Graveyard

One of my favorite things about driving to work in Springfield was that every morning I passed a graveyard during my commute.  Rust-colored iron fencing corralled a landscape of well-manicured grass, draping evergreens, and granite grave markings.  Sometimes, when I left for work early enough, a white fog blanketed the space between the grass and the tops of the gravestones.

I found that I was not depressed by the sight.  I didn't find this reminder of my mortality morbid or worrisome.  In fact, I found that graveyard, and the thoughts of death that accompanied it every morning, inspiring.  It reminded me that my time here is short.  Just like the books I teach my students in class, my life will have a last page. The graveyard reminded me that I only get one shot, and that at some point that shot is over.  Expired.  Finished.  So what do I want to do with my shot?

One thing I decided I want to do is to sell out as a teacher - to go balls-to-the-wall making sure that I validate my students, give them a voice, and help them become thoughtful individuals.  To show them that taking good risks is not only okay, it's imperative. To remind them that no matter what mistakes you make, there is a pile of dirt and a granite stone that will one day cover them all up, so don't take your mistakes too seriously.

The other thing I decided I want to do before my shot is up?   Experience life outside of America.  I want to take my brain, that cerebral silly putty, and remove it from its plastic egg.  I want to stretch it as thin as it will go, press it against a map of the world, and see what parts of the ink stick to it. I want to take the risks that I encourage my students to take.

So, I applied for a job in Abu Dhabi.  Flew to New York for an interview.  Impressed someone.  Got the job.  Sold all of my stuff.  And now I'm off.