It's a New Year

You know when you're in transition and you're already missing all the old things you haven't even left yet and you're wary of all the new things you know very little about?  That's how I was feeling today at work, even though nothing is set in stone.  It's not even set in Jello.  It's a maybe transition.  There's a chance that I might be doomed or lucky enough to teach science to 4th and 5th graders forever in the same classroom and in mostly the same way for the rest of my days.  But there's also a chance that my principal will let me start this really cool new position doing math and science extension with high performing students, and I am totally psyched at the thought of it.  It's right up my alley, and it's exactly what the school needs right now.

I spend a lot of time thinking about all the things I'll miss about having the same class every day, and all the things I'll miss about hanging out with kids at recess duty, and all the things I'll miss about all the bullshit and the substance that makes most of my days end with a satisfied sigh.  There are some things I'd certainly love to leave behind (grades are pretty much the only thing I can think of right now, mostly because I'm yelping with joy at the prospect), and there's a ton of cool stuff that might lay ahead: teaching math again, using problem- and application-based learning, seeing high-performing kids challenged and excited and engaged.



I felt this way a little bit about my recent transition into becoming a 30-something, too.  There was plenty of anticipation leading up to the event, and I wasn't sure what I would miss about my twenties, but I felt like surely I would miss something.  Freedom?  Metabolism?  Elastic skin?  I created a scavenger hunt to distract me from my impending doom, but it worked out even better than that.  It reminded me of exactly why I should be excited, not worried, about getting older.  It was fun.  It was exciting.  It made me laugh.  It brought people together.  I didn't finish it, but I didn't even care.

My first twenty years weren't much to write home about.  It wasn't bad or traumatic or anything, but whenever I watch movies where people are longing for the glory days of high school, I just don't get it.  If you'd known me as a high schooler or even a college student, you would know there wasn't much to be nostalgic about:

1. My hair was blah.
2. I extremely skinny and flat-chested until I was fifteen, and when I finally got boobs, I also quickly gained more weight than looks good on my face/frame.
3. I was EXTREMELY shy.
4. I studied ALL the time.
5. I was way more stressed out than I should have been.
6. I had way less fun than I should have had.
7. I took way less risks than I wish I'd taken.

And then, after playing it safe through childhood and adolescence, I came into my twenties ready, desperate even, for something new.  I wanted to try new things! meet new people! discover a new, more exciting version of myself!  I tried salsa, kickball, improv, tango, singing, running, going to therapy, dating a lawyer, dating a shorter guy, dating a bartender, dating an ex-boyfriend, online dating, living in the riverbend, living uptown, living in mid city, buying a house, traveling to Europe, traveling to Canada, traveling to Morocco, traveling by myself, traveling with friends, becoming a badass aunt, becoming a (hopefully good) godmother, writing a blog, writing a novel, adopting a cat, playing volleyball, making out with strangers, dancing until the wee hours of the morning, drinking bourbon, saying what I need to say, standing up for myself, acting more like my mom than I'm sometimes comfortable with, and being more like the person I want to be every day.

And I am extremely proud of myself these last ten years.  I've become emboldened.  If you had told me ten years ago that I would feel this way about myself, I would have probably thanked you but inwardly scoffed, and then retreated to my room, where I'd have put on a movie but stared at the wall instead, wishing that I was like that.  Doing things.  Meeting people.  Taking risks.

In the last ten years, I've let myself have way more fun than I ever did in my first twenty on this Earth.  My teenage version of excitement was staying up an extra hour to watch Whose Line Is It Anyway.  Last week, I pointed to a guy in a crowd at a New Year's Eve party and proceeded to dance with him for a straight hour without ever catching his name (he kept saying it, but he was from Mexico, and between his accent and the general roar of the party, I could only figure out that his name ended in the letter o).  And when, at the end of the night, in an ill-executed attempt to get my friend and I go to home with him (never gonna happen), he asked me if he could give me "an extremely good kiss," and I let him.  And you know what?  It was an extremely good kiss.  And a long one, too.  And the first time I've ever been kissed on New Year's.  But definitely not the last.

A part of me worries that living this way as a 30 year old is a recipe for disaster.  I'm worried that while I'm out dancing with strangers, I'll miss all of the actual prospects (if they still exist) for a "normal" life: marital bliss/frustration, kids, the works.  But if that were the case, I think more people would be worried for me.  And they're not.  And I like kissing strangers after five straight hours of dancing in my favorite sparkly dress.  I don't want to do it forever, but until I find something better, it suits me just fine.

I don't know if the excitement will end when I finally find someone I click with.  I don't know if commitment and excitement are mutually exclusive.  But I've been teaching for eight years now, and if I've learned anything about committing to something you love, it's that it won't always be fun.  In fact, it will suck a lot, maybe even most of the time, but that's not what you'll remember--you'll remember that year where your favorite homeroom called themselves "O'merica" because they loved your class so much, that kid who thanked you for not giving up on him, that note a student left in your mailbox one random morning that complimented your "unique sences of humor" (sic) and "all of the burns you give."  Because you're funny in a multi-faceted way and you know how to stick it to a kid in just the right way that he'll love you even more for it.

So, happy new year everybody.  Here's to another year of being me: teacher, learner, fun-haver, risk-taker.  May you be even more like yourself this year, too.