 1700s, and saw two great egrets, pure white and gliding silently through the morning stillness. While I hiked, it began to rain, but the sun shone all the while. I stretched out my arms and let the water run over my body, as I walked on into the future.
