It's not my dog.

[partly]

Today I discovered the way to deal with the fact that these two days that I will ever spend at this job. That little bit of wisdom is wrapped up in the saying "It's not my dog."



The story, as told to me, goes like this: Everyday a man got up early to stroll around the neighborhood and everyday a neighbor's dog would walk with him. Now the dog would run around, chewing on things, going to the bathroom on other's property, digging through garbage, and what have you. Now this man, just by virtue of having the dog with him, began to feel responsible for the actions of the dog and people, because they saw the two of them together, began to think that he should be responsible for the actions of the dog. That was wrong, because in the end, it wasn't his dog.

So what does this mean to me? The computer lab (heh, almost wrote my computer lab) isn't my dog. Yes, I worked in it everyday, it was my input and energy and recommendations that built the lab, but it's not mine.

Actually, my connection to the lab is more like that of a show trainer and the dog she shows than a man with a stray that follows him around, but theory is still sound. A trainer gets a dog and may spend years grooming and prepping it, showing it and living with it, but in the end the dog goes back to the owner and the trainer moves on. No matter how much time, love and effort she spent on that dog, it was never her dog.

When I was first hired, I walked into the computer lab and it was an empty room. It had seven old Apple IIe computers on the floor, an broken chair, a trash can and two boxes full of out-dated software. There were six old Mac's scattered throughout the classrooms, some with software and printers, some without. Over the seven years I have worked here, I have established a computer lab of twenty-five computers and have networked another twenty classroom computers via a Novell Netware network. In that time, the network has never been down for more than an hour and I have limited outside computer maintenance to three computers. We have more than a hundred different programs in the computer lab that appeal to grades Prek through eighth grade. I provide help-desk type advice on all the programs that the school (and parish office) own. I know how to run all of those programs.

I'm damn proud of all of that.

. . .

But it's not my dog.

Case in point: The school's webpage. I was told: set up a webpage and provide email addresses for the teaching staff. No other guidance and no commitment on how much computer, teacher or monetary resources would be available to me. With help from finabair, I found three years of free webspace at 1 and 1. Because the school/church has no credit card to use, I put everything on my dime and paid for the domain name myself. I chalked it up to one of the small expenses that all teacher's pay for out of pocket and, really, not that big of a deal. I wrote the webpage myself (and I think it looks good) and have updated and added everything they wanted me to. Since I'm leaving, I'm trying to get someone to take over "ownership" of the webspace and domain name. I haven't gotten any feed back so far except for a "Once things settle down we will get to it." There's two more days of school left and I don't think things are going to "settle down" in those two days. So, I'm just going to make sure that my card info is removed and that all the necessary details, URLs and passwords are handed in to the secretary, and let it go.

I can do that because it's not my dog.

I did good when it was my responsibility. Hell, I did great. I am damn good at my job and I managed to do it all with very little expense. I take well earned pride in all I have accomplished but it's not my responsibility any longer.

After weeks of uncertainty, I know now that I can let it go. It's time to move on. No, I don't know what the future holds, but that's OK. Change is a bitch but so is complacency. The lab is not mine by association. It's not my responsibility to make sure someone else picks up the work when I'm gone. It's not my place to make sure that someone out there is going to be able to do what I do.

I may love the lab and the job, but it's not my dog.

Comments

[amilyn.livejournal.com]

*hugs*

Well done. Nicely written.

You did, indeed, do good, good work, and left behind something much, much better than you found.

And you're letting go very well.

Nice, nice, nice analogy.