To whom it may concern, stick a fork in me, I'm done.
This is my two weeks notice (sorry it's, two weeks late.)
Two weeks ago I submitted an application that I knew would be the catalyst for change. Two months ago I added an ending date to my calendar that I knew was true, but I couldn’t see how it would play out. Two years ago I was trudging through the sludge of life just trying to get a grasp on what I was possibly supposed to being doing with my career and now, here at 3 AM I sit, trying to explain all this to you. I want to be concise in explaining the ways that I have changed over the last two weeks but every time I find one example- my mind falls into the abyss of over-explanation. I feel feverish, like I don’t want to forget one single detail but the truth is the events of the last few weeks have been largely mundane, and yet… not.
Living intuitively often leads you to make decisions that you know are right, but don’t necessarily feel thought out. When you let life guide you through the snippets of what others say, or soundbites that stick with you from TikTok, it can feel a bit chaotic. Yet- there’s a simple knowing in being present that reminds you in each moment of doubt to keep going. Take the next best step, even if you can’t see more than one foot in front of you.
I’m nearly certain that if left to my own devices I would’ve worked in an eternal circle time if I could’ve. There’s something about reviewing the calendar with song, in great detail and with enthusiasm that truly wets my whistle. It’s no secret I love a good routine, and reality is I would have taught alongside those teachers with those specific students forever. I mean that. As the world falls away you could’ve found me sitting front row to the most rambunctious circle time I may have ever witnessed, and it would’ve been enough. I was made to lead circle time. When the world ended I wanted to be found singing “Monday… Tuesday… Wednesday…” with those ten kids, specifically.
Alas, life marches on and time demands change and apparently I don’t get to be the circle time leader forever. I knew that by clicking one simple button on the internet, I wouldn’t be able to take back what I had started and that with that one mundane action I would be ushering in a new normal- and all I could do was let that break me. I had to pry my little fingers off life’s little joys in an effort to move forward with no promise of greater fulfillment. Currently, I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m heartbroken in a way that that may not be fixed and I’m okay with that.
Working with children who have disabilities is truly not for the faint of heart, not because of the horrors you may witness but simply because these children are ungovernable. Children, in general, are magic but when you really get into a routine with them, when you’re working together and you start to build a context for learning- especially with children who thrive on repetition and routine- you get into a zone that I can only imagine is Heaven. As a small child, heaven sounded unbelievably boring. Of course, my context for eternal worship was embedded in white people and acoustic music which only left me wanting, but now, as I’ve matured I can see the appeal of routinely living forever with a general sense of hope and belonging could be nice. Children alone can provide our path into a future of stability and until we stop treating them like a byproduct of life we will never develop into the communities we were meant for.
Caregivers of all types bare the burden of creating magic in the margins for our kids as the patriarchy rages on, hellbent on death and destruction. We all know the value of a blanket forts, crayons, or the simple joy of cutting and pasting but somehow we have designed a whole system where, unless you're rich, we pack as many kids as we can into a classroom, and pay their teachers based on what we believe women are worth. Womp, womp. How can we possibly believe this course of action will get us any farther than where we’ve already landed?
While I was reordering my life to ensure that those who have minimal access to our current state of affairs at the very least have an entertaining time, Katy Perry announced her plans to ride Jeff Bezo’s rocket into space with an all women crew. Wow, thank you so much. While this sounds like progress I hope we can all sit back and witness the truly tragic cavern of delusion that we are all currently subscribed to. In what world would we ever choose entertainment over the nourishment of children? In what world is progress finally letting women participate in ‘men only’ activities? The answer dear reader, is this one. We currently live in the hellscape that places the value of people on their literal worth, in cash, and completely overlooks our intrinsic value we carry as humans. In truth, we live a life of worth, simply because we are here and we are largely missing it because we are so caught up in curbside pickup of our kids, groceries and medications.
Revolution, you can feel it can’t you? We are just about to start screaming because the pot is just about to boil and we have suddenly realized we are no longer in the ocean but a tiny pot where we are all set to be the feast. A feast for people who don’t care about us, a feast for monsters who only see our value in what we can produce for their profits- rather than understanding the unique beauty each and every one of us brings to the table, you know, as our Lobster selves. I hope that as we all learn to let go of the structure we have clung to that we can learn it is in rest that we fight this revolution. Every time we allow time to pass naturally- we are fighting, in every slow measured step that we ensure another is taken care of- we are fighting and when we continue to prevent preventable diseases- we are fighting. We fight this revolution by singing songs with our children, and planting native species to replace our foreign lawns. For too long we have been sold a revolution that is drenched in blood, a revolution that holds the lives of our most vulnerable at stake- as collateral in the greater good of maintaining a structure that only benefits white men and those whom the seem fit to also receive their privilege. Our babies are not collateral and we are not fighting with weapons, we are fighting with our true selves, by letting ourselves unfurl and rest in this very life we have been gifted. Stick a fork in me, I’m done.
