Endings seem simple. THE END in bold on the last page of a fairy tale; credits moving with music at the conclusion of a movie; a monosyllabic BYE! before hanging up a phone or more likely touching a round red button at the bottom of a touchscreen. End punctuation: . ! ?
Dates and times help signify finality. May 14 was the last day of my classes at College of Staten Island. Today, June 26, is the last day of public school for NYC students and teachers. But these are mere symbols, temporary markers to put on our calendars.
In reality, our lives are in perpetual motion, connected to the expanse of time, part of a perpetual continuum where every moment is a confluence of vibrations, sensations, disruptions. Discomfort, trauma, joy, freedom, relaxation... never end; they sometimes exist, and they sometimes don't. The last day of school isn't really the end of school for most. The last day at a job usually isn't the last day of work. Doing the last of 30 pushups or coming out of holding a long plank isn't the end of being in a strenuous physical position.
It is natural to desire and dread endings, to have complex emotions around them. I have found comfort in knowing that the traffic on the BQE will end and I will eventually get home to Staten Island from Queens or Brooklyn, that my mother's stay in a rehabilitation center was not permanent. And it is natural that we see endings differently. For most teachers and students, today, the last day of school, is a day to delight in, but for my daughter who graduated from 5th grade, it is a melancholy day that signifies being separated from her friends.
Many people have been asking me how I feel now that my sabbatical is over. But this is an oversimplification of its meaning and impact on my life. The education courses are over, which I am ecstatic about. While I gained some insight on the psychology of learning and sharpened some of my word processing skills, I learned more from my self-inquiry and personal syllabus than from the prescribed courses at the college. And while the period of time set aside for my sabbatical is over, it still exists in me. I have been changed by it and my teaching will be, too.
My routines and responsibilities will shift but I don't dread the overness of my sabbatical. I have been slightly restored by a year of being a student and full-time parent and dog-walker. Within the limitations of my children's academic, social, and extracurricular schedules, I found space and time to practice yoga, read, write, and take long walks. When I stop myself from being overly self-critical and abstain from thinking, "I didn't write enough" or "I wish I hadn't gained 5 pounds", I can recognize and value the times I spent watching my kids spend time in the playground with their friends while I chatted with other parents, remember the books I read and get excited about books I plan to read in the future, appreciate the 7-8 hours of sleep I had on many weeknights (I will miss this the most).
Better not to see my sabbatical as having ended or of seeing this last hour before I have to pick up my children from school as my last hour of my freedom. Better to find the right ending to this essay and move on.
A little over a month ago, my mother's right femur broke which started a new chapter in her life. She had surgery and stayed at Elmhurst Hospital for about three days and then spent three weeks at New York Center for Rehabilitation in Astoria. For her, these weeks were restorative and with two hours of physical and occupational therapy every day, she gained strength and was able to walk again. She was discharged about a week and a half ago, and is happy to be back in her own apartment without a roommate and the constant presence of nurses and other staff. She is walking around with the help of a walker and cane, watching her favorite TV shows on her couch, having meals with family and friends at her dining room table, no longer restricted to hospital food. Seeing her throughout this time, I marveled at her positive attitude and her physical progress. I was grateful for all the medical attention she received, but most importantly, for my family. My brother and his girlfriend supported her every day life and needs, seeing her almost every day that she was at rehabilitation. My cousins, aunts, and uncles, along with my mother's many friends visited her regularly.
Being on sabbatical also allowed me the time to visit and be with my mother while she was recovering from surgery. While driving back and forth from Queens several times a week added thousands of miles to my car and ended up in a few parking tickets, the trips were the travel elements of my sabbatical. And this journey continues. I will leave Muse Cafe soon, rush to move my car before alternate side cleaning, go pick up my kids, and celebrate the last day of school with a picnic in Prospect Park. There will be grass, tears, sweat, laughter, and most importantly, time spent with people I love.
Dates and times help signify finality. May 14 was the last day of my classes at College of Staten Island. Today, June 26, is the last day of public school for NYC students and teachers. But these are mere symbols, temporary markers to put on our calendars.
In reality, our lives are in perpetual motion, connected to the expanse of time, part of a perpetual continuum where every moment is a confluence of vibrations, sensations, disruptions. Discomfort, trauma, joy, freedom, relaxation... never end; they sometimes exist, and they sometimes don't. The last day of school isn't really the end of school for most. The last day at a job usually isn't the last day of work. Doing the last of 30 pushups or coming out of holding a long plank isn't the end of being in a strenuous physical position.
It is natural to desire and dread endings, to have complex emotions around them. I have found comfort in knowing that the traffic on the BQE will end and I will eventually get home to Staten Island from Queens or Brooklyn, that my mother's stay in a rehabilitation center was not permanent. And it is natural that we see endings differently. For most teachers and students, today, the last day of school, is a day to delight in, but for my daughter who graduated from 5th grade, it is a melancholy day that signifies being separated from her friends.
Many people have been asking me how I feel now that my sabbatical is over. But this is an oversimplification of its meaning and impact on my life. The education courses are over, which I am ecstatic about. While I gained some insight on the psychology of learning and sharpened some of my word processing skills, I learned more from my self-inquiry and personal syllabus than from the prescribed courses at the college. And while the period of time set aside for my sabbatical is over, it still exists in me. I have been changed by it and my teaching will be, too.
My routines and responsibilities will shift but I don't dread the overness of my sabbatical. I have been slightly restored by a year of being a student and full-time parent and dog-walker. Within the limitations of my children's academic, social, and extracurricular schedules, I found space and time to practice yoga, read, write, and take long walks. When I stop myself from being overly self-critical and abstain from thinking, "I didn't write enough" or "I wish I hadn't gained 5 pounds", I can recognize and value the times I spent watching my kids spend time in the playground with their friends while I chatted with other parents, remember the books I read and get excited about books I plan to read in the future, appreciate the 7-8 hours of sleep I had on many weeknights (I will miss this the most).
Better not to see my sabbatical as having ended or of seeing this last hour before I have to pick up my children from school as my last hour of my freedom. Better to find the right ending to this essay and move on.
A little over a month ago, my mother's right femur broke which started a new chapter in her life. She had surgery and stayed at Elmhurst Hospital for about three days and then spent three weeks at New York Center for Rehabilitation in Astoria. For her, these weeks were restorative and with two hours of physical and occupational therapy every day, she gained strength and was able to walk again. She was discharged about a week and a half ago, and is happy to be back in her own apartment without a roommate and the constant presence of nurses and other staff. She is walking around with the help of a walker and cane, watching her favorite TV shows on her couch, having meals with family and friends at her dining room table, no longer restricted to hospital food. Seeing her throughout this time, I marveled at her positive attitude and her physical progress. I was grateful for all the medical attention she received, but most importantly, for my family. My brother and his girlfriend supported her every day life and needs, seeing her almost every day that she was at rehabilitation. My cousins, aunts, and uncles, along with my mother's many friends visited her regularly.
Being on sabbatical also allowed me the time to visit and be with my mother while she was recovering from surgery. While driving back and forth from Queens several times a week added thousands of miles to my car and ended up in a few parking tickets, the trips were the travel elements of my sabbatical. And this journey continues. I will leave Muse Cafe soon, rush to move my car before alternate side cleaning, go pick up my kids, and celebrate the last day of school with a picnic in Prospect Park. There will be grass, tears, sweat, laughter, and most importantly, time spent with people I love.
