Resentment

I wrote a draft yesterday about feeling frustrated with everything: the fact that C stayed home sick, that I was like a glorified but underperforming housekeeper, that money is tight. I felt, and feel, bereft professionally.

And then, I found a highly appealing job post, quickly tweaked my cover letter, and applied while C looked through his Pokemon book. Miraculously, someone responded within a couple of hours and I set up an interview.

I participated in the zoom interview today, and the program director was lovely. The position involves school programming at a historic landmark in my favorite mountains. I day-dreamed about hiking and finding trillium in the woods and working with school children in my favorite place on earth.

I'm not sure whether I'll be a top candidate or not, but I'm starting to wonder if it matters. About an hour after my interview, I received a call from C's principal. Apparently he had a rough time and resorted to behavior he hasn't exhibited in a long time. The principal said it was the first time this year his classroom teacher has witnessed anything like it.

My heart started pounding when I saw the school name pop up on my phone, and although I remained calm during the conversation, afterward I burst into tears. Of course I'm worried about my son, but I'm also - and this probably sounds horribly selfish - disappointed for myself. Is the era of hypervigilance over yet? Taking a job with regular travel, required by the prospective job, seems like a huge leap of faith.

I don't want to become resentful. I'm so grateful C has been making progress, and on the one hand this setback may actually be helpful in that his teachers and team will see he still needs supports in place. He also recovered fairly quickly after the incident; the principal read to him and then he participated in art class and returned to the classroom. But can I be released from the full-time role that has consumed me for the past two to three years? Can I devote attention to my professional self?

The art of losing isn't hard to master;

So many things seem filled with the intent

to be lost that theirs is no disaster;

~Elizabeth Bishop