Teacher Heart: The Perfect Fit

People often use the term "transition" to describe life after serving in the Peace Corps. I don't like it because "transition" implies an end, a goal, a destination. And now, having been back in America for almost two years (the same length of time that I served, which is an unsettling statistic), Pohnpei is nowhere near a faint memory. Each and every day my mind wanders to those people and experiences. They are constantly woven into my perception of the world and my daily decision-making. I regularly try to include anecdotes about my time on the island in my conversations, not as some Third Goal initiative (Peace Corps Third Goal is to educate Americans about people in other countries), but simply because it is such a big part of my story. And as any RPCV (Returned Peace Corps Volunteer) will tell you, these sorts of anecdotes are typically met with blank stares and fake encouragement. This is no fault of the listener, but simply a symptom of having not experienced it, of not understanding.

This disconnect has proved challenging during my job search. For me, the girl who jumped on a plane to teach in the jungle is the same teacher I am today. She still wants to make a difference, attempt the impossible, get her hands dirty, go the extra mile, face failure, and persevere for her students. Her teacher heart still beats the same.

For the past two years, I have been searching in all the wrong places for the job that would fill that hole. Wonderful schools packed with passionate and enthusiastic educators invited me to interview time and time again, and time and time again I was passed over for positions. When consulting with colleagues, everyone kept coming back to needing to find "the perfect fit". What does that even mean? I am fabulous. I would be perfect anywhere, right? Well, maybe. But the real question is would anywhere be perfect for me?

Well, as it would turn out, yes.

Because I am a storyteller, let me create the build-up for you..

I got the call to interview in the middle of a crazy week. I had had second interviews at two schools and had been turned down promptly from both. I found myself going sadly back to the drawing board, which for me is an insane excell sheet that charts important data about local Elementary schools, my contact with them, and my progress towards convincing them of my amazingness.

This call came from a new district, one I'd obviously applied to, but one that had not yet produced any leads. The principal opened with, "I saw 'Peace Corps' on your résumé and I knew you were right for this." The rest fell beautifully into place. I went for an interview a few short days later, and everything just clicked. I found myself engulfed in a lovely discussion about the kiddos at the school, their backgrounds, their struggles, their successes, and what makes them so wonderful. I nearly forgot I was interviewing. I left the school and picked up the phone to call my mom (my usual post-interview ritual), and without warning, I promptly burst into tears.

Much like my Peace Corps experience, it is hard to articulate exactly what I was feeling that day, but leaving that interview I just knew. I was feeling overwhelmed, and relieved, and pure joy. I couldn't help but cry. I had found my perfect fit. It took over a week to get an official offer, but I knew in that moment that I had found my job.

I don't want to disclose too much about my new school, but know this: the cultural, linguistic, and socioeconomic makeup is right up my alley. It speaks directly to my teacher heart. I couldn't be more excited to join this team of warrior educators.

Over these past two years, I have worked within the school system, but not yet as a true teacher, and this resulted in sort of an identity crisis for me. People would ask me, "What do you do?" And I never really knew what to say. I've been a teacher in my heart for a long time, but I felt like a fraud if I didn't qualify my job title. So in my true awkward fashion, I would dive into a lengthy explanation of my job search, during which my conversation partner's eyes would glaze over.

But now, I can finally say "I am a teacher."

In the words of one of my many ultra-supportive colleagues, "Well, you've always been a teacher. Now you'll just get paid as one."