Twenty years into my teaching career, I decided to take my first sabbatical. All four girls were, at this point, out of diapers and into public school. I was free to concentrate on myself. During the summer that preceded the school year, I walked in a daze. I was excited about the upcoming journey, which would focus on what interests me. I combed through hundreds of brochures sent to me trying to lure me into trips, classes, and workshops. Then, on the 1st of September, I had a meltdown when I realized that I had no idea what I wanted to do.
It took a couple more weeks for me to realize that as long as I hold on to the notion that the coming year will have to be perfect in every way and that it is my last opportunity to have so much time just for me, I will remain paralyzed and unable to make a move.
It is all about the small steps, pacing myself, and avoiding either-or scenarios. Once I got it into my head, I could move on. I picked several workshops that seemed interesting (some that had nothing to do with teaching but with feel-good stuff). Halfway through the year, I launched a teaching project in the local educational resource center. I received a generous grant to utilize it the following year in the school system and some modest publicity. It turned out to be one of my best years.
As I am going through the process of trying to visualize the coming years it feels as if I might step into the same all–or–nothing trap yet again. This is a tough call. My frame of reference is my parents, a few family members who lived to old age, and some who are still alive.
I still can’t see the road ahead or the common denominator among my fellow travelers, except, of course, age.
It appears as if each one of these individuals presents a unique story with its own composition and tempo. It's like an unforgettable yet unrecoverable piece of music. While many different elements play a part, it is difficult to determine which ones are those who carry the melody along. The same contributors that create a pleasant, flowing harmony in one person's life can become a cacophony of unmatched screeches in another.
The only thing that seems clear is that it is about the interpretation that the individual gives this move, this life-changing transformation. It makes me wonder if this is true for every stage of life, and what makes aging so unique is not the components but rather its finality.
