(no subject)
There's this theory, maybe you've heard of it, that every person has exactly one "twin" in this world. Each one of us, somewhere, has a twin that looks like us and acts like us, that we will probably never meet.
But what often happens is that you meet someone that reminds you of someone you already know. And it's a little freaky.
After nearly two days of sitting through discussions about differentiated learning and hands-on learning, I was preparing for my final workshop of the NCTM Conference. I sat down at my table and began to busy myself with looking busy (so that no one would attempt irritating small talk), when my eyes beheld a "twin" of a guy I knew in college.
This guy from college, Marc, was really cool. He was one of those guys that was vegan, a human rights and anti-gentrification activist, that really liked American Spirit cigarettes and seducing unsuspecting college girls. He was quite a charmer, and I'll be the first to admit that I developed a monster crush on him the moment I first met him.
But I digress.
At the conference, this "twin" with disheveled hair and thick, black glasses sat down at my table and began reading a an advanced text on set theory. He carried a canvas tote with SchoolY logo. He looked so cool and so much like Marc that I began to swoon in my seat and immediately began an attempt at irritating small talk. Luckily, in my original search for a private-school teaching position, I had come across SchoolY as the _ideal_ upper-class, liberal arts, intellectually challenging institution of learning in the LA area.
Score. I found a topic o' conversation. And though I am happily involved in a long distance relationship, two days of talking to mathematics teachers from around the country will drive anyone to attempt conversation with someone that looks cool, if only for the sole purpose of talking about music or needle-point because, frankly, it's not math.
"So tell me about SchoolY," I blurt out.
The Marc Twin looked up and said, "It's great."
A few conversation-filler sentences later he said, "Well, we really need a pre-calc teacher."
Some email addresses and phone numbers were exchanged, and I promised to send him my resume.
I then spent the next hour and a half in deep thought about my accidental dilemma.
Do I like my job? For what reasons do I like my job? What are the things that I dislike about my job? Am I in it just for the kids? Do I like my kids? Do I think I'd like other kids better? Should I stay with HighschoolX because I know that the kids really need a teacher like me, or should I consider the possibility of working at another institution, say SchoolY, because it would be better for me?
I couldn't stop thinking. I couldn't stop analyzing the pros and the cons, and feeling guilty for even considering the pros and the cons of my job. I love my job.
Or do I?
I followed the Marc Twin around like a puppy, asking every question that popped in my head in hopes of getting a response that utterly repelled me from considering this option that this stranger had just laid out before me. We got coffee, and I asked him questions. He told me he was vegan (like Marc) and I told him I liked soy milk in my Chai Lattes. He told me he had to make a phone call, and I sat waiting.
And then he told me that his department chair was on her way, that she was going to interview me at Starbucks in the lobby of the Anaheim Hilton.
And so went the next hour of my day.
* * *
The week after next I have to be sick. I have been invited to teach a class at SchoolY as the (nearly) last step in the hiring process as their new Pre-calculus teacher. If hired, not only will I teach less hours of the day, with half as many students in each class as well as a _handful_ of other teacher's wet dreams, I will also be paid >$7k a year more, with more holidays and more personal time.
So do I feel guilty? A little. But am I freakishly excited? You better f*in believe it.
I'll be happy either way, don't worry. But feeling like I was being heavily recruited, if even for just an hour, was really flattering, and validated that nagging inner feeling that this is what I love, and this is what I was meant to do.