Sabbatical
And Now for Something Completely Different
My Sabbatical Year
It was probably 10 years ago when I first thought about living abroad for a year. My longest time overseas, as of this writing, was about 4 weeks. I never studied abroad. I backpacked around Europe after getting my Bachelor’s, and I’ve always considered travel to be an important part of my identity. But then, life happened. Like many new teachers, I devoted my waking hours to my work, finding joy, purpose, and motivation in the daily grind of teaching. And so this idea festered, resurfacing every few months as just that: an idea.
But last summer, after an amazing 3 weeks constructing artificial reefs in Bali, the idea morphed into something more urgent. If I had to point to a single experience, it was probably when I motorbiked across Bali on my own so that I could get a new battery for my dive watch, which I had foolishly forgotten to replace ahead of my trip. Something about navigating the hectic Indonesian roads, where traffic laws are a mere suggestion, convinced me that I could live abroad.
On the first day of school in 2025, I sent an email to my principal and department chair outlining my intentions to take a year off. I wrote it and sent it in the span of about 5 minutes. I’m notorious for getting in my own way, so I knew that this needed to be in writing and that my supervisors needed to know as soon as possible - not just for their benefit, but for my own conviction. From there, the planning started.
I’m now less than a month away from departing on my voyage. I’m nervous - terrified even - of what is to come. I am also extremely grateful to be in a position where I can do something this grand, this extreme. My job is safe for a year; I can proudly share with the locals I meet that I am a teacher - no past tense necessary. But throughout this very strange school year, I’ve gotten two questions that I had ill-formed answers to: Why do this? And, why now?
Why a Sabbatical?
During one of our opening school year meetings, our teachers’ union always makes a presentation and hands out fresh copies of our labor agreement. I thumbed through my copy, pausing only when I saw the word that had been running rampant through my mind for weeks: Sabbatical. I was shocked. I couldn’t believe that there was an actual provision in our contract for this crazy notion: half pay for the year, your job security intact, and the only condition that you agreed to spend the following three years teaching in the district. I immediately emailed the superintendent about my intentions to take a year off and inquired about this provision. As it turns out, sabbatical years are granted at the sole discretion of the distict, and they hadn’t awarded any in decades: There simply wasn’t the money in the budget. I expected this, and I always knew that I would lean on other contract provisions (mainly, that my job would be held for me for one year upon taking an unpaid leave of absence) to make this happen, but it solidified something I had suspected for a while: Sabbaticals used to be a thing. A common thing. A normal thing.
I love teaching. Many of my colleagues took my announcement of a year off as a stall - that I was done with the classroom and was just buying a year before fully quitting. But this has never been the goal. I love teaching so much that I want to take a year off from it - so that I can keep loving it in the future without burning out. In my mind, this is largely the purpose of sabbaticals in the first place. Give people opportunities to live a different life for a while, to be uncomfortable, to be a stranger, and they will return with new skills, new perspectives. Further, continue to pay them for gaining those experiences - what an idea! It communicates respect for your staff - a desire to see them grow and be better teachers, better people. What better professional development could there be? But, this is not the current way of the world. We value work and endless monetization. To encourage people to take time off for something other than child rearing, recovery, or bereavement just feels anathema to the ethos of “grindset.”
So, why a sabbatical? Because I love what I do, and I want to do it better. Because I have caught myself repeatedly in the last few years becoming ensconced in my comfort zone, floating in the same currents without needing to swim. And because the world is just out there waiting.
Why Now?
I am 35 years old, soon to be 36. Contrary to what my students think, that’s still pretty young. I’m not rich; I don’t have worldwide connections; I don’t have a specific person or experience I’m chasing around the world. Financially, this is a dumb move (something that has caused me pretty much endless anxiety since September of 2025). I’ll be missing out on a pay raise, a regular check, and who knows how many cool experiences that the classroom offers. Years abroad are for retirees or those with actual disposable income. I have a wonderful little condo in Boston, an adorable dog, great friends, and a supportive family, including two little ones - my niece and nephew. There are so many reasons not to go now.
But in March, 2025, my uncle passed away after a short but nasty battle with cancer. Uncle Richard was my “famous” uncle. You can read his moving obituary here. He was an author, journalist, and reviewer. He had been around the world many times, living in Paris, Beijing, and Berlin. In 2000, he wrote a book called Ultimate Journey in which he retraced the steps of a devout Buddhist monk who crossed Asia on foot in search of enlightenment. I re-read Ultimate Journey after he passed, and I found that he had been struggling with some of the same questions I had been pondering myself (though he was approaching 50 rather than 40). His Ultimate Journey was as much about discovering himself as it was about walking in the footsteps of another. So while the seed of this idea had been in my head for a long time, my uncle’s death became the soil in which it germinated. He’ll be with me the whole time.
There was also a poetic, romantic idea that crossed my mind last summer. I started teaching in September, 2013 (I was 22/23 teaching 18-year-olds - who let me do that??). Today, I have been teaching for 13 years, precisely the amount of time it takes a student to cover Kindergarten through 12th grade. The graduates I watched cross the stage in June were just learning their letters and numbers while I was learning how to teach. This feels, somehow, like the perfect time to pause and reflect. What have I contributed to this cycle of public education? Have I done well? Have I worked hard for my students, advocated for them? I hope that time away will provide clarity and refreshment, and I’ll be re-energized for another 13+ years.
And last, though far less interesting, comes the political climate. Identifying as an American has gotten harder and harder for me. George Floyd, science denial, anti-immigration policies, anti-LGBTQ+ sentiment, war, healthcare, climate change: The American Experiment seems, to me, to be careening towards failure. When the only sliver of patriotism I feel comes from the US Men’s National Team in the World Cup, something is wrong. I want to be around people who love their countries and feel proud to identify as such. This is also the reason for leaving that brings me the most guilt. I am in the privileged position of being able to “flee” the country (at least temporarily) while knowing that there is still a place waiting for me here. I travel not to abandon America or American ideals, but rather to witness them from the outside, to understand patriotism and fidelity through an entirely different lens.
So What Comes Next?
As I write this, the following destinations are ahead of me: Toulouse –> The Azores –> Lisbon/Porto –> Estapona –> Trieste –> Rabat –> Marrakesh –> Dakar –> Cape Town –> Ile de Reunion. Still unplanned are my sojourns to Kuala Lampur, Australia, and New Zealand. I’ll be diving, hiking, speaking French. I’ll be uncomfortable and constantly saying “Yes” (or “Oui”) to whatever experiences come my way. I hope you’ll join me by following this blog. I hope you’ll support me by subscribing to Parrot’s Puzzles (just $5 per month!). And I hope that my leap of faith inspires somebody - anybody - to do the same. À toute à l’heure!