I start school tomorrow. Not in the way I had hoped, this time last year. I won't be leading the class, but, rather, will be a student. It's been a long and incredibly difficult decision, heading back, once again, at the age of 31. I love teaching. I truly believe that it is my calling. But the world isn't always made for such romantic notions, I suppose. After spending six years of my life working towards it, almost four looking for a permanent position anywhere in the country, I have to face the fact that, though it may be my calling, there is no place for me.
So, instead, I'll go back to school, to train as a therapist. It isn't as though it's not something I want to do. I do. It isn't a fallback so much as another option, a path more open to the other things I wish to do with my life, like having a family, owning a home and not being under crushing student loan debt.
At the end of the day, I will still be helping people. That's important to me, more than anything else, even those things listed above. Still...on a rainy morning in August, it's hard to remember that we ought to let go of the past, to those things which never happened, as they seem to tap quietly on the window with every falling drop, to whisper beneath the thunder.
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