Transitions

I have moved fifteen times in the last 4 years. Honestly; I just wrote it all down and counted. And there have been countless other "little moves" woven into the fabric of my college experience- moves to and from home for the weekend or break, moves to visit friends or relatives. One would think that with all this experience, I would be good at transition. I should be an expert at navigating the waters of interpersonal relationships and family dynamics and how to fit everything in my tiny car. I should be good at reentering into situations which are familiar but a little vague, and establishing old habits with old people, and redeveloping a sense of normalcy in each new place.

But I am not.

I expect things I shouldn't expect, and neglect to anticipate important things. I miss social cues and new family norms and changed relationships. I forget what it was like to exist in one place while trying to figure out the new, and I consequently spend time existing no where. And I miss people, and I am shocked and sometimes offended when they have changed while I was away.

Many of my moves have literally changed the direction of my thought, or indeed my life. Moving to college was an experience of great growth and independence. The move to Colorado was an experience of great beauty. Moving to Romania for two weeks was an experience of hope and connection to a people and a land. Moving to Upward Bound was an experience of tremendous empathy and a shattering of perceptions. Moving to Chicago was an experience of scholarship and adulthood and career and understanding. And all of these moves have contributed to the move that is approaching in just 61 days.

And people will change, and places will change, and attitudes will change, and time itself will change. And most of all, I will change. I will return to the States after a year in Romania a changed person. Not necessarily for the better, though I would crave this improvement, but certainly a different person. I will have a year of new experiences and new cultural understandings and new language skills and new teaching techniques. And everyone here will have had a year of everything else.

And I am just hoping that I get better at transition.

I Find Myself

I find myself in a place of great fear and wonderful excitement and terrible unknowns. I find myself in a state of both energetic happiness and weary exhaustion. I find myself wondering and wishing and hoping and dreaming and praying. I find myself wanting to do better, to feel better, to be better, and to make better. I find myself craving comfort and routine and structure. I find myself yearning for spontaniety and freedom and adventure.

I find myself in the smile of a friend or a note of ringing laughter. I find myself in eyes that are lit up with excitment. I find myself in personal connection and inside jokes and in touching the souls of others. I find myself in the beauty of people and the striking beauty of nature. I find myself in the sounds of the city and the feel of each block as my feet hit the pavement with a sort of rhymic assuredness. I find myself in the stories of people around me, coming from wildly different places to converge in this moment and in this place.

And daily, I find myself in the company of children. I find myself sitting on the grass each morning, giving and recieving hugs that have the whole world of emotion wrapped into them. I find myself singing annoyingly catchy songs about princesses and trees and frogs and bumblebees. I find myself teaching about life and cleaning up messes and passing out lunches. I find myself in the deep end of the pool, where the fears are so concentrated, and the trust so sparingly granted. I find myself in the locker room in a continuous search for underwear, and I find myself offering comfort to a group of drooping and dragging and sweaty little girls. I find myself scratching backs and braiding hair and trailing my fingers over their delicate faces. I find myself laughing continuously at the beautiful innocence of my campers. I find myself in an amazing place both for my body and for my spirit, when I find myself in the company of children.

I am hoping that I find myself in Romania.

Kid quote of the day:
"Stephanie, there is FOR REAL something in my tushy. And it hurts!" -Munchkin #4

It's Never Too Early

I know that my writing has been terribly introspective lately, so I thought I would thrown in something blunt and boring and wonderfully straightforward.

I love lists. I really have a thing for lists. And despite my deepest desires and desperate attempts to be more spontaneous and carefree (which probably factors a great deal into this whole endeavour in the first place), I still like lists. And so it is the list-making maniac of my former self is writing this post.

It is never too early to start planning, and I have always been a planner. I worried about getting into college during second grade. I began looking at potential universities during the spring of my eighth grade year. I was mercilessly laughed at for my 10 point life plan, created junior year of college. My dear friend and person C~ was planning to DIE before I had reached step 10, but this was no matter to me. I am a planner.

I leave for Romania on August 30, and with me I will bring two suitcases and a carry-on bag. And I must fit the following into them:

1. Undergarments- 10 sets; Socks- 5 pairs; Dress socks- 5 pairs; Casual tops- 5; Long Sleeved shirts- 3; Sweatshirt- 1; Casual pants- 3; Teaching pants- 2; Summer pants/shorts- 3; Dresses/skirts- 3; Sweaters- 2; Dress Shirts- 3; Black hiking jacket-1; Tennis Shoes- 1 ; Dress Shoes- 1; Sandals- 2; Hiking Sneakers- 1; Swimsuit- 1; Slippers- 1; Long Underwear- 1; Pajamas- 2 sets; Winter hat- 1; Winter gloves- 1 pair; Stretchy gloves- 1 pair; Sunglasses- 1 pair; Jewelry- small bag; Toothbrush/Toothpaste; Make-up- Small Bag; Travel Toiletries; Swiss Army Knife- 1; Duct Tape- 2 rolls; Digital Camera- 1; Battery Charger- 1; Memory Card- 2; I-Pod- 1; I-Pod Charger-1; Laptop/Charger- 1; Flash Drive- 1; Adaptor for laptop- 1; Ziploc Bags- 20; Purell Hand Sanitizer- 2; Photo Album- 1; Playing cards- 2; Assorted teaching books- 3-4; Assorted books- 3; Alarm Clock- 1; Index Cards- 4 packs; MISCELLANEOUS items :)

Not bad, right?

Momentary Living

We officially booked our flights last night. Flying out of Chicago on August 30 gives me an actual, real, tangible date. A specific point in time that I can measure and count down to and plan for.

I should clarify something. When I say "we," I am talking about myself and someone else. I basically began looking into a position in Romania as a result of a conversation I had with this person. We both went to Romania in May of 2009 through a trip with school, and it was here that I left a portion of my heart. We talked a lot about life after graduation, and D~ casually (I thought) mentioned going back to Romania. I began looking into this possibility and did some quick research and applying and interviewing. When I jokingly invited D~ to Bucharest after getting confirmation of a teaching job, he also decided to pursue a year teaching English in Romania. So, I am lucky enough to have someone both familiar and terribly entertaining to embark on this journey with. And it is truly an inexpressible comfort to know someone in the same hemisphere, time zone, and country.

Anyway- we are now the owners of real and actual tickets for a real and actual flight to Romania. My entire life, I have been looking forward to the future. And while there is nothing wrong with anticipation, I fear that I am missing things on the way. This blog is obviously about teaching in Romania, but I am acutely aware that everything this summer will impact that up and coming time. Every experience in my entire life is contributing to the experience I will have in Romania, and for obvious reasons they matter tremendously.

And so with resolve, I am committing to "momentary living." Not living for a moment, but living through the moments. A million little things happen daily that I don't want to miss, especially as I look forward to this looming departure date. For I am in danger of living on the surface for this entire summer, simply existing without being affected or creating an effect. I am committing to acknowledging the insignificant, the chol, the seemingly meaningless.

In in that spirit, here are wonderful kid quotes from the day:

Munchkin #5: "You have a red face Stephanie. And it is kinda soggy."

Munchkin #2: (With a wave of the wand) "I declare it shall be COLD. Chillium! Wow! I feel it working already."

Munchkin #6: "I like these things."
Stephanie: "What things?"
Munchkin #6: "These round things under your shirt."

Harry Potter, Locker Rooms, and Underwear

Camp day number two. The day began quite wonderfully with a minimal amount of sweat, a beautiful breeze, and a lovely group of girls. Munchkin #1 was on her best behavior after some serious praise (WHOA, Munchkin #1, I LOVE the way you are listening. Oh my WORD, everyone look at Munchkin #1- isn't she AMAZING???), and we arrived at the drama tent right on time. Our engaging specialist E~ was doing a wonderful job of keeping my kids happy and participating, and began to do a name game. An up-and-coming trouble maker, Munchkin #2 introduced herself as Harry Potter. When pressed for her real name, she responded "Hermione." She never again was out of character- the ENTIRE day. Through the rest of drama, lunch, swimming, baseball, tennis, and snack- she remained Hermione. She talked about her muggle parents and her best friends Ron and Harry and her interest in (no joke) Ancient Runes. She discussed our serious lack of knowledge concerning the game of Quidditch and tried to conduct spells with a twig she carried around. Whatever- I took it in stride and just let her try and levitate her food with a cry of "wingardium leviosa!"

For those of you who have never supervised a group of 13 six year olds changing out of swimsuits, let me give you some details. You can be the BEST counselor in the world, and there will still be missing items. There are naked little girls everywhere, and screams and laughter and crying. There is hair waiting to be tied up and combed out. There is (Munchkin #1) who needs to take a shower for her skin condition, and there are 12 other girls to refuse to let shower. There is sunscreen everywhere because parents are emphatic about putting sunscreen on RIGHT after swimming. The sunscreen doesn't stay on because the girls are still wet, but this is completely beside the point. There are discussions of privacy and marriage and courage and cooties and boyfriends and beauty and swimming teachers and the deep end of the pool and bravery. There are awkward stares when the counselor (yours truly) drops her towel while changing back into the sweaty clothes in front of the girls because you can't leave them alone for a second. And then there is underwear.

There is underwear in every place imaginable. In a bookbag, in a shoe, in a locker, in a lunchbag, in someone else's lunchbag, in the toilet stall, and in one sad instance, ON the sopping wet child. And Munchkin #3 has NO underwear. No underwear anywhere. She is sure she wore it this morning. She is sure she looked through all of her things. Then we are ALL sure we looked through all of our things. Then I am sure I looked through everything. And there is no underwear anywhere. I am honestly about to suggest to this child that she go commando to baseball and tennis, when enters... Hermione. And with a cry of "Accio underwear" and a wave of the twig, Munchkin #4 pulls the missing underwear from the dirty towel bin. I believe in the magic of children.

And after the reapplication of sunscreen and the singing of songs and the passing of papers and the walking to the far field, we are nearly 38 minutes late for baseball. Oops.

Expectations

I slept really poorly last night for the first time in months. Usually I am so tired that I simply crawl into bed and wake up the next morning, usually with a considerable amount of amazement at the too-quick passage of time. Last night, however, was the night before I started my new job.

I have a long history of summer jobs, most of which end up being meaningful in some way with a great deal of challenges throughout the actual term of the job. But it has been a long time since I was nervous enough to lie awake.

The summer after freshman year, I arrived at Cedar Point Amusement Park to work as a ride operator. I was completely unprepared for the brutal nature of this job- not just physically, but mentally as well. We stood in the sun for 14 hours a day, bending over rides and bucking/unbuckling seatbelts and speaking into crackling microphones. We were treated inhumanely and scheduled incorrectly and woken up nightly when someone pulled the fire alarm. We were exposed to the very worst of human resource practice, and told that if we didn’t fulfill the terms of the contract, we would not get the bonus pay that brought us up to minimum wage. I met some interesting people, and many friends from around the globe that I still keep in touch with. And I learned that I will never again stand for such injustice both to myself and my coworkers, a skill that ended up being a benefit later on.

The summer after sophomore year, determined not to end up at a place like Cedar Point (a rather rash decision), I didn’t get a job before school was out at all. This ended up working perfectly because it was the month my grandmother was diagnosed with end-stage lung cancer. I got a position at a haphazard day camp in the city of Durango, Colorado, and moved across the country for 3 months to help care for her. When she died 3 weeks later, I found myself with an entire empty summer. I planned activities and sat in parks and played on playgrounds. I hiked dangerous trails with kids and endured intense heat and blazing sun and soothed angry parents. But I did it all in a setting of such beauty and contentment, and it was good. I learned that the quality of life matters just as much as the job.

The summer after junior year, I worked at a summer program for “at-risk” high school students. The goal of the program is to expose them to college work and life, and provide an opportunity for them to pursue higher education. I was responsible for the care of what ended up being nearly 40 girls, and nearly as many problems. I played the role of counselor and mediator and friend and nurse. I met the toddler children of my high school babies, and I listened to girls talk about abuse. I broke up fights and talked about safe sex and took my kids to where Martin Luther King Jr. spoke about his dream. And I played advocate for my girls in every way imaginable- from other high school students, from the system that was failing them, from inappropriate counselors, and sometimes from themselves. And I learned that nobility of purpose sometimes overshadows comfort.

This summer, I am working with a group of mostly white, middle/upper class children who have it all. And they are beautiful, but I found myself worried. I was worried that I wouldn’t like them. This is an awful thing for a teacher to say, but I lay in bed last night and worried that I would hate this summer because I would dislike my kids. Let’s face it; day camp is not really that fun if you are not still going to bed at 8:30. Moving non-stop from art to kickball to swimming to lunch to drama to baseball while dripping sweat and trying desperately to reapply sunscreen is not how I would choose to spend my day. Except for the kids. The campers are always the redeeming factor. And I was worried that this time around there would be no redemption. I was terribly wrong.

I have one camper in particular that I was worried about. Let’s call her Munchkin #1. I have never met a more defiant six year old child in my life. My magic just didn’t work with her the first time we met, and I dreaded this day. I was intimidated by her messy blonde hair and her fierce green eyes and her missing teeth. And I thought about Romania. And I thought about the difficulty of classroom management when I DO speak the language and know the culture. And I thought about Munchkin #1, and imagined her replicated in the body of a six year old Romanian girl, and then I imagined myself failing as her educator. And I got worried.

But today, I had my best ready to go. I stepped up the magic, and Munchkin #1 came around. We are going to be best buddies very soon. And she looked at me with those intense eyes at the end of the day, and she grabbed my hand, and I realized that I couldn’t ask for a better life.

And Romania- that will sort itself out. Because I will meet new people and experience new things. And I will have a quality of life in a place of new wonder and immense beauty. And I will have a meaningful purpose. So my little Romanian munchkins, be prepared. Because I will work my magic on you too.

Chol

I am working this summer for the Jewish Community Center in Chicago. As a counselor at a day camp, I work with 13 girls entering first grade in the fall. As a non-Jewish counselor at this particular day camp, I have a lot of questions and a lot of ignorance concerning things that are completely normal for most of my colleagues. Because of this, I have had the opportunity to learn an incredible amount about a culture I was previously unexposed to. And much of this mirrors what I am expecting to experience in Romania, in a lot of little ways.

For instance, there were a lot of humorous times in my week of staff training. I had no idea what “keeping kosher” meant, and still had to ask about a million questions to clarify once I learned the definition. Just so everyone knows, meat and dairy products must be consumed separately. Not only in separate bites, but in separate meals (I got a lot of weird looks for this question). Additionally, the “ch” sound in Hebrew most closely resembles an “h” sound with a wad of phlegm in the throat- this means that “chug” on the weekly schedule is not an invitation to down a quick drink but to learn about Israeli culture.

One of the things that I learned this week about the Jewish culture is the importance of “separation.” Whatever you want to take from this, the ancient Israelites, while wandering in the wilderness, established a pattern of separating the “holy” from the sand (“chol”). In order to remain faithful and in connection with the Divine, they established rituals of separation- both of time and of food. Time, of course, is what I have heard called “Sabbath,” and they call it “Shabbat.”

I celebrated Shabbat for the first time last week, and it was an observance of joy and beauty. There is something good and pure about honoring time, setting aside specified moments to simply reflect. This is time separate from the rest of the stuff that clutters the moment, the day, the week, the lifetime.

I am completely in agreement and understanding that time set apart to be sacred is incredibly meaningful and beneficial. However, I have also been thinking a lot about the “chol.” The sand of the wilderness, the everyday tasks, the moments of normalcy- these are all becoming beautiful to me. I am coming to anticipate a lot of chol in my life in Romania. And if I try to find the exquisite in the regular of simply loving people and teaching children and living life, I have a feeling the sacred will be even more spectacular.

Some Little Thoughts...

This might seem a little bit scattered for MOST of the post, but I promise it will get around to Romania stuff in the end.

I took the Megabus from Chicago to Blissfield tonight. For those who don't know, Megabus is kind of a discount inter-city bus line with some really great deals. However, sometimes you get what you pay for.
The day started off beautifully. I slept in a significant amount after a LONG week of staff training for summer day camp (more details to come in another post), did some laundry, ran some errands- normal "day off" stuff. I packed my suitcase and prepared to leave my apartment to head downtown and catch the bus. I glanced outside and thought how lucky I was that it wasn't raining- nearly every other trip I have taken back to Blissfield has been in the rain. I made it downtown, feeling really great about my impeccable sense of timing, and went to Walgreens to buy another bus pass. A man rushes in, grabs an umbrella, and cuts in front of me in line. I chuckle at his obvious lack of sense- I had just taken my sunglasses off! Silly man.

Three minutes later, it is raining harder than I thought possible. I am huddled under the overhang at Union Station, feeling grateful that I made it before I got too wet. I am a little drippy, but nothing serious. The rain lets up, and I proceed to walk to the bus stop. The Megabus is about 2 minutes late at this point- no big deal, right? I am still in a generally happy mood. Like a movie scene, the sky darkens and I neglect to head for shelter, mostly because I am stupid.

One minute later, I might as well be in a swimming pool. Except the swimming pool is filled with dirty rain water and trash from the streets and my clothes and my bags. And street signs are literally falling over from the wind and I am clinging to the bus stop. And 1.5 HOURS later, the Megabus shows up. And 2 HOURS later, we leave for Toledo. I am dripping wet, and the air-conditioning is on high, and I am coughing, and the Wi-Fi doesn't work, and the bus is filled with smelly people and going about 45 mph. And so I arrive in Toledo approximately 7 hours after previously being happy. And at some point, you just have to laugh.

What does this have to do with Romania? In my brain, just about everything is about Romania these days, so this situation is pretty obviously connected. For those who don't understand the obsession... allow me to explain.

I am wondering how many times I am going to "just have to laugh" in the coming year. Teaching is always an exercise in finding humor, and teaching English to Romanian children cannot be any less comical. Living in a new country presents issues of uncertainty and awkwardness. Speaking VERY LITTLE of the local language is certain to result in some kind of humor on a fairly regular basis, mostly at the expense of my inept brain and poor skills. Traveling through "underdeveloped" parts of Eastern Europe will probably not be too much different than waiting hours for an uncomfortable bus ride.

In short, I am anticipating a lot of moments where finding the laughter is going to be important...

Beginnings

I am sure that there will eventually be many posts detailing the reasons that I am abandoning my life plan and uprooting myself this year. I could talk about things like a love for Romanian people and culture, or a desire to travel. I could discuss the current job market in the United States. I could write about my discomfort with settling down and establishing a life pattern at such a young age. I could postulate about the meaning behind overseas work and the difference I will make in young lives.

The very simple answer: I don't really know. I am sure that in the next few weeks and months I will be writing about all of the "reasons" mentioned above. But for now, I know just a few things.

1. I am extremely anxious- the kind of good/bad/exciting anxiousness that I feel when unticipating the unknown.
2. I will be teaching in a primary school in Bucharest, near the center of the city.
3. I am going to miss people tremendously.
4. I am not good at living alone and need to practice.
5. I feel wonderfully prepared to teach, but not so prepared to live.

I hope to be posting with some regularity about life in Romania, and teaching in Bucharest. One of the reasons for this blog is to keep in touch with people in the States. However, I also want to be able to look back and see growth. With that said, here are some goals for the year:

1. Learn to speak enough Romanian to be comfortable.
2. Get to know a people, a history, and a culture while living in Bucharest.
3. Use the best skills and techniques to teach English.
4. Learn about my students- remain present and thankful each day.
5. Grow as a person who loves and lives for others.