A lot can happen in just two days

I found myself looking into the Praxis exam today. It's the exam that I'd have to take and pass before I could re-enroll in my graduate program to get my teaching certificate. I didn't think I'd ever go there again. When I withdrew from the program last year, I told myself teaching wasn't for me--especially if I'd have to teach for tests and worry about my job security the entire time. I'm not saying that teachers shouldn't have to prove themselves as good teachers to teach, because I agree. I just know that when I said I wanted to teach English it was because I love to write. Nothing seemed to suit me better than to show that there is a refuge and an outlet in writing. Now, English classes are being taught with test scores, school rankings, and job security in mind. Not my idea of a good time.

However, there is something I must admit. For me, having a teaching certificate appears to hold security. I have an English degree, but no teaching certificate. I realize that an English degree is very versatile, but with no teaching certificate, all I see are jobs with a flood of office work and papers to be filed. Again, not my idea of a good time. Even as much as I talk myself out of getting pushed around by daunting numbers within the school system, I can't help but re-consider the job that I was so sure that I'd have for eight years or so: teaching.

When I withdrew last May, I'd been highly troubled by the realization that teaching wasn't for me. After all, I'd considered myself a soon-to-be teacher for many years, and even took teaching English courses my junior and senior year of college. However, things would take a turn after I was accepted and began the Masters in Teaching program at Washington State University Vancouver, and while I spent four months attending classes feeling half-blank to the idea of policies and...politics within our schools.

As I wrote and wrote my way through the semester, I began to unravel that maybe it wasn't the teaching that I thought I would love, but is the writing that I love. So I took a plunge and withdrew. Then I went to the library and checked out a bunch of books on freelance writing. Then a few months later I received an email from Tim Perrin, a screenwriter, responding to a post that I wrote last May, where I quoted an excerpt from an article he wrote. He basically told me to quit putting off the thing I love; to quit saying I'll do it later when I have more time, because the amount of tomorrows is unknown. Stunned that an actual "writer" would send me such an email, or rather, an inspiring essay written solely to me, felt like another nudge in the direction I'd been dreaming about: writing. I emailed him back with much thanks. He emailed me again with another letter worthy of framing.

Then another couple of months later, I began my quest of writing my book proposal. Things would go great--success on the horizon; passion exploding from my fingers; an aching turned into advocacy--a reason for my pain.

Then things would start to unravel. Struggle would bulldoze its way into our lives and the lives close to us, wiping out normalcy and contentment. A death, lies, an overdose, a relationship teetering on a break-up. I've been trying to gather some perspective here, but it feels like with all the uncertainty, the last thing I should be trying to do it start a career in a field where there is no certainty. In freelance writing, you are your own boss. You come up with the ideas, then work your ass off to bring them to fruition and to sell them, if they get sold at all. Then I envision myself crawling under the blanket of normalcy in at least a teaching career. See me running circles?

With my mind off-kilter and uncertainty looming over the once bright horizon, I write for answers. I reach out to you, my blogging friend, for encouragement. I write with hopes that by the end of this post, I'll have stumbled upon some realization--a thought that might catapult me back the other direction where the clouds were breaking and the horizon promised something clear and beautiful; when the thing I loved felt attainable, and positive affirmation whispered to me: you can. you can.

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