WORK

/ janpriddyoregon

I received a recruitment email for a teaching position in another state, which shall remain nameless. I nearly tapped the link. I would love to visit that state and I miss teaching and I enjoy working. But no. The public schools in that state are in bad shape. To establish myself in a new place would take tremendous energy. At one time in my life I might have been up for that struggle, but 70-hour work weeks are behind me.

What we see entering our newer home. Yes, it is “real city living” where we are walking distance to everything we need. Work, for me, might be one of those needs.

Weeks ago, I was chatting about sofas with an employee at Pottery Barn, and I felt a confusing mixture of emotions. I thought at the time those feelings were about sofas. We had been struggling with color and texture and cost and how to get the darned thing up the stairs in our home. We had been sitting on chairs to watch television in the evening, and two sofa orders had fallen apart. (One sofa got all the way from the manufacturer to Warrenton, 30 miles north of us, but then the local delivery service would not deliver to our road because of a nasty experience delivering to the job site next door.) All of that was going through my head, of course, and: was the sofa low enough, short enough, too heavy, a fabric we could live with? Would it arrive anytime soon? Would this, please, be the last major piece of furniture we would ever have to buy? After we left the store, I talked to Gary about woman who helped us. How old do you think she is? She looked close to my age, and described her fear leaving the store alone after closing to get in her car and drive home. I thought about her more than the sofa we considered ordering. I felt conflicted or anxious and curious, and it wasn’t just about sofas. I think, now, that I was feeling something else. I think it was envy.

My oldest sister-in-law deliberately got pregnant three times at 5-year intervals to avoid going to work. Then, when she finally did, she discovered something: work is a good thing. She was effective at her job and respected in a way she had not experienced often in her fraught marriage. My mother always said that “earning your own money is important.” It wasn’t all about the money. She was thoughtful and orderly and she brought those skills to work, and they allowed her to advance and enjoy her job. Sociology studies suggest that people’s mental and physical health fades without the structure of work to frame their days.

I knew all this, at least in theory, even when I was young. Could I do it and find that satisfaction? For years, when my boys were little, I doubted my ability to work a full-time job. I had worked many jobs since I was sixteen, always part-time, and sometimes two or three at a time. But a forty hour work week? Could I do that?

My first teaching job in Oregon was half-time. (I worked hard in that job, and no training or support for what was for me a new subject area. I had twice as many students in my three classes than one full-time teacher had in five classes, and I was paid less than a third of what that teacher earned.) I put in forty-hour weeks for my half-time job. That answered one question. I became a good teacher who worked Sundays. My principal worked as hard, and after seeing me stay till 10pm one day a week and coming in weekends, he wondered aloud to me if I could handle teaching full time. I knew or hoped by then that I could.

And then I did. I was working “full time.” Like most teachers, I worked longer days than the theoretical eight hours. I worked nights and weekends, a 70-hour week. As a full time teacher, I also took graduate classes in Portland and over each summer. I completed a masters degree. I took the work home with me and responded to phone calls and emails about assignments. (Students were forbidden to call after 8:30 in the evening “because even if he is sitting up watching the television, my husband is asleep by then.”) Everything I did and read became potential material for my students. Gary teased me that I was “never off the clock.” Then, in my sixties, when I series of illnesses suggested I should not be working such long hours, I retired from high school teaching and taught college classes part time and rediscovered “days off.” I lay in bed one Friday evening and realized I had no homework. None at all. A free weekend. What a concept!

I know people who worked jobs they did not particularly like or even actively hated for decades. They were glad to retire. At the end, I was treated by management with disrespect in a job that required my whole heart and more than triple the time I spent in front of students. I was not paid enough to continue. I was done and ready to move my creative energy someplace new.

But work. I value work itself and like doing a good job. That might require an actual job.

What I want is part-time work. Retail. Walking distance from our condo. Something where I do not have to stand more than five hours at a time or work more than three days a week. A job that pays $15/hour and does not require me to take work home. Something simple I can do well and at the end of my shift, walk away. A retirement job.

I admit that I might need to work, but I think it’s more significant that I want to.

20 thoughts on “WORK”

  1. At the beginning of your post I wanted to scream across the internet-NOOOOO, don’t do it. But, then as I read on, I could see that you got your bearings and wasn’t going to go after that teaching job in a far-off land! Like you, I have done those very long weeks of working in a school and giving my all to the job and my students and the staff. But I left it all behind when I retired.

    I wanted to get a part time job in non-profit marketing, but every job I applied for came with the same response, “oh you would be bored here.” No, boring would be just fine after working over 20 years in an inner city high school of 3000 students. Just let me contribute. These agencies really wanted very young, right-out-of-college interns, not an old retired school teacher. I gave up and returned from the big city to our small house in the San Joaquin Valley. And I have been very happy with the volunteer work I do here.

    Your home looks very lovely, and comforting. Don’t leave it. Find something to do nearby and have the best of all worlds.

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

    • Yes, I am right with you—a boring job is just what I am after at this time in my life.

      John Gardner warned wannabe writers against teaching writing. He said teaching and writing put demands on the same energy. But he did it, and as our state carved back retirement benefits for teachers (because coaches at universities were making a fortune in retirement), I kept at the job I needed.

      I loved teaching and miss it terribly. I would love to teach a class, but a mindless job, part time—that’s just what I am after! Whatever I do, in every job I have ever had, I am curious and learning. Mindless would not interfere with curiosity or the writing.

      Liked by 1 person

      Reply

  4. I’m closing in on 70 and still have a part-time job that I love and can do from home. Yes, the money is helpful, but the work is challenging and interesting and that’s why I continue to do it. I think it’s awesome you might be considering a “retirement” job — good luck!! Also, your city home looks so inviting and colourful and the row of teapots in the distance is intriguing. Do you collect them?

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

    • I will be 70 next year too! My belief is that any job can be interesting if I choose to find it interesting. I’ve done a lot of different things in addition to teaching.

      The little Asian teapots (China and Japan) have accumulated from different branches of the family. (I am the last of my generation on both sides.) At least one of them, from my mother, is 200 years old. If I “collect” one in the future, it will be from Korea.

      Like

      Reply

  5. I remember this
    all of this that I became because of what I did
    it’s still there in the unfocused
    although I am not
    I can sense it and miss it
    and as for the stopping place
    the patrin left says we have gone by
    and cannot stop–though we try

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

  7. Hi. I’ve enjoyed reading your site these past few minutes. I teach middle school and it’s mehh (my 6th school year). This vocation has been my weirdest: I’ve done conservation corps work (building trails in the backcountry, urban tree plantings, etc.), commercial van driver for passengers, bridge repair crew-member, govt. public affairs, active duty Army in Iraq and Afghanistan. Now, I’m fully credentialed (two). I’m conflicted, because I attended public schools from pre-K through college (teacher prep program was private univ) and I had many teachers who did their part in my academic growth — AND — now I no longer want this job. However, I feel I’ve done my share of service in all my vocations to provide a balance or reason for me leaving teaching soon. You’re the teacher I had all those years. Thank you for your service, generosity, and grace.

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

    • Thank you for your service. I’m not sure what you mean by “You’re the teacher I had all those years” but it is a demanding job, and it appears you have thrown yourself into every job. That’s what I did, in every job I’ve had, starting with my first: Taco Bell where I was the “best closer.” Ha!

      Like

      Reply

  8. Hi. I’ve enjoyed reading your site these past few minutes. I teach middle school and it’s mehh (my 6th school year). This vocation has been my weirdest: I’ve done conservation corps work (building trails in the backcountry, urban tree plantings, etc.), commercial van driver for passengers, bridge repair crew-member, govt. public affairs, active duty Army in Iraq and Afghanistan. Now, I’m fully credentialed (two). I’m conflicted, because I attended public schools from pre-K through college (teacher prep program was private univ) and I had many teachers who did their part in my academic growth — AND — now I no longer want this job. However, I feel I’ve done my share of service in all my vocations to provide a balance or reason for me leaving teaching soon. You’re the teacher I had all those years. Thank you for your service, generosity, and grace.

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

    • You are so right!

      For the past year and a half, and even before that after I retired, I went days without actually speaking to anyone other than my husband. I hope to volunteer at the school across the street from our condo, but I also want a part-time job.

      Like

      Reply

Leave a comment