A Big Week
On Monday of this week I knew what I wanted to write about for Reflection Sunday because a package came for me on a national holiday—unexpected. Fed Ex delivered a box from Western State Colorado University. I didn’t think I would be so excited to get my printed thesis in the mail. I also didn’t think it would be so big. It seemed like the perfect thing to write about—to reflect on.
This thesis consumed my time for an entire year. I dashed through the first draft, all 113,000 words, and then labored through each subsequent draft. For the second draft I cut it in half and rebuilt half the plot. I cut out some of my favorite point of view characters. I can’t remember exactly what I did for the third, fourth, and fifth drafts—a lot of adding sensory details, clean up, and polishing. By the end I didn’t know if I even liked the story anymore. But I finished it. I wrote a novel (or two, depending on how you look at it).
Getting the printed manuscript with my advisor’s signature finally gave me the tangible prove that I completed the hardest writing project of my life. Holding a book I wrote in my own hands, with a hard cover and sewn binding, felt good. It felt right. Like proof that I’m supposed to be writing. And this is the story I was meant to write.
But then on Tuesday I got a phone call. I didn’t know what direction the call was going to go in, so I sat with bated breath and shifted my weight between my feet so the elementary sized chair swiveled slightly beneath me. I was offered a job. A full time, year round, job with benefits and stability. Relief washed over me. My prayers had been answered. I didn’t have to think about it for more than a few minutes before I said yes.
I knew I wanted to write about the implications this change in career would have on my life. I’ll be a front desk receptionist at a physical therapy practice, and I am so grateful for the opportunity and excited, too.
On Wednesday I put in my two week notice with the district, and my job was posted on the website within a couple hours. In a whirlwind, I sent out an email to the staff, my coworkers, letting them know I’d be leaving.
The announcement brought a lot of congratulations that I didn’t know how to accept. I smiled and thanked each teacher for her support, but couldn’t help but imagine what life would be like without seeing them every day. I’ve worked at the school for over three and a half years now, very near four years. That’s long enough to know these women (and man) and their spouses. Their kids. I will miss them. A lot.
On Friday, the kiddo I’ve read with since Kindergarten told me that he taught his baby brother how to say my name. That afternoon I had to tell him that I wouldn’t be working at the school anymore after a couple weeks. I watched him put on a brave face and bite his lips while I told him how important working with him has been to me. I reminded him that when we started working together he couldn’t spell his own name and now he’s reading chapter books. He’s come so far. I told him it was very special to me that he taught his brother to say my name.
He nodded, but didn’t smile. He hugged me and I asked if he was okay. He nodded again. I asked him if he wanted to say anything. Again with the nodding and I waited. “I’m going to miss you,” he said after swallowing a couple times. And that was the first time I thought I might cry about the new job and mourn the change.
These things are all good. They’re things I don’t want to forget in a month or a year. Or ten. I want to remember what it felt like to hold my printed thesis for the first time, what it felt like to get the job offer, and what it felt like to share this sweet news with the people I’ve known since I graduated from my undergrad. Big things. I want to remember the almost tears in my reading buddy’s eyes—because they meant that I’ve made a difference in his life, just like he’s made a difference in mine. Big big things.
If you're interested in what I've been listening to on 8tracks this evening:
