Pensive Pedal Strokes

I don’t know if I like deciding whether or not I want to participate that day.  Deciding whether or not I want to show up, play the part of teacher, be only a placeholder or glorified babysitter, or just be something at all for anyone that day.  As a substitute teacher, there’s a lack of inward accountability I succumb to in it’s freedom.

This is a bike ride. Typical and frequent in its railings and rants and relfections.  Life.

I can allot relational investment dependent upon my mood, perceived emotional capacity, and well-being of my psychological faculties.  I can gage my cup and administer what I see fit, dispensing intermittently what I deem allowable to protect taking from myself.  I can choose whether or not to craft a skill set, embrace a deficiency, or cultivate a passion.  I can consciously retreat from opportunities of growth, moments of discord; face fallacies propping up my quasi-selves, or challenges in which to openly be offended.  

I’m not a better teacher on the days I enthusiastically clockin from when I felt most tenacious to be a world changer as a full-time teacher.  I’m not more because I can write off my fatigued and emotionally drained days.  

I’m healthier, maybe.  More insightful to self-actualization and subtle discrepancies that arise before they become full-fledged emotional dramas.  I have more episodes of self-discovery.  Reflective glimmers into my soulscape frequent more of a reprise than they did traditionally, but not because I am more obedient or disciplined with time.  I actually have more time, more than ever.  I also waste more time than ever.  There was tact, self-restraint, and foresight working out of what felt skimming sufficient or just enough.  Ample invites leisure, excess accepts and accommodates a showing of mediocrity.  

I was a better teacher and lover and mentor when I showed up on the good and the bad, the blissful and distasteful, even in straight acrimonious defiance and resistance and complacency.  

I was better at being.  Better in consistency.  I lack the drive and audacity to accept the hard days, the challenging days that call me into a better musician, educator, and lover of life.  I yearn and ache for more responsibility and meaning, but retreat from episodal encounters to walk into a better version of myself.

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