Dude, It’s Just Stuff

Well guys, I went and did a thing. I tend to go off and do things from time to time, so this isn’t surprising, but it feels big (changes always do).

My district needed a teacher from our building to move to virtual learning for this year. If they didn’t get a volunteer, they’d choose someone to move. 

And I raised my hand.

So here I am, getting to meet a whole class of online fifth graders (fifth grade really is my sweet spot) and missing my third graders that I didn’t get nearly enough time with. There are a myriad of reasons why this move was the best for me, and I won’t go into them too much here. But Thursday was my last day in the classroom, and I packed up and headed home to start this grand adventure of being a virtual educator.

When I leave a space–doesn’t matter if it’s home or classroom or vacation or wherever–I always have quiet time just before I leave. I like to look around, remember things that have happened in that space, express gratitude for the memories it’s given me, and leave room for whatever feelings might want to come visit. It’s my process for moving on.

I left time for the quiet on Thursday. I stayed in the classroom after school. I thought I would maybe be upset. That I would have some major regrets about stepping out this year. But upset isn’t the right word for the feeling. I’m not worried about leaving my students; the new teacher coming in is going to be a better teacher for them than I would ever have been. I’m not downtrodden about moving to a virtual learning platform. In fact, I’m excited about that (even though I have wonderful co-teachers whom I will definitely miss). And I’m jazzed to move and teach 5th grade remotely. 

I really had to search to even put a name to the feelings I had.

I guess I felt sad as I looked around my classroom, but not for the reasons you’d think. The feeling of the room; the way I carefully planned it out so that students would be comfortable; the banners I took so long to make; the way I organized it; the mobile I bought at a craft show before Ani was born; the curtains my mom sewed; the little decorations and trinkets given to me by former students; the buntings I worked on countless summers ago. All of this stuff that I’ve been dragging around with me, from classroom to classroom, school to school, state to state. This stuff was the physical manifestation of two decades of hard work. And leaving all of that made me sad.

Dude–it’s just STUFF.

I had to keep telling myself that. But what I was sad about leaving wasn’t “just stuff”. It was the stuff of teacher dreams. Everything that I didn’t want to walk out on was projects from summers, or things I bought for my room to make it feel like home. Everything I didn’t want to leave was what I brought in to try to make it lovely. It was all part of my early-teacher dreams. It was where my comfort was. My classroom is my comfort spot. Who would want to leave that? Not many.

But guess what? Comfort can’t help me in my classroom right now. Again, lots of reasons I feel like this, but they aren’t important to the gist of this post. What I’m saying is that comfort can’t help me if I’m drowning. Comfort doesn’t make it better when you know in your gut that you’re in the wrong spot. Paper crane mobiles and cute curtains don’t matter then. The dream of making things better in my classroom–that dream that starts in July every year–it just crumbles.

So I will be better off if I can leave the stuff. It’s still there. It’s not going anywhere. I can go get it, or I can come back to it, or I can let it go. I don’t have to decide today. But right now, it’s not helping me. The comfort it provides–and that’s quite a bit, mind you–isn’t enough to keep me in that classroom. We can’t hang onto situations for comfort, and my best move right now is to teach virtually, even though it’s big and scary. I can’t keep being a teacher who isn’t in the right place because of curtains. This is madness.

Dude–it’s just stuff.

My comfort is my home. My comfort is my family. For the first time in 21 years of teaching, I’m going to prioritize them over my classroom. It doesn’t come with any stuff. Nope. It comes with peace. And that’s a big comfort.

Because really: Dude–it’s just stuff.