stuckbetweenStations.

unexpected kindness:

We do Academic Plans every year as a means of helping the children who struggle with Standardized Tests get up to par before we scoot them off to high school next year. We divide them up & talk to parents to agree upon a todolist of sorts to help the student work to his or her potential throughout the school year.

I enjoy parents. I live for Open House. They are usually quite sweet to me & tend to enjoy that their child enjoys Language Arts. But in the past, Academic Plan season has been a pain-unreachable parents, lost forms, etc.

So today, I called my last one, sleepy-eyed and ready to roll through the motions: Explain plan, explain why child has plan, etc. And I did, in my grown-up voice. This particular student is pretty stellar, actually, and I paused in my diatribe to explain his overall awesomeness to his very patient mother.

She didn’t have any questions, and right as I was about to close it up & shut it down, she stopped to request if she could ask me a personal question. She simply wanted to know if I had ever had any other professional goals—did I ever want to be anything but a teacher.

I explained to her about the care bears. How I tried to teach them spelling at the ripe age of five and how it was really just a matter of time until my parents constructed a pseudoschoolhouse in our basement & my grannie became my first live student. I didn’t go on for long when she interrupted me.

She went on to wake me right up via the most kind-hearted and sincere wave of compliments to my character & heart that I’ve ever heard from a stranger. Said that all I was, was kindness. That she could hear the passion for my profession in every word I said, & that I truly conducted myself as though I needed no thanks for the good I did every day. That’s true—the children thank me by making me laugh, creating brilliant things, & learning to be comfy inside themselves.

So she thanked me. Explained that she really believed that the good I put out would be repaid to me daily for all my days & that I had many blessings on the way.

Perhaps she is a religious person. I am, too, in my own sort of way. I certainly believe in faith, if nothing else. What got me the most, though, was how outoftheblue this incident was—and how much it meant to me, right away, although it came from a stranger.

Suppose it doesn’t really matter, does it? Kindness is sweetest when it isn’t planned or possessed—when it isn’t tainted by some sort of overarching intention.

I hope she is right about me, too.

2pm

Content.

Have been seriously struggling with the idea, pounded into my head by my own perspectives of moving around a good bit in a military family as a child, that leaving equates to one being successful. If I am ever to be at my best, it surely can’t be in Columbia, South Carolina. Except I have this job that rarely feels like work, & a small, but extraordinary group of girls who make the neatest weekends, & a lovely apartment with a very comfy kitty and a kitchen to cook in, too. I live a bit from an ocean & a bit from a mountain. There are ducks in my backyard. The city sleeps from time to time, but does this fall season remarkably well. There’s beauty all over as the trees turn & outdoor festivals invade our downtown. Solid theatre, independent film, & arts scene, too.

So there’s that.

When I think of where I’d go, I can’t ever settle. When I come home from camp, I want New England. When I come home from anyoutofstatevacay, I want those city limits. I am inconsistently fond of anywhere, really. Had a sweet conversation with my mom the other day about what success means & how she sees this whole ridiculous movetobegreat concept. She quickly corrected me & went on to question how I could see myself as anything but awesome. Parents are supposed to say that.

The biggest anchor to Columbia is this school. & those kids, too. It is too fun to wreck for some shady big city dreams. That’s enough for me to know right now.

10am

Firefox, you are not as cool as you think.

Lack of updates mostly equates to my browser not supporting tumblr at all. Things are lovely. Picking right up and have been very busy with the children this year. Have began a blog for them: the things we do, what we talk about, etc. You may find that at misssolesbeastismyteacher.tumblr.com. I don’t suppose I’ll be around these parts much.

10am

Thanks so much for the communication! You are the teacher I heard MOST
about on the first day of school! You must have really made an
impression!! Keep it up! I love to hear him so excited about class!

2pm

Martha Beth posted a link to a Pitchfork article proclaiming this Sun Kil Moon track (“Carry Me Ohio”) as one of the top in the two thousands. For me, it healed many a broken heart in undergrad years spent wading through silly boys I thought could change my world. That was before I realized I could change it all by myself.

8pm

homecoming.

It’s a neat thing to have sweet friends awaiting your arrival after seven weeks away in a city which felt more like home than the one which you presently reside within. This was the first year that was the case. My KP sent many a text requesting safe & fast passage from Mama for the trip from Charlotte to Columbia. It broke the fall, I suppose. While she and Wendy & the Grettacat Monster were all on my list of things to cover in reunion love, that Imissedyou spell has since worn off and I am struggling to fit back into a routine I so willingly left in June.

Going to Boston was a fluke. It looked like San Diego, it looked like Chicago. I think that the phrase “everything happens for a reason” is overused and played out. It’s trite from many an appearance in Lifetime movies and Hallmark cards aplenty & I don’t wish to contribute to such a smelly cliche. Because I’ve yet to word it another way, I’ve put off writing-hoping for better words to make the last seven weeks permanently etched in my grateful brain so that when things are notsohot as they are prone to do from time to time—I’ll remember so well that the thought of it-of any of it, really, is enough to push me towards some brighter place.

These last few days of summer flew right by me without even asking my permission. Spent a good time or two at the pool & have officially unpacked my last bag. All that’s left to do now is miss those folks & that place, which I am most excellent at. Gets frustrating when rational thought takes too much effort & all I can do is feel it. Have replayed last hours too many times & though I don’t possess a shred of regret for any of it—I can’t seem to scoot those folks & our perfect summer over enough to make room for the good which exists in my present city among equally sweet friends & bi-polar kitty cat.

Same advice when the sadness seeps in: it will get easier. You’ll forget. Move on. Forward, even. To what, though? Can’t regret it. Can’t hate any of it, or wish it hadn’t happened. I am too too thankful & only find fear when thinking thoughts of never feeling that again. Comfort among strangers & attachment to a place that only exists come summer. I suppose such a thing would lose its luster if it didn’t thrill you endlessly throughout it & hurt so fiercely once it’s done.

Instead: distractions. Fencing lessons for the imitation of Inigo Montoya & tutoring at-risk children in downtown schools. Volunteering at an animal shelter & perhaps learning to sew. Tiny tasks to jumpstart southern living once again. Here’s hoping for the best.

10pm

massive nights.

It is sort of neat to see what can happen when one is safe in one’s own skin. Happy & fortunate. Watching wearily as the ending approaches and am struggling to document these feelings and sights & scenes so that I can keep them close when I head back south in six little days. Don’t suppose I could do any of it justice with even the most expansive vocabulary anyhow, but it’d sure be nice when things get slow in South Carolina to recall an evening such as the one which just passed.

Extraordinary thing that there are faces here-some of my most dear in fact, that I did not know existed two months ago. Then there are the friends that only got sweeter in a year that mark my own growth towards a better me via my appreciation for the good I see so clearly in them. Had a really neat talk just now about how excellent people are comparable to comfy t-shirts. Pretty silly metaphor at the start, but once fleshed out it kind of broke my heart in the best way. They give when you need them to give & allow for growth, too. Only get better in time, too.

9pm

-Jay May, Gray or Blue

Reccomended by a friend. I think she is lovely.

9pm