I’ve been working at the same school since 2007. The end of this year will mark the seventeenth full school year I’ve taught there. I began in a room at the end of the eighth-grade hall; at the end of my first year, I was moved to the top of the hall, put on another team, and given my first English I class to teach. I’ve been in that room ever since. Sixteen years in the same classroom.

At this point, by my count, there are only four teachers who have taught at that school longer than I. Two are retiring at the end of this year. I would be number three in seniority. I know one of those two teachers is planning on retiring after next year, and so I’d move up to number two.

In a lot of ways, that’s an admirable goal. It’s a rarity in today’s world, though. Changing jobs every few years seems to be the rule and not the exception. Still, I always thought that there was something rewarding about sticking around and mastering a position. And there’s something in me that thinks it might be a real kick to reach that point: no one has taught here longer than I.

But what happens when the requirements of supervisors (in this case, people at the district level) make it difficult to continue teaching in a middle school with a clear conscience? What happens when you start to feel complicit in the systematic over-testing of students? What happens when the amount of stress you feel from jumping through all the hoops the district puts in front of middle school teachers begins to overshadow the joy of the job itself? You pull out your resume, which you haven’t updated in well over a decade, polish it up, write a cover letter, and start applying for jobs at high schools.