Movin' On

More than once, my late best friend, who knew all of my immediate family, observed that we all ran on a different speed than the rest of the world. Her summation was that we are "go-go-go-go-go-go-go-go-go-stop. Gooooooooooooooooooo-stop." It never occurred to me that there was any other way to be; in fact, I never knew until I was grown that we were different from anyone else in that way---I thought everyone worked 12-15 hours a day. I figured out pretty early that the worst thing you could call a Welker is "lazy." Most likely, it would be pretty inaccurate, too.

At 73, Dad is the hardest worker I know. I don't mean he was; he IS. I've known no one yet, of ANY age, who can put in more hours in a day than he does, and we're not talking about long days at a desk. He's been working with animals and field equipment since he was a child....and he's paying for it physically. Just a few weeks ago I saw him climb over the pipe fence behind the house so nimbly that you'd never know he has wrenching osteoarthritis and trashed rotator cuffs. He just does not know when to quit. Try to tell him to rest, and his response is, "Oh, no, can't do that! People die in bed. Don't you know that?" He's only half joking. But again, I didn't even know his work hours were unusual when I was at home. I thought everyone's dad worked until dark, no matter the season, and after dark or even all night if it was harvest season. He never even got sick very often, it seemed. That work ethic was part bluff, and part self-preservation: he just was too hyper to be sitting around. My sister and I both got that demeanor, she more than I. He's found more enjoyment in listening to music in the last few years and will be still for that these days, and I'm grateful he's found that. But I take a lot of pride in the fact that the man can, literally, still, work anyone else under the table.

Mom is in no way a slacker, either. When we were all at home, she could and did put in a full day's work every day in the house, in the field, in the office, in the pasture----often all of the above. Yes, four full days of work in one, like many mothers in the world. Time, life, and Dad have all given her more to do each year. I have seen her bake the flakiest pie crusts, rewire a lamp, work cattle, rock babies (yes, plural, at one time), build fence, repair plumbing, sew upholstery, hang wallpaper, cross-stitch, mud Sheetrock, plant vegetables, work ledgers, and I don't know what-all. She is fearless and tough and absolutely unstoppable. Unlike Dad, she can be still, to sit and visit with a person for a while without practically twitching to get up and get to work, but not for long periods of time. When she used to stay with us, when Laura was ill, it wasn't unusual for me to come home and find her working on a project, like taking our vertical blinds down and scrubbing each one. She can pace herself to just about any task, whether it's quick and repetitive or slow and methodical. More and more, I see her style in my brother's life and work. I wouldn't trade her, or the example she set for me, for any price on earth, but I'd pay anything I could for her to rest more often.

Our parents' examples for us made certain that we three kids would have excellent work ethics, too. That's always been my best characteristic. As I said, the worst thing you could call any of us was "lazy," and it certainly isn't true. But I feel like the laziest person in my family because they all work so hard physically. I work indoors, and I often have to sit because of my feet, teaching from my tall barstool at the podium. However, anyone who has taught even a day of school knows that it's physically exhausting, practically putting on a song and dance for six or seven class periods per day. That energy is much like adrenaline pouring through an athlete's system, an accompanying "high" when you hit the perfect rhythm. It's never failed me----but I think it might be waning.

A couple of years ago, I noticed that my usual quick march all day at school was slowing down, that it left me absolutely exhausted to keep up my normal pace. I observed to my doctor that I couldn't seem to go up and down the halls several times a day at school anymore without feeling like I was walking through mud at the end of the day. He gently observed, "Well, you ARE a 47-year-old woman now; you aren't going to feel like you did at 27." It was not the same as calling me "lazy"; in a way, it was worse. I was just slowing down, and there was not much to be done about it. At the time, I hated that most for my personal life. Who WAS I if I didn't run on a bottomless well of Welker energy? I used to get three or four hours of sleep a night when I was in grad school, working two jobs and loving it, having a good time. Even when I left higher ed and got into secondary ed, I almost always worked two jobs and lived a complex life, friends and family scattered away, requiring weekend trips to be able to spend time with anyone, while still getting all my grading and prep work done. I could teach all day, teach a night class two nights a week, grade and do all kinds of fun things on weekends, and still have energy to burn. But now..... Once in a while, I have dinner during the week with friends or family members, but most nights I'm not up for anything. If I get together on weekends, it's during the day, or staying overnight at the ranch.

This school year seems to be even more of a challenge. I started in July with a driving intensity to overcome my worries about so many changes taking place, which worked well for me for a while. I felt that I was doing a pretty good job as a mentor and a department head, and inspiration set me off on a couple of new projects to revamp my curriculum for the Common Core State Standards (eduspeak---there's sure to be more on that another time) that are looming in the wings. Technically, I was starting the year with five lesson preps per day, but effectively, one of those would be a separate lesson prep for each student, since it was testing remediation class. I didn't even feel particularly intimidated by that---one bonus from years of experience. And I would be keeping last year's after-school plan, holding after-school detention for the school on Tuesdays and Thursdays, tutoring on Wednesdays, and working at school every day until about 5, then going to water aerobics in Pryor from 5:30-6:30, showering, and returning home to BA by 8. Thirteen hours a day out of the house should be absolutely NO problem for me.

It is. It's become a problem. I work as briskly as I ever have all day; I even work at my desk through lunch each day, which I have never done for more than a couple of weeks, believing that teachers need peer time.  I bring home stacks of work each weekend but don't get through half of it. On Saturdays, I always have a schedule. Keeping a planned day in my head is as instinctive for me as breathing; more than one friend, from college onward, has joked about my regimented times for working. Now...well, those schedules are useless.  So far, most Saturdays I sleep. Not all day---I'll get up in the morning and watch something on the DVR (because I can't stay awake during the week to watch anything anymore!), but within a couple of hours, I'm on the couch napping. I wake up, fix a bite to eat for lunch, watch something else or look at a magazine----zonk! I'm back asleep on the couch. By 6 or 7, I'm thinking about the blog that I should have written days before, one I've been thinking about specifically or which idea I want to choose, and I spend the rest of Saturday night writing these novellas that I almost always intend to be much more concise. Then I wind up eating dinner so late---often after midnight, because I have to post by then---that I can't go to bed until 3 a.m. If I'm too tired to roll out of bed at 8 a.m. for church, I lose half the day. By Sunday night, I have a little work done, am somewhat rested, have good intentions to do better in the coming week....and immediately start withdrawing from my energy reserves by watching British sitcoms on PBS until midnight.

This is not how I want to expend my energy for the entire school year. I don't feel like I am ever anywhere close to being on top of things at work, let alone ahead of the game, and I hate wasting every Saturday sleeping so much, even if I DO need it. Unlike Dad, I can't access the endless reservoir of energy I need. Unlike Mom, I'm not pacing myself well.  Unlike myself, I don't feel my mental runner's high, the rhythm of my work flowing through me.  With nearly my whole self-esteem coming from my work, it's not possible to let this go on.

Self-assessment tells me my current energy reserves aren't right for me; they aren't even in my DNA.  I haven't found the energy to search out the resolution yet, though.  I keep hoping that perhaps I'll dream it, receive a flash of inspiration, or even hear it on NPR.  In the meantime, I'm going to keep on moving, whether it's at a crawl, a steady stroll, or a lively stride.  I've got a lot more "go-go-go" to go.