Early Tuesday, following an uninterrupted 5+ hours of sleep, I had my very first nocturnal nightmare about teaching. It’s funny. I had restaurant nightmares for decades, yet went a full quarter century of teaching before experiencing this epic milestone.
Maybe it was the fierce wind Monday that blew the away the calm I generally feel during the work day, making room for a disconnected series of scenarios which consistently looped from frustrating situation to another.
Or, I suppose I could interpret my nighttime anxiety as the product of internalized guilt for taking an entire sick day following my second vaccine shot. You know, that day I spent curled up in pain from an excruciating headache that prevented me from focusing my eyes, much less my thoughts.
Whatever prompted the bad dreams, I’d like to think this was a one time only event. Knowing myself, however, I suspect there will be repeated nocturnal performances behind my closed eyelids. There have been recurring stress dreams before in my life – and that was without Covid and it’s accompanying pandemic exhaustion.
In my dream, I found myself unable to get to the classroom I needed to be in to teach. For the record, in reality I bounce between 10 different classrooms every week. “Dream me” felt stuck, almost as if I were waist deep in quicksand. I knew my students were waiting for me and, more than anything, I wanted to be there for them.
I kept opening doors, but finding the right room was impossible. Everyone I encountered seemed surprised by the urgency of my actions. The almost desperate efforts I was making to reach the students to whom I was/am responsible, were met with an attitude bordering on blasé.
I just couldn’t comprehend it. Why didn’t they understand or appreciate my commitment to my professional obligations?
Eventually I made it to the correct classroom, having missed just a single period of instruction. My principal, someone I very much admire and would not hesitate to appeal to for assistance, had covered my class. Just like he had in real life last week when I was home sick.
Everything was fine.
It’s hard to believe that it’s been nearly a year since this crisis began, since schools were “normal.” My professional responsibilities are incredibly different from what they were just twelve months ago. Back then I, with the assistance of two other full time employees, managed a busy library media center and provided support to classroom teachers and students.
Now I teach 18 sections of a course that didn’t previously exist to more than 300 students of my own, while trying to maintain (and circulate) a collection of materials which has been relocated to provide appropriately socially distanced instructional and cafeteria space to hundreds.
The truth is, I love what I’m doing. Working with these kids has honestly made this one of the best years of my career. I am so lucky and absolutely privileged to be able to survive a pandemic doing work which I believe to be important – providing kids with context for what is going on in our shared, and sometimes scary, world.
That doesn’t mean, though, that it hasn’t been incredibly challenging.
Today, I made the decision to go ahead, unforeseen events aside, and travel next month during my April break. I’m pretty sure my subconscious will support that choice. If it doesn’t, I’m certain it will let me know.
