Right Spirit, Wrong Billet

I began kindergarten in a small church school that used the Accelerated Christian Education (ACE) program. In 1986, this meant working through PACEs—Packets of Accelerated Christian Education—while sitting in a cubicle facing the wall, my back to the center of the room. To get the attention of the supervising adults, we raised small flags: one American, one Christian. I don’t remember which meant what.

Within a month, I was moved into the main classroom. My reading, writing, and comprehension skills were already well developed, so I advanced quickly. By the end of that school year, I was working at a fourth-grade level.

After we moved, I entered public school and was placed with students my age, starting second grade. I had two more opportunities to return to private Christian school, but I chose to stay in public education.

Language arts and literature were always my favorite subjects. I specify that because, at the time, they were distinct—unlike today’s broader “Reading” category. Fridays were my favorite: free reading and free writing. I wrote short stories, poems, and limericks using our vocabulary words instead of the assigned sentences. I always had a book with me, no matter the class.

At 17, I was selected as a student representative for my state to attend the Washington Journalism Conference in D.C. My roommates were from Mississippi and Kentucky, and we stayed in the 4-H dorms. It was an amazing experience that taught me I absolutely did not want to be a journalist.

As I was about to start my senior year, my college plans evaporated. I was good at many things and involved in all kinds of activities, so I pivoted. I liked school and thought teaching would let me stay connected to learning and extracurriculars. I’d never be bored.

I earned a full academic scholarship to Indiana State University. By my third year, I realized I hated teaching, but I stuck with it because I wasn’t “in the real world” yet.

My first job was in Tennessee as a Special Education Reading and Math Resource teacher. I was hired on a waiver and walked into an empty classroom with no curriculum and no idea what a Resource teacher or an IEP was. It was horrible, but I stayed because “the first three years are the hardest.”

After struggling to find a new position, a principal in North Carolina found my résumé online and called me. I started mid-year teaching sixth-grade Language Arts, and the following year added Social Studies and Science. I nearly had a nervous breakdown, but I stayed because “the leadership and support at the elementary level is much better.”

I transferred to third grade and stayed there for three years. By the end of that third year, I walked into the principal’s office and asked to be considered for any position outside the classroom. He obliged, and the next year I became the Reading Specialist for third grade.

In my late twenties, I was getting physically ill at the thought of still being a teacher when I turned 30. That was my line. I left the classroom.

I share all this to say I didn’t leave teaching because I couldn’t handle the work. I left because the work stopped making sense. There was no path forward, no room to grow, and no reward for doing more than the minimum. Looking back, I realize I had the right spirit—but I was in the wrong billet. I walked away—not from education, but from a system that no longer aligned with who I was or who I wanted to become.

I put my energy into earning my MBA with vague ideas of starting my own bookstore or landing somewhere in publishing. I was done with education and ready to write my way into a new chapter, maybe build something from scratch. But life had other plans and somewhere in the middle of all that uncertainty, I did something no one saw coming—not even me.

I joined the Navy.