Leaving the teaching profession

Leaving the teaching profession

It's Friday September 12th. Normally, after a five-week summer holiday, I would have just finished my second week of work as a teacher at an East London secondary school. New exercise books would have been distributed and defaced with fresh graffiti.

The initial enthusiasm of students (and teachers) at the start of a new year would gradually fade. And if it hadn't already happened, I would regularly raise my voice in anger at the general indifference of students when their first assignment deadlines loom.

As you can probably tell – just look at the rest of our site – I am not teaching at the moment. I don't actually work at all - at least not in the sense of nine to five, 40 hours a week.

Instead, I sit on a wooden deck overlooking the Pacific Ocean, typing away on my laptop as the waves gently roll in and the evening tide rises. I'm not trying to rub it in, just set the scene. Well, maybe I'll try rubbing it in a little.

I gave my notice in April. It was sooner than necessary, but I knew in April what I already knew at the start of the academic year last September: that my time in the teaching profession was finite.

When I left teaching at the end of July, I knew it would be for good. I had been teaching for seven years and at least a year too long.

I'm not going to write another insulted teacher rant - I'm just saying that despite the fact that I was a dedicated and successful teacher, the salary and holidays were not enough to compensate for the suffocating bureaucracy and unrelenting pressure placed on teachers by the central government.

The vacation pay, often cited by friends as an unprecedented benefit, simply wasn't enough of an incentive for me to stay in the job, nor was it enough of an incentive for me to return.

alt=“Retiring from the teaching profession”>A heartwarming message left on my whiteboard by a student in my favorite class

Will I miss class? Perhaps. There will be times when I am sure I will miss the interaction and fulfillment that comes with working in a school. However, I expect that whenever I have these aches and pains, an accompanying fear will follow.

What will I do when I come back? I don't know. In fact, I have no idea. And I love not knowing. It's the first time in almost 10 years, probably since I was a student, that I don't know what I'm going to do for a living. I may end up teaching English as a foreign language again – my TEFL qualification is hopelessly underused. However, I know that whatever it is, it will probably be very different than anything I've ever done before.

I'm happiest when I'm outside. I am happiest when I am close to nature. Not in a tree-hugging hippie way – it's just that I'm not a natural city person. I spent most of my time in London escaping the city and finding secluded areas where I didn't feel like I was in the "big city."

Whether that was wild camping on the Moors or Downs, climbing mountains in Scotland in midwinter or just jogging around Fairlop Waters at the weekend, it still makes me a country boy at heart who can't ignore his formative years and upbringing.

I suspect that when (or if) I return to the UK I will be forced to teach on a short-term or temporary basis just to make ends meet. But it has to be temporary. My biggest fear in life, and I suspect in most people's lives, is feeling unhappy. And the wrong job can easily make you unhappy. I think I left just in time.

I have to be careful not to disparage my former job, as many of my good friends and former colleagues remain in teaching and continue to do great work. Being a teacher is a great and valuable profession - but I know that I made the right decision.

About once a week I wake up anxious from a dream about the classroom. After a few seconds I realize where I am and a wave of relief washes over me. Knowing that I won't be back anytime soon makes me happy.

With that in mind, I don't regret my time as a teacher. I enjoyed a lot of it, met a lot of fascinating people (adults and children) and made some of the best friends I will ever have. At the same time, I'm looking forward to the future and just know that I don't really know what I'm going to do. And I like it.

I'll end with the anecdote that got me thinking about all of this. We are currently camping on Taveuni Island in Fiji. It's a fairly basic campsite with a kitchen and a common area overlooking the ocean.

There are two books on a table, and when we came up for breakfast this morning, Kia picked one up and leafed through it. She paused and read me the following quote:

“Every schoolmaster knows that for every person who wants to teach, there are about 30 people who don’t want to learn – a lot.”

I just smiled and made some eggs.

Mission statement: Dreamstime

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