Only a couple of months ago, I was telling someone about my priorities in finding a new job. That I wanted to be in a city. That I'd realized what I was going to have to do was take a regular day job and volunteer in order to teach and get the experience I wanted. But then I couldn't get a regular job. And I registered with this company that places teachers at private schools and I had to seriously consider where I'd be willing to live. So I opened myself up, at least on paper, 48 states. Then last week, I got my first referrals. Thirteen schools. Some of them in places I'd love to live: Boston, upstate New York, outside DC. But more in places I couldn't imagine. West Virginia, Central Florida, Southern Florida, Florida. I'd already fallen in love with and mourned so many places and positions I could
imagine myself thriving that somewhere along the way my standards
changed. It became only about the job. I got to where I need to be, to the point where the school became what is most important to me. Not whether it's in a town of 10,000 people. Not whether it's somewhere hot. Not whether the pay is either stunning or paltry. Only the job. Only teaching what I want to teach.
