What . . . Is Your Quest?

Honestly, I don't even know what my favorite color is. Does that count as Life Clutter?
I don't think it's my brain's fault.

Over the past few weeks, I've spent some minutes contemplating how to go about kicking off my personal Quest for Simplicity. I have discovered (as has anyone who has spent more than 5 minutes in the same room with me, I expect) that my tendency to clutter my environment extends well beyond my lousy housekeeping skills. Simply put (ha ha), I have a cluttered life. I have to assume, then, that any sort of guiding ideology I have adopted up to this point should be filed under something akin to "Disarray." The aforementioned act of filing is, of course, purely hypothetical as I file only things which are completely irrelevant- a cappella arrangements of Duran Duran's "Rio," for example- or otherwise unnecessary to have in a file and only then if the mood strikes me AND if I happen to be able to quickly locate my filing folders. Translation: I also have a file of letters from my first boyfriend and one that's filled with bank statements from an account that closed 12 years ago.

File under: Dibbi-dibbi-dibbi-de-WAAAAY

So does that mean I should start with working out some kind of shiny new overarching philosophy? Should I be able to put more than just my quantitative goals into words? And, if so, does that also mean that I need to be able to articulate what my approach to getting life lived has been up to this point? And then it occurs to me, as I'm writing this, that all this figuring-stuff-out business is probably just complicating the issue. I'm going for simplicity here, right? I can be pragmatic and establish what it is that I want. So here goes:

I want to know what things I have. I don't need to be a human index of the entire inventory of my worldly possessions, but I would, conversely, prefer to be not completely surprised by my own collections of things (“I have one of THOSE?”). While I am probably most guilty of this type of transgression in the clothing/shoe category, I am frequently shocked at my inability to purchase and internally catalog office supplies. I have secret stashes of markers and sticky notes all over my house- and in my purse and my glove box and my overnight bag. With a little organization, however, I would be so much less tempted to stock up on Post-Its every time I go to the store. Which works out nicely because . . .

I want to be able to organize my things effortlessly. I honestly believe this actually takes a bit of hard work on the front end. We live in a world of packaging and free T-shirts and value-packs. A single trip to Wal-Mart can easily pin a person of average fortitude down with an avalanche of Things Which S/He Did Not Intend To Invite Into His/Her Life- especially if the church people are there selling Krispy Kremes. Understand that I don't just mean impulse buys- I mean plastic bags and receipts and cardboard and plastic. I suspect that deepening my somewhat frigid relationship with my trash can could quickly improve this regularly occurring situation. It's like a hungry kitten yearning to be loved and fed, only much quieter and with a most unfortunate inability to empty itself at will.

This trashcan, on the other hand, wants for NOTHING.

I want to be able to pack and move easily. Buying a condo really did me in on this one, and joining Teach for America did and still does force me to reckon with the amount of stuff I possess. However, I remain convinced that “settling in” to a place does not require weighing it down with all of my shit. Chances are pretty slim that any abode will simply float away if it's not anchored down by closets full of crap someone forgot about years ago. Unless yours is, and then you should probably sue your inspector because- damn. I'm not necessarily talking about being a drifter or being able to fit all my worldly possessions into a shopping cart, either. I have simply realized that each item a person owns claims a little part of the soul and pushes one closer and closer to spiritual death. Packing and moving also become more complicated.

I want to care less about my stuff. I refuse to accept that I will ever be completely free of my attachments to material possessions. I have favorite articles of clothing. I am pretty protective of my laptop. I get a little obsessive about people using my non-stick cookware and, more famously, my shade tent (do NOT hang on it). Nonetheless, I admire anyone who can lose a thing of some value and shrug it off. I, on the other hand, tried to tear my mother's car apart (literally- and when she wouldn't help me remove the seat from the floor, I demanded that she drive to the dealership to have the car dismantled) over a lost earring. It fell under the seat in her car and then slid into some crevice under the floor that we have never been able to reach. I am not exaggerating when I say that I was, if only for a day or two, inconsolable. I still complain about it today- and this was probably a $7.50 loss, considering that it came from Ann Taylor and was on sale and I still have the other one somewhere. Even more embarrassingly, I'm pretty sure I convinced my mother that she was at least somewhat responsible for this apparent tragedy. Were I to put a bit more distance between my stuff and myself, I suspect the outcome would have looked more like this:

Me: Damn. I dropped my earring.

Mom: Oh, dear. Should I pull over immediately so we can engage in a frantic and ultimately futile search for it?

Me: No, we don't need to do that because it's a goddamn earring and the quality of my day(s) will not be dictated by its accessibility now or in the future! Keep driving!

Mom: I admire your carefree spirit and, thus, feel fulfilled as a parent!

"DAMN YOU, TRAVERRRRSE! I'LL GET YOOOOUUU!"

So there- I now have four philosophicalish pillars with which to gracefully and, of course, simply enter the new year. I have no more excuses lining the shelves of the "why I haven't started cleaning up my messy life" aisle. Also? I feel like I have talked somewhat of a big game here with the "I'm going to make my life so simple tra-la-la" line, so I fully expect to be heckled should it take me another MONTH to post an update. Come on, scattered readers- we all know I need to be goaded into actually doing things that are good for me. I'm ready- your best shot, where it hurts, etc.

'Tis a Gift to be Simple, 'Tis a Gift to be Free

Too . . . much . . . simplicity . . .

So the Shaker hymn goes, and so my imagination runs wild several times a year with images of me sitting piously in a room with few earthly possessions, no more clothes and shoes than would fit into a single suitcase, and, unspoken though it may be, the ability to pick up my life and go anywhere at the drop of a hand-knitted hat. For anyone who knows me, and especially for my roommates who are occasionally able to push through the pile of clothes that currently sits in front of my bedroom door, this vision is so opposite of who I am on any given day that it's beyond laughable. It's more sort of . . . cry-able.

Still, I find myself once again yearning for simplicity (and really, is it any coincidence that this feeling is so strong on a day as ridiculous and contrived as Black Friday?). It occurred to me today, however, that I am actually at a critical point in my life during which the eradication of excess stuff would not only be possible but particularly beneficial. I am working in a fiscally distressed school district that would probably be most appreciative if I would assist them in a painless, attritional reduction in force (rather than the icky kind that involves this really angry lady yelling at everyone because SHE has to fire US). I have no idea what I will be doing next year- doesn't that sound like the perfect opportunity to get rid of the excess?

Wait- I already had these in beige? Embarrassing!

The problem is, I seem to have to talk myself into stuff like this. Repeatedly. And with increasing sternness. I gradually go from telling myself “Hey, my life will be better if I can get rid of all this shit I don't need!” to crying on the floor over a pile of Target shoes and lamenting that children in sweatshops are probably dying for my shoe-greed. And then, at the end of all this, I end up donating, like, a small grocery bag of old t-shirts to Goodwill.

Perhaps it is somewhat beneficial, then (albeit incredibly shameful), that I have actually reached a point where I don't know what stuff I have anymore. I don't mean in a totally insane “I have so many pairs of designer jeans that they've taken over my bed and I sleep on the couch!” kind of situation, but more like “why do I keep buying Ibuprofen and garbanzo beans when I have cabinets overflowing with containers of both?” And unless I am subconsciously stockpiling for some sort of apocalyptic plague of early-onset arthritis that can only be cured by hummus, it seems like this problem would be cured by a simple perusal of the cupboard and an old fashioned grocery list.

This is the way the world ends . . .

In fact, it seems like a lot of my stuff could be dealt with by a fairly regimented system of going-through and using/cataloging/discarding. Why is that so hard? Because honestly, I'd probably rather play Ultimate or sleep or watch an unfairly cancelled sci-fi TV show on my computer. But, as I have learned after years of procrastination, the joy gleaned from these activities is eventually overshadowed by the looming presence of Stuff, both known and unknown (and do I have a pair of zebra-print ballet flats? And if so, have I ever worn them? Seriously . . .)

This realization has, I hope, given me that extra push that I need to slay my personal Stuff Beast. Obviously I understand that I'm human and I make mistakes and I may very well accidentally buy some awesome shoes made by starving children in a third world country. But seriously- who doesn't know what stuff they have? Even if it is just four different bags of brown rice and three different pairs of casual brown shoes- it's still kind of embarrasing.

Brown rice. I have got some.

So, dear readers (ha! It's funny because no one reads this because I never update it . . .), I have decided to revive the blog YET AGAIN in an effort to chronicle the next few months and my quest to destroy the Stuff Beast. Updates to come. Also, free homemade hummus to anyone who has suggestions on life-simplification! And lives in my neighborhood!

Is OMG an Interjection?

This actually came up in class today. Apparently you have to tell kids EVERYTHING these days, including such obscure bits of information such as "it's not acceptable to write 'idk' in your benchmark exam open response." But really, they may be on to something . . .

My brain is so full of information right now that I can hardly sleep at night (even though I'm really tired, people, trust me), and I'm basically freaking out at all times. For this reason, the blog I thought I'd be occasionally updating has sort of fallen by the wayside. I imagine this is not surprising to anyone who has ever been a first year teacher, but nonetheless . . . I had good intentions!

Life is OK, I feel confident that I am not going through anything new or unusual for someone in my position, and I am repeatedly reminded by people who probably just don't want me to leave because it would introduce an HR/scheduling nightmare that I will totally look back on this someday and not believe how stressed I was and marvel at how far I have come. How I long for the day.

One bonus worth mentioning: pick-up Ultimate every Sunday down the street. Hooray!

Nice to Meet You, Korsakoff. Who the Hell Are You Again?

In a move that would seem to indicate a deficiency in my short term memory (or at least an inability to read my own blog), I am once again far away from Houston for the weekend. I am, in fact, back in Atlanta, and I imagine that I will not want to leave once Sunday morning comes. This time around, however, a large chunk of my fellow TFA '09ers have also taken off to various destinations in order to more adequately observe our National Holiday. Thus, I suspect that sitting alone in Moody Towers all weekend might actually be more depressing than going somewhere I love a whole lot more than Houston for two days only to be yanked back into the heat and sprawl for one last week.

And that's actually pretty weird. I know it's cliched to not believe that something is almost over, but I really can't believe that Institute is almost over. I feel like I have been in Houston FOR.EVER. and the idea that I am about to pick up and head back to Mississippi in 7 days is making me a little giddy. The kids in my class have finished up their TAKS re-takes, and that meas that many of them may not even show up next week. Which is also sort of great. I mean- except that it's not because we are all still dedicated to closing the achievement gap and stuff. I'm just saying- it's easier when you're closing 5 or 6 gaps instead of 18. And the gaps that get up and run around and punch one another aren't going to be there.

And so, while I am probably once again setting myself up for a little bit of a letdown upon landing at Houston Hobby, I will do so this time with the knowledge that I only have 3-4 real days of teaching left. I AM excited about heading back to the Delta at the end of next week, too. I am ready to find a place to live and start settling in for the next two years. Of course, that also means I'm closer to Memphis and closer to getting my cat back and closer to being in Not Houston. Happy times.

It is an absolutely beautiful day in Atlanta, by the way. I am sitting at Danneman's, which makes me very happy (and not just because Kate just gave me not one but two paychecks- hooray!), and am hopefully going to head to the pool shortly. Tomorrow shall be dedicated to America's birthday girl, Erin Quist. Happy 4th of July, folks! Give me a ring if you're in the A-town and want to cart me around town.

Placement

Like Michael W. Smith, I both look and sing like a girl AND have been searching for my place in this world. And by “place,” I mean job. And by “this world,” I mean the Mississippi Delta (I can spell that backwards, by the way). As it turns out, I have been roaming through the nights to find myself teaching middle school English/Language Arts in Helena/West Helena, AR. And I didn't even have to cross a dessert or get all weepy with a hunky Caucasian Jesus!

For a number of reasons I won't bother detailing, I am opting not to put anything more specific about my placement on my blog, but I do know the school and grade I will be teaching- yay! I'm still not sure exactly what the rest of the details will be- where I will live, exactly when school starts, what my students will be like- but it's kind of nice to have a place to start thinking of as home-to-be. I am told that the blues festival there is a Big Deal as well, so everyone I love should make plans now to come sleep on my floor.

I am currently in the Nashville airport wrapping up a lovely family reunion in Monteagle. Although I can't predict what the next three weeks of institute will bring, I feel pretty sure that said family gathering could not have come at a better time. I got to sleep late, take off my watch, sleep late, talk to grown-ups, and eat a lot of yummy food. As is always the case when leaving Monteagle, my mom and I got all sad this afternoon as we were packing everything up and sending various aunts and uncles and cousins on their respective ways. This year, however, I had the added heartache of realizing that I would not be jumping in my car and driving back to Atlanta to my friends and my cat and my home. My institute friends had joked that I would be loathe to come back to Houston today, and they were right.

This is not Houston. No, sir.

Don't get me wrong- TFA is wonderful and institute has been a great experience so far. I also get a free place to stay and all of my meals for free. But I can't imagine any of you would be surprised to learn that I don't love Houston all that much, I miss my Atlanta friends, and life in a dormitory is . . . something for people who are 10 years younger than me. On a more general level, I also miss being able to dictate my own agenda. The vast majority of my days at institute are scheduled for me, and what free time I do have tends to get sucked up by institute related work. As soon as I am back in my room tonight, I have at least five different items I have to revise or complete or turn in (or all three . . .). But hey- I did get the three day weekend to hang with my family for our big reunion, so maybe I shouldn't whine too much.

UPDATE: I wrote the above on Sunday. In hindsight, I might recommend that future TFAers just never leaving institute until it's over. Coming back to Houston and jumping back into things was not remotely easy, fun, or full of sleepy times. I am going to bed now, though, so we're back on the up and up.

It's Educational

I figured since every night I go to bed thinking "dang, if I were looking at more than 4-4.5 hours of sleep tonight, I totally would have written something up about my time in Houston so far!" perhaps I should do a quick base-touching with everyone (did that come off sounding inappropriate? I don't sleep anymore, people, I apologize).

Actually, that's pretty much the update. I get up sometime between 4:30 and 5:30 AM each day. If I'm lucky, I'm in bed around 10. I lesson plan- it's pretty much my life. Oh! And never ending assessment. Also 3 90 minute teacher-school sessions per day, which basically leaves room for eating while walking or riding the bus to school.

However, this is a step up from what was pretty much straight-up indoctrination (eh- it's a mission I can get behind, so it doesn't bother me too much) followed by what can only be described, as my new TFA friend Colleen disdainfully put it, "happy clappy time" for the first 10 days. The former involves a lot of core-value brainwashing (but, as I said, the really good brand that moms everywhere trust). The latter involves cowbells, conch shells, and spelling "Mississippi" backwards at ear-splitting decibels and appears to be prompted by some previously unrealized but henceforth unfailing allegiance to ones TFA regional placement. I am frequently greeted by people flashing a two handed "delta," a secret handshake, and- yes- a "Delta rap."

In potentially more interesting news, I actually am teaching now. It is somewhat hilarious, and my first actual lesson today was met with no less than three faculty observers. No pressure! I do get to use a smartboard, and the kids are way more savvy than I am. Yup, folks- the kids are setting up my proverbial VCR. I'm officially Old.

And, on that note, I go to bed. Like an old teacher lady. I miss everyone and everything, seriously.

Ain't Got No Worries . . .

By now the lot of you probably know that I have been accepted to the Teach for America 2009 corps for the Mississippi Delta region. Although I had hoped to be able to stay in Atlanta, I am pretty darn excited about the opportunity and the chance to do something totally different for a while. In an effort to educate my many fans and maintain my sanity, I figured I'd put up some of the answers to the frequently asked questions I've gotten so you can all follow along at home. Behold.

1) I head to Mississippi on June 4 for a few days of induction and interviews with principals and stuff.

2) Then I go to Houston for 5 weeks of teaching and training. Please people- if you know of fun things to do in Houston, please let me know. I suspect I shall not have a wealth of free time, but just in case I desire to get out and about . . .

3) Then it's back to Mississippi for a few days. At some point during summer training, I find out where specifically I will be teaching- town, school, grade (most likely elementary) etc. Once I'm back in Mississippi, it's my understanding that I will work out my housing and stuff.

4) Then I teach for two years.

5) No, I won't necessarily get a master's.

6) Yes, I will be certified at the end of all this.

7) I have to take Praxis I and II. And possibly another?

8) I have no idea where specifically I will live at this point. See #3.

9) Sure, I have a map of all of the potential locations right here (Memphis, Little Rock, and Jackson are included as reference points- they are not part of the TfA region):


View Teach for America - Delta Region in a larger map

10) Very excited. Sort of nervous.


For the time being, I am about to finish up my second semester of grad school at Mercer, but I have no idea what will happen with the credits I have earned so far in that program once I am off to Mississippi. You can find me most mornings behind the counter at Danneman's and most afternoons holding court by the pool. Life is hard, friends. Come see me before I head off into the sunset.