Today, I had a conversation with a southern belle.
And she pissed me off.
I know, I know. Don’t judge! Be open! But just listen to this story…
Today, said southern belle and myself were talking about the dreaded and hated question: Will you stay longer than two years? Yes, I call this question dreaded because there is a lot of pressure and judgement that is imbedded within the question itself. It holds a lot of weight. I don’t even know what day tomorrow is, how the fuck can I tell you what I want to be doing in two years from now?!
I was explaining that I do not want to commit, say out loud, or make any promises about where I will be or what I will be doing in two years from today. I don’t freaking know. I don’t know if I will be good at this. I don’t know if I will be beneficial to my students. I don’t know if I will be happy and fulfilled in this career. How can I answer that truthfully?
But then of course, I played devils advocate with myself. “But who knows, in these two years I might completely fall in love and never want to leave,” I marveled at the potential.
“Oh I know,” she purred in her deep south twang. “There’s a lot of really sweet southern gentlemen here. Especially in Jackson”.
HA! Okay. That just happened. That’s real. Don’t be mean, don’t be mean! I pleaded with myself.
“I meant fall in love with teaching…”
And then shit got real awkward, real quick.
If I fall in love with a man in the next two years and don’t want to leave, that’s cool and all! There’s nothing wrong with that. But that’s not what I was talking about, that’s not what I meant. That’s not what I wanted to communicate, at all. Our mindsets were on two different planets in that conversations and we both knew it.