I found this while rummaging around. It's just as true today as the moment my fingers touched keys nearly four years ago...perhaps, more so.
June 13, 2008 I packed up my classroom a couple of weeks ago. I know I told you I was quitting but I never really explained how or why. To be honest, I didn't want to and haven't even brought my boxes home yet.
Part of me is really excited to know I'm not leaving because I didn't like it or because I wasn't good at it but the rest of me is really, really sad because I'm going to miss the 986 kids I saw every day, the 40 kids who wrote stories and read books with me, and my friends. Not to mention, I...have...no...idea what's about to happen next.
I quit because I love someone more than I love my job.
I told Ben it didn't matter where we lived because I can teach anywhere and it's true, I can. It's just hard for me to imagine myself somewhere when I don't know where "anywhere" is.
...and now I'm packing up my house so other people will be able to imagine themselves in it and want to buy it. That's hard. The thought of putting my life into tubs scares me a little. I know it's silly but part of me feels a significance in packing it away. I hold the drawings Ruth taped to the wall near my bed and my desk and I don't want to put them away. I'm afraid I'll forget, that something will get lost, that somehow I won't remember...
And I'm sad even though I've never been so happy.