On the cusp...

of something...

Perhaps you know the feeling. A restlessness, a stirring, a thought like, “What if—” And then reason swats that fly dead, ignores the carcass on the window, and sits comfortably back down.

And then, another fly. “Maybe I could—” Smack. “I wonder—” Thud.

I’ve been teaching high schoolers the art and science of literature for 34 years. I love it. It is the intersection of everything I value: youthful wonder, youthful truth, even youthful skepticism. There is a element of the unknown everyday, and the unexpected happens in every classroom. How could it not? Force feed teenagers a steady diet of literature in a rigid schedule of timed lessons, herd them through industrial concrete block hallways lined with metal lockers, and then throw in the ingredient of adolescent moody impulse—why, it’s a “chef’s surprise” recipe everyday. And I love it.

But lately…..well, I have been pondering, “What’s next?”

I still love teaching, let’s just say it’s the educational environment that has become more and more challenging. Like a good book, I love the characters, but the setting is interfering with their development…or, more to the point, with my development. I can’t help but think that with 34 years maybe it’s time to—

—to what?

Move on? Can it be that I’m experiencing what my high school seniors are experiencing right about now? They are 18, I just turned 58…..Is possible that I’m experiencing the the other kind of “senioritis” that we wait 40 years for?

All the gurus insist on creating a plan before retirement. There are financial formulas and suitable career suggestions for supplement income. To be fair I have looked and pondered and researched, and, yes, I have some ideas, a few dreams, and a modest plan. But it is hard to truly envision the possibility of “what’s next” until “what is” officially becomes “what was.”

So, more and more, while I love what I do, I can no longer ignore the flies. After all, they tend to swarm around that which has lost its appeal. They are indicators that what once nourished me, now stands a bit stale... and to be fair, maybe I’m a bit stale, too.

It seems, I’m on the cusp. And if you have ever been there, or maybe are there, you can relate to the cycles of doubt and fear that retirement research fatigue can prompt.

And yet…

A poem I recently read in class comes to mind. In “Leap before you Look” W. H. Auden advises:

“The sense of danger must not disappear:
The way is certainly both short and steep,
However gradual it looks from here;
Look if you like, but you will have to leap.”

Is it possible I may have to take the literature I teach literally? Might I have to leap before I look?

As usual, I have no answers, fellow seeker. Only discoveries. Here’s to finding out…..