In my previous articles, I’ve shared the pivotal career shift from civil engineering to the enriching world of teaching—a leap of faith I took in my early thirties. This transition wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment decision; it was the culmination of significant life events that unfolded over the past few years.
The story of this transformation began nearly five years ago, deeply intertwined with my personal life. My wife and I met during our junior year in the serene backdrop of western Pennsylvania. I was diligently pursuing a 4-year degree in civil engineering, while she was on a fast track in a 3 to 4-year optometry program. Our romance blossomed quickly; we met in January 2015, started dating in February, and by August, she was bound for Boston to advance her studies, leaving us to navigate the challenges of a long-distance relationship.
Despite the miles between us, those years apart were surprisingly manageable. The secret to our success? Communication. Skype became our virtual bridge, allowing us to share daily experiences and maintain a sense of closeness. We dined together, laughed over movies, and synchronized our Netflix accounts for shared viewing—rituals that became our relationship’s cornerstone. Our friends may have found our methods unusual, but when the pandemic hit in March 2020, our once ‘weird’ routine became a widespread norm for staying connected.
When my wife completed her optometry program, she returned to Pennsylvania, and we began our life together in a cozy one-bedroom loft. The transition from a long-distance relationship to sharing a compact space was like jumping into the ‘Legendary’ difficulty level in Halo—a challenge we both eagerly accepted. It was an opportunity to test our resilience and adaptability, knowing well that it would require patience and creativity to navigate this new chapter.
Then, as we were adjusting to our new living situation, the COVID-19 pandemic struck. The world paused, and we found ourselves in an unprecedented situation—newlyweds confined to a small space, together around the clock. I adapted to working from home, while my wife’s practice was temporarily closed. Our daily rhythms diverged: I was immersed in work, and she filled her time with hobbies and household tasks. This imbalance led to a disconnect; I craved downtime after work, while she eagerly anticipated engaging, quality time together.
The ensuing months tested our communication and understanding as we strove to find a balance between personal space and togetherness. It was a period of trial and error, learning to respect each other’s needs while nurturing our bond. This experience taught us valuable lessons about compromise, mutual support, and the importance of carving out intentional time for one another.
This journey of self-discovery and adaptation didn’t just strengthen our marriage; it also sparked a profound realization within me. I recognized a passion for guiding and mentoring others—a trait that resonated with the core of teaching. It became clear that my skills and experiences could be channeled into educating future generations, inspiring me to embrace this new career path.
As I stand at the crossroads of this significant life change, I reflect on the intricate tapestry of events that led me here. From engineering projects to lesson planning, my professional evolution mirrors the personal growth I’ve experienced alongside my wife. Together, we’ve navigated uncharted territories, faced unexpected challenges, and emerged stronger.
In embracing this new role as an educator, I carry with me the lessons of resilience, adaptability, and the power of effective communication—lessons that I’m eager to pass on to my students. As I embark on this new chapter, I am reminded that the most profound changes often come from the most challenging circumstances, shaping us into the individuals we are meant to become.
As we delve into the most monumental chapter of our lives thus far, we cast our minds back to October 2021. It was a time of anticipation and the unknown, a period that would forever alter the course of our existence. Our journey took us to Connecticut, where the allure of the Elephant’s Trunk Flea Market beckoned. Featured on the show Flea Market Flip, it promised a treasure trove of curiosities and relics, a perfect escape from the mundane.
The plan was simple: a tranquil weekend immersed in the charm of a new locale, a respite from the daily grind. Yet, as the hours unfolded, my wife expressed a persistent unease, a sense of being ‘off’ that lingered like a shadow. Initially, I attributed this to the occasional malaise we all encounter, especially since our professions had been marred by the relentless impact of Covid-19. The pandemic had cast a long, oppressive shadow over our industries, leaving us both occasionally adrift in a sea of ‘blah.’
But the true cause of her disquiet was soon to reveal itself in the most unexpected of ways. On that fateful Sunday morning, as I reveled in the anticipation of further exploration, the shower curtain was abruptly pulled aside. There stood my wife, her expression a complex tapestry of shock and revelation. “I think I’m pregnant,” she declared, presenting the evidence—a positive pregnancy test. A surge of elation washed over me, the reality of our soon-to-be-expanded family momentarily eclipsed by the sheer joy of the moment. It was these instances of unfiltered, raw emotion that deepened my love for her—her immediate concern for our future, our space, our readiness.
Amidst this personal milestone, the professional realm continued its downward spiral. Deadlines became oppressively tight, resources scarce, and the quality of our output suffered under the weight of unrealistic expectations. One project, in particular, stood as a testament to the unsustainable demands: three sprawling warehouses, each exceeding a million square feet, splayed across a 300-acre terrain marked by a staggering 100-foot elevation change. The initial submission alone comprised over 300 plan sheets—a Herculean task that, under normal circumstances, would span months and require a full team’s effort. Yet, there we were, two lone figures in the fray, racing against a six-week deadline, clocking 60-hour weeks in a desperate bid to meet the impossible.
The strain took its toll, and as the project fell short of perfection, the ire of my superiors was unleashed. Burnout was an understatement; I was a husk, drained of vitality by the relentless pace and unyielding pressure. It was a pattern all too familiar, and with the impending arrival of my son, I reached my breaking point. It was time for change.
The summer that followed was a whirlwind of upheaval—a new job that fell short of its promises, the birth of my son, and the prospect of a new home on the horizon. It was during this tumultuous period that an old colleague extended an offer I couldn’t refuse, leading to yet another career shift. In retrospect, these rapid transitions, once sporadic, had begun to cascade with alarming frequency, each more swift and significant than the last.
However, there was a darker thread woven through this tapestry of change, one that I had kept hidden from the world. I was grappling with a secret addiction to alcohol. What began as nightly indulgences, a young man’s carefree dalliance with drink, gradually morphed into a crutch, a means to numb the mounting pressures of life. My consumption was clandestine, calculated to maintain just enough inebriation to function through the day. By midday, as the effects waned, I would discreetly refuel, ensuring the buzz carried me through until evening. My family remained oblivious, my wife attributing my behavior to a misguided notion of masculinity, unaware of the battle raging within me.
The facade began to crumble in April, then shattered completely by August. Confronted with the stark reality of my addiction, I sought refuge in rehabilitation, not once but twice. The separation from my family during those three months was excruciating, the guilt of leaving my wife to shoulder the burdens of parenthood alone, overwhelming.
Professionally, my addiction cost me my job, a wake-up call that propelled me into my second stint in rehab. Despite the turmoil, this period of forced introspection proved to be a disguised blessing. Rehab provided a sanctuary for healing, a place to confront and exorcise my demons. It was a time for spiritual, emotional, and physical renewal, an opportunity to acquire the tools needed to navigate life’s challenges and to embrace the vulnerability of seeking help.
The loss of my job, while a harsh blow, granted me the freedom to reassess my path. I was no longer tethered to a career that drained my spirit; instead, I had the luxury of time to contemplate my next steps, to envision a future aligned with my newfound clarity and purpose.
In the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous, amidst the shared stories and the collective pursuit of sobriety, I learned a profound lesson: it’s okay to dwell in uncertainty about the future. It’s okay not to have all the answers, as long as you’re willing to put in the work and seek guidance from a power greater than yourself. This principle became the bedrock upon which I built my new life, leading me to my current vocation as a math interventionist—a role that might sound grandiose but is, at its heart, a math tutor dedicated to helping students find clarity in numbers.
Education runs deep in my veins, a calling passed down through generations of teachers in my family. It’s as if the very essence of teaching is woven into my DNA. Yet, when the time came for me to choose my path, my family cautioned me against following in their footsteps. They painted a picture of an oversaturated job market, of dwindling benefits and vanishing job security for educators—a grim forecast that, thankfully, never came to pass. Instead, the narrative shifted, and we found ourselves in the midst of a national teacher shortage. The irony of timing was not lost on me; the moment I decided to step into the world of teaching, the landscape had transformed into fertile ground for new educators.
Leaving behind the familiarity of my previous field required a leap of faith of colossal proportions. It was a departure from a world I had navigated with ease, a world that had become as much a part of me as my own reflection. Yet, I hadn’t set foot in an educational setting since my high school graduation over a decade ago. The chasm between my past and my prospective future seemed vast, but my faith bridged the gap. I turned to prayer, seeking solace and strength in my conversations with God. It was through these prayers that I found the courage to embrace rapid learning and adapt to a new environment. Doors opened within the school district, pathways cleared, and I found myself embarking on the journey to obtain my teaching certification.
Throughout this period of transformation, two biblical verses resonated with me, their words etching themselves into my soul. Romans 5:3-5 spoke of finding glory in suffering, of the perseverance, character, and hope that emerge from trials. It reminded me that hope is a beacon that never leads to shame, for it is fueled by the boundless love of God, poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit. Proverbs 4:25-26 urged me to maintain a steadfast gaze forward, to tread carefully and remain unwavering in my journey. These verses became my mantras, my pillars of strength, as I navigated the tumultuous waters of change.
The process of transformation is akin to the formation of diamonds—immense pressure exerted on ordinary carbon until it yields something extraordinary. This is the essence of the scriptures that guided me. I was never given a burden too heavy to bear; even as I traversed my valley of despair, I was granted the fortitude to press on toward my promised land. Today, I stand proud of the person I’ve become, forged in the crucible of adversity. Every challenge I faced, every obstacle I overcame, has sculpted me into the man I am—a man of resilience, gratitude, and unwavering faith.
For those who may not share my struggles or fully understand my journey, know this: hope is universal. My source of strength and guidance has been God, but one need not be Christian to recognize the presence of a higher power orchestrating the symphony of the cosmos. We are but specks in the vast expanse of the universe, yet our potential is limitless. Whatever your belief, whatever your creed, trust that you can weather any storm if you commit to the process and invest the effort. And remember, the act of seeking help is not a sign of weakness but of indomitable courage. Sometimes, the simple act of asking is the first step toward a new beginning.