It's so hard to find time to write.
It bugs me to no end. I have a ton to say at any given point in the week, but I just can't muster the energy to forge my ideas into words. I would love to finally write my piece on the Chicago Marathon, share my experiences after two months as a real-life teacher, and talk to you about what's going on inside this bizarre old head of mine. The marathon post will come, I'm promising myself. For now, I'll try to fill you in on what's been going on in my life.
To be honest, it's been a strange few weeks. Professionally, everything's going unbelievably well. I'm settling in to my school, I'm forging relationships with students, and I'm gaining their trust every single day. The principal has been co-teaching a class with me, and while this could be the cause of profound trepidation on my part, it's actually been a great experience. She helps focus on little things that will make me a better teacher. She's also been extremely complimentary, which I didn't expect. She says that the students genuinely respond to me, and that while I'm very laid-back, it works well for me. The two of us are polar opposites. Our class is like good cop/bad cop, but I think it works. I love it, actually.
So if I'm genuinely happy being a teacher, a thought upon which I will expand later, why has it been a strange few weeks? Nothing in particular happened, but I have noticed a profound change in myself. I had a tough Spring. I guess it must have been fairly traumatic for me because I realize that, to a large degree, I shut myself off emotionally. It's not unlike what I experienced when my parents divorced. It's not like I ignored my emotions, but I felt extremely distant from them. Back then, the distance allowed me to pour myself into school, sort of insulating me against the pressures of moving to a new town and adjusting to a new life with two homes. In this case, I think my emotional state allowed me to move to New York with surprisingly little fear or doubt, and it allowed me to pour myself into my new career.
Let me clarify this a little. I didn't become a robot or anything. I was still perfectly capable of making friends and sharing feelings and being myself. I simply couldn't connect to any deep emotion. I didn't deeply feel the sorrow of moving away from home or the excitement of living in a new place. I felt hollowness where those things should have been. I felt an emptiness take over when I couldn't connect to people the way I wanted to. I felt numb to the pain of no longer being around the people who taught me how to love. In a way it was a blessing because it helped me transition, but I don't want to live like that. It's very lonely.
In the weeks preceding my return to Chicago, I finally started to thaw out. I damn near burst into tears when that plane landed at O'Hare. When I came back to New York, I was filled with that wonderful sense of home, buoyed by all the love and affection I encountered during that weekend. I was also pained by the distance from it. Genuinely, deeply pained. In the subsequent weeks I've been all over the place. At any given moment, I might be grateful, wistful, sad, content, satisfied, and totally restless--all at once! Weird, right? I guess that's what happens when the switch suddenly flips. Everything comes cascading down all at once. So while it's no fun to be sad all of a sudden when I really haven't been very sad for awhile, it's also reassuring because I know that I'm still in touch with those sides of myself. It also tells me that I'm ready to forge deeper relationships with the people around me because I'm finally getting comfortable confronting the bigger stuff within. I feel like a more complete version of myself.
With all that stuff going on inside my head, my heart, my soul, whatever you want to call it, it hasn't affected my work. I'm steadied by my sense of responsibility to these kids. I wrote this reflection last week, and I think it fits in quite nicely to what I'm saying here:
"What I’m doing might not matter at all in the grand scheme of things, but the fact that I’m doing something aligned with my hopes and ideals for what makes the world a better place is something astoundingly gratifying. I really believe in this stuff. I do. I believe in it so naively, so innocently, so acutely, but I don’t care. I believe in my students. I want to help them become smarter and more interesting and more articulate. I want to show them love so they can find it in themselves. I want so much for them. It’s so different from making friends or falling in love. It provides you with none of the instant gratification, but it magnifies all those things inside of you that you hold in the highest regard. It brings out all the principles, the ideals, the dreams to which you aspire, and it makes you say, 'Yes! I am acting on the greatness that lies within me!' And it’s powerful! It’s a big deal. It’s unlike anything else I’ve ever experienced. It’s so much more than theorems and equations. It’s harmony between your actions and your principles, and while it doesn’t replace all those things I left behind—in fact, it doesn’t fill that void at all—it has shown me something new and fantastic within myself."
So there you go. Those are my thoughts on teaching. It really doesn't fill the void left by family in friends (if you're reading this, I'm probably missing you a great deal right now), but I'm glad to be experiencing all of this.
Okay, there's the heavy stuff. On to lighter things. I saw the Ting Tings yesterday at Webster Hall, the first real concert I've attended in New York City. It was about time. I had a blast. Their lead singer reminds me of what Holly would be like if she was British and fronting a band. Today was really cool. One of the teachers at my school (Fred) ran his first marathon today. I wanted to support him and see what the NYC Marathon was all about, so I ran down to the Queensboro Bridge with some orange slices and an energy gel. I knew Fred's pace, so I planted myself at a spot where there weren't too many cops patrolling the crowd and waited for him to run by. As I was waiting, I saw Ryan Reynolds run past. He's an actor who starred in movies like
Van Wilder and
Definitely, Maybe. He's also engaged to Scarlett Johanssen (sadly, I did not see her). He was running for Michael J. Fox's charity, raising money for Parkinson's research. About ten minutes later, I managed to spot Fred amongst the huge throng of participants, and I darted through them to run at his side. I supplied him with oranges and encouragement, as well as a sign on my shirt that read "Go Fred Go!". Taking my cue, onlookers cheered him on by name, which I think was pretty cool for him. He managed to spot his parents in the crowd along 1st Avenue, and I left him to run with his wife, who jumped into the race at 103rd St. Not a bad experience for your first marathon. I'm so happy for him. I also can't wait to run the New York City Marathon next year. I sort of jumped in at the best part, right when you enter Manhattan for the first time. It was awesome.
That's where I'll leave you for today. Maybe I'll have a special election-night post on Tuesday. I cannot wait.
And rest in peace, Miko. I hope you have found it at long last.
