small.town.girl

Life can change so quickly. Just a matter of seconds can change the course of years, and mere minutes can determine life or death. One doesn’t usually consider how fragile life is on a daily basis when going about work that seems both tedious and straightforward. In this case, climbing a ladder on an ordinary day to do a task that wasn’t quite part of the job description but nonetheless a responsibility borne by an overburdened plant manager almost cost a life. And now those of us who love this man sit reeling in the aftermath.

Tragedy is personal. Nine years ago, the nation faced September 11 and a week later that paled in comparison to a car accident at my high school. A year ago, my godfather was killed in a traffic accident; he left behind a wonderful, loving wife and two sons who have since become fathers without their father in their life. It is horrifying what these families have gone through. To anyone who has lost someone completely, who has had someone suddenly ripped from their life, my sadness may seem selfish. I make no apologies for my egocentricity. I acknowledge that each individual disaster is its own experience. All I can do is live in this moment. I am heartbroken. I am helpless.

So I continue to stalk Facebook for news and ask friends for prayers. I carry on spreading the word about this horrible accident, his condition, his prognosis to those who care to listen. I keep talking about him with a stiff lip and no tears because I am resolute in my strength. I wait for news; all sources report slightly different descriptions, but it’s all I have to go on at this time. I fear actually seeing the damage, because I know my strength will leave me and I will have to face the magnitude of what happened. In text it is just a story, a bad dream. The change has not yet been realized in this house, though the emptiness is starting to show itself.

Now that I know how quickly things can change, I try to stay optimistic, but I fear bad news. The helplessness mixes with hope, but nothing is finite. I must subsist on the love and prayers of friends and family and maintain my own good thoughts. I must remember that many people feel this tragic heartbreak, because many people love this man. My biggest hope is that he knows how much we all care.

Lately, I’m stressed out. I’m working at Hershey Central Reservations over the summer to earn some much needed money while taking three classes. I came home after eight straight days of working to my wonderful boyfriend with whom I shared a relaxing Friday with errands and an afternoon matinee of Get Him to the Greek. Today we had a dinner party for some of my old (and new) friends, and I was reminded of how lucky I truly am.

Megan and Meredith are the closest I’ve ever had to sisters. We were in Girl Scouts together from Brownies through high school graduation, and in the seven years since high school graduation we’ve managed to stay friends. There were times when we didn’t get along and maybe even disliked each other, but now that we’re older, we appreciate the history we share. We can sit down for a meal and it seems like we never spent any time apart. Today, Meredith entertained us with stories of near-death experiences on her travels to Africa, and Megan provided much-needed updates on how she returned to this area to pursue her career.

Megan and Mer weren’t the only friends present. Dan, of course, was here; Kim, who I met through Dan and Keanan, stopped by after a wedding shower in Lebanon; and Megan’s wife, Kara, accompanied her. These represent a newer circle of relationships, an extension of friendships forged in the past. Friends introduce friends to their friends and friendships or relationships blossom. People connect. It’s fascinating to take a step back at the end of the day and reflect on the conversations of the day. So few people can make me laugh the way I laughed today. And I haven’t laughed like that in a long time.

The food was great, too. Parties have become much more classy since the days of jungle juice. Mer and I did manage to kill two bottles of white, drinking about 3/4 of a bottle each. She also brought stuffed mushrooms that went over quite well and Dan and I had picked up crackers, veggies, hummus and horseradish cheddar bacon spread at market that morning. The main course was grilled chicken, pasta salad and corn on the cob. We finished with some delicious pie. Food only managed to quiet us for a few moments, though. The central focus of the day was conversation and stories of the past and discussions of the present and future.

I know that I’m extraordinarily lucky to have such amazing friends in my life. I know that my family and Dan love me, but the love in my house today was different than the love that’s here at other times. Today, my home was filled with sisterhood (sorry, Dan, you’re an honorary sister). We share a history and common interests and a general concern for each other’s well being. We are a family, fashioned from scouting, built on social networks and brought together by benevolent forces. We are fortunate, and I will try to remember this when times are rough.

Sometimes I feel like my world is standing still while my friends’ worlds are whizzing by at record paces. People around me are getting married, getting jobs, having kids, moving to foreign countries–they’re having life experiences and I’m… not.

Other times, it feels like my life is rushed and filled to the point of bursting. I feel like I’m barely clinging on to my sanity. I see people living happy, carefree lives and I envy them.

Perhaps the real situation is that everyone is somewhere between these two places. No one is completely carefree. We all have bills and deadlines to meet. Marriage, children, jobs, houses–they just compound the stress of life itself. In some ways I’m lucky that I do not have those things to worry about. My employment situation is glorified hobo and the white picket fence is a long way off. I won’t have to worry about a mortgage or diapers or contracts for a couple of years. Still, I have to keep telling myself that I’m working toward something or the day to day breathing becomes too much.

My dear friend and “little brother” wrote on my Facebook today that I have to be passionate about teaching. I think I am, but am I passionate enough? I really look forward to working with a classroom of my own, but I’m nervous. I’m more nervous about completing the process and jumping through the hoops of student teaching and Praxis testing, but it’s still just another stressful element in this path I have chosen for myself. And I’m always questioning if it’s the right path. I’ve had a good break from subbing due to PSSA testing and conflicting schedules, and I can honestly say that I don’t miss it all that much. I’ve already entered the mindset for my summer job, which might just be a necessary coping mechanism.

I wonder if I’ve missed my calling. I wonder if this is what I’m supposed to do. Friends–well, more likely friends of friends–would turn to religion here and pray for answers or something. I could consult my tarot cards. I could put my faith in what my friends tell me. I could believe in myself for once.

I’ve kind of hit a wall. I guess that’s what April is, and possibly always has been, for me. I think I was usually fairly frustrated by this time of year in undergrad, and most certainly in 2008 and 2009, I was slowly going crazy by this time of year. I want to be passionate about my classes, about subbing, about life–but right now I just keep asking myself two questions:

Is this real life? and

Can we go to the beach yet?

I need this.

I’ve been MIA for awhile now, and I really wish that wasn’t the case. I have several half-posts, which are half-written ramblings about the various goings on in my life. Some day, maybe, I will finish them and post them back dated to where they belong. Trips to WAC, trips to the beach, concerts, etc.–all waiting to be moved from my head to my WordPress.

Life has just been so busy lately that I feel guilty working on this stuff. I have a bunch of projects due for school and I’ve been working here and there. I’ve also been on the go doing regular life stuff, too. So I promise, I will be back in full swing, hopefully by May.

I became a substitute teacher somewhat out of necessity. In a faltering economy, I couldn’t afford to move to a new location to find a job, and my college degree and I were wasting away at a local convenience store making less than $8/hour. Teaching had been my original intention in college, but I’d been sidetracked by publications. I was lucky to know a few people who had gone through a training program to obtain emergency teaching certification, and they encouraged me to check it out. While the main point of the program is to staff the local intermediate unit, which assists local schools (especially with special education), many who take the training become day-to-day subs in mainstream schools. The training takes a mere three days and focuses on information that is more suited to the IU. Most of “what to do” was up to me to learn.

My first day was terrifying and exhilarating. I’d managed to find a better-paying seasonal job to round out my summer; my last day was Labor Day. I was looking forward to taking a few weeks to prepare for subbing by cleaning and organizing. Instead, Tuesday, September 8, I woke up at 5:30 in the morning to a phone call. I agreed before I really understood what I was doing. That was just the beginning, I suppose. In retrospect, the first day was fairly plain. It was 7th grade language arts, and one period I had a co-teacher who took the reigns. The regular teacher’s plans were superb–she’d thought of a lot in advance. The 7th graders were only in their 2nd week of junior high, so they had no idea that I was not at all aware of what I was doing. At the end of the day, I felt confident I’d made the right choice in pursuing teaching as a career.

When I look back, I’m very happy that I accepted that early phone call. It let me train myself and get my feet wet without falling on my face. I learned how to follow a lesson plan, how to relate to students, and even how to deal with trying to find a school I’ve never seen. Since then, I’ve had numerous other learning experiences with subbing. It’s trial and error, and what one can accomplish in a day depends on the type of students the school in question has. The demographics vary, even in my small county, and the students are sometimes less receptive to a substitute depending on their grade level and their level in the education system. I hope to detail some of what I’ve learned here, and to write about the experiences—good, bad and in between—so that I might learn more from them as I reexamine what I’ve done.

Herein is the letter I wrote to members of the Board of Directors to explain why I left my job so quickly. I felt physically intimidated and it was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I changed the name of where I worked to “The Organization” and left out names, but if you actually cared, you could probably find it. My letter didn’t do anything, but it was cathartic to write it. If anything, the whole experience made me more aware of how shady and greedy people can be.

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It’s Winter Break.  The problem here is that I’m no longer in college, so I should no longer be celebrating with bar trips and catching up with old friends.  I’m doing just that, though, out of a desperate desire to become a more social creature after an approximate year of hibernation.  Nevermind that I’m incredibly depressed that I will be having drinks with a friend who has relocated to NYC and will only be reminded that I am stuck here.  I do want to chat with her, but I also want to lock her in a closet and assume her life in the city.  She’s thin and half Chinese, though, so I’m guessing that wouldn’t work too well.

The real inspiration for this post is not to talk about impending hang-outs, but one that has already taken place.  A little background for you?  From sixth grade through high school I adored this boy (we shall call him R).  I never dated R, and with the exception of one drunken make out session, nothing productive came out of my nearly-a-decade-long crush.  He graduated high school with me in 2003 and bounced around to several colleges before he found one that “stuck.”  He’s slated to graduate in 2010.  We haven’t been tight since we went to Bonnaroo–a group trip where I was Susie Sober and spoiled everyone’s fun by being slightly annoyed at the rampant drug use among the 80,000 people who were not nearly as dedicated to Radiohead as me.  So anyway, R is home from Utah State right now, and I wanted to “catch up.”

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