And at the end of the day of in-service when our brains are fried from lectures and our bones are achy from sitting, we almost too quickly forget why we do what we do. We may be downtrodden from the incessant in-service workshops we're forced to do, but come the first day of school we will be revitalized with the energy of 25 lively bodies filling the desks in our classrooms. The truth is: We became teachers because we care about the future and we know that the future starts with these amazing young people we have the privilege of being with for nine months out of the year. Everything we do is in the best interest of "our kids." They enter as a rostered list of names on a paper, but they leave us as our kids. As another new school year begins, |
Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it. Now life moves really, really freaking fast. And it's true, we get burdened down by responsibilities and life doesn't ever stop to wait for us. Sometimes a day passes me by and I look back and found that I did a lot of griping, and frankly, I'm tired of not slowing down to smell the roses, or every other flower along the way too. The start of this new school year means we have another set of opportunities ahead of us. But we also could start looking at every day like this. And, god, do I know... It's hard to get out of bed when the alarm is sounding at 5AM and your responsibilities start right away, but I'm going to try my hardest to find something good about each and every damn moment. Even if in that moment, all I can find is enough gratitude to be thankful for the air in my lungs, well at least then I always have that. See, it's really just that simple. We're alive, and it's about damn time we show a little appreciation for that. |
So let's try something: let's act like we're alive. Smile and be bright-eyed (I suggest coffee to help).
We've got another day in front of us. What are you going to do with it?
We've got another day in front of us. What are you going to do with it?
I don't consider myself to be particularly maternal... I mean, I'd like to say I have a pretty big heart for people in general, but I also feel weird and awkward around little kids. Toddlers are awesome, but to me, little babies are a lot like science experiments. When I first learned about child behavior acquisition, I began to realize they're just a bunch of tiny mimickers. Oh, they like when you make a silly face at them? Do it 400 times and they'll still giggle. I wish pleasing all people was that easy. The truth is: kids learn from us. So if you want to teach them to see the color green as the color purple, they're going to until they get to kindergarten and they're called a freak when they say "that frog is purple!"
Disclaimer to any considered readers: I won't actually do this to any future children of my own.
In college, I remember during student teaching when they told us that as a teacher we become "in loco parentis." In broken Spanish, this would seem to translate as crazy parents, but in Latin it means "in place of a parent." And for the next eleven months of my life, I'm going to be "in loco parentis" for a Swedish teenager.
Suddenly, a few maternal instincts have kicked in:
I'm beginning to consider the thousands of different situations she could get into, as I remember what it's like to be seventeen, and I'm beginning to fear the dreadful call reporting "I messed up." And even though I haven't met her in person yet, I'm beginning to care for her in unexpected ways like making sure she can be taken care of if she gets sick. I'm worrying about her grades already, and school hasn't even started. I'm hoping she will make friends at school, but I also hope she won't get too cool that she won't want to hang out with me still. What a dreadful thought.
And then, I'm worrying about a whole lot of other factors too. Like, what will people think of me? I'm already receiving criticism in the form of doubt. I think about things like Meet the Teacher night and going down to talk to her teachers, and knowing they doubt me because I'm so young. Yes, I know, I couldn't have birthed a seventeen year old at my age. But does age actually amount to your ability to parent? I think many factors determine your ability to love and care for another individual.
Disclaimer to any considered readers: I won't actually do this to any future children of my own.
In college, I remember during student teaching when they told us that as a teacher we become "in loco parentis." In broken Spanish, this would seem to translate as crazy parents, but in Latin it means "in place of a parent." And for the next eleven months of my life, I'm going to be "in loco parentis" for a Swedish teenager.
Suddenly, a few maternal instincts have kicked in:
I'm beginning to consider the thousands of different situations she could get into, as I remember what it's like to be seventeen, and I'm beginning to fear the dreadful call reporting "I messed up." And even though I haven't met her in person yet, I'm beginning to care for her in unexpected ways like making sure she can be taken care of if she gets sick. I'm worrying about her grades already, and school hasn't even started. I'm hoping she will make friends at school, but I also hope she won't get too cool that she won't want to hang out with me still. What a dreadful thought.
And then, I'm worrying about a whole lot of other factors too. Like, what will people think of me? I'm already receiving criticism in the form of doubt. I think about things like Meet the Teacher night and going down to talk to her teachers, and knowing they doubt me because I'm so young. Yes, I know, I couldn't have birthed a seventeen year old at my age. But does age actually amount to your ability to parent? I think many factors determine your ability to love and care for another individual.
Kids learn from us. When I think about how I grew up, whether it be at age seven or seventeen, I think about my role models. My parents of course, but also the wonderful teachers I had, and the support systems I had in place from my friends and their families. When I think back on these years, I see it really does take a whole village to raise a child. |
Now my exchange student is seventeen, yes, and most of her raising has been done for her already, but she's still got a bit to learning to do in the next year of her life. She already has her village back home in Sweden, but now she'll find a whole new one here in Pennsylvania too. And when I think about how lucky she is to have so many people looking after her, I realize, she'll be just fine.
I might be loco, but I hope I do okay at this whole parentis thing.
I might be loco, but I hope I do okay at this whole parentis thing.
For those of you that don’t know: It’s true: I love Harry Potter. Like anything else, you either love it or don’t understand the magic behind it.
Before our Orlando travels, I tried explaining to several people who have never read, or even watched the Harry Potter series, the magic that truly exists throughout these stories. To those who haven’t yet experienced it: you are missing out. For me, it’s not at all about the wizards, witches, or silly-sounding spells one can cast. For me, the magic quite literally lies in the words. I have proclaimed it once, and I’ll say it again and again: J.K. Rowling is a mere goddess among us mortals. Her words are powerful enough to transport a simple reader into an entirely new universe, where magic really does exist. Isn’t that the point of reading after all? Her genius is so deeply strewn throughout the series that time and time again, there are still secrets left to be discovered.
Now while we were in Orlando, we ventured outside the Disney parks (read my post about those experiences here), and went to Universal Studios. Universal Studios, now two parks, are connected only by the Hogwarts Express, the train that transports Harry and his friends from the Muggle (human) world to the land where all magic is allowed. Being a self-declared nerd, I was all about visiting Hogsmede and Diagon Alley on both sides of the Universal Studio parks.
Before our Orlando travels, I tried explaining to several people who have never read, or even watched the Harry Potter series, the magic that truly exists throughout these stories. To those who haven’t yet experienced it: you are missing out. For me, it’s not at all about the wizards, witches, or silly-sounding spells one can cast. For me, the magic quite literally lies in the words. I have proclaimed it once, and I’ll say it again and again: J.K. Rowling is a mere goddess among us mortals. Her words are powerful enough to transport a simple reader into an entirely new universe, where magic really does exist. Isn’t that the point of reading after all? Her genius is so deeply strewn throughout the series that time and time again, there are still secrets left to be discovered.
Now while we were in Orlando, we ventured outside the Disney parks (read my post about those experiences here), and went to Universal Studios. Universal Studios, now two parks, are connected only by the Hogwarts Express, the train that transports Harry and his friends from the Muggle (human) world to the land where all magic is allowed. Being a self-declared nerd, I was all about visiting Hogsmede and Diagon Alley on both sides of the Universal Studio parks.
I don’t mean to drop too many HP references for all of you Muggles, so let me get to the part where I witnessed the true magic: While in Diagon Alley, we were able to explore the world just as Harry, Ron, and Hermione once did. We traveled into Ollivander’s Wand Shop. We went in as a small group, about 8 of us, and we listened to a woman in full character share with us how the wand picks a wizard. She selected a small boy in our group to be a volunteer. He tried one wand and killed the plants with his "magic" and her special effects. Attempt #2 resulted in him creating a thunderstorm inside our small wand-closet. And then the little boy was given a third wand to try. As soon as she laid the wand in his hand and cued up some "extra special" special effects, the lights dimmed except for the spotlight on him, and the magical music grew louder. The little boy beamed with excitement, feeling as if the wand truly did pick him. To all of us adults in the room, we were just as happy as he was, but because we got to witness the absolute joy this experience brought him. He was a stranger to me when we entered the room, but we exited, we were bonded by the magic we had all just experienced. This is what I love about Harry Potter. In that precise moment, that little boy felt special, as if he was chosen to do something important in the world. And isn’t that true in the world we actually live in? I’d like to think so. The magic exists far beyond the wizarding world and Harry Potter only helps us see it. |
I spent this past week in Orlando, Florida with my family exploring the Disney parks and venturing around the surrounding areas. (Read my last post for the optimism I posted before the trip.) While this week was fun and surely did amount to some necessary family time, it wasn’t all pixie dust and magic, despite what Disney may advertise. When we ventured through Epcot, Animal Kingdom, and yes, even the iconic Magic Kingdom, I began to notice that there was a universal trend among the people. First, let me explain a few things about myself. I am not someone who enjoys big crowds of people, as they often lead to me feeling anxious and claustrophobic. There was no escape from people this past week. The constant strangers nearby made me tiresome quickly. There was never a time when we were alone. |
Now, imagine thousands of people cramped into small spaces drenched in their own sweat and rain. This is where the magic really happens. Happy families, who once bounded with excitement at the park’s gates, now complain of achy feet and hungry bellies. They complain about the heat, humidity, and rain in a multitude of languages. The perfect storm of events combine to create an even greater angst. Suddenly those amicable families are now yelling and screaming at their family members, thus proving the theory that all families are alike, regardless of one’s cultural identification. I suddenly began to see all these people, once different by languages or race, as one large group of human beings huddled beneath the umbrella of the Disney magic. The irony is that you’ll complain, you’ll sweat, and you’ll be broke after paying for this magical Disney experience. |
Also, in case you’ve never visited Florida in July or August, heed my warning: Be prepared. The locals will tell you it’s the hottest time of the year, and here in Orlando, the middle of the state, the humidity literally collects from either of the coasts and just nests above this city. There was at least 80% humidity every day (the highest reached 96%) and then, when the clouds get too heavy, it pours. We quickly got used to walking around wet and with soggy sneakers. This was just another part of the magical experience.
Disney may not be all that it’s cracked up to be (although read my next post about the magic I did get to witness), but the real magic lies in the experience. While we did do a lot of bitching and moaning about the humidity, long lines, or cost of things, I got to do with my family. In a world that moves at Mach speed, I think it’s pretty special to be able to find time to do things with your family.
The bus rides home from the parks were packed with tired passengers, but as they scrolled through the pictures on their phone from their experiences of the day, they smiled on the moments they shared together. I guess there is a little magic left, after all.
The bus rides home from the parks were packed with tired passengers, but as they scrolled through the pictures on their phone from their experiences of the day, they smiled on the moments they shared together. I guess there is a little magic left, after all.
As some of you already know, I’m heading out in a few hours to go on a road trip to Florida to explore Orlando, Kissimmee, Cape Canaveral, and Palm Beach. My dad, mom, brother, and I are all stuffed into a forty-foot RV that we call the Big Rolling Turd. Oh, and my cat comes with us because she loves the open road as much as we do. (Think Flat Stanley, but with a housecat.)
Recently I was with my mom when we ran into one of her friends who asked me, “Isn’t it ‘uncool’ to be going on vacation with your parents?” My answer was a blunt and very important, “No way.” It’s not uncool at all. In fact, I think it’s one of the best parts about our family.
But, it wasn’t always cool.
Recently I was with my mom when we ran into one of her friends who asked me, “Isn’t it ‘uncool’ to be going on vacation with your parents?” My answer was a blunt and very important, “No way.” It’s not uncool at all. In fact, I think it’s one of the best parts about our family.
But, it wasn’t always cool.
Like any other pre-teen girl, there was a time when I uttered beneath my breath that I hated my parents. Hate was a word that was forbidden in our household, so when those words came flying out of my mouth, I knew they’d sting worse than ever. Ten years ago, it was very “uncool” for me to spend time with my family. Now, it’s one of the aspects I treasure most in life. |
Now, please don’t misinterpret what I’m saying. We are like any other family. We fight. We annoy. We argue. We frustrate. We apologize. We forgive. We yell. We cry. We laugh. We love.
As many of you know, I can be very, very stubborn. But you haven’t met Stubborn until you’ve met my dad. He wears a scowl that intimidates anyone, but he’s one of the gentlest giants. And though my mom’s natural resting-bitch-face sometimes makes her look unpleasant, she’s the kindest person most people could ever know. There’s my brother, who is categorically a typical twenty-one year old male. And then there’s me. Put us all in a 480-square foot tin box for the next ten days and we’re bound to crash into one another’s final nerves.
Life is crazy and stressful. My family, despite how insane they drive me, keep me grounded.
When I was younger, my parents used to make it a point to make sure we were all at the dinner table together. Although this wasn’t always easy to do, we made it work. When I was young, I didn’t like it. I didn’t like having to wait to go over to a friend’s house until after dinner was over. I wanted to be out hang out and do my own thing.
As many of you know, I can be very, very stubborn. But you haven’t met Stubborn until you’ve met my dad. He wears a scowl that intimidates anyone, but he’s one of the gentlest giants. And though my mom’s natural resting-bitch-face sometimes makes her look unpleasant, she’s the kindest person most people could ever know. There’s my brother, who is categorically a typical twenty-one year old male. And then there’s me. Put us all in a 480-square foot tin box for the next ten days and we’re bound to crash into one another’s final nerves.
Life is crazy and stressful. My family, despite how insane they drive me, keep me grounded.
When I was younger, my parents used to make it a point to make sure we were all at the dinner table together. Although this wasn’t always easy to do, we made it work. When I was young, I didn’t like it. I didn’t like having to wait to go over to a friend’s house until after dinner was over. I wanted to be out hang out and do my own thing.
…So I did the most natural thing I could think of when I was twenty-two and presented with the opportunity to flee. I fled. Two thousand miles across the United States, I landed in a small town in the middle of the desert. And looking back on it… I had to move across the country only to discover I wanted to be back home. No place would be home without my family.
And now, our home is in this camper and we have two thousand miles and ten days to go.
To the person who asked me if it was “uncool” for me to hang out with my parents, let me answer it the same simple way I did before: No, it’s not uncool. In fact, I consider myself to be pretty damn lucky to have such supportive, awesome, and incredible parents. If you have kids of your own, or when you do, may you be so fortunate to raise them well enough for them to want to spend their time with you.
And now, our home is in this camper and we have two thousand miles and ten days to go.
To the person who asked me if it was “uncool” for me to hang out with my parents, let me answer it the same simple way I did before: No, it’s not uncool. In fact, I consider myself to be pretty damn lucky to have such supportive, awesome, and incredible parents. If you have kids of your own, or when you do, may you be so fortunate to raise them well enough for them to want to spend their time with you.
Anxiety. The fog that creeps into your mind and spreads itself across your thoughts. Seemingly impossible to permeate. It'll pass, you remind yourself.
For about as long as I can remember, I've been an anxious person. I used to think it was nothing, something simple like being disappointed in myself if I didn't show up to an event at the same time as everyone else. As I've grown, I've begun to realize it's much bigger than that. The past few years of my life I've begun to see my anxiety for what it really is. It's something I can't particularly control, although there are things I can avoid to keep it from growing. However, sometimes it's strong enough to push its way past the walls I've built to keep it out. When that happens, there's not much I can do, so I have to remind myself: it'll pass.
For about as long as I can remember, I've been an anxious person. I used to think it was nothing, something simple like being disappointed in myself if I didn't show up to an event at the same time as everyone else. As I've grown, I've begun to realize it's much bigger than that. The past few years of my life I've begun to see my anxiety for what it really is. It's something I can't particularly control, although there are things I can avoid to keep it from growing. However, sometimes it's strong enough to push its way past the walls I've built to keep it out. When that happens, there's not much I can do, so I have to remind myself: it'll pass.
Conversations like this make me anxious:Conversations like this tell me you understand me: | I get anxieties about small and simple things: like making small talk with diner waitresses or not knowing where to park when visiting a friend's house for the first time. I also get anxiety about the big things: like being buried inside of a box for all of eternity. I overthink, and the anxiety propels it. I'll overthink about minute and useless things: like how my black shorts are a different shade of black than the frames of my glasses. I'll harp unnecessarily on the giant things too: what if this is all just a dream? It'll happen at odd, unexpected times: like watching The Hunger Games with your best friend in a crowded movie theater. It happens constantly: like fearing I'm not good enough for any of you. |
The anxiety rises, but comes first as my heart begins to race a little. Then even faster. My breath gets caught, like I suddenly can't get enough oxygen into my lungs. My brain panics with a thousand other thoughts. And then there it is: I can feel, I mean actually feel, every cell soaring through my open blood vessels, flooding my body with fear, worry, doubt, anxiety.
To be honest, the majority of my anxieties are very simple, and I know this. But yet I can't control them, despite how many people try to tell me to "just get over it." Recently, I've begun to realize that it's actually okay to talk about my anxiety with people; something I once was very afraid of. And when I began to share with a few of you, you made me think of my anxiety like the weather. It may be foggy and overcast today, but the sun can soon shine again. Now, it's a little less scary to talk about it, though the thought of putting this all out here in the open for you is making me quite apprehensive. But the research supports it: I am not alone.
To be honest, the majority of my anxieties are very simple, and I know this. But yet I can't control them, despite how many people try to tell me to "just get over it." Recently, I've begun to realize that it's actually okay to talk about my anxiety with people; something I once was very afraid of. And when I began to share with a few of you, you made me think of my anxiety like the weather. It may be foggy and overcast today, but the sun can soon shine again. Now, it's a little less scary to talk about it, though the thought of putting this all out here in the open for you is making me quite apprehensive. But the research supports it: I am not alone.
To be painfully honest (with myself and with you), my anxiety keeps me from doing lots of things. It's easier, and safer for me, to cancel plans with you because I get too anxious thinking about all of the possibilities of things that could or might go wrong. I'm worrying that you dislike me, that I'm bothering you, that I'm a burden in your life. Because of my anxiety, I live in a lot of fear. Fear of the great unknown. Trust me, I so badly wish I could turn off my brain long enough to get into a plane, and then jump out of it.
Talking about it helps. When I began sharing with some of you, you started to truly see me and actually understand me better. Those of you that have spent time with me have learned to understand my "quirks." Some of you know that sometimes I need to be pushed to be better, and other times, I just need to know I'm not alone. For your understanding, I'm more appreciative than I could ever express.
I don't want to let my anxiety hold me back. I wish my anxiety would cease long enough for me to be brave. I don't want my anxiety to push people away. When I told you my anxieties, you didn't try to hurry it away or ignore it. You hunkered down with me until the fog dissipated. You waited with me while it passed.
Talking about it helps. When I began sharing with some of you, you started to truly see me and actually understand me better. Those of you that have spent time with me have learned to understand my "quirks." Some of you know that sometimes I need to be pushed to be better, and other times, I just need to know I'm not alone. For your understanding, I'm more appreciative than I could ever express.
I don't want to let my anxiety hold me back. I wish my anxiety would cease long enough for me to be brave. I don't want my anxiety to push people away. When I told you my anxieties, you didn't try to hurry it away or ignore it. You hunkered down with me until the fog dissipated. You waited with me while it passed.
Ten years ago I embarked on a 3,500 mile journey across the Atlantic Ocean. I lived twenty-one days in four different countries. To say this experience was life-changing is an understatement. Little did I know, this was only the start of my wandering feet.
When you visit a foreign country, learn another language, or dedicate yourself to understanding a culture different than your own, you change. You grow. You evolve. Your perspective shifts. You suddenly become aware of how massive the scale of life is and how minor you, one person, are on that scale. But then you meet people, many, many people, who aren't so different from you at all. "Foreign" fades and "familiarity" rises. You sit around a table swapping stories of good times and offering advice for hardships. You become friends.
That's when you realize, this world isn't nearly as big as it appears to be.
About this time last year, I had a wild idea strike me. I had been reflecting on the travels I had done back when I was in high school and thinking about how vastly different my life could have been without those adventures. I wouldn't be who I am, with the perspectives I have, without the experiences I've been through. The idea that struck me was: I want to be able to help someone have the opportunity to travel, to learn, to live. The answer I found was to host an exchange student.
And now, in exactly one month, my new Swedish friend will be coming in August to live with me through the next school year. She's seventeen years old and will be a senior at the local high school. I get nervous walking into school on the first day and I've done it for how many years? I can't imagine her apprehension. She's braver than I perhaps have ever been.
Over the past few weeks as I've shared my excitement with people, their reaction is always the same, "That's so perfect for you!" as if in some way, I've always been destined to offer up my home to a stranger. But when I actually think about it, it's because they see me as someone who's been changed. Someone who knows that while the earth may be 24,902 miles around, all it takes to make a friend are open eyes and an open heart.
When you visit a foreign country, learn another language, or dedicate yourself to understanding a culture different than your own, you change. You grow. You evolve. Your perspective shifts. You suddenly become aware of how massive the scale of life is and how minor you, one person, are on that scale. But then you meet people, many, many people, who aren't so different from you at all. "Foreign" fades and "familiarity" rises. You sit around a table swapping stories of good times and offering advice for hardships. You become friends.
That's when you realize, this world isn't nearly as big as it appears to be.
About this time last year, I had a wild idea strike me. I had been reflecting on the travels I had done back when I was in high school and thinking about how vastly different my life could have been without those adventures. I wouldn't be who I am, with the perspectives I have, without the experiences I've been through. The idea that struck me was: I want to be able to help someone have the opportunity to travel, to learn, to live. The answer I found was to host an exchange student.
And now, in exactly one month, my new Swedish friend will be coming in August to live with me through the next school year. She's seventeen years old and will be a senior at the local high school. I get nervous walking into school on the first day and I've done it for how many years? I can't imagine her apprehension. She's braver than I perhaps have ever been.
Over the past few weeks as I've shared my excitement with people, their reaction is always the same, "That's so perfect for you!" as if in some way, I've always been destined to offer up my home to a stranger. But when I actually think about it, it's because they see me as someone who's been changed. Someone who knows that while the earth may be 24,902 miles around, all it takes to make a friend are open eyes and an open heart.
So now we've committed ourselves to a wild idea. She's trusted a stranger to house her for a year of her life while she adventures through one of the biggest journeys, probably of her lifetime. And do you know how honored I am to have the opportunity to spend that time with her? The truth is: this will be our adventure. Our journey is just about to begin. Go find yours. |
I've got to get something off my chest here. A rant perhaps. SharksAll of you are talking about sharks as if this is a new species we've recently discovered swimming in our oceans. (And apparently there are people who have actually never seen Jaws.) But let's talk about this because I want to make sure you understand some things. |
First of all, it's not our ocean. I'm pretty certain that the oceans belong to the 700,000-1,000,000 species (thanks Discovery Channel) that reside there. But we humans have an awful sense of entitlement, huh?
Secondly, let's think this out. You decide to go for a swim in the ocean. You're entering the home of many of the planet's top predators. If a predator enters your home, what would you do about it? Well, you'd probably kill him, or at least harm him, but a stupid shark is going to swim up and test to see if your seal-like body tastes anything like the seals he's used to chomping down on.
Secondly, let's think this out. You decide to go for a swim in the ocean. You're entering the home of many of the planet's top predators. If a predator enters your home, what would you do about it? Well, you'd probably kill him, or at least harm him, but a stupid shark is going to swim up and test to see if your seal-like body tastes anything like the seals he's used to chomping down on.
Sharks are given a bad rap. Sure, they have like 300 razor sharp teeth, but there are much greater threats in the ocean. In case you didn't know, sharks are kind of dumb. They're big dopes with poor eyesight. I mean you're literally told that if you encounter a shark, just to give it a punch in the nose. One good smack will leave him dumbfounded. Have you tried punching a black bear lately? Give for an example, the whale shark. Because it's even goofier than the other scary ones, people love it. That behemoth still has 300 teeth, but since it eats plankton everyone adores it. It's still a shark, people. Instead of being afraid of sharks and the possibility of an attack (though it's one in three million), how about you try to understand these creatures. With understanding comes respect. With respect, maybe we'll stop dumping our shit into our oceans. | "I'm not bad, I'm just drawn that way." Sharks and Jessica Rabbit were doomed from the start. Drawn to be malicious, they're just living out their fates. |
Plus, you should be much more afraid of the octopuses because those suckers can walk up onto land. | |
For months this has sat unattended (I warned you of this happening), and probably fading away into the abyss of cyberspace. Don't fret. I'm alive and well, while the blog may not be, with no good excuse for why I'm not writing here. I guess the good news is that I've been writing a lot in my notebook, and despite how much I've been writing, I have yet to fill up this whole damned thing. I'm actually convinced it might be growing more pages in the back. It's almost blissful writing here again; the words flooding so quickly from my head to my fingertips. Paper and pen is beautifully meaningful, but this is surely efficient.
Despite my leave of absence from writing here, it's been an itching of mine to get back. And in recent weeks, there have been a few people who have asked, "Where have you gone?" Sure, they might be questioning where my head has been, but a few them asked about the blog too. I've missed it here. More than anything, I've missed writing for an audience that listens. (That's actually something I thought I'd never say.) I've missed you because it's those of you that listen that keep me tied down to the ground. I'm sometimes convinced that if I spend a second longer in my own head, I'll just float up into the clouds. You keep me grounded. For that, I'm thankful. |
For those of your devoted fans and followers, you saw me in my fledgling days. My days as a novice blogger telling the ridiculous truths about student teaching. (Let's not talk about how long ago that was because I'm still in denial.) I'd like to think I've grown up a little since then, but when did I become such a pompous ass to think I didn't need to write this down and admit my quirks aloud to you, strangers of the internet? Okay, so most of you aren't actually strangers and some of you are even my best friends, in which then you'd know how badly I sometimes need to write. It aches actually; an idea brewing so deeply inside of me that I need to write it down. If I don't write, I'll go mad.
I tell my quick stories to most of you through Facebook, Twitter, even Instagram, but none of it is like writing here. Here I'm not confined to 140 characters which cause me to use improper grammar to get my point across. Here, the world is literally at my fingertips.
So here's the announcement: The blog is back. I don't know for how long (though I have lofty aspirations) and I can't promise I'll have something worthy to say, but I'll talk if you're willing to listen.
I tell my quick stories to most of you through Facebook, Twitter, even Instagram, but none of it is like writing here. Here I'm not confined to 140 characters which cause me to use improper grammar to get my point across. Here, the world is literally at my fingertips.
So here's the announcement: The blog is back. I don't know for how long (though I have lofty aspirations) and I can't promise I'll have something worthy to say, but I'll talk if you're willing to listen.
"I have no special talent.
I am only passionately curious."
Sometimes, I reach for a pen and when I put it to paper, the words I didn't know I had inside me are released.
So here it is:
I'm gettin' it all out.
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