The right decision is the one you made

As a child, I would have thought this was the coolest thing ever. (John Margolies, Library of Congress)

The kids are back in school, and I miss them.

Life goes on at The Little Middle School—surprisingly normally, given the masks. And I’m not there for any of it. I’m over a thousand miles away, alone and waiting for my second shot.

It’s fine — I wouldn’t even really have time to engage with the students. I will stay busy the entire day and not get to the end of the work. I will provide support to the teachers from afar, and that will have to be enough.

This is actually what I wanted: to make it so that the school could run without me and I could have time to work on some new projects. After years in the classroom, it was the right thing. But I still miss seeing kids every day. I miss the noise and the intensity and the relationships. It was comfortable and familiar and I loved it.

It’s pretty normal that I miss my old job, especially in the context of this year. It makes sense that I’m craving normalcy and human contact. But the fact that I miss working at my school every day doesn’t mean that I made the wrong decision by moving on.

Change is weird and difficult, and sometimes we try to make it easier on ourselves by burning bridges or waiting until we burn out. It makes a lot more sense to leave when something has become miserable and untenable, right? But as my mom says, “You can leave the party when you’re still having fun.” You’re allowed to move on even when the thing you’re leaving is joyful and fulfilling. It can still be time for the next thing.

In fact, there is no right or wrong decision. There aren’t any forking paths in life—there’s only the path we take. We do what we do, and it’s impossible to know how things would have turned out otherwise. So even though I’m wistful and missing people and experiences that I’ve said goodbye to, I’m not questioning or regretting my choices. I am where I am. I am good with that. I’m not going to drive myself crazy wondering whether I should have done something else.

Having said that, my feelings give me clues about what I might want from my life in the future. I would like to be able to find some way to work in a classroom again, even if it’s only a part-time or volunteer thing. I would like to play more music and teach it. And I can’t wait to work in coffee shops once again, enjoying the noise and energy of other people as I knock out my to-do list.

And of course, I’d love to visit my school again when it’s safe to do so. I don’t have to miss it forever—just for a little while longer. But my place will be different, and that’s okay. I’m prepared for that, and I recognize all the things I’m doing—coaching, consulting, and sailing—that would be impossible if I were still in my former role.

Letting go of something great is hard. There’s not always a rational reason to do it. All you can do is follow your inner promptings wherever they seem to be leading. You may never get a chance to go back, or your life may come full circle and you will. Either way, you will have changed. You’re not going to be the person you were, and that’s enough to throw things off and make you think you’ve done it all wrong. You haven’t. You’ve simply grown, and there’s nothing you can do about that.

If you’re second-guessing a decision, I hope you can recognize that the right decision is the one you made. Nostalgia, painful though it may be sometimes, is a gift. And if your current reality doesn’t match the quality of your memories, you can make additional changes to turn your life into what you want it to be. It’s not over yet.