Full Circle

At least it seems that way. Ten years ago, I got my Master's degree in English with the intention of going to work as a teacher. Then, I decided I couldn't live in Bakersfield, CA and made the move up the ragged coast to Oregon. When I go to Oregon, I discovered I'd have to go back to school to be certified to teach. School was 90 minutes away in Corvallis. I was working part time and paying off my last student loan. There was no way. Besides, after spending so much time in the university system, I wasn't ready to jump back into the pond.

So the idea of being a teacher was squelched by circumstance. Then, I had some bad experiences as a substitute teacher at Job Corps and thought, "Ah ha. Probably wasn't meant to be anyway!" I'd find something else to do. And I did.

Then, just this past week, I was looking through the newspaper and found an article on a new program offered by the local community college, a program that would prepare people with Bachelor's degrees to teach in 5-6 months. I called and got more information. Since I had just given notice on my job, I was ready to think about the future, ready to investigate what might come next. I found out that the EPI program was composed of 7 classes, 21 credit hours, including two field experience classes. I found out that after I completed the program, I could take the necessary exams with the State of Florida and jump through all the hoops to become a full-fledged teacher. I could be ready to teach next Fall.

I talked to my father about the opportunity and he thought it was a good idea. My husband was supportive. The more I considered taking yet another dog-leg in the crooked road that has been my working life, the more I thought, "Why not?" There have only been two occupations I've seriously considered ever since I was a kid. One was being a writer. The other was being a teacher.

So, here I am ten years after getting my Master's, and almost twenty years after earning my Bachelor's, ready to go back to school. Let this be a lesson to all of us. It's never too late to do what you're meant to do with your life.

But, there's the nagging question: Is this what I'm meant to do? I had lunch this week with my new friend Jerri and we talked about that. I wondered if everyone had a vocational calling, a true "home" when it came to finding your place in the world of work. I have many skills, things I can do; I have many gifts, things I naturally do well. There must be, I reason, a juncture where these things come together. There must be work each of us is destined, and designed, to do.

Jerri shared her attempts at writing and we discovered something else we had in common. She recalled how she had given up writing after a bad experience in a college class. I don't think there's a writer in the world who hasn't been through that experience. I sympathized. But, there's something about writing for me, some part of it that goes deep, that creates a release and an escape. Just now, for example, I'm sitting in a hard chair at the library -- but I'm not. As long as my fingers are flying across the keyboard, I feel like I can do this forever. There's something transporting, for me, about the process of writing.

Work is like that, too, when you've found the work you're meant to do. Just ask my husband. He can get started on a project and totally lose track of time. He is a carpenter, so when he's working, his mind and his body are engaged and it's a total experience. Ed says the thing he likes best about that kind of work is that it doesn't feel like work. He goes to another place. He likes figuring things out, planning and designing. Creating. Turns out, he's a creative type just like me, only he creates with tangible materials and I do the same with words.

There's much to be said on this subject, but it will have to wait until later. I've got seven minutes left on the library computer and have to go pick up my grandmother. She's getting a permanent. Ed put up Christmas lights around the trailer this week. Grandma says they reflect in the lake at night. We hope to find a Christmas tree on the property this afternoon, something small but substantial among the Charlie Brown-types we've seen. We enjoy the frosty mornings, the fog resting on the lake, the full moon cast up like a disc among the stars. Merry Christmas to all.