Life is scary to me sometimes because I'm afraid of what can happen even though it hasn't happened. I worry about dying. I worry about how I'm going to die and how I don't want to leave my children. I worry if they will be okay without me being their cheerleader, their confidant, their support. I worry they will be living in a world that will destroy itself because of unresolved conflicts and wars where people fight craving their egotistical power without thinking of anyone else or truly understanding who they are fighting are human beings just like them. I worry about my husband and when and how he will die. I worry about who will die first. If it's him, would I be able to survive without him? If he dies before me, I worry if he will be okay. Would he take care of himself? I worry as I grow older.
The biggest thing I hate about growing older is the unknown of death and how much closer it gets. I'm going through a series of doctors visits to see what is going on with my body. My body has been fatigued, achy and overwhelmed. I think it mostly has to do with my teaching job. My ungrateful teaching job that is burning me out every day. I try to wake up with motivation to go by wearing my beautiful clothes that I am fortunate to have especially since I was deprived of clothing as a child and teenager growing up. As I wake up, I spend a long time in the hot shower to wake up my tired body, to feel rejuvenated somehow with the warmth of the water splashing on my achy spine that never seems to feel 100%. I treat myself to an elegant, abundant skin routine that includes a layer of moisturizer, aging cream, vitamin C, an overpriced serum and tinted moisturizer. I apply my make up as naturally as I can to make me look well-aged like a fine champagne, not a red wine because I don't want to be blotchy. As I apply my mascara primer and mascara evenly, I quickly bat my eyelashes on my fingers in order to prevent any Tammy Faye like mascara raccoon look. I look in the mirror and I love myself and who I see, but I wish she would stop worrying.
I always make sure I give morning hugs and kisses to my son in case something did happen to me on my way to work. I walk into his room and see him heavily sleeping with his plush blanket gently wrapped near his young face, his thick brown hair softly touching the edges of his cheek. I am transferred back in time for a brief moment when I would watch him soundly sleep as a baby in his crib. So angelic and now becoming a young man. I hope he will be okay for the day and conquer his future dreams all in one saying of "See you later bubbie. I love you. Have a great day." This is a lot of thought in on moment of goodbye, but it is a ritual for me every time I do it.
I quickly go down the stairs, being very conscious that every time I take these steps that I don't slip and fall, break a bone and then have to call into work saying I won't be there because I broke a bone and am on my way to the hospital. The quick thought worries and burdens me due to the fact I would have to write ridiculous, elaborate sub plans, but also my thoughts bring me a sense of relief because I could miss many days of my under appreciated teaching career. My German shepherd, Opal, excitedly follows me and I also hope she doesn't fall down the stairs or I don't trip from her overzealous love of seeing me in the morning.
I am relieved to see that I didn't lose my balance and made it safely to the bottom of the stairs. Opal, greets me again by doing her German shepherd vocalization with a thud of her body to the floor. I take the time to stroke her soft fur and gush over how adorable she is as she lays on the floor side eyeing me, and stroking her face with her paws. It is seriously the cutest thing I've ever seen a German shepherd do and I always think to myself every time how much I love her and how she is the best dog I've ever owned. And for a second I also think of how grateful I am to have her in my life and that someday she will leave me and I will be devastated. So, I take the extra minutes to pet her and tell her I love her. I worry that she is getting old too fast and that her time with me is brief. Her name is Opal, like the rare beautiful stone of Australia where we lived many years ago, and she is truly a gem. I always say that to people when they ask me how I came up with her name. She is a rare jewel and I consider her to be my dog because she shadows me wherever I go.
Opal follows me to the kitchen expecting her morning cookie, but I tell her to wait as I quickly make my morning coffee. Sometimes my husband preps the coffee for me in the morning, but there are days when he hasn't and I go through my coffee ritual of preparing and brewing the coffee. As it takes approximately 4 minutes to brew, I race around the kitchen prepping my lunch of leftovers, feeding the dog, taking my anxiety medication so I don't lose my shit throughout the day, water up to keep my body hydrated even though I rarely get a spare moment to go to the bathroom at school and if I'm lucky to have a minute left grab my vitamin C, probiotic, cranberry, vitamin K, vitamin B12, and calcium. I try to swallow at least 3 of them along with my anxiety meds in two gulps and hope not to get a stomach ache for my hurried dash to my car before 6:45 am to get to my job that requires me to greet students happily at 7:10 am.
I successfully make it out to my car and proceed to find a playlist that gets my mind motivated and excited for the overly stimulated, inattentive, bipolar child war zone I'm about to engage in. I've learned to stay within speed limits because I don't want to die trying to get to a job that would be upset to lose me, but also wouldn't think twice about finding a replacement for me. Driving in my town is always an adventure because everyone dashes to get to the stop sign or red light first despite possibly killing someone or wrecking their car. I listen to my music or latest audible book trying to soak up the present moment of stimulating, auditory entertainment made just for me before I overload my brain with the multiple thoughts, requests, opinions and feelings of 19 students, coworkers, and parents throughout a 7 hour work day. People don't realize teachers can have up to 200 conversations a day which would make anyone want to poke their eye out.
Luckily, I safely enter the school parking lot at 7:00 or right on time when the bell rings to relish the last few minutes I have before I enter the doors of toxic positivity masking the real burned out stories of teachers who give 100% to this job and everyone else who doesn't see them. It took me 20 years to see the reality of this career and the toll it takes on the many teachers, predominantly women, who sacrifice their health, family and income to help raise America's children.
As the students start to slowly pour in with their good morning greetings, I am thankful for my age and experiences that have gotten me to this self-revelation of how I want to live my life. For a brief moment I look to my wall of travel experiences that proudly hang on my classroom wall next to my desk and am reminded of who I am and the person I want to be. My experiences remind me that I am tired of worrying and I don't want to worry anymore. I want to live and embrace my life, my age. I am lucky to be where I am and it's okay to realize my job is no longer joyful or gives me a sense of purpose. It is time for me to live the rest of my life in the moment and enjoy as much as I can before I leave this world. I am old, but that is a blessing, a "badge of honor." And I want to shine that badge and wear it proudly on the years I have left.