Change as a portal

Hello from an anxiety spiral!

Hello! It has been awhile. Life has been in flux, in mostly good ways. For example:

I have accepted a job as a middle school vice principal! I am staying in my district, but moving to a site that is much different than my current school site. I interviewed for this job back in March (!) and this week, I stepped foot on my new campus for the first time and got to meet some of the people I’ll be working alongside, along with some fantastic students that I’ll be getting to know. Tomorrow, I begin my last whole week in the classroom. I’ll watch my final class of 8th-grade students promote to high school. I’ll pack up my classroom and give away my classroom library. Not too long from now, I’ll lock my classroom for the last time and close a chapter of my life that opened 20 years ago, when I took my first teaching job.

When I think or talk about it for too long, I can’t help but burst into tears. It’s wild to think that this summer, I won’t be dreaming about curriculum or preparing for next year’s students. I usually keep a long list of notes of things I want to do next year, and I recently deleted that Google Doc because I can’t imagine the things I’ll be doing in a few months.

I will also submit my final materials for my Master of Fine Arts in Writing this week. After two-and-a-half years of submitting new creative work every four weeks, reading novels and craft essays, and pushing myself as a writer, I will finish my degree.

I’ve been a student or a teacher — and frequently both — for the majority of my life. Soon, I won’t be either. I’ll still be working in education, of course, but the life of planning, grading, and the day-to-day management of a classroom won’t be my reality anymore. I’ve been in school off and on for years, and I think I’ve done as much as I’d like to do (though trust me, I do think about getting a Ph.D because there’s something clinically wrong with me).

On one hand, all of this feels right. When I applied for my new job, I told myself I just wanted to explore my options. As I went through the process, I realized that wasn’t true: I wanted to be a vice principal. My time in the classroom feels complete. And yet, I’m sad and a bit unmoored. Similarly, I’ve grown significantly as a writer since the start of my program, both in discipline and ability. I will miss my advisors and the external pressure to turn in writing, but I also feel excited to work at my own pace.

This all feels true, until it doesn’t, and I am once again trapped in an anxiety spiral about all the changes happening at once.

I was telling Kelly, my beloved therapist, about the fears I’m experiencing: what if I can’t stay in my creative groove without deadlines? What if I’m not a good vice principal? What if I miss my old life and habits?

Kelly suggested that instead of focusing on my fears, I try to view this time as a portal — a gateway to a new version of myself and a different life. She reminded me of all of the ways I’ve grown in our seven years and that over the past year, I’ve said frequently that I feel like I’m outgrowing this version of myself, that my skin feels too tight. So, instead of looking back and remaining stuck, my goal is to take steps forward. Thinking of the future as a doorway to something bigger sounds deceptively simple. Still, as a worrier, this mindset refocuses me on the things to look forward to, as opposed to fearing I’ll miss all that’s being left behind.

Seven years ago, amid another season of change, I got this tattoo on my forearm. It’s a Three of Wands card from the Wild Unknown tarot deck by the artist Kim Krans. I love the color, but I mostly loved the way she wrote about the significance of this card.

When I got it, I desperately needed a reminder that I could rely on myself for guidance. I still need reminding. But right now, the words I’m clinging to are “The future is infinite, and it is yours.” I know I’ll cry more tears, and I know that I will have moments of fear, but every time I look down at my arm or think about my fears, I try to remember that this is a portal into a newest version of myself, and that what’s on the other side belongs to me.