I spent a ridiculously long time trying to compose this post. I crafted lengthy post-mortems and detailed analyses. But I think I'll keep it simple.*
I'm not teaching anymore.
I expected teaching to be really really hard, but I also expected it to go well. It didn't. I could list a thousand reasons: I was grossly undertrained, the kids were wild, I was too nice... But as time passed, it became clear: it just wasn't working.
And so, I find myself back in the civilian world** battered, bruised, and exhausted. I'm deeply disappointed—I had great hopes. And I confess, I'm also relieved. Teaching is extremely hard even when it's going well. When it's going badly, it's miserable.
My brief time in the schools has left an indelible impression. I already miss those crazy kids, even if they ran me ragged. And I may return to teaching. I don't know. (I'm postponing any long-term career decisions until after the PTSD tremors subside.) I regret that it didn't work out, but I don't regret trying.
Life is a funny business. At least I'll have more time for blogging.
* Perhaps I'll wax analytical at a later date.
** My interim post-Mister-O incarnation: part-time computer geek (it's a sad statement about our national priorities that part-time geekery pays the same as way-more-than-full-time fingers-to-the-bone teachery), part-time Mr. Mom (during the brutal hours of trying to teach other people's kids, I didn't see nearly enough of my own), and part-time head-scratcher, trying to figure out what's next after this unforeseen turn of events (and of course, part-time dilettante aesthete, gleefully plunging back into all of my woefully neglected hobbies).