I'm in a funk. I am a bit lonely and a lot tired. I am counting the days until we leave on that big plane, stopping in London and Boston before landing in our beloved home state of Washington. Last week, I told one of my classes that I was disappointed in their efforts. We hired a counselor to help Greta with her angry outbursts. Nolan's diet has been atrocious lately. I am battling the stinking ten pounds that I want to lose before spring break, I am struggling to teach my elective class about climate change (I am not a science teacher for goodness sakes), and I hate the color of my living room walls. They're the color of sand; as if I don't see enough of that. All I can say is (insert voice of Liz Lemon here), "Blurg."
I have heard that this time of year is the toughest for teachers. The big holidays are over. Week Without Walls has come and gone (and it would have been perfection if not for the colleague who took multiple - okay, daily - opportunities to insult me). Double blurg.
What am I going to do to perk up my sinking attitude? I run a little, but not enough to keep my arse from expanding into another zip code. I plan our vacations. I Skype. I daydream. I remember what it was like to work part time, to prepare Sunday suppers, to read novels from the library's new fiction shelves, and to walk to the post office. We are enjoying our time abroad, but I think I am having a bit of an identity crisis. Am I a lifer? Do I want to teach overseas for the next ten years and give my kids the tremendous gifts of travel and international education? Am I an island girl? What would it be like to return to the islands after being away? Is there anyone left to hang out with who will put up with my flaky memory, my ongoing mini-dramas, and my lazy attitude toward socializing? Maybe I belong in the Skagit Valley where my family roots are strong and the landscape is achingly familiar.
Blurg, blurg, blurg.
If you're still reading this, I suppose I should toss in some good news. I love that Greta's best friend here is from Pakistan. I love that my students are crazy mixes of Welsh/Iraqi, Japanese/Qatari, and Cuban/Egyptian. This gives me hope for the world. All our students at ASD are like little ambassadors for their own country (and in some cases their own country is Texas . . .) as well as the home countries of their peers. They go to school every single day with kids from places that are feared by many Americans.
Other good news includes that I just finished teaching the novel The Giver and I think I did a pretty darn good job. Expository writing and poetry are next. It's exciting to think about next year and about all the improvements I want to make. I really do want to be a good teacher; it's just so darn tiring! I have been watching Chris go through trials and triumphs of teaching for the past seven years. I have, I admit, thought many times there is no way I am going to put myself through that. Well, here I am, teaching and trying to survive, looking forward to spending my birthday in Sri Lanka, counting the days until we fly home, and daydreaming about all the things I will do when I get there. In the meantime, I will just keep swimming. And running. I will paint my living room walls and try to be a good parent. I will attend Zumba more and eat less. I will try to master the carbon cycle, to teach poetry, and to rekindle Nolan's love for broccoli. I will, I will, I will.
I have heard that this time of year is the toughest for teachers. The big holidays are over. Week Without Walls has come and gone (and it would have been perfection if not for the colleague who took multiple - okay, daily - opportunities to insult me). Double blurg.
What am I going to do to perk up my sinking attitude? I run a little, but not enough to keep my arse from expanding into another zip code. I plan our vacations. I Skype. I daydream. I remember what it was like to work part time, to prepare Sunday suppers, to read novels from the library's new fiction shelves, and to walk to the post office. We are enjoying our time abroad, but I think I am having a bit of an identity crisis. Am I a lifer? Do I want to teach overseas for the next ten years and give my kids the tremendous gifts of travel and international education? Am I an island girl? What would it be like to return to the islands after being away? Is there anyone left to hang out with who will put up with my flaky memory, my ongoing mini-dramas, and my lazy attitude toward socializing? Maybe I belong in the Skagit Valley where my family roots are strong and the landscape is achingly familiar.
Blurg, blurg, blurg.
If you're still reading this, I suppose I should toss in some good news. I love that Greta's best friend here is from Pakistan. I love that my students are crazy mixes of Welsh/Iraqi, Japanese/Qatari, and Cuban/Egyptian. This gives me hope for the world. All our students at ASD are like little ambassadors for their own country (and in some cases their own country is Texas . . .) as well as the home countries of their peers. They go to school every single day with kids from places that are feared by many Americans.
Other good news includes that I just finished teaching the novel The Giver and I think I did a pretty darn good job. Expository writing and poetry are next. It's exciting to think about next year and about all the improvements I want to make. I really do want to be a good teacher; it's just so darn tiring! I have been watching Chris go through trials and triumphs of teaching for the past seven years. I have, I admit, thought many times there is no way I am going to put myself through that. Well, here I am, teaching and trying to survive, looking forward to spending my birthday in Sri Lanka, counting the days until we fly home, and daydreaming about all the things I will do when I get there. In the meantime, I will just keep swimming. And running. I will paint my living room walls and try to be a good parent. I will attend Zumba more and eat less. I will try to master the carbon cycle, to teach poetry, and to rekindle Nolan's love for broccoli. I will, I will, I will.
Emily- I read every word of your blog tonight from the island in the lush northwest to our island (ok, peninsula) in the sand. I thoroughly appreciate the state of in-between-ness that we find ourselves living. Many moons ago, I never would have believed that I would become a teacher. A decade later, I am still in a state of becoming that teacher I want to be.
ReplyDeleteI would have never have believed that I would be teaching in a giant sandbox. Twenty-seven years ago … after camping in the desert during a college interim month, hiking the terrain, and painting the landscape, I appreciated desert life. That one fleeting month in the desert, I ached for green, and for the snow of winter in Minnesota. The absolute last place I would have chosen to live would have been the desert. Mmmm, I wonder to myself, “I call THIS home?”
Yet, somehow the overseas time with our family transformed us into a unified being. Showered with small blessings. We are “there for each other” in ways I wouldn’t have imagined. We have a trusting reliance on each other and a family perspective shaped by eclectic experiences that only (?) we share. Possibly, we are more unto ourselves than we would have been in the states- especially during the transition times and the sweet get-away times to far-flung places. Our most loved photos of our two children are a series now- the pics were taken while they walked together ahead of us- at ease with each other, talking and exploring.
The transition times are bittersweet. Refreshing and exhausting. Loneliness creeps around the edges of our new existence. We long for those old friends who understand our way of being in the world and who love us unconditionally. Family beckons. Uncertainty hovers. On some days, our pared-down life can seem more complex than we expected. Other days, we delight in small accomplishments, such as finding our way to a new part of town, planting things that may grow, or discovering some comfort food that we had crossed off the list of possibilities. Reading a book and experimenting in the kitchen may seem decadent now as we throw ourselves into work and family. Yet after some time, we will have woven these passions into our days. I brought an unfinished painting, so I would have somewhere to start. Even though I have yet to touch a brush to it, I am not discouraged. Perhaps I am too patient with putting my life on hold (this is a questionable perception, yet somedays... ). For now I take comfort in building a nest. I try not to wonder about if and when it will blow away.
Sounds torn, yet in many ways this life has given us a different way of being whole. Time to get ready for the school day. Have a great Tuesday.
Heidi