I never wanted to do this

So, I'm a teacher. I teach high school French. And because of this experience, I have learned to truly appreciate all that teachers do. But I never, ever in my life wanted to do this. And I honestly don't know why I hate it as much as I do; it seems to have everything one could desire in a job. Decent pay, a lot of moving around, it's never dull, it's always challenging... and yet, I hate it. And it's actually not because of the students. While they definitely present their own challenges, I find, as most teachers do, I assume, that they are the most rewarding part of the whole thing. Even when they're impossible.
I'm wondering if the fact that I really didn't intend to do this for as long as I have plays a part in my dislike of it all. It was intended as a way for me to make money while I was waiting to figure out what I wanted to do with my life, which at that point, was deciding which graduate school to go to. But I got stuck. I took a job with an expectation that I be there "for the long run." And my licensure class was paid for, my training was paid for, trips to conferences were paid for, and I was making more money that I ever had. Plus, I felt I had an obligation to be here, "for the long run."
I realize now that I've never intended to stay. I've been here for four years, teaching for five, and I'm always looking forward to the day when I will be able to say, "this is the last time I have to do this."
I think it requires a leap of faith. Yes, I'm in a job when a lot of people in the country are losing theirs, and for that, I am exceedingly grateful. However, there comes a time when being grateful for something that is financially fulfilling, but fails in achieving personal fulfillment is just not enough. And just because I'm grateful for it does not mean that I can't pursue other options. This is when that idea of "stepping off solid ground into the darkness" comes to mind. It's reassuring to have consistency, but dangerous, too. Consistency can lead to complacency, and complacency is not something that I am ok with.
Remember the film, Mr Holland's Opus? The tagline of which was, "Life is what happens while you're busy making other plans." May I just say, That's easy for you to say, John Lennon. Because you had one hell of a life. This movie terrifies me. Not the part about making a difference in the lives of others and learning, in the end, that's the real contribution...but the part about getting stuck and never getting out. Thinking that staying "one more year" is the best idea because it makes financial sense, or there are no other options, or, -horror!- a baby is on the way. But I've been thinking "one more year" for FOUR YEARS. It's time to go. It's time to step into the darkness of the unknown and see where I will land.

The Community Table

According to Ted Kaczynski, the downfall of society is due in part to the lack of laundromats. Initially, when I heard this, I thought that no one should be taking any advice from the Unibomber. However, it has stuck with me. And the more I think about it, the more it makes sense. We can get through a whole day, ordering food, buying groceries, doing laundry, without ever talking to another person. We are losing our sense of community because we don't have any communal places anymore.
I imagine that laundromats used to be a place like the beauty shop, where people would talk, gossip, and just be together. It would foster a sense of community. Now, we have an inherent distrust of people, and we don't talk to anyone anymore. We go to "drive thrus" and eat in the car. We have self check out at the supermarket so we don't have to talk to the checker. We have ATMs, online-shopping, texting, automated customer-services answering systems, WebMD, and even automatic ticket-dispensing machines at the movies. We abhor the idea of sitting too close to someone on the bus, on the plane, or in a restaurant. We walk around with earbuds in our ears (or a bluetooth- or both! So we don't have to miss a call while we're listening to our music. But who is calling us?) and ignore all the commotion that is life around us.
At first I thought this was a phenomenon that was localized in the suburbs. The small town I grew up in isn't sophisticated enough to have self-checkout, and everyone still knows everyone else's business. But no! Last time I was home, there was the self checkout in the grocery store. It's all downhill from there.
Which brings me back to France. When I was on exchange in France, I went to a café, ordered a pain au chocolat and a coffee, and sat at a table, ready to read my book and ignore the people around me. Ah, mais ce n'est pas comme ça en France! An elderly woman sat down at MY TABLE and began TALKING TO ME. I nodded politely, but kept by book open, to show her I was already occupied. And yet she kept talking- asking me about what I was reading, where I had come from, what I was planning for the rest of the day. And after a few minutes of politely answering her questions with one-word answers and then going back to my book with an annoyed look on my face, I conceded. I put down my book and I talked to her. Because that's what they do. And that's what we should be doing as well.
Thankfully, I think this is a becoming trendy, at least in part. I recently went to a breakfast place in south Denver, and, as I was one person (armed with a book, of course), they sat me at the "Community Table." I was ready to pull out my book and ignore the other 8 or so people sitting around me, when I thought, "I'm at a COMMUNITY table. Cool." So I closed the book and introduced myself to the people at the table. And we had a conversation while we ate. I met someone who had read the book I brought, and we discussed the author and the other books she had written. I talked to someone who had lived in Paris as an au pair and was going through a similar withdrawal as I, even five years later.
I didn't make any lasting friendships during that breakfast, but I did indulge in good food and good conversation. And it was good. And I felt a part of something that I would have missed had I just set myself in a corned and buried myself in a book. And I sincerely hope that that piece of community that is so important to the French remains important there, through all the technological advances, so when I return, I will be welcomed and engaged in conversation by whomever happens to sit at my table next time.

Subjunctive thoughts

After reading the first post, Eric told me, "I think it seems that you have resigned yourself to never return to France." That's a good point. After deciding that I wanted to live there, I decided to do some research. Google searches of "How to live in France," "How to move to France," and "What jobs are in highest demand in France?" turned up a lot of answers about red tape and citizenship issues, I think I did resign myself to that idea. Basically, it's hard to move to France. Very, very, very hard. Because of the European Union and its immigration/work policies, one has to be more experienced, more educated, and basically just better qualified than everyone else in the European Union. That's intense.

Of course, there are ways- there have to be ways. Americans live there. There must be a way to do it without being super-woman. But.....

So, this is where I am: riddled with self-consciousness about my education, my abilities to speak French, my dedication to my goal. But I have come to an important decision: I will live in France within the next 5 years. That leaves me plenty of time to go to law school, work hard, and find a job in some sort of legal field in France.

Now I just have to have the confidence enough to believe that I can do this.

So, I've always thought that people who had blogs without doing something "grand," like being on a great vacation, or studying abroad, or being in the Peace Corps were self centered and, well, boring. Maybe that's not something I should put on a site dedicated to the words and musings of everyday people, but there you have it.
So why me? I'm just writing this for myself, as there are so many words and musings out there on the world wide web that my words are a drop in a very large ocean. So what compelled me to add to the water?
The answer to that is... Broadway. And France.
Well, Stephen Sondheim and living abroad, to be more precise.
They still don't seem like they go together very well.
I was listening to Broadway musicals with my sister in the car while I was home for Christmas, and we were singing along to our favorite song from our favorite musical and I just thought, "after the sky." What a good title for a blog. Something that describes the return to "normalcy" after a great adventure, a life-changing experience, or something personality-altering in another way.
I'm sure we've all experienced them; I don't think there would be a popular musical about it if we didn't. But they are so profound and life-changing that they must be documented I suppose.
While I was on exchange in France, I wrote a blog about "les petits triomphes"- that is to say, little things that one might take for granted every day, but that suddenly seem so much...more when done in another language, in another country, in a different culture. And completing even the most menial tasks, like getting a haircut, was suddenly a great adventure, and something to relish in when completed successfully. And upon my return home, everything just... was easy again. No great feats to accomplish, no great obstacles to overcome, no great feeling of satisfaction after getting exactly what you ordered at the bakery.
So, what do we do then?
That's the question I've been asking myself since my return, almost 5 years ago. What now?
It's been 5 years, and I still get teary-eyed and my heart beats faster when I smell something that reminds me of France. I still get shaky when I watch a movie set in France, and I see the places that for me, were the scenes of my greatest adventure. How does one return to that? Is it possible? And, if not, what do we do then? What's next when the great adventure is over at the age of 24?
That's the subject of this blog: what do we do when we're home, when you're back again, only different than before...after the sky?