*Quitting a Job I Love

This has nothing to do with game development or the OWS YouTube channel. I’m writing this to get my thoughts out. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Here’s how it all turned out

I’m one of those lucky people. I have a job that I love. I really do. It’s an amazing job. I’ve taught just about every level of math from Algebra to Differential Equations. I’ve taught physics, robotics, game design, and an art class using Blender. I’ve spent countless hours each fall riding with and coaching the competitive mountain bike team. I’ve spent many winter days on the ski hill trying to convince students that carving a turn on skis is more fun than just “pointing it.” I’ve helped to build up the robotics team from nothing to a team that is competitive at the state level. Every spring and fall, I’ve packed up a bus full of mountain bikers and headed out on week-long trips to the Colorado and Utah desert or to the beautiful mountains of Crested Butte. It’s an amazing job. I have poured my heart and soul into this school.

I don’t want to quit. But the job has taken a toll. I am tired. I am exhausted. I am burned out.

My school has a policy of not counting hours. There is no year-end evaluation or mechanism for feedback. This means no one knows how hard we actually work. This means there is no limit to how much we work. This means we can be asked to do more at any time with little or no compensation.

The school board is painted a rosy picture by the administration. Most teachers have been here for over a decade and many for over 2 decades. But things are changing. We grumble in private. When we do approach the administration we are told we are doing a good job and this is just what it takes to work at a boarding school (and there is truth to that). But our concerns are wiped away with excessive positivity or seemingly ignored. It doesn’t feel good. At a school that is about community and relationships, there is little to none of that sense of community between the administration and teaching staff.

As a school, we pride ourselves, and justifiably so, on the strong relationships with our students, but after two years of a pandemic, no administrator has truly taken the time to see how I’m doing personally or professionally. They are stressed and overworked too. I think the presumption is if I haven’t quit I’m doing okay.

We are a “family” when the school needs something from us and when we need something from the school we are told we are being “transactional.” We sign a contract in February that binds us to the school until the next June. There is no meaningful negotiation. No way to earn more (beyond our annual 3% raise). No promotions. No way to adjust our workload. No way to move off-campus. The only lever we have to pull to change our situation is to quit. If we do quit, we lose a paycheck, housing, utilities, food, and health insurance. It is terrifying to make a change and few of us do.

During my time here I have seen kids who barely knew how to mountain bike become state champion racers. I’ve seen aimless students discover computer science or physics or art and find a reason to go to college. I’ve seen kids that have been bullied in previous schools find friends and community. I’ve watched countless students discover a sport that has given them confidence and a sense of belonging.

We do amazing things for students and I love being a small part of this school. But like so many schools this work is done on the backs of the teachers.

In many ways, we are a rudderless ship. I can’t tell you the last time I saw an administrator in the classroom building to observe let alone when I last had any meaningful feedback. I couldn’t tell you what the mission and vision of the school are. I can’t tell you the school’s goals - other than to provide for students in any way possible and to fundraise for new buildings. We seem increasingly driven by budget and money. While I’m sure that is not 100% fair or even true, that is what it feels like, and what things feel like can be just as important or even more so than what is actually true.

While there is so much good at our school, there also feels like there is willful blindness to what is not working or feeling good. Throwing spouses off insurance, cancelation of sabbatical, no published pay scale, poor maternity leave, worse paternity leave, ever-increasing expectations and workloads, and most of all the lack of voice. As teachers, as professionals, as members of the community, we want to be heard. We want to have some agency.

Again I love my job. I do. It pisses me off. It makes me angry. But I love it. Like any relationship, it’s flawed. That’s okay. I would love to find a way forward, a way to make the job sustainable and not feel emotionally drained and burned out. But relationships that only go one way are dysfunctional.

I believe there are many at the school who do truly care about staff, but they are overworked and hamstrung by policies that make sense on paper but that forget that we are people, not cogs in a machine.

I have slowly come to peace with the situation. I am not entitled to having the school change. I can’t make the school change. All I can do is control how I react and what I do.

With a tear in my eye and a lump in my throat, I am pulling the only lever I have to pull. I am quitting.