I am now past my 70th birthday.
I have spent the past two decades as a classroom teacher.
For a variety of reasons, some of which are out of my control, it seems unlikely that I will ever again be a classroom teacher.
Because of my age, it is exceedingly difficult to find employment in a new field.
We have financial obligations, which are more than they otherwise might have been in part because of the expenses of the ongoing treatment for my wife’s cancer.
So I step back to reflect, to consider what is possible, and together we will decide how to proceed.
When I originally took retirement in 2012, we projected that we could manage were I to work part-time, and without having to make major changes in lifestyle. I was taking that approach before being asked to fill in at a school, and then having to leave that because of my wife’s illness. As her illness came under control, I decided that I would return to teaching full-time.
I have enjoyed most of what I have experienced in the schools in which I have taught since then. I enjoy most of all the relationships with students from whom I have learned as much as they may have gained from me.
Being confronted by any kind of crisis is in fact an opportunity — to determine what really matters, and to adjust what one does and how one lives accordingly.
What then is really essential?
I am fortunate that I neither look nor truly feel my age — at least not yet. That may provide some flexibility in assuring sufficient income for us to go forward, albeit perhaps in a different fashion than we have known.
As I reflect, I think back to words told me several decades ago, in 1983, when I went to Greece to see my then spiritual father, then the Abbot of Simona Petra, a monastery on Mount Athos.
I have always known I was more than a bit of a misfit, which is in part why I had several times been drawn to the monastic life. That first occurred in my preteen years, when even though I did not want to be a Catholic I was drawn to the Benedictines. In my late 20s I had occasion to spend a summer in an Episcopalian Benedictine monastery in Michigan, with which my now father-in-law has had a long-time connection. I considered joining, and they were willing to let me try, but other things intervened and I returned to Pennsylvania where I then lived, and less than two months later a chance encounter at the Bryn Mawr railroad station commenced the relationship with the woman who is my permanent companion, despite some rocky times (usually because of my insecurities and imperfections). Even given that commitment, I still had not let go of the idea of monastic life. When I visited my spiritual father in 1983, more than eight years into our relationship, I was uncertain whether to move to Greece and become a monk, or to marry. Part of my hesitation came from a history of failed relationships.
My spiritual father told me I could make a good monk, but that my life had been more a preparation to be married. He told me to return to America and marry the woman with whom I shared a deep love. He further told me that while I was a sensitive soul, she was a more sensitive soul and I should defer to her.
We married at the end of 1985. At times I would remember the other part of his instruction, about deferring. The best example was listening to my beloved when at a college reunion she encouraged me to explore becoming a teacher. She made changes to what she was doing, and her own plans, to enable me to pursue that path, which put a huge financial strain upon us, which we managed to get through.
What has made a difference, albeit perhaps not quickly enough, is our having to deal with her illness, something that has been a part of our life since before her actual diagnosis in late January of 2013.
My beloved, best friend, spouse — has had to go back into chemotherapy. It has been very difficult. It has been hard to sleep, to eat, to have energy. What has become most important is that whatever she needs or thinks she needs I respond. As noted, I am learning the meaning of what my spiritual father told me some 33 years ago.
We will in the very near future sit down and try to figure out what changes we can make to keep our heads above water. It has had to wait because this past week is the most important week of her work year. To be able to provide full support for her, I withdrew from something we both know is important for me — going to southwestern Virginia to volunteer in a free dental and medical fair. She needed my help getting to and from work, and she still needs me to prepare her food and drink. More important, she needs my emotional and spiritual support.
As for me? I am going to be networking and exploring. This is part of that process.
She will be done with her chemotherapy in a few weeks. We hope she will not need quite so much assistance in the future.
So I have to find a source of income.
I will still keep eyes open for some possibilities in teaching, even as I expect that not to happen.
Perhaps I can for the near term hook on to a political campaign, although the last time I was actively involved was 2006 with Jim Webb’s Senate race.
I will look at things that may seem menial, but might provide some income — retail, for example.
I will explore the possibilities of tutoring.
Perhaps someone somewhere might consider me a good enough writer and thinker and researcher to offer me some work in that regard.
Perhaps I will be able to cobble together a number of part-time gigs to have enough income.
We will readjust our lifestyle to be able to meet our commitments.
There are only a very few non-negotiable things.
We have our two remaining rescued felines, for whom this house is their home. So long as we can we will stay here.
We are committed to one another, through hell and high water, in this life and beyond.
Perhaps we get rid of one car and I commute by walking and metro (which given my age is relatively cheap).
We may dispose of some things merely to no longer have to pay for them.
Even cable TV becomes optional.
But the financial aspects are not the most important aspects of the decisions we make.
What will shape how I proceed through this crossroads is what makes the biggest, and most valuable, difference for my wife.
That includes my taking sufficient care of myself to ensure that I am here as long as I can be for her. She is almost 11 years younger than am I. We always expected she would outlive me. Given her cancer, we no longer make those kind of projections.
Over recent months, as I have reflected, I have come to learn that I had to be broken so that I was not closed off. Unless I am open and fragile, I am not able to be fully present to another. I would neither be able to fully give nor accept friendship nor love.
In recent weeks, as the crossroads appeared ever closer, one of the most important things I have done is simply to be present for whichever the cats needed me. They are teaching me about surrendering my own will, my selfishness.