Today, the sky is gray; the clouds hang low and rain is threatening to pour again, for the 19th day in a row. The air smells damp and somebody nearby is smoking a cigarette that makes my head hurt. Despite all of that, today is beautiful. Today I am filled with hope and joy and some emotion I can’t identify. For you see, today I have begun the final countdown to summer break.

This summer is not just any summer break, mind you. This summer, I am a father—to a rambunctious 3-year-old, no less. This is the summer after my tenth year of teaching. This is a summer to celebrate.

It is also the first summer of the rest of my life as I take a step out of the classroom—out of education entirely—and move into a new career. My path has taken a new trajectory, and honestly, I’m still not entirely sure how I feel about it.

That’s not to say I’m not excited. I am excited. This was a choice I made, a chance I willingly took, but it’s still terrifying. I have spent 10 years perfecting my craft. I’ve gone to hundreds of hours of workshops to improve my classroom management, my students’ engagement, my content knowledge. I’ve presented at workshops and mentored and coached newer teachers. I was on the path to educational greatness—or at least tremendous success.

So what changed?

In short? Nothing. And everything.

I still love teaching; I can’t even imagine what next year is going to look like when August rolls around and I’m not filling our house with school supplies to be used up by the grubby hands of teenagers hellbent on eating every Dixon Ticonderoga I own. (Seriously, where do all those pencils go? Every one of them goes through an entire pack of 84 pencils by October.)

I can’t imagine not sitting in in-service training while somebody—who is not as knowledgeable in my content as I am—tells me how to deliver the same content I’ve been teaching for the past three years. What will I do when I can go to the bathroom whenever I want? What happens when I’m no longer a Pavlovian slave to the bells that dismiss students and dictate when I eat, when I pee, when I go home?

These are all questions I have asked myself hundreds of thousands of times on end. And the honest answer is: I have no idea. I can’t even begin to imagine what it’s going to be like or how I’m going to feel, or what I’m going to do, or who I’m going to see. All of my friends are teachers, for crying out loud, they’re not going to be able to meet me for lunch (another thing I’m really looking forward to.)

But I’m still taking this leap and trying something new. Exciting and terrifying as it may be.

So what am I doing now that I’m not teaching next year?

Technically, I’m making soap. Shameless plug: you can find my book and pop culture-inspired soaps at www.epiloguesoaps.com.

And I’m really excited for that! I have so enjoyed experimenting with my designs, combining my love of art and reading with soap making. This summer’s release is going to be a lot of fun; I’m excited for the big reveal that’s coming.

I’m also going to be reviving this blog is a real way. I know I’ve said in the past that I’m going to be more structured about posting, only for that promise to be broken. Multiple times. Because I’m the literal worst.

But I’ve actually scheduled writing time. I’ve started planning themes. I’ve started prepping for my summer reading. I’ve made habit trackers in my bullet journal and everything. Writing is going to be a main focus of mine, again, not just something I do whenever I’ve got 13 seconds between work and picking up my son from preschool.

As writing goes, it actually has made it’s way back to my priorities, where it belongs. I’ve been working on a new book; I’m 20,000 words in and always moving forward. It’s been so long since I’ve been this inspired to write.

I’m also going to be shopping my completed manuscripts back out to agents or publishers. I’m going to be considering self-publishing. I’m going to be editing one of my manuscripts so I can fix some plot holes that hindsight revealed to me.

And I am so excited for this opportunity!

Never in 100 years did I dream that I’d have the chance to quit my job to become a full-time creative. Writing, soap making, designing shirts for my mom’s company. So many things that are right in my wheelhouse, but that I never would have pursued before.

Because it took me until I was 33 years old to realize that security may not actually be the most important thing after all. Maybe limiting myself, pushing myself into this box, fitting into the space that I knew I could fit into because it provided a steady paycheck and benefits and standard hours, maybe that was more damaging than it was helpful.

Maybe what I need is to just go for it. Maybe this is my turning point. This is the point in the biopic of my life during which Rachel Platten’s “Fight Song” plays in the background, the colors change from muted to bright, and I’m running up a staircase (for some reason?) with a big grin on my face and my proverbial trophy held high above my head. Maybe this is the moment things change.

And maybe I fail miserably, and I’ll be thankful that I have a teaching degree to fall back on, that I have a career I am passionate about that I can still return to. Maybe it’s nice to have a safety net.

So while I may not know who I am when you strip away my title as teacher, and pull me out of the classroom, and take away my curriculum, I do know that I’m excited. And this is not a crisis of identity; this is a chance for reinvention.

I’m exciting to meet the person I’m going to be a year from now. I can’t wait to meet him.

Yours,
The Plucky Reader

If you don’t know what’s going on in the world, then congratulations! You have found the only rock big enough to shut out an actual uprising. (But really, not congratulations, you really should be world aware.)

I have been debating, going back and forth, not if I should say something–of course I should–but what I should say. Because words aren’t enough. My words aren’t enough. Nothing I can possibly type, write, or even say will fix anything, will change anything. But the the past few days have taught me that trying is more important that my feeling of inadequacy. Not, not my feeling. I am inadequate. And that’s okay; because this isn’t about me.

Silence is violence.

This phrase crossed my social media more than once and it has left a lasting impact. Because it seems counterintuitive at the surface. How can you be violent if you’re doing nothing?

That’s exactly how. By doing nothing.

By sitting idly by and not speaking up against injustices and race issues, we are contributing to the problem. Everybody has an obligation to correcting the racism that is prevalent in today’s society–not just in America but worldwide. It is your responsibility as a human being; and if you don’t think you’re part of the problem, you are. You absolutely are. I am part of the problem. We are all part of the problem.

And I could sit here and harp on ways to fix it, but as a white man with a lot of privilege, I’m not really qualified to give that kind of advice. So instead, I will turn it over to some people who are. The following is a list of books collected not only by myself, but compiled by other teachers, public figures, and–most importantly–people of color who are the actually qualified people to teach me and everybody about race issues.

1. The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness by Michelle Alexander
2. White Fragility: Why It’s So Hard for White People to Talk About Racism by Robin DiAngelo
3. White Rage: The Unspoken Truth of Our Racial Divide by Carol Anderson
4. They Can’t Kill Us All: The Story of the Struggle for Black Lives by Wesley Lowery
5. Between the World and Me by Ta-Nehisi Coates
6. Your Silence Will Not Protect You by Audre Lorde
7. How to Be an Antiracist by Ibram X. Kendi

And for you fiction lovers, a bonus pick: The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas

All of these books address race and racial issues in a real, straight-forward way. They’re not delicate. And that’s okay. Delicate is not what we need right now.

Refinery29 compiled this list of black-owned bookstores that I encourage you to consider patronizing. You can find it here.

Read. Think. Love. Do Better. This is my call to everybody.

Yours,
The Plucky Reader

In the musical, Billy Elliot, the title character is asked to describe how dancing makes him feel. He sings one of my favorite songs from any musical ever, “Electricity”. In a touching song, Billy explains exactly how he feels when he’s dancing, and the audience is given a direct look into Billy’s thoughts, into his soul.

I can’t really explain it
I haven’t got the words
It’s a feeling that you can’t control
I suppose its like forgetting
Losing who you are
And at the same time
Something makes you whole
Its like that there’s a music
Playing in your ear
And I’m listening, and I’m listening
And then I disappear

And then I feel a change
Like a fire deep inside
Something bursting me wide open
Impossible to hide

“Electricity” from Billy Elliot, Lyrics and Music by Lee Hall and Elton John

I’m no dancer–although I can do a mean shuffle-ball-change in my tap shoes–but I can totally understand exactly what Billy means. I know what it feels like to chase after that music that’s impossible to hear. I know what it means to be so absorbed in your dream, that the only way to explain it is through metaphor and analogy.

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As most (many, all) of you know, much of the world is under quarantine because of COIVID-19. There is a lot of propaganda from all sides–at least here in America where everything must be driven by politics, else is cannot exist–that says this is a media hype created by the liberals, or an attempt for the conservatives to look good because they took action. And so much of this discourse is surrounding people and group thought, that the truth that people worldwide are getting very, very sick is going to the wayside.

So today I’m not going into all of the politics surrounding this issue. Today, I will only deal with the truth, and my truth. My experience is the only experience I am a true expert on; and it’s the only side of the story I can tell.

What this quarantine means for me is a lot of time away from work. I know I’ve kept is a major secret that I’m a teacher (aka not a secret at all). So while I am thankfully not economically impacted by this, this social distancing is impacting my job nonetheless.

I am a mega, super, giant extrovert. So I am first and foremost made really uncomfortable by staying home all the time. I require people. I require going out. I require attention (and lots of it), so being cooped up inside really puts a strain on my mental health. I feel lost without other people, which I’m sure is a ridiculous thing to say. But I do. I long for days with my coworkers. I long for a chance to see them face-to-face, to be in proximity. And they’re struggling too, as evidenced by our nonstop group texts.

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A few weeks ago, I drove three hours from my house to the Dallas area stay the night with my best friend before my flight to Rhode Island. I prefer flying out of Dallas, even though there is a small regional airport in the city where I live. It also gives me an excuse to spend time with my best friend and her kids, who have thought of me as their uncle since birth.

As I was driving, I was listening to Stay Sexy and Don’t Get Murdered: The Definitive How-To Guide. At this point, I have spent more than two years listening to Georgia Hardstark and Karen Kilgariff tell me about heinous crimes. While I’m aware they’re not everybody’s cup of tea for so many reasons, they are exactly my cup of tea. So I knew this memoir was exactly what I needed for my drive. And as I listened to their words, I was overcome with tears.

Now, to be fair, I’ve had a really tough few weeks at work. I’ve experienced stress from a million angles and I haven’t have a chance to properly sort through anything I’ve been feeling. But something about their words, about this book existing, and this particular drive hit home for me. Something Georgia said about going to see Ray Bradbury speak after his books essentially saved her life.

After she had the chance to talk to him in person (oh my God, can you imagine? I’d have died for real.) and give him a letter she’d written for him. In the mail a few weeks later, she received a package from THE Ray Bradbury himself. In it was a letter thanking her for her kinds words, and a copy of Zen in the Art of Writing, which he’d signed and inscribed on the inside: Onward!

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