Notes From A Failed High School Drama Teacher

In January of 1998, after only 1 and a half years, I left my dream job — teaching high school Drama. I grew up performing in Equity dinner theatre and being a “theatre kid.” Theatre was joy and lifeblood. Theatre was light shining through the cracks. Theatre was belonging and quiet. Despite all that, leaving my dream job was the safer thing. Dreams are tender and must be held. Sewn thread by thread by thread. Detailed with Chantilly lace and sequence and a hundred beaded buttons that stretched from hips to neck. Tailored to fit. Precious beyond repair. Beautifully fragile and strong.

I don’t remember having a choice. The decision to leave was weirdly easy. Because it was my dream, staying would have meant slow death and I did not want to die. I knew that like I knew I wanted to be a teacher in the first place. The fabric had worn bare. I was willing to leave my students and teacher friends. (I still have a hard time with that part of the decision.) I had taken 4 years to prepare to teach and now I was done. I began to make plans. I consulted lawyers on how to get out of my contract. A friend helped me clean out my room over Christmas vacation. My heart broke. I left.

I was lying in a fetal position crying on the couch when I knew. (Tears might not indicate an easy decision, but clarity carries a certain amount of ease.) I told myself — while eating boxes and boxes of Honey Nut Cheerios drowned in whole milk — my reasons for quitting (before they could officially fire me, which the administration telegraphed time and again through relentless evaluation and granular feedback focused on an outdated fire drill sign and standing outside my classroom door at 6:45 to make sure I was there for Success Period which started at 7:00) were valid. I was crushed under the weight of hypocrisy that told my first year drama teacher self that extracurricular contracts can’t be changed when she had seen the wrestling coach’s extracurricular contract changed. I failed to be the drama teacher I wanted to be on the stage and in the classroom and told “work smarter not harder” by an administration that did not care, they simply wanted to have someone there to open the auditorium doors and run the light board for the community fashion show. 

In that moment, I moved away from the pain of rejection and loss. I strove and failed and chose surrender. I desired and sought another way. I guess there are many paths to desire. I learned that life is not linear or binary or comfortable. Many years after I quit, I looked at the school’s website. There was an arts section that had a listing of the school’s theatrical production history. The years I was there had no mention of the shows on which we worked. Erasure stings like a Key West sunburn. I chose myself and my desire over the drama-teacher-romance my young self believed. I am thankful that I have dreams and desires. I am thankful that I believe in miracles and awe. I am thankful that I thrash and wail and breathe and sing, walking away was my effort to protect all that.

Thank you for reading the 4th Week of Writing in the Dark WANTED. Join to read more about dreams and desires and wide-awakeness.