Friday, January 27, 2012

Fishing


I want to say something brilliant.
Something different and unique and important.
Something thrilling and exciting and fresh.
Something worthwhile and deep and insightful.
I want to say something wonderful, but I don't have much to say at all.

It's strange, really. Ninety-five percent of the time I have at least six ideas rattling around in my head, begging attention and thought and words with which to bring them to life. Most of the time it's like fishing in a bathtub. You can't not catch something. That would just be stupid. There's six fish in a bathtub. How could you lose?

Well, the problem lately is that the most fish I've seen in the bathtub lately is...one. Or none, depending on the day. I'm not sure which feels worse having no ideas and thoughts worth writing about or having thirty-seven. Because both are kind of depressing. You either have nothing or you have way too much.

I imagine that the reason I am wordless is because suddenly, for the first time in my life, I'm not packed to the gills (sorry, I couldn't help myself) with homework, lesson plans, meetings, appointments, classes, and responsibilities. Nope. Now I'm done with college. I'm not working regularly and the day is pretty wide open. I spend most of the day alone. And before you feel sorry for me, recognize that I'm pretty much okay with that. I lean introverted, so it's actually be really nice because I feel like when I do spend time with friends in the evening I have so much more energy to give them.

So, I'm not lonely.
I'm not bored.
I'm not sad.
I'm not depressed.
I'm not anxious.
I just...am.
Not particularly inspired.
Not particularly interesting.
Not particularly anything.

I figure I can either fight this and worry and complain and stress out about the lack of inspiration and energy compared to the life I've led thus far, or I can just roll with it. I can just show up. I can just take this time for the season that it is and be.

I'm choosing to be.

Saturday, January 21, 2012

Usual

Awhile back, two gals from the high school where I was student teaching asked if they could interview me for the school newspaper. I wrote a blog about how good it felt to have students take an interest in me as a human being.

Here's the final article. Here's the video.

I thought it was nicely done and I was happy to be included in it.


Yesterday, I was asked to sub at the high school where I did my student teaching. It was kinda strange being back. I woke up at the usual 6am (for the first time in...5 weeks), fell out of bed (groggily), packed my bag, and drove to school. I sat in the usual morning traffic, parked in my usual parking spot, made the usual trudge across the parking lot, and walked inside. From then on, nothing was usual.

I walked in the door and the same security who greeted me every day last semester seemed a little more warm, a little more endearing. He said he missed seeing me around and gave me a hug. Instead of walking to Ken's room, I headed in the opposite direction toward the gym because I was subbing for one of the P.E. teachers. Making my way, I passed by several students who pretended not to see me and others who smothered me in hugs: "MS. BO!" This made me glad.

It was such a relief to know that it would not be a regular day. I wouldn't be encountering the same students. I wouldn't be grading papers. I wouldn't be frantically pulling together a lesson plan before the students walked in the door. Oh no. Instead, I popped in a video for Health class, organized and monitored three hours worth of floor hockey, oh, and then I taught Zumba. That's right, I got paid to do that stuff.

And when I walked out the door, I brought no heavy textbooks, no papers to grade, no novels to read over the weekend, no 47 journals. Nope. I just walked out the door and drove home. And then I took a bath. Take that.

It was nice to go to school lighter. More myself and less my stressed counterpart. It was great to see my students and feel more like a special holiday and less like a dreaded Monday. To have work feel more like a temporary job and less like a lifelong commitment. More freedom and less weight.

Good to be back.
And okay to not be expected on Monday.

Thursday, January 19, 2012

Bridezilla

As of late, there are simultaneously about 43 items bouncing around in my head. I tend to lean toward a Type A, high-stress, orderly, planned-out, organized existence (which I'm sure to you phlegmatics out there, sounds like hell. And it is sometimes.). This can't be healthy. This will be my mantra:



I had breakfast with a friend this week.
Her suggestion? Be a bridezilla.
Her rationale? You only get to do it once.

Now, I probably won't be taking the bridezilla route as I value my relationships too much, but I will be remembering her other piece of advice: I only get to do this once. I will only ever plan one wedding. One time. This moment is my life.

This moment with 43 items bouncing around.
This moment with a list of to-dos that can no longer fit on one piece of paper.
This moment with self-doubt.
This moment with a headache.
This moment on a chilly afternoon in January that I will only live once.
This moment graduated from college and jobless.
This moment engaged and planning a wedding.
This moment figuring out life one day at a time (no faster).
This moment.