The cool and mindful kids are saying: “You can’t stop the waves, but you can learn to surf.” I’ve wanted to apply this to my approach to the school year so many times only to end in frustration and failure.

Here is why I believe this surfing philosophy has eluded me: it is a drastic oversimplification of a complex problem. It is difficult and most days impossible to learn how to do anything when you are dealing with Okinawa typhoon sized waves, no surf board, and no elders leading the way. It is not just that the sun isn’t shining today or the waves are a bit turbulent from a passing thunderstorm, we are talking about a gravitational shift.

Waves. I’ve been experiencing them daily. Waves of grief when I cannot share a smile from behind my mask. Waves of despair when I watch my students struggle to cope with the stress of their lives. Waves of compassion when I am able to offer some solace to someone. Waves of gratitude when I hear the voices in my classroom and don’t have to put up with the void of faceless black boxes on a screen. Waves of determination when I think about all the ways that I want to show up and anchor my students in the consistency of my presence. Waves of panic when news of another letter of resignation spreads. Waves of uncertainty when a school board meeting is approaching and mask mandates are on the agenda. Waves of anxiety when I think about the future and what the outcome of this struggle might be. Waves of frustration when I need to cover another class because we don’t have the subs.

Every day is a red flag rip-current warning. Some days I’ve been submerged by the waves and feel like I am flailing in the undercurrent. Some days I’ve been buried by a huge tidal wave. Some days I am taking each wave as it comes and doing all of the work it takes to keep myself afloat. And some days I don’t want to even touch the water, and the guilt washes over me when I think about everyone else who is filling my empty space. All of it an exhausting feat.

How can we be both lifeguards and surfers? We can’t. And somehow we feel the responsibility and weight of it all, an impossible place to be. As a group we are going through something unimaginable and the path is not yet clear. We aren’t ready to move forward and we cannot go back, so all we have is now. All we can do is show up and yet showing up is the hardest part when we are enduring such a difficult transition. Through the discomfort of these turbulent times, through the unbearable daily failings, through the latest mandates and changes, all we have is our ability to be. These are impossible times and although they are incessantly lonely most days, you are not alone and you are not wrong for responding to these circumstances with numbness, rage, panic attacks, and if you are like me a dizzying cycle of all of the above. If your gut is telling you this is all too much, you are right. If your instincts are telling you that this isn’t sustainable, you are correct. If you are hating this job more than ever, you are responding appropriately. If you are counting down the days till summer because it is the only thing that can get you through this darkness, you are doing enough. 

There is no fast way out, there is no fix, no cure, there is just this mess. While we don’t know our way out of it and we don’t know when or how it will end, we do know that it is unsustainable for this pattern to continue forever. So while we make our way through this I beg you to embrace those waves of relief, those waves of gratitude, those waves of compassion. Those waves are beautiful, those waves keep us connected and tethered to one another and to our own humanity. We can’t stop the waves and we can’t learn to surf right now. We are doing something else, we are waiting.