All good things must come to an end, or insert another ciche title of your choice...

Today was my last day working in the Writing Center. I work at the Community Writing Center after Summer Bridge tomorrow evening, and then I'm done for good. I can't believe how fast these five years have gone, or that I'm leaving because I (finally) have a career, as a teacher, no less. These five years have been incredible--full of growth, change, happiness, heartache, intellectual and emotional stretching of the mind, the creating of lasting and meaningful friendships, the perfecting of skills and techniques, and an overall greater stride toward personal excellence. I am proud of the work I've done as a tutor. I can honestly say that I gave my all everyday by working to meet each student's needs and being in tune with their inner writer's voice and purpose. My feelings about doing my best were backed and validated when students requested me by name, looked out for me in the halls of UVU, or when we met in the community at large. It has been an honor to serve and get to see students blossom into good and confident writers. We validated and helped each other, and they prepared me as much as possible for the giant leap I am taking into teacherhood. I am scared to leave a job I love so much and feel I'm good at for one where I already feel so unsure and vulnerable: very much like a baby deer taking its first, wobbly steps. Not my favorite position, vulnerability, but I remind myself that I was once a newbie tutor with a similar fear of failure, and I worked hard to make my challenge into something good and valuable instead of giving up before I had even started. I can do that again--I can learn and grow and get good at this too. I didn't cry when I left tonight, and I haven't cried at home either, but I've felt kind of weird tonight and also pretty lost. I'm faced with so many unknowns and laughibly steep learning curves; I'm (foolishly?) leaving what I know for what I think I know: It's noon, and I'm backing away ten paces in the hard, rust-colored earth. A snake rattles and adrenaline bubbles up my throat like the foamy afro of a fresh drawn, frosty mug of A&W. Sweat dripps from my brow, trigger finger itches to fulfill its destiny, as Faith and I turn on our spurs, and draw once more.