There is always so much you can do, and each thing left undone feels like a failure to me. I am accustomed to being successful, and it is difficult for me to cut myself some slack without feeling like I'm slacking off. I can thank my dad for much of my work ethic, and for the belief that work is inherently good. When I was growing up, playing imaginary games in the woods, reading stories, or watching TV, he was pulling weeds, laying bark dust, or performing some other task. He seemed to never stop working, and I wondered where his capacity to work hard came from. I've seen him build his own company up from scratch, tame acres of wilderness, and build a dream house out of nothing. Now he is able to enjoy the success he deserves, but his work ethic is still a fundamental part of him. I don't think he would be able to spend a whole day at home without cleaning or fixing something.
I'm not quite like that, but I'm proud that I work hard. I push myself to take on jobs and challenges that are difficult and time consuming because I want to test my abilities. I don't mean this as a competition with anyone else: the competition is entirely with myself. I have deeply engrained within myself a sense that I have potential to do something, to be someone, and that I need to work to actualize this potential. So I push myself hard, to try to improve, to try to accomplish something. Sometimes this mentality causes me to lose sight of the forest for the trees, however.
It really started on Monday, watching the Ducks play in the national championship game. It was great to watch the game and to celebrate a historic season for Mariota and the rest of the flock, and it naturally included drinking beer and chowing down on pizza. As the game progressed, and it was clear that the Buckeyes were going to win, I kept going back to the fridge for another beer or for another slice of pizza. At the end of the game I was drunk, stuffed, and morose. I just wanted to go to bed.
The next morning I awoke, naturally, with a hangover. The excited atmosphere that had pervaded Meadow View the previous day was gone, replaced with a sort of tired boredom. Five out of the six 7th and 8th grade teachers are U of O alumni, so the loss really affected the entire middle school. We had joked earlier that if the Ducks lost on Monday that we would just take a sick day on Tuesday. Nobody followed through on the joke, so we just muddled through the day and the staff meeting after school. After the meeting I ran from one tutoring appointment to the next, and got home around 7, exhausted.
Ironically, I didn't take the sick day on Tuesday, although that was likely the day that I got sick. My immune system was worsened by the beer from the night before, and one of the little germ factories we call "middle schoolers" must have infected me. I woke up on Wednesday, and I knew that I had caught some little bug, but I knew I could make it through the day. I had to write sub plans for Thursday because of some math meetings, I had a mid year goals meeting with my principal, and I had to prepare for a formal observation on Friday. There seemed to be no way that I could afford to take the day off on Wednesday.
However, pushing myself that hard caused me to feel worse on Thursday than I did on Wednesday. I threw together some more sub plans for today and prepared to take my second sick day of the year. Today I've just been hanging around the home, reading, listening to records, and relaxing. Physically, I'm feeling better than I have all week, although I am still far from 100%. Mentally, I feel better than I have in a few weeks. Although the tasks left unfinished are still waiting for me at school, they feel remote and unimportant compared to the rest of my life. The papers will be graded, and lessons will be planned, and the world will keep on spinning.
You never expect to get sick, although I probably could have foreseen that drinking on a school night is not the best plan. At the end of the day, I am glad that I took the day off. I needed a break from the minutiae that teachers have to deal with every day, and I needed to step back and put the work that I do in perspective. I cannot let stresses about curriculum or testing become more important than taking care of myself and spending time with the ones I love. Students remember their teachers for the people who they are and for the human connection that is forged, not for the quadratic formula or the periodic table. Some students crave that connection and need love and support that they cannot find anywhere else. To them, I am more than just an instructor, but also a mentor, coach, confidant, and counselor. If I allow the stresses of the job to take away from the human that I am, I rob students of the teacher that they deserve. It is not enough to simply teach content. The job is to teach students.
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