Personal expression has never been a strength. It's been nearly two months since my last post. My mind is a lukewarm mush made from half-baked ideas, cut off cliches, and fuzzy pictures. It takes a lot of effort and an eloquence I don't possess to sift through and present the relevant information.
The other issue is I've boxed myself in with this "writing about teaching" concept. I can't separate my life from the classroom. Working for a boarding school is sort of like being a celebrity. A trip to the grocery store is seen, scrutinized, and discussed amongst both kids and colleagues alike the next day.
Kid/colleague: "I saw you at P&S yesterday with ___________! You were looking pretty dressed up. What were you doing together?"
Me: "Oh, I was just buying some granola bars before a meeting and ___________ needed to get some cookies for his class."
K/c: "Are you suuure that's all you were doing? Giggle, giggle, giggle."
Me: Blank stare.
I'm not used to, nor do I enjoy, being the center of conversation. The idea that others are watching my actions and making conclusions about my relationships and lifestyle based off of a trip to the coffee shop or with whom I eat dinner in the dining hall makes my heart beat a little faster and my cheeks automatically redden.
And so this is the problem I encounter. The above has NOTHING to do with the lessons learned and taught in the classroom, but everything to do with my job. I don't really have a life away from the school, and thus my life is my work. But it doesn't mean that my work is always education related. Does that make sense?
I enjoy teaching. I find my students (generally) willing to learn and open to new ideas. We get along well and I think they gain something along the way. But I feel like a fake. I teach dance, but have never had a professional career. It's certainly not a necessity, but I (at that age, and even now, actually) wouldn't respect myself as a teacher just for having a degree. If you go to a liberal arts college wanting a dance degree, it's pretty much only a matter of hanging around the studio long enough. Talent and skill aren't really vital elements.
So perhaps I'm learning more than I'm teaching. Sitting in a cornfield with 1200 other people offers (too) much time for thinking over old decisions and playing the "what if" game. I'm learning that although I've told myself being a ballerina is never going to happen it's not something I've actually given up on. Which is scary. Recently old video tapes have found their way onto my TV screen, showing images of a young me dancing away. It's a weird form of emotional cutting that isn't particularly useful or healthy.
It's a challenge to move forward at any sort of reasonable pace when you can't stop looking over your shoulder to see what's happened in the past.
But it's a new year just around the corner, and I have big plans, beginning with a physical reminder that what's happened is done with in the form of a new tattoo.
I will go back to the cornfields and stash the old videos in the closet and instead go to the studio and WORK. I will send my best friend old letters and photos that do nothing but add a sticky and nasty film to the brain mush of the past eight years of overly romanticized relationships. I will ignore the comments and probes from fellow boarding schoolers into my personal life. I will meet people with an open mind. I will love my children and do my best to educate them. I will nod and smile and be kind to my crazy fine arts colleagues. I will remember that I'm lucky to have a job at all, let alone a job in the arts, let alone a job that lets me work on my own art. I will be happy.
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