Last Day

Last days are always a little sad. We may anticipate the end of something, eager and excited, but when that end finally comes, we inevitably feel a sense of loss. I do not know if it's the leaving of the familiar or the stepping out into the unknown, but I suspect it's a bit of both.

Today is our last day teaching kids how to ski. We may do this again someday; we may not. We certainly don't expect to be doing it full time, and I honestly doubt we will find ourselves back in the mountains and able to ski or be on skis nearly every day for a few months. I have no regrets with taking the time to do this "trip" before our big one. It was refreshing to have shorter weeks and workdays and a job where I was able to pull myself back out when I felt myself caring too much about my performance or success. I think that is why it suprises me that I am feeling a bit nostalgic on my last day.

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Josh and I have been looking forward to leaving our jobs here for a few weeks. When we first arrived, a bit of early-morning grumbling would creep in, but we both (more or less) enjoyed the work. It felt a bit hollow at times, teaching wealthy children how to acquire skills for a very expensive sport. But on certain days, the days when only one of your 3-year-olds was a crier or when half of your middle schoolers starting turning parallel for the first time or when a first grader finally understood that tipping her skis would keep her from sliding down the hill, the job was rewarding.

After a few months of this, however, attitudes start to change. We are a bit slower to get up in the morning, a bit more likely to drive in rather than take the shuttle, a bit slower to gather up the kids on our class lists. It just gets old. Not to mention the sore feet, sore muscles, sore joints... A few weeks ago when we started counting down the days we had left, I didn't expect to feel this sad about leaving.

This week I'm in the green room, which means 3 and 4-year olds, and I've had fun with the little ones. I still get frustrated with the criers, but we have been stealthily keeping watch for fire-breathing dragons in the rental room, having tea time on the snow with Teddy Grahams, and trying to keep straight faces since smiling is not allowed in ski school (and most definately no giggling). After work yesterday, I ran into a kindergardener I had taught two days ago sitting with his mom. We chatted about skiing and whether he should take lessons next year, and his mom said that of his three days of lessons, he had enjoyed and learned the most with me. He told me that he would miss me and gave me a big hug. I think it's just human nature, but I like it when the kids like me, even though I know I am their coach and not their friend.

I should be greatful that my last few days have been good ones; they very well could have been as frustrating as some of the days I've had in weeks past. But it makes me a little sad to be leaving this place. I like parts of this job. I enjoy hanging out with some of the people I work with. I take pleasure in watching the sun rise and set over the mountains. I love quiet mornings sitting in Coffee and Tea with Josh and weary evenings free of responsibility. I even like the sleepy morning shuttle when we share a set of headphones and a podcast of Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me. But then, when I had to get up this morning at 6:15 and pull on those same old ski boots one more time, I knew I was glad to be done.