The Things We Don't Expect

Last night as I was returning from watching a movie I developed an awful headache just as I was remembering that I needed to write a blog post. I wasn't going to stay awake long enough to find out if I had a migraine.

So here is a few hours late post for Wednesday. After Monday's head to head with failure I called my mom for a wonderful conversation and then wrote back to camp, where I had applied, been accepted, and then I had said no. I wrote back and was given a very enthusiastic: "yes, we have a position. Please come!" So Tuesday I called in for an over the phone interview with a good friend I've known for years.

My parents met at camp and got married there, and worked there before we left the country. Going to camp is like going back. So I said yes. It felt like God has taken me for a loop. Camp was one of the first places I applied to even though I knew I would probably just turn it down in the end. Then I applied to what felt like a thousand more places and nothing worked out. I was so frustrated, and then He brought me back around to look at camp.

I'll make les money than I would at basically any other job I could have taken, though I do have the opportunity to apply for a scholarship. It will take more of my time than the other jobs. It will require more energy. I'll have to live at a camp instead of this lovely room to myself with my own bathroom and everything. At camp there's a good chance I'll have to hike up a hill to teach the bathroom. Camp will limit my access to technology by a lot, and at this point I don't even know if I'll be able to keep up on my blog. I may have to drop down to a weekly post.

But even with the list of negatives there's something about working for camp that just sort of feels right. I'll admit that it was tough to get calls from three of the places I'd applied to the moment I said yes to working at camp either telling me I was hired or asking me to come interview. But I had already said yes to camp, for the second time, and I think it's the right decision. Maybe that's just because in the end I didn't get much of a choice at all.

And here's a poem that really has nothing to do with anything, but at least it's a poem:

They all sing songs of Icarus,
ballads, stories, poems.
Fly too high,
touch the sun,
never fly again.

But who tells of that
other fear,
that pain of flying.
Displacement
as all the world below
starts to fade away, leaving
you
alone,
unforgivably alone,
in the vast expanse of sky.

Face off with Failure

Dealing with failure. Sometimes we just fail. Nothing goes the way we hope and expect and we just have to face failure. So what do we do? How do we handle failure?

I've been applying for summer jobs for at least three months now, and nothing at all has come through, except for a job at camp which I turned down because I thought I had so many other options and I didn't want to have to spend a whole summer essentially off the grid. Long distance relationships are hard enough without only being able to talk once a week.

But application after application and interviews and phone calls and yet I'm still sitting here with no job. I'm facing failure right now, and it hurts.

After my interview at the grocery store today I bought myself an iced coffee to celebrate one more interview done and trick myself into thinking how great a chance I had and how everything was going to work out. But then I got home and my sister asked how the interview went and it was like a tidal wave punched me in the stomach.

The required background check can take anywhere from three days to two weeks, and my interviewer said it will take longer if I've ever lived out of state. Great. Not only have I lived in Colorado, Vermont and Indiana in the last seven years, I've also lived in two different states in Mexico and I did a couple months in Europe. Considering what I know about Mexican Bureaucracy, which my English teacher and good friend compared to a tangled ball of Oaxaca Cheese, they'll probably never finish the background check. If they do, it'll for sure take the whole two weeks.

And then there's always that possibility that after those two weeks I'll get a call saying I don't get the job. Or more likely I won't get any calls, since that seems to be the trend with all the thousands of places I've applied to. I mean, as much as the rejection hurts, it's better than the uncertainty and abandonment of not even getting a call. I'm not even worth a phone call to hear that they don't want me.

And now it's too late to apply anywhere. Summer is pretty much already here, and business have already hired the people they want, as was explained to me in a ten minute long voice mail by the only business who did call back. "I'm applying late in the game." I wonder if she would have said that if she knew how many hours I've spent trying to find a job.

So my first reaction to dealing with failure was to mumble something to my sister and run up to my room, close the door, throw myself on the bed and cry into my pillow. Makeup and tears don't mix well. I hope the mascara doesn't stain the sheets...

My second reaction is to write about it, because sometimes when I'm feeling awful writing it all down helps me to see that it really isn't the end of the world and I'm just overreacting.

I don't know what the next step is. My sister said I should call my mom, but I'm not up to talking to anyone except paper (or theoretical paper here on the computer screen). I'll call her later and see if there are any places in this tiny little town I haven't applied to yet. I'll pray my voice out that somehow the background check will only take three days and I'll get a call telling me I got the job. Any job.

I know God has some sort of plan not just for my life but for this summer. It's just really hard to see what that could be when every door I try to walk through seems to just slam back into my face. I don't know what to do anymore except try to use this unwanted free time to work on my novel some more and crank out poems that hopefully aren't awful. Here's to writing- apparently the only thing I can do.

Jenga Blocks and This Life Thing

The passage of time is an interesting thing. I still don't understand how five days can feel like an innumerable amount of years. I was in Burlington, Vermont less than a week ago dying to get out of college. Now I'm trying to readjust to life in a house where I have to wash dishes and cook meals, but at least I don't have to leave the house to eat.

I still have nothing on jobs, just more applications and interviews and trying to plaster a smile on my face that says "hire me" but when asked why I want the job I freeze because I do not know. I want the job because my mom wants me to have one. I want the job because I can't afford college without one. Or even with one for that matter. I want the job because I would get bored sitting in my sister's house all day, and it would make me fat and lazy with no work ethic. I want the job because it's a job and it will give me life experience I will maybe one day write into a book. I want the job because I'm so sick of wondering what job I'm going to have.

But the last two days were so much more relaxing anyway, and today I even got to walk to the library with my sister in sunshine. I am amazed by my own self's desire for sunshine, and I don't know how I let myself end up living in Vermont. But the walk was nice, with flowers along the way and an almost not cold wind. We got to spend plenty of time in the library finding books for summer reading (I checked out Wizard of Earthsea) and then walk back books in arm while she pointed out this little town's landmarks. (Her husband's office, her church, the new courthouse, Main Street.)

We also spent a large chunk of the day playing Jenga, which I mostly lost. I find it strange how often I wish for things to stay together. Brokenness, destruction and pain, like the news of a good friend laying in the hospital in a coma after he overdosed, terrifies me. And yet here is this game which inevitably ends in destruction and chaos and brokenness. The loud crash of blocks hitting the table and spilling onto the floor makes me jump, but it makes me laugh and want to play again. Maybe it's a reminder that the end of something doesn't have to be a bad thing, or maybe it's the hopefulness of it that I love. No matter how many times the tower falls you can always set it back up and start over.

I'm afraid I've rambled too much. I shouldn't write posts in the middle of the night when I should be asleep. But I'm too full of words tonight and even though I got to talk to my best friend back home and chat with my boyfriend and talk to my sister is n person, I still think better in written words sometimes.

I don't know what my point is. I'm just trying to figure out how this life thing works. How do I fit a thousand years into one day? How do I fit one day into a thousand years? Thank goodness the One I've trusted my life to isn't constrained by this awful time thing. 

Roustabout

A Roustabout is someone who lives by chance.

I learned this from a guest speaker in my Professional Writing class, a man that told us his crazy life story with a banjo, a guitar, Polish bagpipes, a love flute, and a stick of hobo signs.

While I'm not quite at the point of applying for a grant to learn bagpipes in Poland or sitting in a sweat lodge to earn the right to learn to play the love flute, I like to think that I've kind of lived a life of chance anyway. It's not like I've done anything off the charts crazy, not exactly, I've just been incredibly blessed by incredible opportunities.

In two weeks I go back to Oaxaca, Mexico, a place I've come to think of as my 'home away from home' or 'home here on Earth'. It's a place that stole my heart and makes me dream of cacti and rain on dry dirt. It's the place where I'll get to see my family again after way too long, and the place where some of my best friends will get the chance to meet up again. I can't wait to go back, and even though I still have 12 days to wait I don't know if I'll have the chance to blog again before then because finals and projects and Christmas parties.

So here's the facts. Ten months ago (ten by the time I get back in a couple weeks) I left Oaxaca. Since then life has swept me off my feet and carried me across the world. If you had asked me a year ago, when I turned 18, to predict my 18th year, I would have painted an awesome picture, but it wouldn't have come anywhere close to how crazy and amazing this year has actually been.

I have sat through 15 plane rides since that first flight out of Mexico City. Granted, this includes those little connection flights that leave me stranded in airports because they're always delayed. By the time I get to Mexico again there will be another 3 flights thrown into the mix.

I have taken 10 train rides.

Only 5 coach rides (a coach is different than a bus, a coach is for long distance and is usually bigger; buses are short around the city and I am definitely not going to take the time to count those up).

And probably spent more than 100 hours in a car. I wasn't going to add this up either, but on at least 5 different occasions I went on a car ride that was longer than 5 hours, so that's 25 hours, plus countless 2 or 3 hour drives and then all those minutes added up... you get the point.

In 10 months I have stepped in 9 different countries, 7 of which I'd never been to before.

I've also been to 9 different USA states, 6 of them for the first time.

I started college at Champlain as a Professional Writing Major.

I wrote the first 73 pages of my latest novel. (I'm hoping to get it to 100 before I leave. That's just a much better number than 73. We'll see if projects will allow for that.)

I started writing for a magazine, got a job, opened a bank account, saw 5 concerts, practically met the Queen of England, kissed the man of my dreams, finished reading the Bible for the second time, made a ton of wonderful, wonderful friends from all over the world. You get the point. I've done a lot these past 10 months. It's been crazy and fantastic and new. 

I know at least some of this was planned out ahead of time. You can't exactly just hop a flight to London. But so much of my travels has also been spur of the moment, spontaneous decisions to skip class and fly to Dublin or hitch a ride to Pennsylvania.

I couldn't ask for better adventures, better stories I will one day get to write about. It's been a wonderful trip, and I am still in awe of how lucky my chances turned out to be.

Taught to Teach

How in the world do you go about teaching English to a bunch of kids (seven of them, to be exact) ranging from ages 4 to 7, some of whom know absolutely no English and some of whom have taken classes and know the basics.

It's tough, trust me.

This teaching thing is the latest big thing in my life, right now, and it's a lot of work. I mean, I never wanted to be a teacher, that was always my sister's dream, not mine. And I'm not complaining; it really isn't so bad, but it isn't my ideal job.

I just...

I can't discipline.

The kids are all running all over the place screaming and I'm just standing in front, "so this color is red..." and I feel like none of the kids are even listening.

Stress

It's stressful.

Plus, it's one more thing to add to my busy schedule, one more thing to take away my precious writing time.

However, things are definitely shaping up, and- I think- can only get better from here on out. For one, my dad is back from his trip back to the USA, and so he'll be teaching the older group (from ages 11 to 13) leaving me with the younger ones and a lot less variety.

Plus, now I know who the kids are and know what level each one is at. (Well, theoretically at least.)

And, someone came over on Saturday to teach me how to teach. He showed me the basic lesson plan I need to have and even set up a Word document that I could fill out before each class.

I think I can handle this now. Oh, and get paid for the first week helped too, I must admit.

Now I just need to figure out how to juggle all of this. School, Romans on the Roof, Student Council, Junior/Senior beach trip fundraisers, English classes, Reading, and of course, Writing.

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I don't know how I'm going to do it. But I've survived high school so far. I can hold on for another semester, right? I'm one fourth of the way done, anyway. Yeah, right? Half way through first quarter, two quarters in a semester.... yeah, one fourth of the way through.

Just three more fourths. I can totally do this, right?

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