Friday was a long day. Half a day at school. 7 hours in the car. 400 miles of driving. And then, finally, the ground grew flatter, the sky grew wider, and we were in Nebraska. Cozad, NE. Camp Comeca. Magis Retreat. Long, exhausting, and ultimately refreshing. As Katie's car crunched across the gravel parking lot, and the lodge came into view, memories of summer retreat came flooding into my mind. My shoes filled with mud and melted snow crossing the lawn, and I remembered a warm summer game of capture the flag.
Entering retreat my emotions were mixed, I was enthused to see people I hadn't seen in months, and to catch up with my C8 comrades after months apart. I was also frustrated, knowing I wasn't at the place, with my teaching or with myself, that I had hoped to be at this point in the year. I was ready to be refreshed, and I found myself gaining more refreshment than I knew I needed. The retreat was an opportunity to just be. To catch up with friends. To be in community. To be in solidarity with other first year teachers. To laugh. To cry. To smile. To reflect. To realize it's okay not to love teaching every single day. To talk. To share. To recieve help. To offer help. To realize that even if three is a small number, my community is larger than just Magis Rapid. This was a weekend to realize, that all of Magis is my community, and that in order to survive I need all of them. My goal is not to survive. My goal is to thrive. To feel alive.
Refreshing. Rejuvenating. And then, at the end of the day, after hours in and out of consciousness along I-80, I came to reality. The Sandhills of Nebraska, weren't the sand dunes they vaguely resembled. Turning on to 90-West, it didn't suddenly become the Pike. Exit 8 was still a 24 hour drive in the other direction. The sky grew darker, Hills gave way to Plains, the names on the signs grew familiar again - Wall, New Underwood, Ellsworth. And there in the distance, were the lights. "We can see it now, we're almost there." "Distances can be deceiving out here," my roommate reminded me. But it didn't matter. The distance in time didn't matter anymore. In my mind, I had looked at those lights, and thought, "there they are, that's our city." In that moment, I realized maybe the lady at Bradley wasn't so far off, when she handed me my baggage claim sticker and said "Have a safe flight home." Rapid will never be my hometown, but, at least for the moment, it's my home.