Health Care "Debate"

I could have debated going to war in Iraq with anyone using sound concerns and facts. All this craziness about Nazism and socialism and death panels and taking coverage from veterans and seniors in the health care debate is not debate. It is ignorance and stupidity and ignorance and stupidity is the downfall of democracy. Maybe that is why democracy doesn't work in many countries.

The State of Teaching in America

So yesterday I signed my contract for PB Middle (8th grade English). I fought hard for it. I had sent 30 emails, written numerous cover letters, and applied for over 90 positions. I was so relieved to have been picked up. This principal really wanted me and stuck with me even when the HR department wanted her to pick someone else. Someone already with a permanent district contract. They didn't want to hire me because they would have to offer me a new contract. You see, I've been unemployed since July. For whatever the reason, probably persistence, they gave in and I got the go ahead.

I was excited, needless to say. But then I discovered this contract was another temporary contract. Meaning that I will again find myself unemployed and uninsured come next July. I won't even get a full month's pay in June.

And yet, I am approached as if I should be so grateful and I'm the lucky one. And in many ways I should. After all, it was very tough to get this job and I'm sure there are plenty of other teachers out there in my situation that still don't have a job yet.

But I find the guarantee of unemployment and no benefits unacceptable. It is so frustrating to think that you poured all your effort and energy into this passion and finally have a chance to actualize your dreams, only to discover that no matter who you are, the door will not open. It makes me think I picked the wrong career path. And I wouldn't complain in isolation since I haven't even been here for a year. I worry because I had colleagues in this situation for several years prior. And I refuse to go through this for years. If the public schools do not see fit or capable to offer me job security, then maybe I need to take my butt elsewhere. Because I cannot bring the same level of dedication to a job I know I am destined to lose as I would a career to span multiple years.

So, I will be on the offensive this year. Find a summer job. Do all the research I can into the possibilities and ways of getting a permanent contract. If the possibilities are not good in San Diego Unified, I will search elsewhere. If there are no possibilities in teaching, I will move out of teaching. I don't want to go through this again. And I'm not going to leave my life in the hands of San Diego Unified. I will take it into my own hands.

Selfishness

I did not grow up a caretaker. I did not have to take care of younger brothers and sisters. I did not have to cook with dinner. Heck, I didn't even have any chores most of the time. If anything, I was the one being taken care of, pampered and spoiled even. I didn't need to share with anyone given that my siblings were so much older than me. I spent a lot of time alone, but I also was not longing for attention. If I wanted attention I could get it. I happened to like being alone and playing by myself often.

So, I do not take on the nurturing role very quickly. I've learned a lot in the last few years, but I still have a long way to go. I am so used to putting myself first. I enjoy talking about myself. I find that I can be a conversation hog, and not because I don't want to talk about other people. I just feel so comfortable volunteering information, even when it is not asked. I like talking through my feelings or thoughts with others. So that is why I hate questions like, "How are you?" when you don't really mean it. Because I take that question as an invitation to evaluate how I'm doing and to share my thoughts with you. I have been told I share to much sometimes. =)

But then I am not good at asking the follow-up questions back at the other person. The "And you?"s that would give the other person an opportunity to talk. When I came home to Emily, I would tell her all about my day without being asked, but when she came home I often wouldn't ask her how her day was. I have learned that many people need some prodding to share and don't volunteer like I do, and I don't give them enough opportunities to share. I think this is kind of selfish, even if I don't mean to be. But I really like being in conversations with people who just volunteer a lot of information and feel comfortable talking about themselves. I am more conscious of achieving a balance in the conversation and having a more active participant helps relieve some of the guilt. Although, I know some people enjoy talking about others. I don't know.

When my mom was sick I had a really hard time taking responsibility to care for her. It was like I didn't know how. I didn't know what to do. I hadn't been trained. It was foreign. Same thing is happening with Grams. It seems like other people, my sister included, know exactly what to do. I don't know how, but it is like they anticipate other people's needs and do it without even being asked. Sometimes at a party I want to help, but I'm not always sure how. I'm the guy saying, "Is there anything I can do?" to which many people annoyingly reply "No, don't worry about it." And then I am left with, "Well, if you think of something, just let me know." I loved to be given a task because I love to help, I just can't come up always come up with what to do. I will end up pacing around looking for inspiration and it doesn't always come. Meanwhile, when I'm hosting a party and someone asks what they can do to help, I try to give them a job (if there is one) and be honest with them about what they can do. I do it because I know how it feels to want to help, but not know what to do. And then Emily or my sister would say, "Why are you having our guests wish the dishes?"

But I like the more honest approach to these discussions. I like it when you ask "How are you?" when you really want to know how someone is. I like when you ask, "Can I help you with something?" not out of courtesy, but because you really want to help. I like when you offer someone the last piece and you are really okay with them taking it, not just expecting them to do the traditional "No, thank you," and then you get it. I hate all the hidden rules of etiquette or whatever.

But that's a bid of a tangent. The other example I wanted to bring up is that when Stasia first moved to Portland, I didn't want her to like it, I didn't want to like it myself. Then when James moved there and Shahla and Joey were thinking of moving there, I really didn't want to like. I have been told this was extremely selfish of me, and upon reflection I would have to agree. I was just worried that everyone would leave me. That I would lose everyone to this city far away. I wanted them to be closer. And, as it turns out, I like Portland a lot. I know that it is a good fit for Stasia, James, and now Emily. I know they love it (or will love it). And I am glad for them.

But I am a selfish person! I was raised that way and it is hard to deny how you are raised. I hope that I balance it out somewhat. I try to be generous. I hope I offer support to friends and family. I am in a profession that requires generosity and giving to your students, colleagues, and school. But I just want to apologize to anyone who thinks I may take more than I give. I don't want to. Please tell me if there is anything I can do for you and I will do it. =) I love you.

Memorial

It's late and I should either be sleeping or applying for jobs. But I'm not going to. I meant to write this post for Memorial Day, but that didn't happen. Such is life.

Tonight, however, I found myself bawling. I was emptying the last of the boxes of books piled up in my living room, trying to get things put away. I came upon a number of books that I recognized as gifts. I would look into the inside cover to see if there was any inscription or note written, thinking that I need to be better about writing something when I give a book as a gift. I found a book that I recognized as a Christmas gift from my dad. The book was a reprint of four Charles Dickens novels in an antique-style leather binding with gold-leafed pages. Classy look. I discovered the inscription written in the distinctive mostly-CAPS scrawl of my father, and then started to cry.

"Dear Son, I hope you enjoy receiving this book as I enjoyed finding it for you!!
I love Dickens,
I hope you do....

Merry Christmas
Love
Dad 04"

I felt so overwhelmingly loved at that moment (and again now as I reread it), and that feeling of incredible warmth and love was followed by the cold touch of loss. I felt a special connection with my father at that moment, a connection that could not be replicated by a sibling, a lover, or a friend. No matter how much love you might have for that person, it wouldn't be the same. There wouldn't be the same pride and joy of sharing something that you love (in this case Dickens) with your child. I realized that no one else can call me Son. I haven't heard that in a long time. And it struck me that this was from the very last Christmas we spent together.

I miss my parents. And I don't give enough credit to my father. There is no one else in my life who I could spin tales with like my dad. No one to talk about the war with, to discuss art, to learn to cook from. He had so much to offer. He was charismatic, loving, and incredibly talented. I had a lot to learn from him.

And on this Memorial Day, watching a parade and surrounded by red, white, and blue, I did not feel patriotic. I thought of my father and his service to our country and felt angry. Angry that it changed his life so dramatically. Angry that my life and my mom's life and my family's life might have been so different. Angry that he was left without support when he returned and left to carry the burden of the savageness of war that he witnessed as a young man all on his own, a burden he passed on to his family. And mostly angry that he had no choice. He is a fallen soldier. He might not have died in Vietnam, but he was infected.

I speak for myself, because I know that he caused a lot of pain for a lot of people, but he was a good man. And he was a good father. I feel as though the best years were yet to come. I miss him so much. I miss his jokes and stories, his laugh. I miss the look of pride in his eyes when he saw me. Seeing him wearing a Vanderbilt jacket. I miss saying the word "Dad" and hearing the word "Son."

I am tired of losing people I love. I am tired of loss. I feel lonely tonight. I long for fullness.

Leaving Las Vegas

As I come off the freeway I notice a sign mentioning something about casinos and downtown Las Vegas, but I blow right by the sign turning it into a blur of markings. I wouldn't need directions anyway, I'm a guy.

And I find myself moving along the streets. Though the streets seem strangely deserted. I'm flying at a rapid pace above the sidewalk. Half-expecting to hit my head on some random objects (e.g., traffic lights, awnings, etc.), but most of the obstacles are on the other side of the street.

Going down the main drag for a while and finally turning the corner, I see a park and a dimly lit building with lots of flags. Must be some State of Nevada building or something. I'm definitely in downtown, strange there aren't many people out. But people or no people, I'm a little scared for my life being in an unfamiliar urban area at night. The dark and the silence blend with a cool desert night wind. Perhaps the Strip is not downtown. I should have looked at the directions.

I start retracing my steps, ending up back at the intersection that pointed toward the casinos. My arm is getting tired from carrying the jug of water I brought from San Diego, just to make sure I wouldn't end up dying in the desert from dehydration. I follow the road to a river with a long bridge. There is a gas station right next to the river, old-fashioned. Got a refrigerator sitting outside. I take one last long swig of now lukewarm water and stick the jug in the fridge. You never know when a homeless person might pass by and take the water that the attendant would surely throw out anyway.

As I near the river, my phone rings.

Withheld

But I know it's Grams. She always calls at these random moments.

"Hello."

"Hello! I just thought I'd call to see how you were doing."

"I'm in Las Vegas now. Do you remember I said I was going to Las Vegas?"

"Oh. I hope you are careful. There are scary people there."

"Grams..." I say sharply. She is always trying to convince me that everything I do is dangerous and it is probably best to just stay home all the time like she does.

"Well, how's the weather down there? Hot?"

"No. It's pretty cold. It's been cold in San Diego too, though. I better let you go. I'm trying to get across this bridge and it will take a lot of concentration for me to fly without falling into the water."

"Okay. I love you."

"Love you too." About to hang up.

"Miss you a lot."

"I miss you too. Hope to see you later this month. Okay? Bye."

And across the water I see a glowing neon cowboy. It seems to have fallen over though. It isn't standing tall. Barely standing at all. At least I'm going the right direction. Start across but in just a few moments I need to put my feet down on the strip of concrete cutting across the river. I decide not to take the direct route across the water. I'll hover above the bridge instead, just in case I can't keep elevated.

On the other side, a fever overtakes me. It is as though I'd been drugged. There are lights and dinging bells. They dance around me like a rave, or a wave crashing down. I know I played some sort of video game. Was it video poker? Well, whatever it was I lost. And with the world spinning around me I decide to check into my room. Maybe tomorrow.

Brian is already in the room. He wants to start out early tomorrow. I've never known my brother to want to sleep early so he can wake up early. Doesn't seem like him, I figured he'd be up all night. I figured I would barely see him at all. But I'm too exhausted to care. In minutes, I'm asleep.

I wake up to the phone ringing. "Hello."

"Hi," she said. Her voice is so familiar and yet, since it has been a while, it takes a second to register who it is.

"How are you doing?" she asks.

"Fine. I'm here in Las Vegas with Bri. How are you?"

"I'm feeling normal. Like everything has been lifted away."

"You sound good. I haven't heard you sound like that for a long time."

"I'm going to get my own apartment," she says. Meanwhile Brian is walking in and out of the bathroom trying to get ready. He is putting together a suit ensemble and I am trying not to tell him he is looking more and more like a pimp.

"Tired of living there at the house?"

"I'd like to come visit you some time."

"Yes! Yes, you should. I'd love that. I miss you so much. So much. And I love you."

The line seems to be cut off. I listen to the silence for a while. Then I check the signal strength, but I've got four green bars. "Are you there?"

"I'm here," she says. Then why didn't you say you love me too, I think to myself. But I don't say anything, I don't want to force her to say something she doesn't mean.

"So what did your doctors say about you feeling better? Is the cancer all gone or what?"

And now the silence feels endless. I check the phone and the screen is empty. No one is on the line. I speed dial 2. Grams answers the phone with a cheerful, "Hello!" It is the kind of cheerfulness that makes you feel like this one little conversation makes her day. Like it brings her so much joy to hear your voice, and you begin to feel guilty because you don't call as often as you should.

"Hi, Grams." But I feel guilty anyway. It seems every time I call I'm talking to Grams. I don't want to play favorites. I don't know why I always talk to Grams, not to her. I don't know why I invited Grams to come visit me already, but I haven't invited her. So I interrupt the question about weather that is inevitably coming to ask, "Can I talk to Mom?"

"What's that?" She says it half like she didn't hear what I said, half like she thinks she didn't hear what I said. "Mom. I was talking to her and then the line got cut off. Is she home?"

By this time Brian had turned his head toward me. He was right in the middle of his fifth attempt at tying his tie. And Grams. Grams says, "Honey, your Mom's not here." She said something else, but those first words and the stare from my brother triggered a flash flood of images. I swam in death. I saw my mother sickly in her rocking chair. I saw images of her funeral and the tree where we scattered her ashes. I saw her dead. I saw her dead. Before they carried her out. After she had taken her last breath. I saw her.

I close my phone. As soon as I did I knew Grams would be worried. I should have said something to her. But it was too late. I turn to my brother. "Mom called me. I swear I talked to Mom. You heard me on the phone, right? Right?!"

"Yeah."

"You are real, right? You're really here, right?" I walk up to him and start to poke him, scared my arm might pass right through him.

"Yeah. I'm here."

"It was Mom. She said she was feeling better and that she was going to move out into her own apartment." My brother asks for my phone. He looks at it for a while. In hysterics, I start to cry. Soon he does too. He walks over to me.

In the call log, right under my call to Grams, is a blurred three letter name. Mom.

"I didn't program that into my phone, Bri. I never put her name in my phone! What the hell is going on?!"

And the phone rings. "Mom" flashes on the screen, blurry, but it can't be anything else. "You answer it. You answer it."

He takes the phone and opens it. Waits. "Hello?" he says.

"Put it on speaker phone, Bri. Put it on speaker phone. See who it is!" I plead.

The tears are rolling down his face as he sinks to his knees at the edge of the bed. He pushes the button to put her on speaker and lays the phone on the bed. My mom's voice fills the room.

"...It hasn't been long," she says. "Mom!" I say. "Mom, we miss you so much."

I can't stop talking. "Did you know that Brian is married? I'm not yet. But I lived in Hawaii and now I'm in San Diego. And Brian has four kids now! Can you believe it?"

"What is heaven like?" my brother says.

Pause. Everyone pauses. Then, "Heaven is beautiful."

Sinking in. The reality sinking in that she is not here.

"I love you, my sons. And I'm proud of you."

And she was gone again.

~Dream, May 31, 2009.

Fantasy Chaser

So the most difficult feelings to bear have been loss and longing. Loss is such a complicated emotion. I find myself missing my mom terribly. Yet I conveniently blame the loss of her for everything that has changed with my family. As though if she were here, everything would be perfect. Just the way it was before. But would it? How could we ever know?

And I miss Emily. But what I really miss is a fantasy. I mean, what I want is for Emily not just to be with me, but to be happy with me. To be happy sharing my life in San Diego. To want to be here. But she doesn't. And I know she wouldn't be happy with me. So what do I miss? I miss something that doesn't even exist.

Chasing a fantasy only leaves you alone and out of breath. Maybe it is best to just give up. But how do you stop longing when the void left from the loss is so deep. I try to fill the void with more earth each day, but the void remains. How long will it take to fill? Or will it?

Birthdays

I don't know about you, but I can remember at least some chronological details from each of my last birthdays. I find it comforting to remember some details chronologically on a specific date in time because otherwise life seems so lost in this amalgam of time. Here is a run-down.

2009 (25): Sign my first official contract as a teacher. My first real job. Drive to LA and go to Disneyland. Meet up with Lissie and Sean in Redlands for a sushi dinner and watch "Sexo con amor" (one of my favorite movies). Off to the Wild Animal Park the next day.

2008 (24): At our home in Honolulu. Grams flew out and she is there. I have to go to class during the day. Emily hangs streamers around the house and makes dinner of noodles for everyone. Friends come over. We play games.

2007 (23): I taught that morning. My first class wrote happy birthday in multiple languages on the board before I arrived. I went out to lunch with all my friends at a Chinese restaurant. They wrote really sweet cards for me. Emily made me a special dinner that night of hot and sour soup. I hosted a party that weekend and cooked some Mexican food.

2006 (22): Feeling lonely. Taught 4th grade during the day. I went to Grams house for dinner. Not the same. Went to rehearsal at Sac State for the "Under the Western Sky" play. Not much happening.

2005 (21): Managed to bring these three distinct circles of friends together for dinner at a Mexican restaurant in Nashville. 1. Ronnie, Lauren, and Jeremy. 2. Lan and Ashley. 3. Lissie, Michelle, and Tim. No free shots though.

2004 (20): In Chile, woke up to a few small gifts outside my door. More gifts came throughout the day. My friends came over to my family's house that night and my host mom made snacks for everyone. Then we went out to a club.

2003 (19): Surprised to arrive at my social studies practicum class to see that Lissie, Michelle, and Meredith have a cake for me.

2002 (18): Went to Astronomy at Sac State. Came home. Typical family cake/ice-cream party.

2001 (17): Cut class (high school). Went to a park with Stasia. Exchanged gifts. Came back to school, after school, because there was rehearsal for a play. Got a lot of grief from everyone.

2000 (16): With family. Shocked when I found out my big present for the sweet sixteen birthday was a filing cabinet. Thanks Mom.

Found an Apartment!

Okay, so I have now checked off three major goals for my new life in San Diego. The first was finding a job. Check. Then I wanted to develop an exercise program. Check (thanks to the YMCA). Now, I have found a home. Check.

I'm moving in the end of April. I really like this apartment. It is located in a great area (Fashion Valley) with easy access to shopping and parks, close to the beach and the YMCA where I work out. Also has bike trails (I guess I'll need to get a bike) and is walkable to a trolley stop so that I can go downtown without needing to worry about parking.

The community of the complex itself is what sold me on it. Very cute. Lots of people out and about, walking dogs, smiling, talking to each other. Just very friendly. Made me feel like I would be happy to come home to this. And since pets are allowed, it makes me see a puppy in my near future. I could use a little companion.

The apartment itself isn't super remarkable. It's a 1-bedroom and in a good spot. Apparently this apartment is the only one in the whole community with upgraded design and appliances, so that is cool. But it is a nice size and I think will be very comfortable. Here is a link to the website for The Bluffs.

Now, here is the remaining checklist for the major goals for the remainder of the year, in no particular order:

1. Get furniture and stuff for apartment (I have virtually nothing besides books)
2. New car
3. Dog
4. Friends (maybe even a girlfriend)
5. Consolidate student loans! (I've got about $30,000 in debt...yikes!)
6. Something else that is important but I can't think of at the moment

So there you have it.

Introducing My Kindergartners

Let me start off by saying that kindergarten isn't all the songs and games and easel paintings that I had imagined. It is really serious. We have weekly tests, they are needing to write coherent book reviews, read non-patterned books, know numbers up to 30, and lord knows what else. It is intense. And full-day! I thought kinder was supposed to be half-day. Not here. They go from 8:30-3:30 with lunch from 11:20-12:00 and a recess from 1:45-2:00. That's it.

Now, add to that the specific challenges of our community. Very high poverty (everyone qualifies for free breakfast and lunches). Many immigrants/refugees/non-English speakers. I'm currently team-teaching with another teacher and combined we have 28 students. Of those 28, we have 2 African-American students and about 3 others who come from English-speaking homes (Chicano or mixed families). The other 23 are English language learners (at varying levels of proficiency). Some were born here, some weren't, and some arrived in the US less than a year ago. They come from very diverse places: Kenya, Uganda, Somalia, Cambodia, Thailand, Myanmar, Laos, Vietnam, China, Mexico, and El Salvador (home languages include Swahili, Spanish, Somali, Thai, Vietnamese, Mandarin, Burmese, and Khmer). Many of their parents have very limited English skills and some have few academic skills. Many of the families have arrived in San Diego as refugees, fleeing wars and violence in their home countries. One of my mothers has lost her hands and bears scars across her face from the violence in Somalia.

Out of the 10 students who are officially mine, 4 students will certainly leave kindergarten at grade-level and ready for first grade. 3 of those students come from English-speaking homes and have literate parents, which helps and I'm sure some schools across this country take for granted. I have 2 students who are language learners and are behind mostly because of language (Swahili and Spanish), but are making good progress and should be near grade-level at the end of the year.

I have one African-American student who has a really unstable home-life and is absent about 40% of the time and, therefore, is WAY behind grade-level. Family hasn't been very cooperative and blames me/the school for everything, threatening to take her out of the school (as if that is going to do anything but put her even further behind at this point).

I have another student from Myanmar who is still at the Beginning (very low) language level in English and is actually a first grader, but had no prior schooling (he was in a refugee camp in Thailand last year) so he is with the kindergartners and will be repeating first grade next year. Still, he is near proficient in kindergarten math and knows his letter sounds well (just doesn't have the vocabulary to know what words he is sounding out).

Then there are 2 students who have mastered nearly nothing all year. No reading, no numbers. One can make a handful of letters (string of letter stage) and the other can make an A because her name starts with that, but doesn't know the name of the letter and otherwise mostly scribbles. One is a language learner (Somali) with very low English skills which is part of the problem. He is also out of control sometimes. He will destroy things, jump around, shout and make noises without stomping, hit people, and generally not cooperate. He gets frustrated and can't control his emotions, can't communicate his frustrations, and hasn't been socialized into how to behave respectfully and how to treat people and materials. I think he gets away with everything at home. The other comes from an English-speaking home, but may have some sort of mental processing issue. She doesn't have good fine-motor skills, and may be developmentally delayed.

Add to this the issues inherent with the age group, particularly those who have never attended preschool (which is most). They usually can't be reasoned with. I mean, why not crawl under the tables at center time and make cow sounds? That sounds perfectly reasonable. Struggle daily with self-control, sharing, lining up, etc.

Basically, it has been a daunting task. Many of the kids are succeeding, some are not. What to do? I wish I knew some time.

I praise all kindergarten teachers. I just hope I'm not one of them next school year. =)

Working Out

So I joined the YMCA last week and discovered the downfall of the hearty workout. The Y has this cool computerized system where you meet with a trainer who creates the program for you. Then when you come to workout, you sign in on this computer and it sets up a circuit for you and as you go to each machine it will know who you are and tell you your set-up on the machine (like where the seats should go), give your range of motion, and give/record your target reps/sets. You can also record any cardio stuff you do. And it is all compiled as data by the computer. It makes life very easy, so perhaps I might keep going.

The problem is that I've been going in the late afternoons/early evenings. I didn't want to eat beforehand, because I don't want cramps or vomiting (I see enough vomit at school). But after working out I am so hungry and seriously craving either a burger or Mexican food. Maybe I will manage some self-control and realize that that is not a good idea. But that part is definitely not easy.

Anyways, it is a start. I also asked out a coworker that I like to see if she wanted to hang out, but was deferred to the break. I feel like there aren't a bunch of teachers here that have time to hang out. Maybe that is just me. But they are mostly older or 30s but married with a young kid. Not the best combination. Hopefully next week I'll finally meet with this guy at UCSD to look into the Chicano theater scene. That would be cool to get involved with. Aside from that, I don't know. I'm hoping to find a social niche soon. I'm also very actively looking for an apartment, but it seems like an expensive undertaking. We'll see if I can find something nice though. That's all for now.

Still to come...The Inner World of a Kindergartner.

Patience

Starts out thick and firm
PATIENCE
With a smooth surface of
Freshly laid asphalt
Covering the worries
Until time and doubt
Eat away at the ground
And sinkholes
And potholes
Rip holes
In your
PAT_____CE
____IEN

And the worries leak
Onto the surface
Cracking the pavement
Along the fault line
What once was
PATIENCE
Falls apart into a crumbly
Despair of never-will-be’s
Leaving behind only the
P
To remind you that
PATIENCE
Is virtue even when
Out of reach.

Patience is a virtue

Patience, my friends and family, is a virtue. After all, good things come to those who wait. Well, I have been waiting to write this note for a long time, and I think the people that claim this are people who have already discovered the good things, not the people still waiting. I thought I would wait until I had really settled in to my new and better life. I’m a patient person after all, or so I’ve been told. And I can be very patient. Especially at work I can be very patient, almost too patient with those little hooligans. Champion of pulling an elephant through the mud.

Patience wares thin though. Just ask Emily or my family. I lose patience quickly with life sometimes. I have this mythical life mapped out in my head. I have a job I love in a beautiful city that I find comfortable. I have a love and a family and a dog, not to mention the nice home with the perfect yard for entertaining and a soft, comfy sofa. I’m surrounded with friends and family, life feels full.

Moving to San Diego would help push me in that direction, was my thought. Bring me one step closer to making that dream a reality. And I approach it with patience. After all, I don’t expect to be married next year or to buy a house (although the market makes such a dream a little more reasonable). These things take time. I’ve only been here for two months and I’ve really made some good progress. In the grand scheme of things, I have accomplished so much in just 24+ years of life. I’ve traveled the world, I have a bucket full of coursework, degrees, and honors, I’ve taught every grade from K through grad school, I’ve met amazing people, and I’ve loved.

So, am I happy with the choice of moving to San Diego? In the pit of waiting, patience gives way to despair sometimes. But, when the sun shines through the darkness, with patience I remind myself that things are going pretty well. I have no complaints about the city. San Diego is beautiful and diverse. There is a lot to explore, a lot to do, great restaurants, all the stores that I need, and some cool coffee shops too. I’ve found a job in exactly the kind of school I’ve wanted to work at, surrounded by an amazing staff all dedicated to serving a needy and diverse population.

I’m just lonely. I’ve been lonely a lot in my life. Spent many weekends alone. Seen many movies alone. Eaten many meals alone. I feel very comfortable alone, but not very happy. So, I need to pick my spirits up and pour some energy into making friends. I’m not very good at this. I don’t know how to do it without the kind of given cohort of a school environment. But just having more friends will help a lot with this patience.

So, maybe I need to join some sort of group or class. I’ve been pretty worn out and overwhelmed by my work, but that is getting better now and I think I’ll have more time. I’m going to be on vacation in April (the school is year round so we get April and August off), so I’ll be doing some traveling then. I was hoping to move out on my own in April, but I don’t know if I’ll have the money (I’m currently earning a low sub hourly range of $16 an hour, despite full time/overtime teaching work). We’ll see what another month brings. All I know is that I need more patience. =)