Week One, Check

I crawled up the mountain. Asking myself all the while, why are you doing this? I listened to this song, and as the sun glinted off the redwood trees and the sea breeze beckoned, my bitterness abated—slightly. Ever since I’ve been in California, traffic jams have followed me like the plague—unexplained and unwanted. It’s like you cross an invisible line and suddenly cars are moving again, and the forces of the universe have decided to finish tormenting you for awhile. I never knew how much of a leg workout driving could be until I came to California and sat in just-slightly-moving-almost-stand-still traffic for an hour.

Driving and dealing with traffic has become such a huge part of my lifestyle here. I have so much thinking time in the car, and as the traffic jam came to a conclusion in the Santa Cruz mountains, my euphoria kicked in suddenly, as it is wont to do. The drive became like a game, with fast twists and turns, my grin broadening as my stomach did tiny flips. Closer, closer, and then yes—there she was: the ocean once more.

It’s not until I see the ocean that it ever really hits me that I’m here, in California. I mean, there are moments when I’m paying exorbitant amounts for gas and find a compost bin at an eatery and hear someone say “look it!” that it all comes together. But it’s really on the beach that my new home hits me, like being knocked over, breath gone, eyes wide, soaking the impact in.

Saturday was just what I needed after a long, long, long first week at school.

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I couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning, the chill of the night air pervading my room and shoving aside remnants of my wispy dreams as I checked my phone again—not quite yet. I hadn’t believed people when they said you often didn’t sleep the night before school begins as a teacher. And yet there I was, anxious, worried I would oversleep and begin the school year even more foolishly than I already anticipated.

I finally arose from bed, certainly not refreshed, nauseous, anxious, and groggy. As I rushed to school, it was impossible to ignore the long list of things that could go horribly, horribly wrong. I continued to picture that scary being, “my students,” a collective, intimidating force to be reckoned with. I opened the door to let them enter my room, shaking, flustered, feeling clammy and inadequate. A laugh almost rose up, in response to the thought of how I used to take the first day of school for granted, worrying about what I would wear rather than what I would teach.

My students didn’t do me in, though they certainly tested me again and again during my first week. It was a silent series of battles to see how far I could be pushed, how gullible and lenient I am, how much I would enforce the rules I spouted off. Again and again I stuck it out, feeling unsure of myself, braving some conjured up confidence.

My lesson planning has become a little easier, both as my confidence has lost a bit of its shakiness and my audience has gained an identity. Teaching is so….different, so much more difficult than I had ever anticipated. My mind nearly implodes under the weight of so many things to remember and do and enforce and teach. Frequently I just collapse on the ground after my last round of students rush out—exhausted and drained.

I’m learning, growing, struggling, persevering. Same old, same old. Just moving forward, relentlessly.

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Life here makes me question what is next, what is next, what is next? A litany of possibilities and questions and uncertainties, both about the immediate future and two years down the line. Teaching is great and horrible and one of the most rigorous challenges I have yet undergone. Perhaps it is a source of comfort now, then, to consider what lies ahead.

I never imagined that I would feel at such a loss for the perfect job for me. I find myself wondering “If not teaching, then….”

That said, California has welcomed me in and there does exist that un-confronted possibility that this may be it—the place I really settle down in, the home I’ve been searching for, the job I love, the permanent “future” that eludes me.

Things continue to fall into place—my apartment, bed, car, classroom, local grocery store, target, going out places, relationships, bills, etc. My adult identity is being built from the ground up, one payment and tedious to-do checked off a long list. Per usual, I look at the past with idealism, romanticizing it, missing it, seeking refuge in it when tired and rather defeated.

To my utmost, I am trying to enjoy the here and now. Reveling in small joys and sunny days and positive interactions with students. Life is settling down, smoothing out into a busy, busy routine.

Here I am. A college graduate, teacher, adult, Californian resident.