Post-text sending stress disorder (PTSSD) is an anxiety disorder. It can occur after one has sent a (usu. impulsive) text message which is then followed by a prolonged wait for a (possible) response.
Symptoms include excessive self-berating for not being "strong enough" to not have sent the text, even if the content of the text in question is utterly innocuous, restlessness, fidgetiness, heightened adrenaline flow, elevated heart rate, and hypersensitivity to text message receipt-like sounds in the subject's vicinity.
Successful treatment varies, but most symptoms abate if a satisfactory text response is received within minutes of initial onset. Pavlovian thumb training has also been known to decrease incidence.
Monday, September 30, 2013
Saturday, September 28, 2013
Conversations with God
Me: Hey, what's up?
God: As an omnipresent being, I've never quite figured out the correct way to respond to that one.
Me: Oh. I didn't think about that. I usually say "nothing much," but . . . yeah, totally doesn't apply to You.
God: So, what's on your mind?
Me: Ha. Like You don't already know. I know, I know, You want to hear it from me. Well . . . You know, I'm just kind of wondering about this whole comps thing. At first I was determined to take them in November and now it looks more like January . . . I just feel like I'm not disciplined enough. I'm not taking the initiative. I have to constantly fight this feeling that I'm not capable, like I'm not cut out for this.
God: I wouldn't have brought you here if you weren't capable of doing it. And you are cut out for it, you just haven't realized it yet.
Me: Is that so? How many other things haven't I realized yet?
God: Don't ask questions you don't want to know the answers to.
Me: True. Very true. Okay, so . . . about this other thing . . .
God: Really? I thought we agreed that you were going to leave it to Me.
Me: I am leaving it to You. It's just that I'd like to have a sign or something, you know? So that I could know for sure one way or the other so that I could—
God: Again, I thought we agreed that you were going to leave it to Me.
Me: I am! I just want to know one way or the other.
God: Um, that's not leaving it to Me.
Me: (exasperated sigh) God, this is so frustrating.
God: Tell Me about it. Look, you already have all the answer you need. Just keep doing what you're already doing. I'll let you know if you get off track. You need to relax. For real. How many ways can I communicate "I got this" to you before you'll believe Me?
Me: I guess you're right.
God: (laughs) You guess? Girl, you better know. Just know this. It's already handled. If I could ever get you to see that, it would make your life so much easier. You don't need a "sign," and you don't need to beg Me to take care of it. I already have. Just sit tight.
Me: I am! I just want to know one way or the other.
God: Um, that's not leaving it to Me.
Me: (exasperated sigh) God, this is so frustrating.
God: Tell Me about it. Look, you already have all the answer you need. Just keep doing what you're already doing. I'll let you know if you get off track. You need to relax. For real. How many ways can I communicate "I got this" to you before you'll believe Me?
Me: I guess you're right.
God: (laughs) You guess? Girl, you better know. Just know this. It's already handled. If I could ever get you to see that, it would make your life so much easier. You don't need a "sign," and you don't need to beg Me to take care of it. I already have. Just sit tight.
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
A Reminder
Just as there are times when I'm feeling badly "right now," I have to remember that there are also times I feel great right now. Which is now.
It's not that anything spectacular has gone down, but for the past few days I've felt good about connecting with and reaching out to other people. There's such a rewarding feeling that comes when you see that somehow, some small thing you do can make a positive impact upon someone else.
It's not that anything spectacular has gone down, but for the past few days I've felt good about connecting with and reaching out to other people. There's such a rewarding feeling that comes when you see that somehow, some small thing you do can make a positive impact upon someone else.
Saturday, September 21, 2013
My Brain's Account of Time Spent
One of the Cuban coordinators I worked with when I went to Cuba came to my institution here to give a talk about collaboration between the US and Cuba regarding research and higher education. It was weird to see him outside of a Cuban context, but it was great. A lot of the kids who were also in the program as well as the Cuba program director and I got to spend time with him this week. It felt like a family reunion. The coordinator told me that I was the most popular girl at the research center we were paired with in Havana and everyone asked about me and if he were going to see me. I couldn't send him back to Cuba empty-handed. Before I left for Cuba this summer, a friend of mine who had previously studied there gave me a little package to give to one of his friends in Havana. And now I'm sending stuff to friends in Cuba via another friend, too. It's the Cuban way. Yolanda, la nieta de Yolanda, Daysi, Rogelio, Héctor y Rodrigo, tengo regalitos para Uds. que Henry les trae.
One of my colleagues created this FB group for everyone in the Romance Languages program. It's useful and hilarious, because sometimes you want to post something that is only relevant to people in the program or something that would only make sense or be funny to people in the program. We had a departmental potluck last night, but beforehand, I was trying to decide which one of my tried and trues I should bring—quiche or zucchini bread—when the solution suddenly came to me. So, like a dork I posted: "I was having an existential crisis over whether to bring a quiche or zucchini bread to the potluck tomorrow when the solution flashed into my mind like a lightning bolt: A zucchini quiche!" Thank God it turned out okay because then at the potluck people were like, "I read about your zucchini quiche, so I wanted to make sure to try some. It was great!" What if it had been revolting? Then everyone would have known who made the nasty zucchini quiche.
Sometimes I do quiet, weird little things for my own entertainment. I'm reading for comps and one of the things I was reading I know is related to what a colleague is interested in as well. So, I made another copy of a related article I found and just put it in his box with no note or explanation. An anonymous benefactor. I wasn't going to give myself away, either. No coyly asking, "Hey, did you get something in your box?" I wanted him to wonder. I mean, I knew he would probably suspect me, but the fact is, he didn't know for sure. And for some reason, that idea was so amusing to me. I ran into him yesterday and he finally brought it up. When I finally admitted it was me, and he was like, "Of course it was you! Who else?" it made me smile even more because it was obvious to me that he really wasn't sure. I'd like to think that maybe he thought it was me, or maybe even wanted it to be me, but was afraid to be wrong.
So, I've found myself as a part of a group christened Saturday Ladies. I don't know why or how, exactly, but sometimes personalities sort of seek each other out and something clicks. Our inaugural meeting was at a new French bakery in town. I actually don't have a whole lot in common with the other Saturday Ladies, but I guess we jibe as a group because we're accepting and are interested by the fact that each of us are interested in specific, interesting things. Our second unofficial meeting is today at a popular vegetarian spot.
I'm following God down this path that can be pretty lonely, but it doesn't have to be. He's always there, and He's leading me somewhere.
One of my colleagues created this FB group for everyone in the Romance Languages program. It's useful and hilarious, because sometimes you want to post something that is only relevant to people in the program or something that would only make sense or be funny to people in the program. We had a departmental potluck last night, but beforehand, I was trying to decide which one of my tried and trues I should bring—quiche or zucchini bread—when the solution suddenly came to me. So, like a dork I posted: "I was having an existential crisis over whether to bring a quiche or zucchini bread to the potluck tomorrow when the solution flashed into my mind like a lightning bolt: A zucchini quiche!" Thank God it turned out okay because then at the potluck people were like, "I read about your zucchini quiche, so I wanted to make sure to try some. It was great!" What if it had been revolting? Then everyone would have known who made the nasty zucchini quiche.
Sometimes I do quiet, weird little things for my own entertainment. I'm reading for comps and one of the things I was reading I know is related to what a colleague is interested in as well. So, I made another copy of a related article I found and just put it in his box with no note or explanation. An anonymous benefactor. I wasn't going to give myself away, either. No coyly asking, "Hey, did you get something in your box?" I wanted him to wonder. I mean, I knew he would probably suspect me, but the fact is, he didn't know for sure. And for some reason, that idea was so amusing to me. I ran into him yesterday and he finally brought it up. When I finally admitted it was me, and he was like, "Of course it was you! Who else?" it made me smile even more because it was obvious to me that he really wasn't sure. I'd like to think that maybe he thought it was me, or maybe even wanted it to be me, but was afraid to be wrong.
So, I've found myself as a part of a group christened Saturday Ladies. I don't know why or how, exactly, but sometimes personalities sort of seek each other out and something clicks. Our inaugural meeting was at a new French bakery in town. I actually don't have a whole lot in common with the other Saturday Ladies, but I guess we jibe as a group because we're accepting and are interested by the fact that each of us are interested in specific, interesting things. Our second unofficial meeting is today at a popular vegetarian spot.
I'm following God down this path that can be pretty lonely, but it doesn't have to be. He's always there, and He's leading me somewhere.
Thursday, September 12, 2013
Three-Year Wanderer
I realized something about my life recently: Ever since I graduated from undergrad, I have not been in the same place doing the same thing for longer than 3 years.
1. I worked at my first job for three years. The third year, I started a Master's program part-time while I still worked.
2. I resigned and moved to another city for a year to finish my Master's full-time.
3. I graduated and moved back home for six months while I worked as an instructor at the same institution I had just graduated from.
4. I moved to France for six months.
5. I moved back home and worked for a year. I started at a public high school and ended up at a learning center.
6. I moved to where I am now to pursue a PhD.
So, three years doing the same thing in the same place has been the closest thing to stability I've had since 2005. Wow.
I have just entered the third year of my most recent sojourn. And I'm starting to get antsy. Don't get me wrong, not finishing is not an option. I've never considered quitting this program. But I am starting to crave a change of scene.
Whether I'll be able to consider that possibility is entirely predicated on whether I do everything I'm supposed to do this year, which is 1. Successfully taking and defending comps. 2. Submitting my prospectus and getting it approved.
If I can do those two things by May, I'll be right on track, an official PhD candidate by the end of my 3rd year. ABD. All But Dissertation, baby. All I'll have left to do is write that monster. Something that facilitates writing the monster is being awarded a dissertation fellowship. What that means is that I'll get money to support myself for a year so that I can totally focus on writing and not have to worry about teaching. The department here offers one, but I'm also going to apply for a couple of other dissertation fellowship programs whose host institutions are in the Northeast.
They're super competitive, so it may be a long shot. But I'm kind of feeling the idea of moving to get a change of scene to wrap this puppy up.
I won't be in a position to consider something like that for next year if I don't do what I need to do this year, though. I must get myself together.
1. I worked at my first job for three years. The third year, I started a Master's program part-time while I still worked.
2. I resigned and moved to another city for a year to finish my Master's full-time.
3. I graduated and moved back home for six months while I worked as an instructor at the same institution I had just graduated from.
4. I moved to France for six months.
5. I moved back home and worked for a year. I started at a public high school and ended up at a learning center.
6. I moved to where I am now to pursue a PhD.
So, three years doing the same thing in the same place has been the closest thing to stability I've had since 2005. Wow.
I have just entered the third year of my most recent sojourn. And I'm starting to get antsy. Don't get me wrong, not finishing is not an option. I've never considered quitting this program. But I am starting to crave a change of scene.
Whether I'll be able to consider that possibility is entirely predicated on whether I do everything I'm supposed to do this year, which is 1. Successfully taking and defending comps. 2. Submitting my prospectus and getting it approved.
If I can do those two things by May, I'll be right on track, an official PhD candidate by the end of my 3rd year. ABD. All But Dissertation, baby. All I'll have left to do is write that monster. Something that facilitates writing the monster is being awarded a dissertation fellowship. What that means is that I'll get money to support myself for a year so that I can totally focus on writing and not have to worry about teaching. The department here offers one, but I'm also going to apply for a couple of other dissertation fellowship programs whose host institutions are in the Northeast.
They're super competitive, so it may be a long shot. But I'm kind of feeling the idea of moving to get a change of scene to wrap this puppy up.
I won't be in a position to consider something like that for next year if I don't do what I need to do this year, though. I must get myself together.
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
Interlibrary Loan or Whose Type Am I?
Interlibrary Loan is a wonderful thing for grad students. Does your university library not have some obscure book that you need to read for your comprehensive exams? Never fear. Some other university library will send it to you. For free. As long as you give it back by the due date. Oh, and by the way, there are no renewals. So let's say you're halfway done with an Interlibrary Loan book. Let's say today is September 10. Let's say the due date is September 11. Better read like the dickens! Fie! The conundrums I createth for mineself.
Anyway, I've been musing over the fact that I've been surprised a couple of times about the idea of who's my "type," or rather, whose "type" I would be. I'm coming to realize that maybe the whole idea of "type" is made up.
I believe that my type is someone tall (need this be elaborated upon?), someone with dark features (not necessarily black, but at least some kind of ethnic flavor in the mix), bespectacled (because I think it makes guys look mild-mannered and smart, which, to me, strikes just the right balance between adorable and hot), a Colgate smile (messed up grills need not apply), and you know the rest: funny, godly, intelligent, linguistically and/or artistically talented, etc.
However, I have nevertheless found myself attracted to a fair share of short and/or pasty and/or otherwise-not-who-I-imagined-myself-being-attracted-to guys.
Interestingly, the very few who have made an appearance who actually fit the contours of the physical bill (but not the spiritual) have weighed in on a scale of slightly inappropriate to potentially disastrous. So, tall exotic men with perfect teeth need to stay home if they don't have the Holy Ghost for real. Actually, any man who doesn't have the Holy Ghost for real needs to stay home, honestly. But especially the tall exotic ones with perfect teeth. Ahem.
Anyway, what I'm puzzled by is the opposite. Like, the kind of guy I think would be attracted to me. Not that I think only tall, ethnic guys with nice smiles should notice me. (I mean, not that I would terribly mind.) But I'm saying, people I didn't think would think I was attractive have come out of the blue. Like, really? Why would he be interested in me?
I guess that goes to show me that as much as I despise people trying to put me in a box or what have you, I do the same thing to other people. And maybe it's also a nice reminder that perhaps people you don't know are thinking about you actually are.
Anyway, I've been musing over the fact that I've been surprised a couple of times about the idea of who's my "type," or rather, whose "type" I would be. I'm coming to realize that maybe the whole idea of "type" is made up.
I believe that my type is someone tall (need this be elaborated upon?), someone with dark features (not necessarily black, but at least some kind of ethnic flavor in the mix), bespectacled (because I think it makes guys look mild-mannered and smart, which, to me, strikes just the right balance between adorable and hot), a Colgate smile (messed up grills need not apply), and you know the rest: funny, godly, intelligent, linguistically and/or artistically talented, etc.
However, I have nevertheless found myself attracted to a fair share of short and/or pasty and/or otherwise-not-who-I-imagined-myself-being-attracted-to guys.
Interestingly, the very few who have made an appearance who actually fit the contours of the physical bill (but not the spiritual) have weighed in on a scale of slightly inappropriate to potentially disastrous. So, tall exotic men with perfect teeth need to stay home if they don't have the Holy Ghost for real. Actually, any man who doesn't have the Holy Ghost for real needs to stay home, honestly. But especially the tall exotic ones with perfect teeth. Ahem.
Anyway, what I'm puzzled by is the opposite. Like, the kind of guy I think would be attracted to me. Not that I think only tall, ethnic guys with nice smiles should notice me. (I mean, not that I would terribly mind.) But I'm saying, people I didn't think would think I was attractive have come out of the blue. Like, really? Why would he be interested in me?
I guess that goes to show me that as much as I despise people trying to put me in a box or what have you, I do the same thing to other people. And maybe it's also a nice reminder that perhaps people you don't know are thinking about you actually are.
Sunday, September 08, 2013
Patience
Cast not away therefore your confidence, which hath great recompence of reward. For ye have need of patience, that, after ye have done the will of God, ye might receive the promise. For yet a little while, and he that shall come will come, and will not tarry. (Hebrews 10:35-37, KJV)
So do not throw away this confident trust in the Lord. Remember the great reward it brings you! Patient endurance is what you need now, so that you will continue to do God’s will. Then you will receive all that he has promised. “For in just a little while, the Coming One will come and not delay." (Hebrews 10:35-37, NLT)
My brethren, count it all joy when ye fall into divers temptations; Knowing this, that the trying of your faith worketh patience. But let patience have her perfect work, that ye may be perfect and entire, wanting nothing. (James 1:2-4, KJV)
Dear brothers and sisters, when troubles come your way, consider it an opportunity for great joy. For you know that when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow. So let it grow, for when your endurance is fully developed, you will be perfect and complete, needing nothing. (James 1:2-4, NLT)
So do not throw away this confident trust in the Lord. Remember the great reward it brings you! Patient endurance is what you need now, so that you will continue to do God’s will. Then you will receive all that he has promised. “For in just a little while, the Coming One will come and not delay." (Hebrews 10:35-37, NLT)
My brethren, count it all joy when ye fall into divers temptations; Knowing this, that the trying of your faith worketh patience. But let patience have her perfect work, that ye may be perfect and entire, wanting nothing. (James 1:2-4, KJV)
Dear brothers and sisters, when troubles come your way, consider it an opportunity for great joy. For you know that when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow. So let it grow, for when your endurance is fully developed, you will be perfect and complete, needing nothing. (James 1:2-4, NLT)
Friday, September 06, 2013
On the Bus
Me: (Sitting with two empty seats between me and some other guy, wondering whether I should bring anything to dinner at a friend's house tonight even though she said not to worry about it.)
Guy gets on. He has large, light brown eyes. Equal parts Nutella and honey. Framed with smoky lashes.
Me: Wow, that guy has beautiful eyes.
Guy decides to sit by me. I feign uninterest.
Guy: (After a few moments of silence) Hey, how's it going today?
Me: (Looking into those gorgeous eyes) I'm fine, and you?
Guy: Doing all right. Look, I know you're probably thinking, Oh, my God, this guy doesn't smell too good. I know I don't smell great right now, I was--
Me: (Not noticing any smelliness) No, actually, I was thinking you had beautiful eyes.
Guy: (Obviously not expecting that response. He smiles.) Oh, thank you very much. I appreciate that. And you have a beautiful smile. You get that a lot, don't you?
Me: (Smiling even more, nervously laughing)
Guy: Oh, I know, you don't want to be conceited about it, but I know you get that a lot. So, is this your first year in Athens?
Me: No, it's my third.
Guy: (Proceeds to tell me how he just moved here, he's started a Master's program in Counseling, hoping to eventually get into a PhD program) What about you?
Me: I'm in a PhD program in Hispanic Studies.
Guy: Oh, that's what's up. Definitely out of my league, but that's great.
Me: No . . . it can be done. (Nearing my stop) What's your name?
Guy: I'm (same name as particular guy who's been the cause of emotional stress lately).
Me: (Shakes his hand) I'm Chantell.
Guy: Ooh, and you've got soft hands, too?
Me: (Laughs)
Bus pulls up to my stop. I get up to go.
Guy: Yeah, you've got to get away from me.
Me: (Laughs)
Guy: Okay, have a good one.
Me: You, too.
Guy gets on. He has large, light brown eyes. Equal parts Nutella and honey. Framed with smoky lashes.
Me: Wow, that guy has beautiful eyes.
Guy decides to sit by me. I feign uninterest.
Guy: (After a few moments of silence) Hey, how's it going today?
Me: (Looking into those gorgeous eyes) I'm fine, and you?
Guy: Doing all right. Look, I know you're probably thinking, Oh, my God, this guy doesn't smell too good. I know I don't smell great right now, I was--
Me: (Not noticing any smelliness) No, actually, I was thinking you had beautiful eyes.
Guy: (Obviously not expecting that response. He smiles.) Oh, thank you very much. I appreciate that. And you have a beautiful smile. You get that a lot, don't you?
Me: (Smiling even more, nervously laughing)
Guy: Oh, I know, you don't want to be conceited about it, but I know you get that a lot. So, is this your first year in Athens?
Me: No, it's my third.
Guy: (Proceeds to tell me how he just moved here, he's started a Master's program in Counseling, hoping to eventually get into a PhD program) What about you?
Me: I'm in a PhD program in Hispanic Studies.
Guy: Oh, that's what's up. Definitely out of my league, but that's great.
Me: No . . . it can be done. (Nearing my stop) What's your name?
Guy: I'm (same name as particular guy who's been the cause of emotional stress lately).
Me: (Shakes his hand) I'm Chantell.
Guy: Ooh, and you've got soft hands, too?
Me: (Laughs)
Bus pulls up to my stop. I get up to go.
Guy: Yeah, you've got to get away from me.
Me: (Laughs)
Guy: Okay, have a good one.
Me: You, too.
Thursday, September 05, 2013
The Me I (Don't) Want to Be
Sometimes I'm the me I want to be, and sometimes I'm just not.
Ugh. I am so not right now. Right now I am sluggish. I want to cry. I want to sleep. I do not want to do my hair. I want to watch back-to-back episodes of Chopped online and I don't want to do anything else. I want to eat more and more Haagen-Dazs pineapple coconut ice cream. I want to sit on my couch, wrapped up in my fluffy pink robe and eat spoonful after spoonful of straight up Nutella.
I just want to go to bed and hope that I'll feel better when I wake up.
I do not like myself right now. I feel silly and powerless and hurt and afraid. I do not want to admit these things because admitting that I'm not in a good spot makes me feel vulnerable, but there it is, being typed from the fingers of the me I don't want to be but am right now.
On the other hand, note that I am tagging my negative feelings with the phrase "right now." Because it's just right now. I am quite open to the possibility of things changing for the better. They often do.
But things are just sucky sometimes, and sometimes you want to cry and go live in a hole for a little while. Sometimes you just have to feel the pain and the icky yucky feelings, and just slog through it for a little while.
I feel inadequate and like I'm not going to be ready to take my comps in November and heartbroken and like I'm not doing enough. Yes, this is how I feel right now.
It's just right now, though.
Ugh. I am so not right now. Right now I am sluggish. I want to cry. I want to sleep. I do not want to do my hair. I want to watch back-to-back episodes of Chopped online and I don't want to do anything else. I want to eat more and more Haagen-Dazs pineapple coconut ice cream. I want to sit on my couch, wrapped up in my fluffy pink robe and eat spoonful after spoonful of straight up Nutella.
I just want to go to bed and hope that I'll feel better when I wake up.
I do not like myself right now. I feel silly and powerless and hurt and afraid. I do not want to admit these things because admitting that I'm not in a good spot makes me feel vulnerable, but there it is, being typed from the fingers of the me I don't want to be but am right now.
On the other hand, note that I am tagging my negative feelings with the phrase "right now." Because it's just right now. I am quite open to the possibility of things changing for the better. They often do.
But things are just sucky sometimes, and sometimes you want to cry and go live in a hole for a little while. Sometimes you just have to feel the pain and the icky yucky feelings, and just slog through it for a little while.
I feel inadequate and like I'm not going to be ready to take my comps in November and heartbroken and like I'm not doing enough. Yes, this is how I feel right now.
It's just right now, though.
Monday, September 02, 2013
Time and Tide Wait for No Woman
Back home is always bittersweet.
I went home to spend the long Labor Day weekend with the fam. Being back home, or the closest thing to it, simultaneously reminds me of how things never change and how they never stay the same.
My mom and I were having breakfast at that same Chick-fil-a on the Boulevard when in walks a gaggle of girls in volleyball uniforms emblazoned with the logo of the school where I used to teach. My first job. Undoubtedly, those girls were my former students.
"Weren't you our Spanish teacher?"
"We still sing the song you taught us!"
When I first started teaching, those girls were in 3rd grade. Now, they're in 10th. You never forget a face. And you never forget songs taught to you in Spanish in 3rd grade, apparently.
A parent chaperoning the girls' volleyball team who remembered me came up as well. She said her daughter has continued with Spanish and is doing very well in it. "And it's all because of you. You're the reason she fell in love with Spanish. I can't wait to tell everyone I saw you!"
It made me cry. For several reasons. That I made an impact on someone's life. That they still sing that silly Spanish song. That I'm old enough to have taught kids who used to be in 3rd grade but are now in 10th. That I'm still in school myself.
Then, church. The very same. A child whose ultrasound video I bawled my eyes out to is now taller than me. As in, I saw her when she was a fetus and I was old enough to have birthed her myself, I remember when she couldn't walk or talk and then when she was able to do those things, I remember when she would throw herself face down on the floor during her temper tantrums. This same child is taller than me. And not only that, she now attends the same middle school I attended. "Who gave you permission to grow up?" I always jokingly ask her. But part of me isn't joking. It's such a sobering, bittersweet thing to consider.
My parents might be moving into a new house soon. We took a little tour this weekend. Of course, they deserve it. They've worked hard and they're now in a position to have a nicer place. I'm happy for them. But there's a part of me that fears what that's going to mean. The house I spent my adolescence in will no longer be "home." It will no longer be my "permanent address." And the panic: Why don't I have my own "permanent address" yet? I imagine the halls of my parents' future new home haunted by the souls of unconceived grandchildren.
I'm one of the lucky ones whose parents are not so old-fashioned that they would dare let any semblance of pressure to get married pass their lips. Not once. Not a single solitary time have they let such a thing slip. (I don't believe my father would terribly mind if I never found anyone "good enough.") But I can see it in my mother's eyes every time she sees or holds a baby. I want one.
There's something about going home that makes me see my relationship failures (okay, let's put a positive spin on it and say "lessons learned" instead) stacked up like a tower of multicolored Legos. I dunno, it just didn't work out. Block. Yeah, you should have known that wasn't going to work out. Block on top of block. I thought this one might have worked out, but . . . Block on top of block on top of block.
What's maddening is that though being home gives me this feeling of nostalgic ambivalence, the prospect of returning to my present life is no comfort, either. Once I get back into the swing, I'm okay, but it's the psyching myself up for the return trip, knowing that reminders of more recent "failures" linger that pulls at me. Knowing that deadlines and responsibilities await and must be reckoned with. Time and tide wait for no woman.
I went home to spend the long Labor Day weekend with the fam. Being back home, or the closest thing to it, simultaneously reminds me of how things never change and how they never stay the same.
My mom and I were having breakfast at that same Chick-fil-a on the Boulevard when in walks a gaggle of girls in volleyball uniforms emblazoned with the logo of the school where I used to teach. My first job. Undoubtedly, those girls were my former students.
"Weren't you our Spanish teacher?"
"We still sing the song you taught us!"
When I first started teaching, those girls were in 3rd grade. Now, they're in 10th. You never forget a face. And you never forget songs taught to you in Spanish in 3rd grade, apparently.
A parent chaperoning the girls' volleyball team who remembered me came up as well. She said her daughter has continued with Spanish and is doing very well in it. "And it's all because of you. You're the reason she fell in love with Spanish. I can't wait to tell everyone I saw you!"
It made me cry. For several reasons. That I made an impact on someone's life. That they still sing that silly Spanish song. That I'm old enough to have taught kids who used to be in 3rd grade but are now in 10th. That I'm still in school myself.
Then, church. The very same. A child whose ultrasound video I bawled my eyes out to is now taller than me. As in, I saw her when she was a fetus and I was old enough to have birthed her myself, I remember when she couldn't walk or talk and then when she was able to do those things, I remember when she would throw herself face down on the floor during her temper tantrums. This same child is taller than me. And not only that, she now attends the same middle school I attended. "Who gave you permission to grow up?" I always jokingly ask her. But part of me isn't joking. It's such a sobering, bittersweet thing to consider.
My parents might be moving into a new house soon. We took a little tour this weekend. Of course, they deserve it. They've worked hard and they're now in a position to have a nicer place. I'm happy for them. But there's a part of me that fears what that's going to mean. The house I spent my adolescence in will no longer be "home." It will no longer be my "permanent address." And the panic: Why don't I have my own "permanent address" yet? I imagine the halls of my parents' future new home haunted by the souls of unconceived grandchildren.
I'm one of the lucky ones whose parents are not so old-fashioned that they would dare let any semblance of pressure to get married pass their lips. Not once. Not a single solitary time have they let such a thing slip. (I don't believe my father would terribly mind if I never found anyone "good enough.") But I can see it in my mother's eyes every time she sees or holds a baby. I want one.
There's something about going home that makes me see my relationship failures (okay, let's put a positive spin on it and say "lessons learned" instead) stacked up like a tower of multicolored Legos. I dunno, it just didn't work out. Block. Yeah, you should have known that wasn't going to work out. Block on top of block. I thought this one might have worked out, but . . . Block on top of block on top of block.
What's maddening is that though being home gives me this feeling of nostalgic ambivalence, the prospect of returning to my present life is no comfort, either. Once I get back into the swing, I'm okay, but it's the psyching myself up for the return trip, knowing that reminders of more recent "failures" linger that pulls at me. Knowing that deadlines and responsibilities await and must be reckoned with. Time and tide wait for no woman.
Thursday, August 29, 2013
What if there were no hypothetical situations?
This is a question mi mejor amiga would pose back in the day and we'd both crack up laughing. Partly because it's just funny, and partly because the question itself is a hypothetical situation. I'm a sucker for meta humor.
My brain needs a reading break, so I need to stretch it by sussing out some things that may have been originally based on a hypothetical conversation, but now may be based on the aftermath of an actual one.
1. We're moving on, right? That's what we agreed. So, why does it seem to bother you that I'm doing what I need to do to carry that out?
2. I opened myself up to you. That's not something I do often or easily. Now that I've been put into the position of having to do a bit of scaling back, as it were, you're essentially asking me to open myself up to you again. And I'm not eager to do that.
3. Why are you so concerned with "how I'm doing"? I'm doing what I need to do to get my work done and to also stay connected to people during a more "isolating" part of the program. I'm auditing a class (seeing/interacting with people, gaining useful knowledge of theory), I'm teaching (seeing/interacting with people), I go to the Spanish and French table (seeing/interacting with people, keeping my language skills sharp). Don't worry about me. I can and will take care of myself.
4. So, if you recently "met someone" (thanks for telling me), I'm even more perplexed as to why you're so worried about my not wanting to spend one-on-one time with you.
5. Before you told me about "meeting someone" because you wanted me to "hear it from you," you said you were "still trying to get past the situation" as well. So . . . let's just say I wouldn't want to be her right now.
6. You're not a "stranger" to me. We were, are, and to some extent probably always will be friends. But there's no reset button, so stop expecting things to go back to the way they were. It's not going to happen.
7. You feel like you've "lost something"? Well, in a way, you have.
My brain needs a reading break, so I need to stretch it by sussing out some things that may have been originally based on a hypothetical conversation, but now may be based on the aftermath of an actual one.
1. We're moving on, right? That's what we agreed. So, why does it seem to bother you that I'm doing what I need to do to carry that out?
2. I opened myself up to you. That's not something I do often or easily. Now that I've been put into the position of having to do a bit of scaling back, as it were, you're essentially asking me to open myself up to you again. And I'm not eager to do that.
3. Why are you so concerned with "how I'm doing"? I'm doing what I need to do to get my work done and to also stay connected to people during a more "isolating" part of the program. I'm auditing a class (seeing/interacting with people, gaining useful knowledge of theory), I'm teaching (seeing/interacting with people), I go to the Spanish and French table (seeing/interacting with people, keeping my language skills sharp). Don't worry about me. I can and will take care of myself.
4. So, if you recently "met someone" (thanks for telling me), I'm even more perplexed as to why you're so worried about my not wanting to spend one-on-one time with you.
5. Before you told me about "meeting someone" because you wanted me to "hear it from you," you said you were "still trying to get past the situation" as well. So . . . let's just say I wouldn't want to be her right now.
6. You're not a "stranger" to me. We were, are, and to some extent probably always will be friends. But there's no reset button, so stop expecting things to go back to the way they were. It's not going to happen.
7. You feel like you've "lost something"? Well, in a way, you have.
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
My Texting Thumbs
My texting thumbs are like little eager, panting puppies.
They get all excited and worked up. They want to text because they have to know. They want the gratification of an immediate response.
But I have to say, "No, no, no! Down, girls!" because what the texting thumbs don't always consider is that sending out that text does not guarantee an immediate response. In fact, it can inaugurate an awkward, soul-crushing wait. Or worse yet, no response at all! Or, on the same level of unpleasantness, initiate something I really didn't intend to start. Or imply something that I wasn't trying to insinuate.
See, my texting thumbs don't think about all of that. Because they don't have to deal with the fallout. They just impulsively text and then go on about their business and then leave me holding the bag.
So, I decided to train them. I was tired of empty feelings, tired of wishing I had more will power to just keep my texting thumb-puppies at bay. I just had to will them to stay. Rather, sit.
I'm happy to report I've met with some success in my texting thumb training. Positive reinforcement comes in the form of unsolicited received texts. They're the doggie treat of texting thumbs.
They get all excited and worked up. They want to text because they have to know. They want the gratification of an immediate response.
But I have to say, "No, no, no! Down, girls!" because what the texting thumbs don't always consider is that sending out that text does not guarantee an immediate response. In fact, it can inaugurate an awkward, soul-crushing wait. Or worse yet, no response at all! Or, on the same level of unpleasantness, initiate something I really didn't intend to start. Or imply something that I wasn't trying to insinuate.
See, my texting thumbs don't think about all of that. Because they don't have to deal with the fallout. They just impulsively text and then go on about their business and then leave me holding the bag.
So, I decided to train them. I was tired of empty feelings, tired of wishing I had more will power to just keep my texting thumb-puppies at bay. I just had to will them to stay. Rather, sit.
I'm happy to report I've met with some success in my texting thumb training. Positive reinforcement comes in the form of unsolicited received texts. They're the doggie treat of texting thumbs.
Sunday, August 25, 2013
Nursing Home Rock Star
I wanna be a rock star
But, I ain't got what it takes
The drive and the determination
And the lucky breaks
I wanna be a rock star
But, I ain't got the face
I wanna be a rock star
But, I ain't got what it takes
—Third Day
Nursing home residents are the most grateful audience members there are. They don't care what you look like, they don't care what you sound like, they don't care that you're nervous, they don't care that your guitar strumming could use a little work, they don't care if your voice wavers or is maybe a tad off pitch. All they know and care about is that you're there for them.
I may never be that awesome, finger picking, barre chord shredding guitar maestro. Maybe I was simply meant to strum out a few humble chords for a few eager, grateful old ears (that may or may not even be able to hear very well). And that's all right with me.
But, I ain't got what it takes
The drive and the determination
And the lucky breaks
I wanna be a rock star
But, I ain't got the face
I wanna be a rock star
But, I ain't got what it takes
—Third Day
Nursing home residents are the most grateful audience members there are. They don't care what you look like, they don't care what you sound like, they don't care that you're nervous, they don't care that your guitar strumming could use a little work, they don't care if your voice wavers or is maybe a tad off pitch. All they know and care about is that you're there for them.
I may never be that awesome, finger picking, barre chord shredding guitar maestro. Maybe I was simply meant to strum out a few humble chords for a few eager, grateful old ears (that may or may not even be able to hear very well). And that's all right with me.
Saturday, August 24, 2013
Can We Just Be Friends?
Things have been well. Teaching, reading for comps. I'm feeling like I'm supposed to be a teacher again, which is nice. In addition to teaching my own classes yesterday, I was frantically conscripted to be a sub for a level higher than I'm teaching right now. I was a little nervous about it at first, but I walked in and was totally fine. It's a nice feeling to know there is a possibility for me to have a career where I can walk in and be myself.
I've found my cure for the common blues: Baking zucchini bread. If I ever get into a bad spot, all I need to do is start baking up a storm and then proceed to give away loaves of homey, warm, sweet goodness. There's something about making and giving away something that can be consumed and enjoyed by many that gives a little lift to the spirits.
Now, to the matter at hand. It's an age-old conundrum. Is there truly such thing as just friends between two heterosexual members of the opposite sex? But more importantly, especially after a bit of line blurring (NOT of the Robin Thicke variety) is it ever possible to hit the reset button and go back to the way things were?
I say nay.
Is that to say things can't remain on friendly terms? Is that to say you can't ever spend time together? Is that to say you can't remain a part of each other's lives in some way?
Again, I say nay. But things take time. Lots of time. Would I consider it a little presumptuous for someone to think that "hanging out as friends" could be interspersed with "moving forward" at this juncture?
Ben, oui.
A friend deciding to pursue a more-than-friend state of affairs with another friend should have known the risks, yea, knew the risks that could possibly incur. And one of the risks is permanently altering the friendship that was. Voilà.
There are risks involved in opening yourself up to another person. Tell me about it. But under any circumstances and in any fashion, opening myself up to anyone, be it for the first time or the fifth, is going to be on my terms. When and if I'm ready. C'est comme ça.
At this point in time, I am doing what's best for me. What's best for me is guarding my heart and maintaining my sanity and getting my work done.
The way things were is exactly that. The way things were. If anything is to be maintained, it's going to involve figuring out the terms of the way things are now. And it very well may not include "hanging out." At least, not in the way that is being requested. Hypothetically.
This is something I realized about myself and my life the other day: The times I have been the most miserable is when I've been the least consistent. When I've gone back and forth. Regarding my career, past relationships (if you can call them that), spirituality . . . when I failed to make a decision and stick with it, I've literally made myself sick. My past inconsistency placed me into some pretty wretched spots. I can't afford to go back there. I just can't.
Being in a certain situation has been tiring and emotionally draining, and I'm done. It's 100% out of my hands, and I'm not going to construct mental narratives around it any longer.
God is good. He never fails to give me reminders that He knows where I am and that He has it under control. I have to keep trusting in that.
I've found my cure for the common blues: Baking zucchini bread. If I ever get into a bad spot, all I need to do is start baking up a storm and then proceed to give away loaves of homey, warm, sweet goodness. There's something about making and giving away something that can be consumed and enjoyed by many that gives a little lift to the spirits.
Now, to the matter at hand. It's an age-old conundrum. Is there truly such thing as just friends between two heterosexual members of the opposite sex? But more importantly, especially after a bit of line blurring (NOT of the Robin Thicke variety) is it ever possible to hit the reset button and go back to the way things were?
I say nay.
Is that to say things can't remain on friendly terms? Is that to say you can't ever spend time together? Is that to say you can't remain a part of each other's lives in some way?
Again, I say nay. But things take time. Lots of time. Would I consider it a little presumptuous for someone to think that "hanging out as friends" could be interspersed with "moving forward" at this juncture?
Ben, oui.
A friend deciding to pursue a more-than-friend state of affairs with another friend should have known the risks, yea, knew the risks that could possibly incur. And one of the risks is permanently altering the friendship that was. Voilà.
There are risks involved in opening yourself up to another person. Tell me about it. But under any circumstances and in any fashion, opening myself up to anyone, be it for the first time or the fifth, is going to be on my terms. When and if I'm ready. C'est comme ça.
At this point in time, I am doing what's best for me. What's best for me is guarding my heart and maintaining my sanity and getting my work done.
The way things were is exactly that. The way things were. If anything is to be maintained, it's going to involve figuring out the terms of the way things are now. And it very well may not include "hanging out." At least, not in the way that is being requested. Hypothetically.
This is something I realized about myself and my life the other day: The times I have been the most miserable is when I've been the least consistent. When I've gone back and forth. Regarding my career, past relationships (if you can call them that), spirituality . . . when I failed to make a decision and stick with it, I've literally made myself sick. My past inconsistency placed me into some pretty wretched spots. I can't afford to go back there. I just can't.
Being in a certain situation has been tiring and emotionally draining, and I'm done. It's 100% out of my hands, and I'm not going to construct mental narratives around it any longer.
God is good. He never fails to give me reminders that He knows where I am and that He has it under control. I have to keep trusting in that.
Monday, August 19, 2013
A Prayer
God, help me to stop trying to control things that are completely beyond my human ability to control.
God, help my unbelief and lack of faith, even in the face of evidence of Your hand at work in my life.
God, help me to be patient.
God, help me to receive advice and instruction that don't fall into the category of what I want to hear.
God, help me exercise self-control.
God, help me to stay focused.
God, help me to continually reject the idea that I am alone and misunderstood.
God, help me to own who I am and who You've made me to be without fear or regard to the opinions of others.
God help me to be consistent, not just in productive habits and actions, but in productive thoughts.
God, help my unbelief and lack of faith, even in the face of evidence of Your hand at work in my life.
God, help me to be patient.
God, help me to receive advice and instruction that don't fall into the category of what I want to hear.
God, help me exercise self-control.
God, help me to stay focused.
God, help me to continually reject the idea that I am alone and misunderstood.
God, help me to own who I am and who You've made me to be without fear or regard to the opinions of others.
God help me to be consistent, not just in productive habits and actions, but in productive thoughts.
Thursday, August 15, 2013
Little Things and Bigger Things
About a week or so ago, my coffee maker stopped working.
I got up early, put ground coffee in the filter, filled the coffee maker with water, flipped the on switch, went back into my room to finish getting ready. When I emerged, no coffee! The little red light of the switch was on, but absolutely nothing happened. Bummer.
I went shopping this past weekend to get stocked up for the beginning of the semester. I considered getting a new coffee maker. Mind you, I do have a Keurig coffee maker. I got it for Christmas last year, and I love it. The only thing is that buying the Keurig cups can get a little pricey. So, I still used my regular old trusty coffee maker. But, nah. I didn't need a new one. It could wait. I needed to save my money. I decided to just get a new box of Keurig cups, a little pricey, yet cheaper than buying a brand new coffee maker, and use them sparingly.
Today, a lady at church who I always sit with called to make sure I would be at Bible study tonight. She had something for me, she said. When I got to church, she slipped me a pretty little card and a bag of freshly ground Dutch coffee she brought back from a recent trip to Aruba. Too bad I won't be able to make it anytime soon, I thought. She's a coffee aficionado. I made sure to bring her back some Cuban coffee. "I have something else for you in my car. We'll get it after church," she said.
After church, she opened her trunk and gave me a beautiful gift bag with a scripture on it: Love bears all things, believes all things, endures all things. Love never ends. She said it made her think of me. I took the tissue paper out. This can't be what I think it is. It was a cute little personal coffee maker. She even said, "I knew you already had a coffee maker, so I don't know why I felt to get you this! But this is what God laid on my heart to get for you." And I just started tearing up. She had no idea my "regular" coffee maker had stopped working. And it's not like I even needed another one. I simply wanted one. But God saw fit to prompt someone else to gift me with something that I wanted.
It made me feel like God really and truly does know and care. About the little things. About not just my needs, but my desires, too. I felt overwhelmed and grateful. If he knows and cares about coffee makers, He's got to know and care about bigger things, too.
The ever cautious, stubborn skeptic that I am softened up a little today. I cannot let fear stop me from believing that God will make good on His promise to give me the desires of my heart if I delight myself in Him. I cannot let fear prevent me from hoping that somehow, He's working things out for my good.
I got up early, put ground coffee in the filter, filled the coffee maker with water, flipped the on switch, went back into my room to finish getting ready. When I emerged, no coffee! The little red light of the switch was on, but absolutely nothing happened. Bummer.
I went shopping this past weekend to get stocked up for the beginning of the semester. I considered getting a new coffee maker. Mind you, I do have a Keurig coffee maker. I got it for Christmas last year, and I love it. The only thing is that buying the Keurig cups can get a little pricey. So, I still used my regular old trusty coffee maker. But, nah. I didn't need a new one. It could wait. I needed to save my money. I decided to just get a new box of Keurig cups, a little pricey, yet cheaper than buying a brand new coffee maker, and use them sparingly.
Today, a lady at church who I always sit with called to make sure I would be at Bible study tonight. She had something for me, she said. When I got to church, she slipped me a pretty little card and a bag of freshly ground Dutch coffee she brought back from a recent trip to Aruba. Too bad I won't be able to make it anytime soon, I thought. She's a coffee aficionado. I made sure to bring her back some Cuban coffee. "I have something else for you in my car. We'll get it after church," she said.
After church, she opened her trunk and gave me a beautiful gift bag with a scripture on it: Love bears all things, believes all things, endures all things. Love never ends. She said it made her think of me. I took the tissue paper out. This can't be what I think it is. It was a cute little personal coffee maker. She even said, "I knew you already had a coffee maker, so I don't know why I felt to get you this! But this is what God laid on my heart to get for you." And I just started tearing up. She had no idea my "regular" coffee maker had stopped working. And it's not like I even needed another one. I simply wanted one. But God saw fit to prompt someone else to gift me with something that I wanted.
It made me feel like God really and truly does know and care. About the little things. About not just my needs, but my desires, too. I felt overwhelmed and grateful. If he knows and cares about coffee makers, He's got to know and care about bigger things, too.
The ever cautious, stubborn skeptic that I am softened up a little today. I cannot let fear stop me from believing that God will make good on His promise to give me the desires of my heart if I delight myself in Him. I cannot let fear prevent me from hoping that somehow, He's working things out for my good.
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Sweetness
So, my candy bags were a hit. More than one person said they were so relieved to get it because they hadn't had anything to eat that day. lol. And I made sure to get good candy, too. You know what I'm talking about. If you're going to get candy, nobody wants tiny little Tootsie Rolls and nondescript suckers. Nawl, we talking about fun-sized Snickers and Twix and Skittles and Starburst and M&Ms and Hershey's Kisses. Someone even posted the "Here's hoping your semester gets off to a 'sweet' start" note on the door of the grad student computer lab. It brightened my day to know I brightened someone else's day.
I taught my first two classes yesterday, well, not really taught, but more like went over the syllabus, introduced myself, let them introduce themselves, etc. I seem to have a motivated group of kids with the exception of two guys in my 9:05 that I can already tell are going to be annoying slackers. Anyway, they're all freshmen, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, even at 8:00 a.m. I think it'll be fun.
There is also a new super cutie I'm sharing an office with. He's another one of these people overly gifted with language-learning ability that the Romance Languages department has a tendency to attract. He speaks Spanish, French and Italian and is learning Portuguese. I hate these people, but am drawn to them like a magnet because I want to feel as comfortable speaking a language not my own as they do. I still get nervous about my Spanish even though I've been studying it all these years, and my French could definitely use some work. Nevertheless, we had a nice little convo which flowed in alternating bits of Spanish, French, and English. "If you ever want to practice, I'm right over here," he said. Okay. With your caramel latte skin, dark hair and Colgate smile. He said he liked my name. I like his too. It's so Latin lover-y. Like, if Eat Pray Love had taken place in South America, Julia Roberts' paramour would've had this guy's name. I didn't say that, though. C'mon.
I always get excited for the chance to make stuff for people. I have two loaves of zucchini bread on back order. I guess I got a little zealous this summer making it for people when I still had zucchini growing in my garden and other people got wind of it and asked if they could also partake. I'm also going to make some homemade vanilla ice cream and super easy cobbler for a little dinner party coming up.
And I just remembered I filled up my Jittery Joe's card with stamps, so I can get a free coffee. I might save it for a special day.
I taught my first two classes yesterday, well, not really taught, but more like went over the syllabus, introduced myself, let them introduce themselves, etc. I seem to have a motivated group of kids with the exception of two guys in my 9:05 that I can already tell are going to be annoying slackers. Anyway, they're all freshmen, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, even at 8:00 a.m. I think it'll be fun.
There is also a new super cutie I'm sharing an office with. He's another one of these people overly gifted with language-learning ability that the Romance Languages department has a tendency to attract. He speaks Spanish, French and Italian and is learning Portuguese. I hate these people, but am drawn to them like a magnet because I want to feel as comfortable speaking a language not my own as they do. I still get nervous about my Spanish even though I've been studying it all these years, and my French could definitely use some work. Nevertheless, we had a nice little convo which flowed in alternating bits of Spanish, French, and English. "If you ever want to practice, I'm right over here," he said. Okay. With your caramel latte skin, dark hair and Colgate smile. He said he liked my name. I like his too. It's so Latin lover-y. Like, if Eat Pray Love had taken place in South America, Julia Roberts' paramour would've had this guy's name. I didn't say that, though. C'mon.
I always get excited for the chance to make stuff for people. I have two loaves of zucchini bread on back order. I guess I got a little zealous this summer making it for people when I still had zucchini growing in my garden and other people got wind of it and asked if they could also partake. I'm also going to make some homemade vanilla ice cream and super easy cobbler for a little dinner party coming up.
And I just remembered I filled up my Jittery Joe's card with stamps, so I can get a free coffee. I might save it for a special day.
Sunday, August 11, 2013
Tomorrow is the day (Part II)
So, last Thursday I wore my new white peasant dress. It was the first day of orientation for the teaching assistants, the official "first day back" for most people in the program.
Tomorrow, I'm wearing my red dress with my red wedge sandals because tomorrow is the first day of class. I'm done with coursework, but starting this year, I'll be on the teaching end of things. Two sections of Spanish 1001. In other words, Spanish For Dummies. lol.
Really, I think I prefer teaching the lowest level for now. Preparation won't be too involved. At this level, the syllabus and all assignments are already set by the higher ups in the program who organize the courses. My students will be a bunch of scared freshmen who will be dying for a smiley instructor who loves to get interactive. I'll be able to devote more time to preparing for comps.
I'm wearing my red dress because I want the first day of the semester to know I'm fierce. I want it to know that I'm on fiya. Plus, teaching gives me an excuse to dress up and wear cute shoes. I don't want anyone thinking I'm one of the freshmen, now do I?
I had an idea to do something cute for everyone to get the semester started off right. And once a cute idea gets into my head, I must carry it out to fruition. I thought, What if I bought a bunch of candy and made up some goody bags to put in people's boxes? I did just that and attached a note that said, "Here's hoping your semester gets off to a 'sweet' start! - Love, Chantell."
But here's the thing with me. When I think of an idea to give someone a little present, I also envision how they will receive the present. Like, I want people to walk into the department tomorrow, and get excited with they see a pretty little bag with a pretty little ribbon tied around it in their boxes. I want them to see this colorful, festive thing in their boxes (the attached note was printed out on pink paper) and I want them to be delighted.
The thing is, sometimes I wish some particular thing would happen to me. Like, that one day I would find a pleasant surprise in my box (and I have before). But instead of waiting for it to happen to me, why not make it happen for someone else?
I think I'm going to start doing that. Make it a thing, like wearing flowers in my hair. Like, if something pops into my head that I wish someone would do for me, I will (within reason and the bounds of appropriateness, lol) try to do it for someone else. Sort of an inverted "pay it forward."
Here's hoping tomorrow is the beginning of an awesome semester!
Tomorrow, I'm wearing my red dress with my red wedge sandals because tomorrow is the first day of class. I'm done with coursework, but starting this year, I'll be on the teaching end of things. Two sections of Spanish 1001. In other words, Spanish For Dummies. lol.
Really, I think I prefer teaching the lowest level for now. Preparation won't be too involved. At this level, the syllabus and all assignments are already set by the higher ups in the program who organize the courses. My students will be a bunch of scared freshmen who will be dying for a smiley instructor who loves to get interactive. I'll be able to devote more time to preparing for comps.
I'm wearing my red dress because I want the first day of the semester to know I'm fierce. I want it to know that I'm on fiya. Plus, teaching gives me an excuse to dress up and wear cute shoes. I don't want anyone thinking I'm one of the freshmen, now do I?
I had an idea to do something cute for everyone to get the semester started off right. And once a cute idea gets into my head, I must carry it out to fruition. I thought, What if I bought a bunch of candy and made up some goody bags to put in people's boxes? I did just that and attached a note that said, "Here's hoping your semester gets off to a 'sweet' start! - Love, Chantell."
But here's the thing with me. When I think of an idea to give someone a little present, I also envision how they will receive the present. Like, I want people to walk into the department tomorrow, and get excited with they see a pretty little bag with a pretty little ribbon tied around it in their boxes. I want them to see this colorful, festive thing in their boxes (the attached note was printed out on pink paper) and I want them to be delighted.
The thing is, sometimes I wish some particular thing would happen to me. Like, that one day I would find a pleasant surprise in my box (and I have before). But instead of waiting for it to happen to me, why not make it happen for someone else?
I think I'm going to start doing that. Make it a thing, like wearing flowers in my hair. Like, if something pops into my head that I wish someone would do for me, I will (within reason and the bounds of appropriateness, lol) try to do it for someone else. Sort of an inverted "pay it forward."
Here's hoping tomorrow is the beginning of an awesome semester!
Wednesday, August 07, 2013
Tomorrow is the day
that I'm wearing my new dress. It will be a new day, the beginning of a new phase for me in the PhD program, and I'll probably be meeting some new people. All compelling reasons for wearing a new dress.
I will wear my yellow wedge sandals, I will wear my hair sunflower, and I will carry my new bag with Vincent Van Gogh violets on it. It will be a new, bright, flowery day.
I will wear my yellow wedge sandals, I will wear my hair sunflower, and I will carry my new bag with Vincent Van Gogh violets on it. It will be a new, bright, flowery day.
Tuesday, August 06, 2013
I can do it. I can't do it.
My mindset swings back and forth between between believing either one of those two sentences.
Of course, when I believe I can do it, I feel buoyant, like the sun is shining and I can feel the wind in my hair, and I'm power walking to some important place. Every remembrance brings a smile to my face and my present reality feels like a calm, steady launch pad, ready to shoot me into a brilliant new reality that's closer than I think it is.
Naturally, when I believe that I can't do it, I feel like I've just been attacked by the gray. Hopelessness lingers in every exhalation of air, and every tomorrow seems doomed to be a stagnant repetition of what I've always known. The emotional mathematics of cost-benefit analysis seem stacked impossibly against me. Every increasing investment feels like it's destined for an ever decreasing return.
Today, I believe I can do it. I am halfway done with my last comps list. I got my teaching schedule for the upcoming semester, and I'm beginning to remember the things that I enjoyed about teaching. I'm starting to envision what my upcoming semester is going to look like. It's going to be activity packed; I will have to manage my time well. I will have to hunker down, and I will have to rely on myself to get done what I need to get done. But I can taste the satisfaction I'll have when I stick to my guns and I complete things the way I've planned. It's going to be a time of learning and discovery in preparing for comps, and it will be a time of re-familiarizing myself with the classroom in being a teaching assistant again.
I've had a chance to process a lot of things, and I feel like my best course of action is to continue to believe I did the right thing by moving to start this program two years ago, that I've made right decisions since, and that I will continue on this track until I reach the other side.
I can do it. I know that I can. I believe that I can.
Of course, when I believe I can do it, I feel buoyant, like the sun is shining and I can feel the wind in my hair, and I'm power walking to some important place. Every remembrance brings a smile to my face and my present reality feels like a calm, steady launch pad, ready to shoot me into a brilliant new reality that's closer than I think it is.
Naturally, when I believe that I can't do it, I feel like I've just been attacked by the gray. Hopelessness lingers in every exhalation of air, and every tomorrow seems doomed to be a stagnant repetition of what I've always known. The emotional mathematics of cost-benefit analysis seem stacked impossibly against me. Every increasing investment feels like it's destined for an ever decreasing return.
Today, I believe I can do it. I am halfway done with my last comps list. I got my teaching schedule for the upcoming semester, and I'm beginning to remember the things that I enjoyed about teaching. I'm starting to envision what my upcoming semester is going to look like. It's going to be activity packed; I will have to manage my time well. I will have to hunker down, and I will have to rely on myself to get done what I need to get done. But I can taste the satisfaction I'll have when I stick to my guns and I complete things the way I've planned. It's going to be a time of learning and discovery in preparing for comps, and it will be a time of re-familiarizing myself with the classroom in being a teaching assistant again.
I've had a chance to process a lot of things, and I feel like my best course of action is to continue to believe I did the right thing by moving to start this program two years ago, that I've made right decisions since, and that I will continue on this track until I reach the other side.
I can do it. I know that I can. I believe that I can.
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