The building that I teach in is 50 years old. Of that time, it has been my work place for 29 years, and despite its many flaws (very few windows, hulking architecture, early 70s style brown brick, looks like a prison, interior microclimates, leaky roof, cinderblock bathrooms, and more!) I have the warmest of places in my heart for that big, dark, drafty old building.
But when there were nascent plans to remodel and displace me to move the front office to the where I've been comfortably ensconced for the last three decades, I wondered if it was time to say good-bye. Oh, I got on the committee, and I did some community networking, and I told my tale to anyone who would listen, but in the end, I knew it was out of my hands, and I had to let go, so I did.
And every day since then has been almost like a gift. There have been countless times when I've paused to consciously appreciate the way the light falls in the late afternoon when I am planning or the quiet of the space as I ready for the day or the joyful energy of a room full of sixth graders. Realizing how fleeting it all is has reminded me of how wonderful it all has been. Today I received word that the renovation is indefinitely on hold; it seems that I may keep this space a little longer, if I will.
I think I may do just that.
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