On Tuesday, I packed the final items into my car... letters from students that had been jumbo-magnet-clipped to my whiteboard, a forgotten box of unused pencils that had been shuffled under a cluttered book shelf, my beloved elephant-shaped paperclip tin filled with elephant-shaped clips for hugging graded papers, and approximately 2,394 other elephant nicknacks that were given to me as gifts over the past three years...
I re-entered the building with a pad of paper and a pen, swiping my staff badge in front of the lock for the last time. Everyone else was gone. It was past seven pm, and given that I took an additional week to clean my classroom, most of my colleagues had already completed check-out and surrendered their badges.
For the next hour, I bathed in the quiet. Spaces are time capsules, and in our silence, they quietly release their memories.
Over the past two weeks, I have allowed the doubts to speak their mistruths and fears into my decision, but the decision has been made, and I know that I know that I know that this is the right path for me in this season.
Sixteen months ago, I spoke to my father about an idea. Perhaps, I was trying to fill the sharp-edged space left behind by my last big dream. Perhaps, I was just bouncing words into the conversation to spark a response. Perhaps, the idea resided in my mind before I was even aware of its existence, and some part of me knew that by speaking it aloud, my father would hold me accountable for giving it life.
Last summer, I split my time between designing fifth grade math curriculum, building a fence, and studying algorithms and etymology in preparation for the GRE. In August, I explored programs online, emailed six deans at six universities, and spoke with three of my former professors at the University of Richmond. After school on a Tuesday in October, I spent nearly two hours speaking with the dean of UVA's Reading Education Doctoral Program. The idea was slowly gaining momentum, and my father delighted in every update.
Following my conversation with Dr. Hayes at UVA in October, I decided that if I intended to foster this new dream, the program at UVA was my first and only choice. In November, I composed a goal statement and applied.
In early February, after a personally discouraging week, I drove to UVA on a Friday afternoon to meet Dr. Hayes in person. During that meeting, she offered me a fellowship in addition to my admittance to the program full-time.
When I got home, Glenn took me out for a celebratory dinner at one of my favorite restaurants... Panera. Halfway through my soup, I started to cry. Poor Glenn managed the moment so gracefully in spite of his evident bewilderment at this sudden turn of events. In my messy spaghetti noodle brain, I had followed a thought into a tangled mess of this opportunity's implications. Committing to the program meant surrendering a job that I loved desperately.
So much thought, sage advise, and prayer went into the decision to pursue my own education rather than returning to the classroom next year. It is a risk, but so is everything that is worth pursuing.
Room 134 at Randolph was and is a magical space, and I look forward to hearing about the relationships that are forged, the projects that are constructed, and the memories that are preserved within its hallowed walls next year.
As I left my badge and headed to my packed card, I was filled with gratitude that a part of me will always remain, preserved in the [forever humid] time capsule of Room 134.
