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The 1st journal
to document my
AK adventures |
Three-and-a-half years ago, I packed up some rubbermaid totes with personal belongings and household items, filled my suitcase with warm clothes, and said “see you later” to everyone and everything I had ever known and loved. Three-and-a-half years ago, I took my first solo plane ride and journeyed about 4,000 miles from home to Alaska. Three-and-a-half years ago, I immersed myself into an entirely foreign culture and way of life as I began my first teaching job in a rural Alaskan village which was home to myself and about 50 other residents. Three-and-a-half years ago, I told my family, friends, and myself that I would be gone for just four months. Three-and-a-half years ago, I began the most incredible adventure of my life. Flash forward three-and-a-half years, and here I sit in my lakefront apartment, in a quiet rural Alaskan village thinking about the fact that in four short months, I will be leaving this all behind.
The moment I set foot in Alaska, I knew that it would forever own a piece of my heart. Though family and friends joked about me meeting an “Eskimo”, getting married, and never coming back, I never imagined the love that I would find in this beautiful state. The people I have met, the family I have gained, the children I have come to love, the oddities and quirks that have become so normal, the accent my brother-in-law tells me I’ve acquired.. These are all a compilation of the things that will forever bind me to Alaska. These are also the things that make it so heart- wrenchingly difficult to leave.
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| Pilot Point (my 3rd month) |
Sam and I began this year knowing that this was likely to be our last in the state, for now. However, it was not until winter break that we sat down and made the decision to find somewhere new to call “home” as we begin the next phase in our lives. We had been day-dreaming of Friday nights spent at a new restaurant, weekends spent with friends, and being able to attend the events and celebrations that we have had to pass up for the past few years as one downside to living in this place we love. We talked houses, dream jobs, more puppies, and ALL the babies that I pray the Lord blesses us with. With bittersweet excitement, we made the decision that to have those things we had been dreaming about, that our time in Alaska must come to a close, for now. For those of you who can understand getting drawn into a good book series, you know the feeling of not wanting the book to end but being eager to see how the story unfolds in the next book. I think our life passes us by like the chapters of a book. Alaska has not been just a chapter, but a book of it’s own. My heart aches to be filling up the last chapters of this Alaskan book, but it flutters with excitement to begin the next chapter, the next book.
As I sit here and reflect on the journey that I have been on for the past three-and-a-half years, I am overwhelmed to realize how lucky I have been. The things that I have seen, the places I have gone, the wild airplane rides I have been on, the miles walked, the injuries sustained, the losses experienced, the memories I have made, have all helped me to grow in ways I cannot full express in words. In writing this post, I am finally able to accept the fears I have in leaving this place. Though my self-esteem and confidence began to grow during my time in college, it was not until I came to Alaska on my own that I feel I was able to finally embrace who I am as a person. Somewhere along the way, I was able to own my strengths and embrace my flaws and weaknesses.
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The journal that documented
my decision to stay a 2nd year |
It was here, in Alaska, that I lived on my own for the first time. Two months after arriving, it was here that I went outside of my comfort zone and fearlessly (A.K.A. awkwardly and filled with anxiety) pursued the cute new tech-guy who visited my village. It was here that, with tears in my eyes, I advocated for my emotional health and told my employer that I could not remain in the district if I was to continue working at my first school site. After months of going on walks and runs in fear, it was here that I became confident in handling a gun and purchased my own so I could explore the area I live in with peace of mind. During my second winter, it was here that Sam and I got in a four-wheeling accident that brought me bruising, scars, a hip problem that later required surgery, and post traumatic stress disorder (I do not say that lightly, jokingly, or without the diagnosis from a trained professional). It was here that I strengthened my friendship with Sam’s best friend during his two week long visit, and then grieved his sudden death just a few months later. It was here that I got engaged to my best friend. Two-and-a-half years post-graduation, it was here that I paid off my undergraduate student loans. It was here that I became a mentor for new special education teachers. Over the past few years, it has been here that I have spoken up and told pilots that I didn’t care where they landed as long as we got there safely. Similarly, it was here where I spent entire flights in tears, praying that the Lord would help get me to my destination safely. On a cold fall night, it was here that some friends and I went skinny-dipping in the largest lake in Alaska. It was in here that I learned to fly-fish and to drive a boat and a snow machine. It was here that I was approached by my employer, as a second year teacher, and told of the vision that he and my superintendent had for me to step into an administrative role, whether it be in Alaska or elsewhere. It was here that I faced my fear of not being experienced enough, ready enough, or good enough, to become an administrator and entered into an Educational Leadership graduate school program. During the past few years, it was here that I have had the responsibility of leading the hard conversations of explaining tragic loss and grief to my students as we have lost four students and a good friend’s fiancé. It was here that I realized those conversations only get harder each time they need to be had. This summer, it was here that Sam and I followed a calling that we felt drawn to and became registered foster parents. It was here that I got to journey alongside one of my best friends as she went through the incredible and wild experience of growing a tiny human in her belly. In a week, it will be here that begins the next few months that I get to spend living next door to that handsome little human and watch him grow. It was here that I became the momma of not one, but two village pups; one very cute one who is snoozing nearby and one very “Ugly Dog” who wasn’t really mine but who owned my heart during my short time with him. It was here that I showed off my home and favorite places to family and friends who have come to visit. It was here. It has all been here. Many of my greatest, and also many of my worst, moments have all happened here.
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| Lake Iliamna |
Each and every single one of these moments has provided me with a new appreciation and understanding of the important things in life. I have learned to learn from every single experience, because I can almost guarantee that from every experience you can learn something. That knowledge has helped to turn me into a much more confident person. Even with this newfound confidence, I will say that I am more scared to leave Alaska than I was to come here on my own a short three-and-a-half years ago. I am beyond terrified that when Sam and I relocate to wherever we will call home next, that this confidence will not follow me. Though I genuinely appreciate the support, I am not writing this in an effort to receive encouragement or pep talks. I am simply being honest in saying that as the days pass by and our leaving becomes more realistic, I become crippled with fear that I will not be this genuine version of myself in our next home. I am afraid I will lose this confidence that I have grown to have, this independence, this ability to advocate for myself and those around me. I am afraid that I will not be a good educator in a “lower 48” school. I have always been and will forever be a “people-pleaser”, but somewhere in the past four years, I learned that I need to do what’s best for me, and sometimes that will mean that I cannot please the people around me. That was a hard lesson to learn, but after 25 years of trying to make EVERY person around me happy, what a weight was lifted from my shoulders when I finally learned this one. Naturally, I fear that I will revert to my old ways of letting people take advantage of my kindness because I want them to be happy.
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| The journal to hold my prayers |
While these fears are present and terrifying, and obstacles to work through, the blank pages ahead of me also bring so much excitement with them. I cannot wait to work in a school with a larger staff and where parents are active in their children’s education. I look forward to exploring a new area and calling a new place home. I CANNOT wait to work on the tree farm next Christmas season and watch Sam experience a Wyckoff’s winter. After missing the weddings of six important women in my life, I pray that I will finally be able to celebrate with the next friend(s) to tie the knot. I am excited to be able to wander the aisles of stores, as opposed to browsing items online and then waiting anywhere from 1 week to 2 months for the items to arrive. Oh how eager I am to have an address that I do not have to explain to customer service agents, post office workers, or anyone in between. One thing I will truly miss is being able to make up whatever address I want on my license; and the holographic snowflakes.. I’ll miss those too.
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| Perryville |
The “things" I will miss the most and will be hardest to leave behind, are my students. I have been walking on eggshells, not feeling ready to tell my students that I am leaving them. It is so much harder for the kids here than elsewhere when their teachers leave. In other schools it is normal for students to get a new teacher each year, or two if they loop, but in the villages teachers usually stick around for a few years. Not only that, but there are only four other teachers in my school besides me, so the impact of a teacher leaving is much harder on some of the kids. I have worked with the same students for three years now, and we have been through the good, the bad, and the ugly together. I recently made a deal with one of my students that she can come visit Sam and I in two years, the summer she turns 13. Though Sam and I have wanted to tell the kids for awhile, we did not want to bring reality to the them sooner than we had to.
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The journal that
documented my engagement |
Unfortunately, the decision of when to tell the kids was taken out of my control when, during a jamboree at another school this week, a teacher in the school introduced one of our high school students to my replacement. As my job listing had been posted in-district a few weeks ago, the teacher assumed that I had told the students. I know they only meant well in trying to build relationships between the student and my replacement. However, when my friend texted me to tell me that this student had found out, I knew I had to tell the students immediately, or they would not hear from me. For all of them to hear from someone else would make matters so much worse. After consulting with my principal on how best to approach it, I gathered a few of my students and shared with them that Mr. Sam and I would be leaving Nondalton in May and that we would not be back next year. Oh, what a beautifully bittersweet moment in my career and personal life this conversation was. We talked about how we need to do what is best for our families and how the best thing for Mr. Sam and I as we begin our family is to be closer to our relatives. We talked about how exciting it would be for them to get to know a new teacher. I looked into the teary eyes of my one student as I told her that she wasn’t allowed to back out of our deal and that I still expect her to come visit me when she turns 13. We action planned for how to make our last 46 days of school the best 46 days EVER, and what we’ll do in May once school is out. We discussed the best ways to stay in touch once I am gone, and my hopes to hear from them often. Surprisingly, our conversation went really well, but I know from previous experiences that there will be a lot of emotions in the next few months. The feelings of sadness and abandonment, the feelings of excitement for a new teacher, and every feeling in between will be had by myself or one of my students during the remaining time we have together. But I know we will take these moments to learn and grow together, and I will treasure these moments forever.
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| Anchorage |
I could go on and on and on about my kids, the things I will miss, and the things I look forward to. However, my tear ducts are empty and the box of tissues Sam set near me an hour ago when he came inside to find me a blubbering mess on the couch has become a little less full. It has been snowing on and off all day, but there is a break in the storm and I need the healing soul medicine of a walk in the crisp fresh air. I know I had promised to try to post before Christmas break ended, but I have not been able to find the words to share the decision that Sam and I made during the break. I will try to be more active in my posting, especially in these last few months, and I will say now that my blogging will continue on even after my time in Alaska comes to a close. I mentioned earlier that our relocation is “for now”, and I will say it again, because I have no doubt that one day Sam and I will return home to the little slice of paradise that is known as Alaska.
