Sometimes everything just comes to a halt - out of nowhere, things fall apart. Other times, the end is a dripping water faucet that eventually drains the well. It's the light left on non-stop that eventually grows dimmer and then blows.
That's the way the apparent end of my 7.5 year experience teaching online has arrived.
There have always been those who panic - every month - in the group chat, "Has anyone been paid yet?" The answers trickle in - it's hard to have an appropriate sense of urgency when there are instructors and students in most global time zones. Henny Penny's been chirping all year.
Last month no one got paid. It seems clear that the end is at hand. Communications from the company consisted of stonewalling for a week - then the promise of regular updates, albeit vague and of no help, but really, at least there was communication. Or was it gaslighting? The chorus of doom and gloom continues.
In this time of uncertainty and hope, I'm reminded of my never-ending struggle to survive. Ever since I was 19 years old, the needs to procure a place to live and food to eat topped my to-do list. To that end, every action I took, every decision I made. Where to work, whether to finish my undergraduate degree - even what major (to some extent) and where to live (had to be able to walk in case I didn't have a car).
It's hard to describe the way struggling shaped me. Knowing that things could always get worse, but always thinking that nothing could be as bad as what had already happened, ultimately learning (again) that it can be damned close.
My father died at 67. He had let his health go to shit. He wouldn't take either his medicine or care of himself and I found him stiff in his leather recliner. Over the past few years, I've begun to understand how he must have felt; I empathize so deeply that it's often unsettling.
You see at one time, he had a good career. He was regularly recognized for his can-do attitude. I found proof of this as we cleaned out his belongings. A cowboy-loving conservative to the core, maybe he truly believed that if he only worked hard enough, he'd go far.
When did he realize that hard work wasn't enough? It was the friends, the connections, the complicity. I don't think he could manage it - maybe he tried, but just couldn't keep it up. Thinking he could mistreat and abuse those around him left him struggling to sustain relations with loved ones and even to find work. His health didn't help any, either. A car accident that wasn't his fault, a stroke, and other complications unknown to me held him back. Or maybe he couldn't go forward anyway. I don't know, but I know what it feels like to lose hope. To try as hard as you can while trying to stay true to your own values and then POOF. Nothing seems to work and nothing lasts.
It'd be easier to let go. To just stop trying. It is exhausting to push for something and the only motivation is to make it to the next day. How do we forget why we live?
Complain as I do, I don't have that problem, really. There are about two dozen furry angels who depend on me, among others. I can't slip quietly into the night without someone knowing. Someone losing their caregiver. Others losing their biggest fan.
So I'm here. The rug yanked out from under me once again, or was it slowly being tugged away the whole time; my feet sliding into a new position? It's always hard to tell.
I remind myself of the many blessings I have - of all the ways it could actually be worse. Do you know that's also exhausting? Treading water, getting a nice float from time to time, but feeling as if there's a constant stream of pebbles raining down from somewhere - gotta keep moving to roll them off before they get heavy. Tired.
My positive approach to this is everything that it always is - controlling my thoughts, reaching high and pumping myself up - you got this girl. Just keep going. But this time I'm going to slow it down. If there's one thing I've learned is that fast fizzles and slow stays. In it for the long run, so I have to make it work. One way or another, it'll work out. At least that's what my Grandmother said.
