Twenty-Seven.

Each year, somewhere around July, the sun begins to get lazy.  It slowly rises from nuzzling the other side of the world…

just…

a minute…

or maybe two…

later…

each day.

Then it begins to creep away – stealing the day just a few minutes earlier.

Those are the first subtle signs of fall.  The first warning school will return, causing warmth will fade into mystical colored leaves.  For the last twenty-six years, flutters of excitement pulsed through my veins.  This year those butterflies must be migrating later.  I’m starting to think that in year twenty-seven they don’t migrate at all.

The thing about a teacher is that it’s the only career you’ve been in almost your entire life.  My mom started me in Pre-Kindergarden when I was four.  It was a big deal – still is to her – because it was more than a day care… they would actually teach the kids!  I was hooked immediately and for twenty-six years, I got excited when the sun rolled out of bed a little late, and started to set moments earlier.

Twenty-seven is lacking in awe and wonder.  I am not looking forward to waking up in the dark at 5:00 a.m., and walking through a cold, dark parking lot in to work at 6:15 a.m.  I’m not looking forward to crowded halls.  I’m dreading students who refuse to complete assignments and those won’t participate in a game or activity I spent hours putting together.  I’m repulsed by athlete who don’t show up to practice, but want to be starters in the game.

This year is TEN.  At the end will mark a full decade since I received my Bachelor’s Degree.  I started school twenty-seven years ago.  I can’t imagine doing anything else with my life.  But I know that if the butterflies don’t start to flutter, it’s because they’re dead.  Twenty-seven years is an unprecedented time for such a small, beautiful creature to live.  The average life-span of a butterfly is between one week and nine months.  That’s roughly between .00071% and 2.769% of the twenty-seven years this butterfly has flown.

As the sunlight dwindles toward pitch black mornings and 11-14 hour work days, I begin to ask myself if preforming CPR on my career is really necessary.  An estimated 10-ish% of people who receive CPR outside of a hospital survive.  Those who do survive often experience recurring complications for the remainder of their lives.  CPR patients generally do not survive long term… although those who suffered sudden cardiac arrest from sudden trauma seem to have the most favorable statistics.

My career seems to have become an old, frail butterfly suffering from heart and lung complications.  It is ready to sit back and watch the sun rise… and set.

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