Destination X

I was told at the end of August when our trainings were into full swing that teachers, often of the green horn variety, fall victim to a terrible lapse of the body and mind referred to as burnout. Signs of burnout being anything from losing your shit with the kids over absolutely nothing or just being mentally checked out and not performing at the level your class had seen at the beginning of the year. Burnout can be a result from not sleeping properly or eating well, over-exerting yourself, or just not having enough support from staff. Either way, we were told that above anything else, self-care was a must to avoid "hitting our wall" and staying on track up until June when school would be out for summer break. 


Now, here's my problem with this so far. For one, it seems that multiple persons involved in that nice little fluff pep-talk about maintaining self-care are now apart of why we're working long hours and/or doing outside assignments that require sacrificing those few waking hours we have to ourselves when we get home and not necessarily getting any credit for it. Don't be mistaken: I'm grateful that the organization(s) I am "volunteered" by are willing to throw so much good stuff at us that will help us become better teachers in the long run, but let's be real. Give credit where credit is due. If I'm going to be working on lesson planning from 8 to 9 pm and then writing on the discussion board about phonological awareness and where my kids are in their's from 9 to 10, then let me put down two more hours on my worksheet folks. That simple. Not to mention I'm super behind in hours after my accident and any little bit will help....Please and thanks. 


With that said, I suppose it's only fair to admit I'm feeling a little bit of burnout myself. And as mentioned before, it's coming from a few different things. For one, I'm more than ready to put this accident behind me. Between having to make statements, waiting on pins and needles for the police report to surface and put someone at fault, and getting the stink eye from the staff at my physical therapy place for admittedly not wanting to give the full amount of injury coverage my policy allows (because it's uncomfortable saying, "Oh yeah sure, I have $100,000 racked up, so you just charged me whatever the fuck you want. It's all gravy, B.), and having to blow what little money I did have saved on yet another down payment for a car isn't exactly my cup of tea. 


Another thing is (as you most likely gleamed from the rant in paragraph 2), I'm working too. Damn. Hard. Let me tell you folks, for the wonderful "living stipend" of approximately $950 dollars a month you receive four meetings/trainings a week, most of which seem absolutely pointless because half your team doesn't show up at all or on time or just chooses to bitch and moan rather than listen up to what we have to do next, having to sit in traffic to and from work every day, getting to scarf down your lunch while you scramble to put all your materials together for the day, yell at a child for scratching lines with her pencil into a book that belongs to the teacher who was kind enough to let you borrow her room for your after school program FOR THE SECOND TIME, and go home only to have to prep during dinner because lord knows you don't have the time to do it all during that one hour a week they allotted you in the schedule. Sound wonderful? Okay, maybe part of it is. If it wasn't, then I wouldn't still be doing it obviously....


Lastly, I have that itch. No, not the "you should probably get that checked out" kind of itch - or my common tattoo itch. That itch to leave. It seems in these few months, my fight reaction has slowly and surely been overcome by my flight one. My infatuation with California, in particular Oakland, has faded and been replaced with feelings of repulse, anger, disappointment, and inevitably regret. Why did I put myself in this situation? Yeah, the opportunity to work with kids like I am is relatively few and far between with my lack of experience and albeit my bitching and moaning, I do love my job. I love my kids, most of the time anyway, and I'm proud to be apart of seeing them do better. Maybe not all of them will succeed, but at least I can say I tried. I did something, anything, to get them back on the right track. But at the end of the day when I put my key in the lock to my brother's apartment, I feel embarrassed. How could I have ever thought it was going to be possible? To save the world and save some money at the same time? It's a joke. This country wasn't built on a foundation to save others. After all, there's only room for one: me. And if you think I'm wrong, tell all the people who have been living in front of city hall in downtown in their own filth otherwise. Or NPR who thinks that the majority is so fed up with Left wings and Right wings that we're demanding a third party. 


I can't do it anymore. I don't have the stamina or the humility to continue to live this way. I'm not saying I want to drive a BMW and vacation in the French Rivera, but I do want something to show for the work put into this, my life. The college degree that I busted my ass to get, the years following of working one dead-end job to the next, sending out what must have been a thousand applications over that time begging and pleading for the chance to prove myself. And now that I have that chance, where has it gotten me? 


As part of a way to get some supplemental income and rebuild my nest egg, I found a telecommuting gig on Craigslist where I'd write reading guides to popular fiction and non-fiction titles. My first assignment was Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer. Easily one of my favorite books in the past, I chose it knowing it was a quick read and couldn't be that difficult to break down. Turns out it was a quick read, although less quick to be broken down, but the one thing I got aside from my measly %150 buck pay was the chance to really delve into McCandless' story like I hadn't allowed myself to the first time I picked it up. I can't remember when I read it or for what reason, nor do I remember ever noticing all the similarities between Chris and myself or even Krakauer and myself. But within the week and a half it took to finish the project, I was convinced it wasn't a coincidence that I'd been given this book.


So maybe that sounds a little cheesy, even borderline hokey, fine. Either way, dreams of Italy and Greece this coming July vanished, and in their place came grandeur images of Yosemite, the Rockies, the Mojave, the Oregon coast, the Appalachians....My entire life I've flown from West to East Coast dozens upon dozens of times, connecting the dots between when I've chosen to live and most likely where I should live. Always this big disconnect leading a constant nagging that something was missing. A feeling only quelled now when I'm at home, present with my parents. If I learned anything from that accident it was that I am blatantly choosing to live where I want and not where I should: closer to the both of them. 


I plan on leaving at the end of June, when I've completed my term of service. Head back East and end up somewhere that feels better. I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to that. I don't know if I'll end up in Leesburg, Virginia, but it'll be somewhere that isn't 3,000 miles away. How I'm planning on getting there?


Driving. Fuck it. I have this car for a reason right? Italy and Greece can wait. I want to start planning this out so I can do it right. Hit the road solo, see friends along and the way and (probably via couchsurfers) make some new ones. I don't have the slightest intention of becoming some mountaineer woodswoman so that I can lose myself in the brush, kill a moose, and wind up dead in an abandoned bus. Not by any means. I do plan on taking my time, however, exploring all that which I've chosen to ignore 30,000 miles up in the air until I finally get to where I'm going. Where that is, I'm not completely sure.


But it wasn't never about the destination, was it?