I recently taught what was most likely my final class at my language center, although it was remote, hundreds of miles away from NYC. I wrote a similar post in June when I taught my final class actually located at the center before a four month hiatus to focus on reviewing my writing. I was unexpectedly offered this evening class the day after I told my other school I wasn't available because I didn't reside in the city anymore. The past eight weeks of this online class formed a helpful bridge allowing me to keep my savings from dwindling before my first full family reunion in two years. I'm having a blast playing with my four year-old nephew, chatting with my sister and brother-in-law, and watching my parents delight in playing their roles as grandparents.
When I began this class, I initially planned to be off for the holidays, and if they really wanted me back I would consider it in the new year. But after eight weeks of talking to black squares representing students, more than half of whom were hardly ever even there, I've had enough. Last night there were quite a few of the usual expressions of gratitude, for which I am thankful, and I will likely miss their company somewhat. Then again, I've done this so many times that it doesn't mean so much to me anymore when we all say good bye. Although it feels anti-climactic, I am realizing that it's been eight years working for this school, the chronological equivalent of two presidential terms. I'd never been in a job for a full year before this one, so I think I'm ready for something new that helps me grow.
Moving on often makes me happily sentimental, and I enjoyed listening to certain songs while recalling all the glowing faces of those intriguing souls, each from distant places with myriad goals
