Kickin' & Screamin'

I wanted to make it to 25, though to truly make it to retirement, one must teach 30 years.  I knew I’d never make it to 30, so 25 sounded good to me.  But last August, as I started my 23rd year of teaching, I knew this was it.  Twenty three.  My magic number.  I would go out on a good note, before I became that teacher that just showed up each day because she had to.  I would bow out before I lost my love for doing the only true job I’ve ever done.  It was time.  And that time has come.

For this entire school year, I’ve been very aware of every “last.”  My last first day of school, my last performance with each  grade level.  My last Christmas caroling trip with my chorus.  My last spring musical.  Last, last, last.  In all honestly, as excited as I’ve been about my decision to retire early, the word “last” started becoming a bit dismal. And I was bound and determined that nothing would put a damper on my decision to go, though my emotions were often getting the best of me.

It’s been an odd journey, muddling through this past school year.  The big huge “last” events that I thought would most definitely leave me feeling somber actually didn’t. It was the little things that gripped me the most.  As I walked out on stage to take my final bow after our three-day run of a successful spring musical, I prepared for tears.  I had the foresight to take a tissue out on stage with me, to wipe the tears that would no doubt come.  I felt almost heartless when I realized they weren’t coming.  I walked off the stage in a bit of a daze, wondering what might be wrong with me…knowing that any other woman would have probably been bawling.  Perhaps I was just out of tears?  I’ve certainly cried my share of them over the past couple of years.  Was I out?  Dried up?  I honestly wasn’t sure.

Then a few minutes later, someone approached me backstage, as the hustle of kids swarmed around, gathering up their things to go out into the lobby to see their family and friends and all who’d come to see them perform.  I didn’t recognize her, and still to this day I don’t know who she was.  I’m assuming, from her age, she was the grandparent of one of my students.  She didn’t introduce herself, but approached me with an aura of wisdom.  She embraced me.  Awkward, yes–because I tend to be that way.  But nice, also.  She then looked into my eyes and sort of whirled her arms around in the air in a way that made me think of Glenda the Good Witch from the Wizard of Oz.  As those arms whirled, she said to me “Remember all of this.  You will never be in this exact situation ever again.  Even if you direct this show a dozen more times, it will never be with this same group of kids, or with this same audience. It will never be exactly like this again.”

You could have convinced me at that moment that this woman WAS indeed Glenda the Good Witch.  Though I know she was simply one of the many family members who were thanking me, hugging me, giving me kudos for a job well done….she, to me in that very moment, was a jolt of realization that I will never forget.

At that moment, the tears came.  They came hard.  Snot and sobbing and the all the unattractive noises and facial expressions that come with the ugliest cry ever.  I went through my saved tissue plus a dozen more, as I contemplated her words.  It will never be exactly like this again.

There were times in my life, almost two years ago now….when I never would have dreamed that things would never be the same.  I had no idea my world was about to be torn up and tossed upside down.  Would I have done things differently if I’d known?  Perhaps.  Would different actions have changed anything?  Perhaps.  Perhaps not.  All I know is, things will never be exactly as they were.  I will never have another day exactly like the one I just had.  Neither will you.

That mystery woman, whom I’ve named Glenda, didn’t mean to make me cry.  She’ll never know how I locked myself in the bathroom for at least 10 minutes just pulling myself together over such a simple statement.  To her, they were simple words.  To me– a profound statement that I have thought about almost every day since.

It will never be exactly like this again.

I had lunch with three of my dearest friends today.  We laughed, as usual, and had a great time together.  We will, no doubt, eat together again in the future.  But it will never be exactly the same.  We will no longer be co-workers.  But we will always be friends.

I walked down on the dock this afternoon and watched as boats and jet skis passed by, enjoying the beautiful day.  Someone was learning (quite unsuccessfully) how to water ski.  A couple on a pontoon boat slowly passed by, close enough for me to see their big black dog sitting in the boat, panting with joy.   The neighbor waved to me from their dock next door.  It felt very Norman Rockwell-ish….a summer afternoon on the lake.  And it will never be exactly like that again.  Sure, the couple with the big black dog will be back out on their pontoon boat, and the frustrated, cussing kid will one day be out there again, actually skiing, rather than face-planting in to the water over and over ….and I’ll see the neighbor again, just like I always do.  But it will never be exactly like it was today….or any other day.

As tomorrow is my last day at my school, I want to take this thought with me in my future endeavors.  I want to always remind myself that it will never be exactly like this again….no matter how silly or small the situation may be.  I want to live every moment as though it’s the last chance I have to be in THAT exact moment.

This may cause me to be a bigger bozo than I already am.  In my small circle of life, I’m convinced my friends refer to me as “the crazy one” in the group….and I actually take great pride in that.  But now, if I can truly remind myself that every moment is unique and will never be exactly the same….I might just try to make everyone’s moment a better one.  I tried it out today on the way home, as I was stopped at a red light next to a small white car that was being driven by what looked to be a very unhappy woman.  Though my Mamma did teach me not to stare, I couldn’t help but watch this woman as we sat at the light.  She just looked so miserable.  I thought to myself, “I might not ever see this woman again.  The chances of me sitting next to this woman at a red light ever again are very, very slim.”  So I honked my horn.  She didn’t look over, so I honked it again.  She finally looked over, and I waved at her like a complete idiot–with a big Forrest Gump sort of wave–and smiled so big, I must have looked like a donkey.  The light turned green, and I drove off, noticing that she sat there for a few seconds before she finally started moving.

I probably just scared her, acting like a psychopath, but at least I changed the moment somewhat.  That moment in time was about to happen….with her looking so unhappy.  But I changed it, in my own crazy way, to a different moment.  It will never be exactly like that again.  And I bet I changed the next few minutes of that woman’s day, at least making her wonder what the heck just happened.

Let’s all just keep it in mind….our lives are like a production, just like my kids had on that stage.  The only difference is–we don’t get a dress rehearsal.  We have ONE chance, to make it the best we can.  Every moment is a moment  that will never be exactly the same.  So make it good.  For even if it happens only once, it was at least a “happy” once.

Tomorrow starts a new chapter of my life.  It will be the “last” last day of work for me as a music teacher.  It will be a fun day, as I gather with friends after I leave school for the last time.  And when the day is over, it will be over.  It will never be exactly the same again.

Make life fun.  Make every moment the best you can.  For, it will never be exactly the same again.

YOUR life will NEVER be lived exactly the same as anyone else.  Your day tomorrow will never be exactly the same as any other day, or anyone else’s day.  Too deep of a thought?  Nah…just make it fun.  Wave at someone and make them wonder what the hell is making you so happy.  For, they might not EVER have a moment quite like that, ever again.

God bless all, and thank you to “Glenda”…..whoever you may be, who gave me that hug that night in the theater.