The work of an educator is wonderful, to be sure, but it can feel Sisyphean.
I have been a high school teacher and administrator for over three decades. Before I was an administrator and my responsibilities required me to work during the summers, I would always find a temporary position with the school to make a little extra money. Teaching summer school, helping build the next year’s academic schedule, managing the bookstore, whatever. Many of my colleagues, however, took jobs outside the school during the summer months.
I seem to remember many of them painting.
My wife and I have developed a “punch list” of projects around our home that we would like to complete. Because I am who I am, I have taken that list and made it a spreadsheet. It is color-coded checklist, searchable and sortable. On it are small items like “clean under the bathroom vanity” and bigber ones such as “sand and re-stain the deck.” We have been making slow and steady progress through the items and I am well aware of the rush I get when I check things off our list.
Last week, I patched and painted a hallway.
After the paint dried and I replaced the switch and outlet covers and I pulled off the blue tape (and touched up a few places I missed), I felt a very pleasant sense of accomplishment. I was gratified by doing the work.
I have noted on more than one occasion that the work of an educator rarely feels complete. Teachers move from unit-to-unit and lesson-to-lesson with a seemingly endless process of students. No sooner do you complete one class when four more are waiting. Each concluding assessment leads to a new one. One graduation follows quickly upon another.
The work of an educator is wonderful, to be sure, but it can feel Sisyphean.
But painting a hallway? Painting a room? Painting a house?
Those particular boulders are not rolling back down the hill.
I think I know why so many of my colleagues enjoyed this kind of work, and why I do, too.