I can’t say as my firing was entirely unanticipated.
First, there was the e-mail from the interim superintendent (why he’s interim is a whole other blog post) explaining that the school system is roughly a million-and-a-half in the red, which in a system as small as ours might as well be a couple billion.
That e-mail used the phrase RIF. “Reduction in Force.” Involuntary layoffs, for the uninitiated.
I figured my neck was pretty far out on the chopping block. I’m paid fairly well for a teacher, the A/V program isn’t cheap, and the other subjects I teach, Chorus and Journalism, are “nice to haves,” but not exactly state requirements.
Plus, there are a couple of other teachers at my school who’ve taught chorus and journalism before (and done a damn fine job, might I add.)
Still, I had a feeling that my days at Claxton High School were rapidly drawing to a middle. When I got the e-mail from the principal for an impromptu mid-day meeting, I sensed that maybe they were drawing to a close.
Either that, or one of my students ratted me out.
When the interim superintendent appeared and the principal ushered us and one other teacher (really, that teacher?) into the conference room, I knew the gig was up.
Should I be mad? Maybe. I’d love to say that I’m “taking this opportunity to hone some of my other skills,” but that’s not entirely true. I’m being forced to level up other skills pretty rapidly to supercharge my job search.
Maybe you’ve noticed a pattern in some recent blog posts?
I’m leaning heavily on AI to make the job search way more automated, more efficient, and take out some of the drudgery of mailing out about a million (okay, at last count 50-60) resumes and cover letters. That’s part of what pushed me into writing things like How I Make Lesson Plans With AI and Most People Don’t Need Better Prompts. They Need Better Systems.
And that’s really the lesson from all this. Adversity is one hell of a way to light a fire under one’s butt. If you’ve never heard of “punctuated equilibrium” in evolution, check it out. Same concept.
Long stretches of apparent stability. Then, all at once, a big ugly shove.
That seems to be how a lot of life works, honestly. We drift along, probably later than we should, thinking we’ll get around to the next thing eventually. We’ll polish the resume eventually. We’ll get serious about the side skills eventually. We’ll sign up for the class, build the portfolio, reach out to people, learn the software, update the website, apply for the job, eventually eventually eventually.
Then life, in its infinite tenderness, comes along and says, “Nope. We’re doing that now.”
So what’s next? I honestly don’t know. Things could be much worse. At least I’m getting paid through the end of June, and our state (Georgia) approved a $2k bonus for teachers to be paid in April.
At my mother’s urging, and not entirely as a “just in case” measure, I signed up to take classes toward a master’s degree at Western Governors’ University in educational design and instructional technology. Kinda glad I did now.
I’d love to say that I’ve got a happy ending for this… but I don’t yet. At this point, I’m still searching for jobs. I’ve got the Stouthouse Media video gigs, including TV production for “Where the Food Comes From”. If all else fails, expect to see me playing accordion on a corner in Savannah for tips.
Yes, I play accordion a little. Don’t judge.
But, hey, lessons learned. And I’ve actually got advice for teachers facing my position.
First, start gathering your stuff now. Not when the official letter comes. Not when your principal gives you the sad face and the folded hands. Now. Save copies of lesson plans, sample projects, evaluations, recommendation letters, student work you can legally keep, photos of bulletin boards, screenshots of LMS pages, whatever proves you actually did the work and did it well. Future You is going to be tired, irritated, and not in the mood for a scavenger hunt through old email chains.
Second, apply before your feelings are done talking. You do not need closure to send a resume. You don’t need the perfect narrative yet. You don’t need to have transformed the experience into a noble life lesson with tasteful background music. You need momentum. Feel your feelings, sure. But let them ride in the back seat while you get some applications out the door.
Third, if you’re going to use AI in the job hunt, use it for the boring parts, not the human parts. Let it help you organize leads, tailor a first-pass cover letter, summarize a job description, or keep track of where you’ve already applied. Let it take some of the drudgery off your plate. That’s really just an extension of my Never Do It Twice rule. Repetitive work is where systems shine. But don’t ask it to care for you, and don’t let it do all your thinking. You still have to sound like a person on purpose.
Fourth, widen the lane. Teaching uses more transferable skills than people give it credit for, especially if you’ve been doing something halfway specialized. An A/V teacher isn’t just “a teacher.” That’s project management, curriculum design, communication, training, troubleshooting, creative production, and making something useful out of limited time and limited resources.
Those things travel. They don’t only count inside a school building. I’ve been thinking about that a lot while working through The Long Game and the Short Ones, because credentials and job titles are signals, not the whole truth about what you can actually do.
Don’t confuse “I got cut” with “I got exposed.”
Fifth, don’t let a budget cut turn into a verdict on your worth. That’s hard, because the brain loves a neat little story, and “I got cut because I must not have been valuable enough” is a very neat little story.
Also a stupid one, in a lot of cases.
Sometimes layoffs are about performance. Sometimes they’re about politics. Sometimes they’re about plain old arithmetic and which line items are easiest to call “optional” once the money gets thin. Those are not the same thing. Don’t confuse “I got cut” with “I got exposed.”
Am I saying I’m taking all this with perfect grace and saintlike maturity? Absolutely not.
I’m annoyed. I’m worried. I’m trying very hard to turn that worry into motion instead of just marinating in it.
But motion counts.
And for right now, that’s about all I’ve got.
No inspiring final moral. No triumphant reveal. No cinematic slow clap while I walk into a dazzling new role that was clearly meant for me all along.
Just a guy with a fresh layoff, a stack of applications, a graduate program, and enough stubbornness to keep moving.
If that’s not uplifting enough for you, I hear there’s a nice fellow downtown who plays accordion.
