I said to Mister last night that I’m not sure what comes next. There’s the natural burnout of a teacher. The job demands and it takes and you submit and give…Any eventually the input can no longer supply the output, and you’re done. Then there is teaching during a pandemic. The kids wear masks, the teachers stand six feet back, the desks remain separated. You pour 100% of energy into the 42 minutes you have with a kid, and then you repeat the next period, and the next, and the next, and the next. But eventually you are only waking up with 90% energy or 75% energy or maybe only 45%. How do you keep pouring out when nothing is pouring back in?
I got pulled over this morning. Going to drop the babies off at my mom’s house so Mister can work on his school stuff today, I got pulled over after crossing the bridge. The cop came to my window, told me he pulled me over because my inspection was expired. This is the inspection that expired over a month ago. The inspection I asked my husband to take care of. The inspection my husband said could wait until it was more convenient. “And anyway,” he added, “there’s a statewide extension on inspections because of the whole shut down.” When I mentioned it kind of felt like the shut down was over, and we could just take care of it now, that’s when he made the comment about waiting until it was more convenient. When is anything convenient these days? What even is convenient? I’ll tell you what’s not convenient. Getting pulled over with two hungry babies in the car as I’m mentally trying to prep to survive another day of teaching 8th graders during a pandemic that has crushed us. That is not convenient. Being unable to find the registration because the console is a mess because this is the car Mister primarily drives…that is not convenient. Trying to keep my cool while I explain this to a police officer who seems impatient with my excuses and is also cross-eyed and I don’t know which eye to look at…Also, not convenient.
I don’t want to be this person who is bitter and caustic and so calloused you can’t reach her heart anymore. I don’t want to break to the point that it takes screws and metal to fix me, and now I’m a robot. I don’t want to lose the heartbeat that says this matters…but I am. I’m losing sight of what comes next. The chipping away is now hitting nerves, and I don’t know if they can take much more.
But maybe 2020 is the year I learn there is no longer such a thing as convenience. And losing convenience means making room for something else. Like grace, and compassion.
a scribble of jo 