Tuesday, February 19, 2019

Tuesday Slice: Five-thirty pm

Just three years ago, five-thirty pm marked my first hour home.  I might be throwing a load of laundry in the washing machine, putting together a plate for my high school boy, reheating leftovers for my husband and myself.  Five-thirty pm may have even called for a power nap on the couch, reading my emails or a book on the front porch, walking over to my neighbors' house for a chat.

The high school boy has since gone on to college, and doesn't need a ride home from school anymore.  My artificial boundary gone, five-thirty pm often finds me still at work.  There are emails to read and answer, lessons to plan, overdue tasks to complete.  Late yesterday afternoon, I hosted an online meeting, and was about to walk out the door before five-thirty pm (gasp!) when I realized there was a staff meeting in the library this morning.  Down went my purse and keys; the next thirty minutes were spent rearranging tables and adding chairs to fit our growing faculty.  Tablecloths were laid where the potluck would be placed.

There are moments of peace during these times:  waning sunlight through a window casting a previously unseen pattern on the carpet; the quiet clicking of my keyboard; the satisfaction of tasks completed.

Then I shut off the computer and the lights, lock the doors, and walk outside to a nearly empty parking lot.  The sun is setting in line with my road home, and any peace I felt is replaced with the sad realization that I am truly spent; I have little left to offer the rest of my day.  I drive home in silence, shuffle through the door, and stare at the list of what will once again remain undone at home.

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Afterthought:  I did not write this to garner pity or admiration.  This is an observation of the lack of balance in my energy these days, a struggle faced by more than a few educators.  I love my job, have written and will write about the wonderful moments that fill my days at school...but I also think it's important to note that this work can and often is depleting.  We must find ways to "fill our own buckets" to continue to be able to give.

4 comments:

  1. First: I love the very real sensory images - waning sunlight, a new pattern on the carpet, keyboard clicks, empty parking lots, silence. The sense of a transitional time in life is also real. And I can so relate to your spent-ness. You are right about not being alone and finding ways to refill our buckets - just yesterday I had a conversation with a former colleague who spoke of "reclaiming the joy of our work". I think it begins somewhere in finding or re-establishing a balance ... far easier said than done... beginning, perhaps. with carving out the time to just rest. It's vital. Here's to days of 5:30 power naps again! :)

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    1. Thanks, Fran. We were talking about "compassion fatigue" in our professional development yesterday, too. Add my introverted self to the mix, and I am downright drained by the end of the day, many days. Time to set the alarm on my phone to remind myself to go home earlier!

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  2. I didn't take it as a post to garner pity or admiration. I took it as a way of you being real, Chris. Thanks for writing about what your 5:30 p.m. looks like.

    I did a bit of writing about this on TWT a few years back. If you'd like me to share with you, then shoot me an email and I'll look for the mini-series I did on this kind of topic.

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    1. I would love to read those, Stacey, and share with my teachers, if it's okay with you!

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