Tuesday, March 23, 2010
A Woman of Inaction
I'm slow. I'm methodical. I think about something, and then I think about it some more. Then I reflect on what I've thought. My pace is frustratingly deliberate (or, maybe, deliberately frustrating), but I look back on choices I've made and have no regrets; I wouldn't change a thing.
I've always had this anxiety about teaching. How I communicate doesn't translate well to the podium. How others learn rarely reflects how I learn. A friend of mine who recently found herself leading a classroom full of adults said to me, "I think I like the idea of being a teacher more than actually being a teacher," and I can certainly understand that sentiment. In the mean time, I do the best I can; in my evaluations, I want my students to write either "She tried really hard!" or "She's funny." (It doesn't necessarily come across in my oh-so serious writing, but I can be hilarious. Or, at least, droll).
That July deadline I'd set for myself is suddenly flexible. I owe a lot of taxes; I have a huge phone bill this month (cell phones are so convenient that you forget you're talking to someone in East Africa!). It's one thing to try to follow my bliss, it's another to be responsible during a near-recession.
I should mention that because of downsizing at the airport, my brother Zach took a severance package last month. In April, he flies to California and will bike across the States. Read about it here. Jonah had chosen to stay on; but Delta announced it was closing one of its concourses: his last day will be here shortly.
Anyway, so I continue to deliberate. Reflect. Ponder. I should really start running again; things always clarify themselves when I run. Oh well, I'll think about it.