The last week of school is finally here. I can’t wait for this school year to be over. The goodbyes have already started.
This year feels different. It feels heavy with a stagnant inertia. The excitement of the beginning of summer is clouded by the fatigue of a drawn out school year. It should’ve ended last week. Or, even, the week before that. It’s lumbering along, heavy footed.
The summer months bring promise. They are rejuvenating. Once the weight of the school year has been lifted, the lightness of a cool breeze on a hot summer’s night feels pleasant without a cardigan. I look forward to what I might be able to achieve, knowing I likely won’t get to most of it.
I want to feel a passion for teaching again. I want to enjoy the company of my students and be able to shown concern for something meaningful to them, something that has long since become commonplace for me. I want to remember what they said, or what I said. I want to want to put in the work to help my students be successful.
Right now, I feel like I just don’t care. All of my energy is spent on showing up. This morning, I had to come to abrupt stop while driving into the parking lot because I was unaware of what I was doing. Three colleagues we walking out in front of me. I forgot to hit the clutch and stalled the car. This is how most days feel. Abrupt. Stalled. Restarted. Parked.
This should feel like the end of a long road trip, pleasantly lazy with a touch of urgency. Instead, it’s like waiting at the mechanics who said they’d be done an hour ago but who has yet to drive the car into the garage.
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