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It’s a funny thing, moving, tearing up your roots, choosing to try something new. Recently, my wife and I decided, due to economic conditions in WNY and a general dissatisfaction with the direction of our lives, that it would be a good idea to look for new jobs elsewhere. So we started on the path of “newness.” We put aside our fears of change and the unknown, and we started looking in earnest.
The difficult part for me is that I have been a teacher for 14 years, and in the educational world, leaving in the middle of the year is … frowned upon. Contractually, I had to give 30 days notice. Simple, right? Not really. In a small town like mine, the rumor mill is the daily news, and right now, we’re it. Forget the fact that my wife’s new job offer is fantastic, and that it’s a great professional opportunity. Forget that I have family in Savannah, GA (where we’re moving). Forget all the positives. Rumor has it I’ve committed “breach of contract.”
I believe “breach of contract” means that I’ve done something contrary to my contractual agreement with my employer. I have not. I followed my contractual agreement to the letter. I’ve become someone I’m not for that silly piece of paper. I’ve earned exactly what that piece of paper says I should earn; I’ve believed what that piece of paper says I am, coming over the years to the conclusion that because that paper says I’m only capable of doing X, Y, and Z, that it must be so.
I’ve ended my relationship with that particular piece of paper. And I’m headed south to sunshine, to a place where my wife (and I again at some point) will get to try working at a place where she’s appreciated for exactly who she is and what she’s capable of becoming. Finally, she won’t be held back and told she’s “just a woman.”
Small town, I ask you, if I were leaving to become a VP, and my wife turned in her resignation to go with me, would you make such a fuss?