The Great "I Am"

This weekend, as I walked vigilantly around the house with sandals on, I realized that the scorpion incident occurred on Wednesday, the same day that classes began at the school where I used to teach. The same school whose mascot is … the scorpion.

The striking coincidence stayed on my mind, and I tried to determine the meaning behind the ironic timing of my encounter. Finally, a profound conclusion: the incident meant … nothing. For someone who enjoys finding patterns and correlations at every turn in life (except, unfortunately, in math), I could not pigeonhole this event. I tried to make the scorpion in the closet a symbol of something, I really did. Symbolism is probably my favorite literary device. But the only thing I achieved was to think more about teaching than I have in weeks.

When you meet someone for the first time, the conversation invariably runs a certain course. Names are exchanged, then occupations. “What do you do?” “I’m a teacher.” Then they ask what grade/subject I teach, followed by exclamations of horror upon hearing that I teach high school, mingled with relief that THEY don’t.

That simple statement has always given me pause, since the first time I proudly said it: “I am a teacher.” Before that, I slouched around like a dog with its tail between its legs. “What do you do?” “Uh, I’m not sure what I want to do yet. I was an English major.” I felt like a new person when I was able to give a different answer; I finally felt like I had an identity. I loved my job, I liked working with the students, and every day presented new challenges. Life was never boring.

Life, however, was passing me by. Without launching into the highs and lows of teaching, I’ll just say that being a teacher while newly married did not provide the same satisfaction as being a teacher while single. My husband had to compete with my job when he shouldn’t have had to compete with anything.

­­When it became clear we would move out of state, I decided not to continue teaching, at least for this year, to take a break and get settled into our first house. More importantly, I wanted to spend more time with my husband and focus on being a better wife, so right now I’m looking for a part-time job that doesn’t involve any food except my lunch.

But now it’s August, and I’ve reached the dreaded limbo of work. I went online to update my profile at my alma maters, and the “Occupation” blank remained blank. There’s no option for “Changing Careers,” so I just canceled the update screen. I don’t mind that I can no longer say, “I’m a teacher,” but what is my answer now? “Kept Woman,” as my husband proclaims to anyone who will listen?

Since beginning my teaching career, I lived each July like a death row inmate having his last meal, going on vacation and clinging desperately to my last days of freedom while at the same time trying frantically to prepare for class. When August came, I just wished it was over before it even began. August’s general claim to fame is the start of school. It’s a month without a major holiday, so what good is it? Before this year, I never stopped to think about what significance August may have outside the universe of teaching. But having a blank for my Occupation has made me take a closer look at what August has to offer.

I’ve learned that some plants in our backyard bloom as late as August, so we can expect the beautiful color to continue. Each day, I look outside to see new day lilies open to the sun. The butterfly bush, now that it’s been pruned properly, is doing its job – producing tiny pink flowers that draw monarchs and other butterflies. I have read more non-teaching books in the past few weeks than I have in a very long time. I started a blog.

For the first time in five years, I have a different answer to that conversation starter, “What do you do?”

I am enjoying August, like I never have before.