It’s 2011 and I’m standing in the school’s kitchen, a cup of iced tea in one hand and my cellphone in the other. “Overqualified… We’ll keep you in mind…” are the only words that my brain seems to be processing. At this point, I had an obvious choice, go back to the director’s office and say I’d stay one more year. Instead, I walk to my classroom to draft a resignation letter. I inform my director, she nods, and I hand her my letter.
It had been seven years of familiar routines and many friendships in that place, but at that moment, as the ice melted in the tea, I knew I had to break off to chase what I wanted. Even if that thing had just rejected me. I didn’t give fear a second to do its part; I just quit. Two weeks later, I had a job and a clear path. A path that only became real because I chose the unknown.
Nine years later, I look back at that moment in the school’s kitchen, and I connect the dots that led me to where I am and what I’m doing today. Many thought I was making a mistake, and if I had given myself time to think about it, I would have agreed with them. But I didn’t, I just went with it. I took a chance that felt like no big deal. In my mind, I was willing to take anything to get a spot in the “take a chance” boat. Even if that meant being unemployed.
The year before I graduated from high school, I thought I’d be a doctor (hah!) I failed at the first attempt and ended up enrolling in “the easiest” college program, early childhood education… In my defense, I was 17 years old and knew nothing. Back then, I saw no chances to take; I just saw one big mistake, which was not working hard enough in high school to make it to med school. Now I know the mistake would have been pursuing that passionless idea. An idea that came to life because I had no aspirations, no guidance, and being a doctor sounded like a solid plan.
I remembered that feeling as I stood in that kitchen. There I was, working as an early childhood teacher and sipping iced tea, loving what I was doing and wanting more. I knew I had no choice but to take another chance, without much hesitation or a full sense of reality. As if choosing what to have for dinner. A chance that made me look at other events as potential opportunities: Willing to be paid less and take a step down to walk towards the international teaching goal? Sure. Pass on the first international teaching offer because your current principal, someone you trust, says you need more experience? All right. Decide on a move across the ocean in less than 24 hours because you had a good feeling about the people who interviewed you via Skype? Oh yes. Either fear failed to act in those instances, or perhaps I just went with something that felt right.
Today I imagine myself in that kitchen again, leaning against the same counter, wondering what sort of chances will come my way this time. I am about to cross the same ocean in a slightly different direction, with a lot more luggage (a husband included), and even though I don’t know what I’ll find at the end of it, I know that my attitude won’t be the same. I now know the difference between saying yes just because it’s a tiny step in the right direction and saying no because I know exactly what I want.
The chances I take now are more calculated; I see beyond the fear and illusion of comfort. I am no longer 17 and confused, but I know that I’ll have to know when to dive in and when to drink the tea to say, “No, thanks.”
It will definitely make for an interesting job seeking process.
Start with a Story 