Friday, January 3, 2014

Waiting on a Snow Day

It's a cold morning here in Syracuse. Snow has piled on the car, driveway, and streets where the plows have yet to travel. The sun is coming around again but not here yet. I have the heat on in my basement nook, music too and a solar lamp. The coffee is hot and I'm watching the school closings. Were my hands not busy typing I would press them together in prayer. The only faith I keep is that of the child who believes in snow days. Let us bow our heads and pray.

School was supposed to start back yesterday. It is odd to send kids and teachers back on Thursday after a week and a half off. It's unlikely the kids I teach will come back for two days. It is six degrees below zero with a wind and any kid waiting for a bus will come to school ready to beat the snot out of the superintendent who didn't close the school. I'll have half a mind to do the same. 

Yesterday, the schools our program serves closed due to the snow. This morning, before 5:30, our schools have closed and I'm waiting on my superintendent to close our program. I can imagine us remaining open and me having to show up even if there are no kids. Such is the way of our system, but I remain hopeful that we will be given the day.

Times like these I imagine a job I would want to work no matter how cold it was, no matter how high the snow. Such jobs exist. I'm as sure of that as I am of not liking the job I have now. Come to think of it, I'm doing the job I want right now. Regardless how little sleep I've had, at 4:40, I get up with my alarm and come down to write. I've done so every morning for two months. Even when there seems nothing in my head to write I still sit type and feel good enough to keep going. 

My best friend theorizes that I just can't work for anyone. I want to work for someone I respect and admire, who inspires and pushes me to be better. I'm learning that boss is a voice inside that sounds just like me. It says that I can do better, that I can be extraordinary. It comes to me now as I say the words quietly to myself as I type. 

The school closings are coming in now, but my program remains open. I don't want to go. I don't want to work there any more. I want to stay here in this nook and listen to my voice pushing me to do more and become more of a man. I want to stay here all day and write on. 

(School closed ten minutes after I finished drafting this. Amen.)