Confusingly confused

I probably shouldn’t confess this on here, but I’ll have to work on the assumption that none of you will pass this onto my bosses: It had been my intention to resign by now. Over the Winter, Philippa and I had another chat about my situation, and my future, and whether it was getting to the stage that I should think of a career I wanted to pursue, rather than settling for the one I’ve accidentally landed in. Sorry – quite a lot to digest there. I’ve given you, in one sentence, the dotted highlights of about three weeks’ worth of conversations.

Anyway, the bottom line was, and is, that the idea of teaching has never really left me, ever since I first looked into it years ago. Philippa had always said she was happy to be the main breadwinner for a year while I did the necessary training and qualifications, but then she got pregnant and became a mum. So I just carried on doing what I was doing. My job position changed, of course. I ended up with more responsibilities, and more money, while bizarrely getting nicer hours, and it just all worked so well. But, as I’m sure you’ve noticed now-and-then with the way I write about my employers, I haven’t exactly been as happy as a pig in a blanket all the time.

So – to cut a long story short – I was going to make the jump this year. Give up the position at the garages and launch myself down the road towards becoming “Mr Chesworth” in a classroom.

Then coronavirus happened, and everything went a bit skewish.

I don’t want to use it as an excuse, but everything was so uncertain and unusual that the idea of turning my life upside-down while also working full-time through a never-before-encountered worldwide scenario seemed ludicrous and terrifying. So, again, I have just carried on doing what I’m doing.

And now it’s August.

Part of me is relieved it’s too late to set it in motion now; part of me is disappointed I didn’t see the plan through. But either way – it is what it is, and I am where I am, and I will be for at least another year. Hopefully, by next early Spring, we’ll know where we are with this ‘fun virus thing’ and I might be able to crack on. Whatever happens, children will still need to be educated, and teachers will still be retiring every year, so there will still be a need for new people, right?

My only fear is that the longer this goes on, the more likely I am to settle for what I have; to get stuck in that rut that people either dread or accept. I have never wanted to wake up at sixty and realise I have spent my life doing something I despise, just to earn money that I didn’t spent wisely anyway. But let’s not dwell on that now. Let’s also try not to think about how plans and attitudes might change if Philippa falls pregnant in the next 9 months or so. She is dead keen on Mathew having a sibling, and doesn’t want to leave it too long, so there isn’t a big age gap between them. But if she is back on maternity leave, how can I possibly consider chucking in my job to re-train, and how would I be able to dedicate enough time to the coursework with another baby in the house?  I’m trying not to slip back into pessimistic thinking, but it may be that this year was the only chance I had to do this, and it’s passed me by in a corona-powered whirlwind of distraction.

Oh, well. What will be will be, and I feel much better for typing all that shit out rather than having it swirl around inside my head, so thanks.

RC 7-8-20