"And the greatest of these is love."

Above all things, love one another.

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it’s been a weird, strange, off day. i woke up pretty tired from not sleeping well the night before—had a knot in my back that ached up to my neck, a slight headache and a tiny case of the sniffles (enough to be annoying and a hassle, not enough to stop me from going into work). teaching was alright in the morning, but my lesson was much more boring than i anticipated, and the kids rebelled. to top it all off, my boss/principal came in for an impromptu visit while we were playing a game and kind of rowdy…the game was impromptu as well as the visit, thrown together hastily when i saw that my lesson bored them. anyway, her boss (superintendent guy) was with her, and they both then sat down in my classroom and observed my crappy crazy game that i’d created on the spot to try and appease small children for my crappy droning lesson, and i just felt pretty crappy. and crazy. because i’m a better teacher than that, and i know it. 

like i said. off day.

to top things all off, i’ve been extra introverted and over-think-y about a few things this past week—concerning but not limited to (the same old, same old) my future, my career, my boy problem, my next five years, my money and how i’m spending it, my time and how i’m spending it. basically things are getting really real. and i feel like i’m floundering. 

like….like i’ve got this teetering grasp on surfing or something, so i’m standing up on a board and i’m doing okay, i’m not drowning or crashing into the ocean or dying or choking on water, so that’s good. but i can see this huge impending wave coming in the distance and it’s terrifying because i know—i just knowwwww—my balance and my surfing skillz ain’t good enough to survive that one. and so i’m just there, holding on by a thread, wobbling on some precipice of some huge change that’s about to come and rock my world. 

and like, once the wave actually hits, it won’t actually be that bad. once i’m thrown off my surfboard, whatever, fine. i’ll deal with that then. i’ve been knocked down and gotten back up before. 

but it’s that unknown. that panic of complete helplessness—you can’t know until it comes. that terror where your mind is racing and you can think of 028109128059172601294812 different scenarios and ways to deal with things, but none of them are actually cemented and they all just flit and race like crazy through your head until you can’t quite breath sometimes, it’s so overwhelming. 

i took this surfing analogy way too far, but that’s really how i feel. i’m on my two feet right now. i’m employed, and i think my job is meaningful. but there’s a giant wave coming and i don’t know what to do to deal with it. 


one God thing about tonight is that i talked to Amelia about it. i meant to type ‘good thing,’ but i accidentally forgot an ‘o,’ and i figured i liked it that way. one God thing is that i talked to Amelia tonight—for hours.

we chatted a lot about life, family, friends, frisbee, boys, relationships, jobs, careers….but she said something particularly wise that helped calm a particular area of worry in my life.

and it just made me grateful. grateful that even now, so many years later, i have this friend who i can call up randomly and talk to for hours. catch up like no time has passed. open up to fully, admit vulnerability, and know that it will be met with acceptance and care and kindness and love.

i trust her. i love her.

she’s such a blessing.

i’m tired and i should go to bed.

i just am so floored by how stereotypically mid-twenties life has become these days. i am that lost soul. 

i guess i should give it to God, but it’s so interesting—this is one area in my life where i’m not used to just trusting and resting. i’m so used to doing things career wise. i don’t know how to not do.   

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two worlds.

school’s started up again and i’m back in teacher mode. it’s so interesting now thinking about my life during teaching and my life outside of it. i feel as if i exist in some alternate universe, some weird dichotomy of black and white during my year. 

in the summer, i’m happy and free and social in the sunshine. i get to spend time with my friends. i laugh a lot. the boy is constantly around so that drama picks up where it left off and continues its ever winding tale of exhaustion. i go on runs and eat when i want to, i sleep in until the afternoon, i attend church camps and surround myself constantly with family, friends, faith. 

during the year, i turn into this drained, worn out, thinned version of grace. i don’t socialize. i come home from work, i cook, i eat, i revise lesson plans, i grade papers, and i sleep. during the day i am constantly on my feet. i spend hours dealing with small children who have no concept of 1) literacy and 2) emotional regulation. i exist in this bleary fog of fighting, constantly, for them to learn, for them to grow, for them to behave. my knees and ankles ache from standing up all day. my back gets weird knots, sore and tender around my shoulders—i’m constantly dehydrated because if i drink too much water, i need to pee, and ya can’t do that as a teacher. there is no time for social life or boy drama or anything really at all. i stop talking to my family and my friends; all emotion shrivels. i hole up into a furrowed ball of effort, trial and error, trial and error. it’s very difficult but very worthwhile. then i wake up the next day and do it again. 

i think it’s strange starting up this second year because i have time to think about it now. last year, i was so dead on my feet that i didn’t have time to reflect on the differences between teacher mode and non-teacher-mode. this year, i’m still tired—but also cognizant, coherent, of everything around me. i can see clearly now (the rain isn’t entirely gone, but enough so for me to see clearly now).

it’s such a shock to the system, this sudden change of lives, that i still can’t quite handle it.