MY time

Since I have returned from Europe, there is one thing that I have been avoiding - and I mean avoiding like cockroaches avoid the light. Work. Not work in general, as in laundry, cooking, and carrying heavy objects - I mean my occupation. You know, the place I'm supposed to go every day so I can continue to feed myself and take long, frivolous trips around Europe. Just the sight of a Back-to-School sign outside a department store is enough to make me want to put another flight to Paris on my credit card - pronto. Seriously, I have only had two feelings in regards to returning to work - fear, and dread.


Well I couldn't continue that way for long, since I had to spend this entire week in New York City with two colleagues for a teaching writing conference at Columbia. I spent Monday morning slumped down into my plastic, stackable chair in a large auditorium full of smiling teachers wearing clogs and carrying unnecessarily large tote bags. I listened to the presenter take something I love (writing) and neatly place it into organized categories with cutsie labels. "These are the steps to writing," she chirped cheerfully into the microphone. I tried to resist the urge to stab myself slowly with the plastic knife I had used to spread cream cheese on my sesame bagel.

I can't do this, I thought. I am a free spirit. I need to be unhindered so I can fly around the world and experience all that life has to offer! I love children, but I don't love teaching them these rules and routines. There is no magic in this! And what about all the political drama at school? I will have to start going to staff meetings and parents will want to know what I plan to do with their child and. . .ahh! By the time the morning session was over, I had convinced myself that I could no longer be a teacher; that I could not return to that work or any work. I was feverishly whipping up plans in my head to sell my car, waitress at night, work on writing a book during the day, and continue playing with my band. Then I would move overseas and teach English, or maybe the Peace Corps - that is, of course, if I didn't become a famous writer or singer first.

But, no. My kids. It was my students that brought me back to reality. If I just worked at a job with all adults in some office, I would have no qualms about marching right in and saying, "Hey guys it's been real, but I'm off to explore the world and be poor for a few years. Peace." In fact, I have quit many jobs in such an abrupt, unceremonious manner. But I don't just teach to help kids learn the steps to writing or make sure they know how to organize their math binder. I teach because my kids inspire me. They remind me that life is fresh every day, and that there is no end to new things to learn and be amazed by. They are counting on me to come back and be their teacher this year. I would never forgive myself if I ran off now.

So, avoiding the uncomfortable feelings was no longer an option. I would have to actually face them. During the afternoon session, I started journaling (yeah, honestly I didn't get a lot out of the conference that first day). I asked myself the really hard questions. Why did I really feel this way about returning to work? What was behind this dread? All of a sudden, it hit me. I was afraid I would no longer own my time. Let me explain.

Pre-Europe, I longed for someone to manage my life for me. It all just felt like too much. I would even have fantasies about getting in some sort of mild car accident that would be just bad enough to land me in the hospital with some fixable injuries for a week or so, where I would be lovingly cared for and I wouldn't have to make any decisions on my own - not even about what to eat. But then I went to Europe by myself all summer, and I was forced to be in charge of myself again. You know the deal - I became my own best friend and all that. I realized that for every second of every day for the entire summer, I have been entirely in charge of my own life. I haven't had to answer to anyone for anything I've done. I didn't have to go anywhere I didn't want to, eat anything that didn't look appealing, or wake up at any certain time (except when I had to meet the bus in the mornings, but I'd just roll out of bed and onto the bus, where I would resume sleeping immediately).

My real fear about returning to work stemmed from my desire to continue owning my time. I was afraid that as soon as I stepped back into that building, people would start pulling at me, taking pieces of me and doing with them what they pleased. "Melanie, we need to you to come to this meeting." "Melanie, could we schedule a conference with you immediately?" "Melanie, could you type that up and send it to the staff by the end of the day, please?" Um, no thanks.

But whose fault is it when we feel like we are not in charge of our own lives? That's right - ours. The solution to my fear is not to avoid responsibility and work, but to take what I've learned on this trip and apply back in my life here. I do want to have a life full of adventure, but I don't need to be on the Swiss Alps to experience that. I need to learn to own my time and continue cultivating this rich, inner life while working. And if I give it my best shot and still get bogged down, well, then I'll consider a career change. Perhaps a skydiving instructor. . .