Epiphanies

I’ve been having a series of epiphanies. Most of them come at night while I’m sleeping. Nothing earth shattering but several have been enlightening. When I was working, most of them were about doing things with my students, dealing with parents, helping teachers solve problems, contract negotiations, labor disputes, building expansions…things like that.

I didn’t expect my most recent thoughts to hit me the way they did. There wasn’t some grand revelation about the universe. They were about me. How I see the world and the worries I’ve carried that I can let go. Once I noticed them, I couldn’t unsee them. When you understand something, you can’t pretend you don’t.

My epiphanies haven’t solved all my problems, but they’ve changed my outlook on life a bit. They’ve given me the freedom to release what wasn’t working and welcome what feels right. Most of the time I feel good. It’s my sleep that’s restless. I toss and turn for what seems like hours, wondering when I’ll settle down. Tonight’s no different, so here I am writing at 4:30 in the morning when I should be sleeping.

I spent two weeks this month at my Michigan condo, preparing to sell and deciding what stays and what goes. Most of it will stay. I’ve sorted through mountains of things, expecting most of what I found, but a few surprises emerged, like a letter I wrote to my parents decades ago in 1971.  It was shortly after Ruth and I got married.  I was twenty-four years old.  My mom must have thought it was important because she saved it. She saved others too, but I’ve wondered why this one in particular has captured my attention. I’m keeping it, though it’s still tucked away in the brown tweed suitcase in my Michigan storage room.

I might scan and share the letter in a future post, but what struck me was the part where I revealed plans to start my master’s degree. I even speculated that once I finished, I’d “probably get my specialist degree and then a doctorate. Maybe you’ll be calling me Dr. Tebo instead of Mr.”

I also shared that I felt better when I had something to work toward and look forward to. I told her that planning ahead for my next thing, whatever that might be, was how I operated best.  I needed to be working towards a goal.  As life unfolded, I did earn my master’s and, a few years later, my specialist. I stopped there for two reasons: I didn’t want to write a doctoral thesis, and once I became superintendent, I didn’t feel the need for a new title. I was already part of the club. That was in 1991, twenty years after I wrote that letter to my mom and dad.

The thesis avoidance was pure laziness. This was before word processors, and I’d have had to type everything myself because I was too cheap to hire someone. It makes no sense now, but it did back then. I took the easy way out and skipped it altogether.

As for future planning, I’m still doing it.  It’s been fifty-five years since I wrote that letter to my mom. I’m not content watching afternoon game shows on TV or switching from sport channel to sport channel. I write every day, hoping what I have to say will be valued by others. Trust me, I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t have word processing and spell check. But I do, so I am.

Writing keeps me out of trouble for a few hours each day. I’m always looking ahead while reflecting on my past, trying not to repeat the same mistakes. I think my biggest flaw is expecting too much from others. We don’t all think, process, or manage our time the same way. I get frustrated when people don’t react the way I think they should. I’ve got to remember that each of us has our own drummer and the option to choose our own path.

It’s ok for me to plan ahead, but I can’t expect everyone around me to do the same.  If you’re not wired that way I can’t make you be or do something until you’re ready.  And maybe you never will.  That’s one of the epiphanies I had when I started writing this.  The “you” part of the equation is everyone close to me… my kids, grandkids, in-laws and outlaws, lifelong friends, new acquaintances, my sisters, and even my main squeeze, Barbara. You be you and I’ll be me.   After all, we’re each a work in progress.  And as my Singles New Beginnings friend Daryl might say, we’re all “trying to become the best version of ourselves”.  That’s all we can be.