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How did I get here?

Talking Heads

85 °F

My new favorite place is Starbucks. I love the chatter, I love the coffee. I started my Starbucks session today pissed as hell because I had to make a presentation on differentiated instruction. I was fine making the presentation; I just did not want to read the long pdf. After swearing and convincing myself that I hated my profession, I actually read the article. Well -- sort of. I ended up having a great time creating the presentation.

I find myself not hating this profession, but hating the attitude that comes with it. My brother once told me that he once hired a consultant who just wouldn't leave. One day my brother called him into his office and said, "You know, consultants are like Samurai. They come in, do their job and leave." I love that story. I wish that was true of teachers. Come in, teach and leave. No meetings, no complaining, no attitude, just teach and leave.

I wish it was that simple. I want to do things besides work -- like body surfing, hiking across America, learning Spanish, drinking good coffee, or laughing so hard that I need to take a nap afterwords. But teaching never ends. It is not like stacking wood or mowing the lawn. There is never a final product.

I have come to the conclusion that I have to work. I cannot live my life without making money to support it. That seems obvious, but I have been trying to figure out how to live without teaching for a long time. If I pursue the end of my career by teaching ESL I can teach, and leave. This way I could focus on my writing, and on figuring out what my dreams are.

I just spoke to a friend about her daughter who seems to be staying away from "home." She has been living in Europe for a while, without a direction. It is all about finding home. Some people know where their homes are; I do not think I ever have. When I was raising my children, they were my center, my home, my world. Now they have gone to find home in their own world. I wonder if I will ever find mine. I know that the northeast is where I belong. But as Sandra Cisneros writes in A House on Mango Street, you have to leave in order to come back.

So I will drift for a while, letting the waves carry me on their crest, dashing and pounding me into the earth and rolling me around until I get tired of getting up and doing that over and over again. It's exciting. I still do not know exactly when is the right time to catch the wave; sometimes I am a little late, a little early, but when I swim forward at the right time, and the wave pushes me out, for a moment I can feel myself halfway in the wave and halfway out, before I finish the ride.


Posted by Tampicoandlisa 18:28

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