Letting go, rediscovering ease in risk, and trusting the unclear destination.
It’s so much more than clearing out a classroom and throwing things away.
All the handwritten lesson plans, the postcards from the walls, the pieces of students’ work I kept for years because I appreciated the way something was expressed. All the textbooks, music scores, resources, folders, so... many... polypockets. All that I have created, built, brought into being in this world in the 13 years since I first started my French and Music teaching career. The tangible things I can touch with my hands, and the cherished memories I can feel in my heart. A legacy of sorts. It’s the feeling of a closing of a chapter, of losing an identity, an unravelling of sorts. An abandoning - even if only temporary - of the shoes that brought me where I stand today.
This clearing is taking me weeks - it shouldn’t be that mammoth a task, but some days there is such a sense of loss and grief that all I can do is sit at my desk, between boxes of books and piles of thank-you cards, often staring into the distance for minutes on end, only jolted back to reality by some heart-wrenching chords streaming from Spotify… and then more tears, and the utterly jarring question underneath it all - who is Grace when she’s not the teacher? At least, when she’s not the teacher in a school.
I can acknowledge that the sense of having outgrown my container is one I have been navigating for a long time. But that doesn’t mean that I am able or all that willing to release it. And the irony of that statement, given the space for ‘letting go’ that I hold for others, isn’t lost on me.
“No way to make sense of a world that wouldn’t let you pass, except to call an end to the way you had come”
It’s a funny thing to find yourself living within a poem.
I know I found David Whyte for a reason - his words helped me find the courage I needed to summon to make this decision to take a break from school for a while. But that line above is utterly chilling in its accuracy (no way to makes sense of a world that wouldn’t let you pass except to call an end to the way you had come); finding yourself stuck at an impasse is one of life’s recurring contexts - if you’re truly engaging with it, that is - and I think we need to speak more honestly of the heartbreaking necessity of leaving something behind in order to cross the threshold into the world that awaits.
For me, this is the world of teaching yoga and yoga teacher education. Navigating the depths and depth psychology. Marrying knowledge and wisdom. Bridging visible and invisible. It’s a world I’ve inhabited to some degree since 2013, but it’s now asking for a bigger sacrifice. Following your dharma will always involve a bumpier road, and perhaps more than a few detours en route.
“Answering the call requires us to face and tolerate risk.”
I used to have a pretty good relationship with risk. It’s not my first time taking a career break either, but you see how I have the permanent job to consider. Same school, structured routine. Minimal change, little risk. Lots of things ‘guaranteed’. I know many teachers who cannot wait to get their permanent job. I might sound ‘ungrateful’ (thank-you, patriarchy!) for saying this, but I honestly remember a strange sense of dread in the pit of my stomach the day I got mine. I think I knew deep down how much harder it would be for me to walk away, or even just take a break, from all that a permanent position guaranteed. My soul knew that the struggle to separate myself from the system would be arduous. And I wasn’t wrong.
It might be hard for some of you reading this to fully understand how this decision could have been so difficult, but i think you only have to look at my family to get at least a first insight; I am the eldest daughter of a nurse and a guard. I have NO models for entrepreneurship or self-employment within my family; my three sisters are a physio, a doctor, and a teacher. A mix of black sheep and second parent, I very early took on the sense of responsibility that comes with being the eldest girl, and I have allowed it to become my harshest taskmaster. For far too long it was more plausible for me and my above-average energy to manage two full-time jobs than to cut the cord of safety and security. Sure I could always just make more sacrifices in order to continue to do it all.
“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”
These past 18 months have brought a huge shift in perspective: We do not have to do it all just because we can. (Sing it, print it out and put it on your fridge door, make it your mantra - I do not have to do it all just because I can!)
There is tremendous discomfort that comes with shedding skin, but our expansion cannot result in anything else - they’re called growing pains for a reason. Just like we can choose to feel our way through all there is to feel in Sleeping Swan or Melting Heart, we too can simultaneously hold and honour the grief as it arises when we bring a chapter to a close, and call on our courage and curiosity to create the next one.
The lease on my apartment is up at the end of August. I really don’t have a clue where I’m headed. I’m staying in the empty space for a while - just like that really quiet but oh-so-potent space of potential at the bottom of the exhale, I am resisting the urge (conditioning?!) to forge ahead with all my plans right now. And although I am temporarily abandoning the shoes that brought me here to some degree, what is essential remains and will walk on, through it all. I am still a teacher even without a school to go to. I know I am not alone. And I really can’t wait to share the next chapter with you and see where it takes me.
I’ll see you soon,
Grace x
