My body and brain are weary and need recovery before doing it all over again, one more time.
The last two months of my school year, like many teachers, is an intense build before an abrupt end. For most, it’s about final exams. For me, it’s about mounting one more major production: dance concert. From April 1 through the first Friday of June, my classes and I are on high productivity mode. We spend every day creating, thinking, problem solving. We are also navigating absenteeism from field trips, senior events, assemblies, all of which put a massive obstacle in front of easy progress.
After the curtain fell on my second to last dance concert, I came across a meme in Instagram that resonated with me at the cellular level. It’s from an account called @theburntoutteacher_, which exactly describes this moment in time. Well, it’s been the last few weeks, months (years?).
As I wrote this, every single point made in this post felt like my exact neurological state.
Sounds are too loud. People are too much. I don’t want to make any decisions, at all. My capacity for caring hard about things is rock bottom. Focus is diffuse. I just want to come home, cocoon and hibernate.
My normal environment has suddenly become too much. Isolation feels better, not because I don’t like my normal existence, but because in the moment, my neurons and dendrites are on fire and they need to cool off. My ears ring in quiet spaces. My eyelids feel heavy. My soul needs a break.
In the weeks following dance concert, I want to clean up, finish grading, and get the hell out. As temperatures rise, I can’t fathom actually teaching anything, even though it’s normally what I do best. Throughout the school year, I spend two or more hours after the end of every school day preparing kids for the next performance project. Now that we have crossed the finish line, it is time recover our bodies and souls.
Two years ago, I wrote Transitioning to Summer Relaxation: A Teacher’s Journey. It’s all about my slow descent into summer. As the meme above suggests, summer vacation is not an exciting time; it’s recovery time. I don’t need lavish, expensive vacation plans. I need to be home and quietly take care of things I’ve neglected for ten months.
Just as I prepare for the long break, I know I will soon be ramping back up in August for the fall.
And my new reality is that that cycle will happen one more time.
12 months to retirement
I keep mentioning to my students who aren’t graduating that if they want my dance class again, they’d better make sure they get in for next year. As I say that, sad faces and protests happen. While that’s nice and strokes my ego a bit, it’s also my attempt at warning them to be proactive before they miss out on something they want (always the teacher). Adolescents are not known for being the best proactive planners. Sometimes, they need a little (big) jolt to get themselves started.
Some protest, asking why I have to leave.
As the meme suggests, my soul is tired. As a teacher, I always want to bring my best, 10,000% self. Although now, maybe it’s my 105% self. I love being some students’ favorite teacher. And I never want to be remembered as the teacher who isn’t committed or is so detached that they can’t relate to their students. It’s not right. Kids deserve more from their teachers.
There is a shelf-life to being an educator. Decades spent in educational institutions chip away at the joie de vivre of the profession. It’s slow, and if we’re lucky, our love of connections and relationships with young people stalls that process. But it happens. I see it in my older colleagues. I see it in myself.
I want to leave with my students wanting more. The alternative would break my heart.
The first lasts
And so, next September, the lasts will commence. The last first day of school. The last September. The last fall play. The last winter break. The last musical. The last dance concert. The last final exam period. The last time I enter grades.
And the last last day of school.
I write this with a sense of melancholy, since my brain understands these events on a primal level. I don’t remember what it’s like to spend the week after Labor Day anywhere but in the first week of school. But I can say, with conviction, I’m excited to readjust and experience that for the first time in 31 years.
I know that it will be a huge adjustment, and not without a little bit of FOMO. I’ve spent the last several years setting things up for a “smooth” transition to new leadership. I was entrenched in creating the new class and rehearsal studio space that our kids deserve. I am proud of everything I’ve accomplished in my career and how I’ve set up for the torch to be passed.
And, I am yearning to learn who I am outside of a school year. I want to see what else I can do, what other creative ventures I can concoct. Where are the new places I can go? I don’t necessarily need to divest and disappear completely, but the new guard will need me to be gone to establish their traditions, habits and creative relationships. It’s time to give them that space.
Whenever I do return to the building, I want to be an invited special guest. I can pass on some support, perhaps some wisdom and inspiration, and move on.
For now, I’ll be spending some serious time hammocking.
