I arrived in Denver, but not until a one-night stop in Colorado Springs was greatly extended. The cold and crisp mountain air was invigorating. I was welcomed into homes and offered guidance on exploring the area. I stepped out of the normal that was my Austin routines and remembered how life-refreshing kindness and trust can be. When I made it to Denver it took less than twenty-four hours to find my next path. My life direction was clear. I would concentrate on the mental health and social emotional learning development in students. My childhood experience with a dual diagnosis of bipolar II and attention deficit hyperactivity disorder heavily informed my upcoming adventure. Brimming with purpose, I hit the road.
Ending my relationship with teaching was traumatic. The summer was colored by the haze of an identity crisis. "If I'm not a teacher, who am I?" I needed a road trip fashioned after my trek from Philly to Austin. No destination, just a direction. I packed the car with the items I'd need if I found a new place to explore as I did Austin. In case I decided to pull a U-turn I paid my rent forward by a few months. At the time there was no way for me to know how lifesaving my forward thinking would be.
I decided to spend one last day in Colorado Springs. While enjoying a beautiful night and amazing view on a mountain overlook, a friend and I were car jacked at gunpoint. Two individuals forced us from the vehicle, took everything, and left us to do what we could to escape where we were. Flagging down cars, talking to police, and attempting to sleep as the sun rose was surreal. Oddly, I found myself devoid of the fear and anger I should rightly feel. Calm confidence in my ability to get home was matched with sadness for those who accosted me. Before drafting my survival plan, I allowed myself to process the event by writing a non-deliverable letter (or so I thought). After exhausting my financial and friend-given resources I returned to Austin close to penniless. Again, kindness saved the day.
The support I received via a GoFundMe page (archived here) allowed me to initiate my new plan sooner than otherwise possible. I got my foot into school doors as a substitute teacher. As expected, I was approached to take the place of a broken and exiting teacher. I used the opportunity to pitch my desire to provide social emotional learning support to elementary boys in need. By the end of the school year the elation of my proposal's acceptance was overshadowed by the harsh (at best) treatment of myself and my colleagues. The pain allowed for insight, clarity, and my next steps.