I have mentioned this before, but I will mention it again here, and again later because this is such an ingrained belief. In Turkey, cold weather is the cause of: the common cold, the flu, fevers, neck pain, back pain, stomach aches, muscle aches, any kind of ache or pain, infertility, hemorrhoids, and it is probably the root cause of cancer, polio, and heart attacks. It doesn't matter that it's sunny and between 80-100 degrees every single day in the summer. A slight breeze, walking on a cold floor, drinking cold water ... all are dangerous exposures to cold and direct pathways to sickness.
So why isn't Norway sick, or Minnesota for that matter? I grew up swimming when it was 65 degrees out - my lips were purple during my swimming lessons. Always. Educated people. People who've lived abroad. The belief is unshakeable. I cannot disprove it - because, indeed, my children run around sweaty (thus "cold"), they run in the house barefoot (thus "cold feet"), the sit down on the ground, they swim, I use an air conditioner ... I'm afraid that I may be the worst mother in the world. It's as if I'm purposely getting my children sick. If anything, I've only proven this belief to all of my neighbors and relatives with Tomris's latest hospitalization.
There is no use in fighting this belief. I've tried - with what I've come to understand is simply my common sense, and nobody else's. To a Turkish person, avoiding the cold is their common sense. Neck pain or sore throat? Put on a scarf. Stomach ache? Put on a sweater.
So sometimes, I submit and put shoes on my kids. And sometimes I rebel and put extra ice cubes in my drink.
Nazar (the evil eye) is another very deeply ingrained belief. It's the belief that when you have something good, others become jealous and want what you have ... and in effect, they curse you with their coveting. It is customary to place the nazar boncuğu (evil eye bead) on your door step, key ring, pin it to your children's clothing, etc. This (unlike the name implies) is worn or displayed to deflect these evil thoughts.
My parents, sister, and even myself for a time were all a bit offended by this idea at first. From our culture, and more specifically our religion - it was wrong to put such emphasis on charms and evil when Jesus has set us free from these things. To an extent, I still hate it when something bad happens and Anne mutters nazar, because in a way it seems to be giving evil credit and even power over our lives. I don't doubt their are evil spirits are at work in the world, but surely it is much healthier to focus on the good rather than dwelling on the influence of nazar.
I was really thrown when our old aunt from Istanbul came and burnt a special incense that was to cleanse the house of nazar. But, as I've learned many things so slowly here - this is part of their culture. It is deeply rooted and all they know. Their intentions are good - to cleanse our homes of evil, so that we may have health and happiness. How can we fault that?
While the incense burning is an extreme example, there are milder beliefs in cures as well. If Anne suggests one more time that "if only Tomris would drink the lemon mint tea her vomiting would go right away" I might explode. Magic medicines.
Medicines may or may not help, and I've never expected them to. I've always known the body just takes time to fight off sicknesses. Sometimes with the help of medicines. Pain relievers sometimes help. Narcotics hardly do a thing. Maybe I'll give aspirin, ibuprofen, and ice as my top three magic medicines - if I were to have any.
That is not the case here. Medicine is the solution for everything. When I hurt my back last year, I went to the school doctor. They put some cream on my back and then asked, "Is it all better?" I went to a "real" doctor the next day and he sprayed my back with something that freezes the surface muscles. "This will help you right away," he said. He wanted me to test its effect by bending over. I told him I didn't think that was a good idea, and I wondered about his doctoring skills. So, when that didn't work, they wanted to do injections in my back. A procedure that is done awake in America, but the knock you out in Turkey for it ... because they love medicines! Both of my labor and deliveries I suspect I was overmedicated because I was vomiting and fainting several hours after birth.
Baba is the worse (and maybe the most dangerous) about medicines. He takes a vitamin C and claims he is better within five minutes. He showed me a medicine that seemed to be cure-all for his general malaise. It was a nasal decongestant. When I'm sick, or my children - usually the first thing people ask me is: are you taking in medicine? And if my answer is yes, there is no further discussion - because the medicine will cure whatever is ailing me or my children. If my answer is no, I'll be offered a sure fix medicine. The first time someone did this to me, I was so touched. How sweet, and how great -- I should have been suspicious when she said she gave this medicine to her child for everything and it didn't bother their stomach or what not. When I looked it up later, I realized it was the equivalent to Tylenol. Acetemetophine has never been a cure-all for me.
And then there's serum. As in 1950s when you went to the hospital and got serum. It took me a while to figure out it's just IV fluids, and in different cases, maybe a booster of vitamins, or what not. When my friends or family are sick here, I was always trying to get the details - what was it, what did they do, what did they give you - because going to the hospital was pretty dramatic for me to hear. And without fail, answers usually involve going to the hospital and getting serum. Six weeks pregnant friend was in the hospital for five days for serum. My sister-in-law, when she was pregnant, was in the hospital for three days for serum. Baba got serum. Tomris got serum. I mean - this must be some magic cure-all stuff, right? I want serum. When I've gone to the hospital, I expected serum. Everyone else is getting it. Last summer, I was so sick, I desperately wanted them to keep me so I could nap for a few hours, but no - just medicines, a blood test, and the boot. Last month, I went in for a migraine ... not something I would normally do - but I couldn't take my magic medicine (ibuprofen) because I was continually throwing up. I thought with the danger of dehydration and being pregnant - surely that would win me some magic serum. But nope, just two shots in the ass and directions to not drink cold water.
I didn't tell them I usually snuggle in bed with some ice packs on my shoulders.
Sunday, August 9, 2015
Saturday, August 8, 2015
a night at the hospital
Tomris woke up at 4:30 am the other morning, sat up and burped, looked at me with that face - and began emptying her stomach on the bed. I was too slow to pull her off the bed, and did - what I thought at the time - was the next best thing - tried to catch the vomit. She held my hands and dutifully continued to vomit in them. She doesn't cry when she vomits anymore. I guess she got used to it from being car sick. She just says "I'm sick" with a bit of a whimper and I give her the bucket. Sometimes she plays - gagging into the bucket, and occasionally she actually does vomit. (It took one vacation and five or six car vomiting episodes before I thought to keep a bucket in the car).
She finished throwing up when and I tried to "carry" the vomit to the bathroom. I had trouble at the door, and left a messy trail. I cleaned up Tomris, changed her clothes, cleaned up the floor, and in the midst of changing the sheets Tomris threw up again - she told me, and I ran to pick her up but I was too slow again. I changed her again, Teoman woke up and they began to play together. Teoman also took the opportunity to poop in his diaper. I changed him, cleaned up the floor, finished changing the sheets, put both kids in my bed - and at the last minute decided to get a bucket for her. I came back and she was lying on her back and vomited - her stomach was mostly empty now, and this time it was all the water she had just drank. I rolled her of the bed so she wouldn't choke and gave her the bucket while I grabbed a towel. She threw up in the bucket then dumped the vomit on the bed.
"Tomris!"
"Sorry abou that." (That's her favorite line these days).
This time I had to shower he - and while I thought she'd cry, she actually seemed to relax in the shower which made me realize she probably had a fever. It was too late to check.
I lay in bed with her but I couldn't sleep - and every half hour maybe she'd wake up, say "I'm sick", and throw up into the bucket I had, then lie back down. Finally we got up at 7:30 and I brought her downstairs to see how she did - and she seem to get worse. She'd play, and then say "I'm sick," throw up in the bucket or sink or floor, then sit in my arms some. She was throwing up stomach acid at this point, or dry heaving - so I tried to give a little food and drink. She wanted to drink water, and I was trying to only give her a little ... but it was hard to stop her. She would eat a few crackers and throw up anyhow. We called our doctor back in Ankara and he suggested a suppository. It was hard to leave the house, but even after I got the medicine and gave her the medicine - she threw up a half hour later, fell asleep in my arms - I carried her upstairs and laid her in her bed - and she woke up right a ways and threw up again. It was two o-clock now and at this point we decided to take her to the hospital.
"We" being Tolga and I - Tolga is away in the field and I was updating him and consulting him over the phone. This is his third week away from us, and it is torture for him - especially when things like this are going on. He was nervous and stressed over the phone, and doing his best to control things from his end of the line.
Hakan, his brother, wouldn't answer the phone, and I decided not to drive myself - we had plenty of nice neighbors I had no problem asking for help. I get the feeling its not tactful here - because no one was suggesting it. Tolga wanted me to wait for Hakan, Anne wanted to lock up the house and for us all to go. Maybe my neighbors couldn't refuse me, but the seemed ready to help anyhow. The husband and wife piled in the car. I brought the diaper bag and a bucket. Tomris threw up twice on the way to the hospital.
There aren't really clinics in Turkey. If you need any tests done, or medicines given - they are done at the hospital. The hospital is a government hospital, newly built, with the best view in the city. We entered into the ER for the third time this summer. The attendant takes her kimlik card - the national identity card, then we follow the yellow line back to the ER. It's an open room with lots of beds with curtains, and lots of people standing around. When a doctor finally asked us what the problem, my neighbor answered, usutdu. She got cold.
I couldn't get a word in fast enough, but it didn't matter - they sent us upstairs to the children's doctor where we registered and got in line. While waiting my neighbor was pushing Tomris to drink water and eat crackers. Tomris threw these up all over me.
We waited almost an hour and Tomris fell asleep standing up, with her cheek resting on my knee. The doctor was Hakan and Yesim's doctor (my in-laws) and they really like him of all the doctors in Kusadasi. I have know idea if he's good or not. He was fast when it came our turn. He checked her eyes, her breathing, her stomach, her mouth, and then said a lot of things to me really fast. Not only did he speak fast, I didn't understand half the words he used. I just stared at him blankly so he said it more slowly.
I still didn't understand him, and when it comes to doctors and my children, I want to understand every detail. He repeated it slowly and loudly and with a bit of annoyance. That only made me annoyed. I understood something to the effect that he was giving me the choice to stay in the hospital with her or not.
That only frustrated me more.
Of course I don't want to stay here - but should I? I came to you for help. She isn't holding down water, she isn't stopping vomiting, I don't know at what point she is in danger of dehydration ... does she need to stay?
Everyone agreed she should.
I still wasn't sure - I knew they'd give her IV fluids which meant a needle, screaming, and who knows what - but I was also afraid of dehydration, and while this would hurt, hopefully it would help even more.
The yatak hastanesi was full. Our doctor called over to make room for us (which really impressed my neighbors and made them conclude he was a great doctor). We waited in a waiting room there and Tomris fell asleep on my lap. She had made it an hour-and-half now without throwing up. It crossed my mind to go home then, maybe it had passed? But if it hadn't, it meant more debating at home, more stressing. I brought to another room to get the IV. The couldn't see a vein in her arm so they did it in the back of her hand. The nurses wouldn't let me hold her, so I had to lay her on her back and the best I could do was put my cheek next to hers while she screamed in my ear. The doctor had come over at this point and was making jokes about Yankees.
I was liking him less and less.
We went to our room which had a beautiful view of the port - but I sat in the bad most of the time holding and comforting Tomris. She was sensitive about her hand and occasionally cried in frustration about it - but we managed. They didn't want her eating until after 8pm, but dinner was served at five or six. Hakan came later in the evening and stayed the night in the hospital too. He brought food and snacks for us. Tomris loves her uncle Hakan, and while she didn't really want him touching her - she was looking at him shyly and giggling. He had brought her a small toy that she snuggled with, and whenever she'd wake up, she'd ask "Where's Hakan amca (uncle)?"
It it typical in government hospitals to bring your family. It is the families job to look after the patient. Not the nurses. I'm not sure what the nurses job is actually. She gave me a urine cup and something to sample my daughter's poop. Yea, that's not happening. I don't mind it - it's just trying to get a 2 year old to pee in cup is impossible. Tomris slept well, in my arms, and I woke up periodically because of a pounding headache. At three in the morning, I noticed how hot her body was and the IV fluids had finished so I went and found the nurse. The nurse gave a huge eye roll. (Again, not sure what her actual job was...). Tomris had a fever, she gave her some medicine, and changed the fluids bag.
At seven in the morning, the attendant woke us up with "Breakfast". She/he had opened the door and hollered inside. It woke up Tomris and I, but I couldn't get up because Tomris didn't want me to leave her side. So I waited and breakfast never came. My head was pounding. Half an hour later or so, I was able to get up and check what happened to breakfast. I asked an attendant. Apparently it was self serve. I was supposed to come out into the hallway and grab myself a tray. The attendant came in our room to clean, at this point, I had worked up an argument in my mind with him ... so he was quite unlucky.
"So what? My kid can't eat now?"
"Breakfast came, you were supposed to get it yourself."
"How? I can't leave her for even a second. How was I supposed to now it was self serve?"
"There's nothing to do now."
Hakan had woken up from my yelling at the man and asked what the problem was. I told him, and Hakan calmly got up and said he would go get something from the canteen.
Why does Hakan drive a half hour from work to fight with a man about an umbrella, but say nothing about the attendant's attitude toward me?
Hakan left, and I cried. I started crying and I couldn't stop. I couldn't pull it together. My head hurt, I was tired of things I didn't understand, and tired of not being understood. I was tired of Turkish, and Turkish families, and Turkish culture, and Turkish hospitals.
Hakan came back and was instantly nervous when he saw I'd been crying. "Are you mad about breakfast?" He asked. At the same time, Tolga called and Hakan tried to give me the phone. I tried to refuse because I was trying to stop crying, and hearing Tolga's voice was going to make it worse. But, I couldn't refuse Tolga because that would stress him out even more too. I took the phone and Tolga asked me if I had got Tomris to pee into the cup.
Well, that momentarily took care of my breakdown because I was instantly angry and started getting mad at Tolga - "It's that easy huh? Just tell her to pee and she'll pee in the cup? With the IV fluid in her hand and the bag and holding her on the toilet and the cup and her just learning how to use the toilet ... REALLY?!??" I gave the phone back to Hakan.
This was not going well. Obviously. But then again, a really good cry is what I really needed.
I calmed down after that. The doctor came and ordered two more bags of fluids, and said if she had no fever nor threw up all day, we could leave after 4pm. Hakan went to work. We watched lots of videos, and around 4:30 the doctor released us to go. I had to take care of some paperwork down in the emergency room before they would release us, and I took Tomris with me downstairs.
ERs in the government hospitals are typically one of the most depressing places. There is just so much pain and desperation and it always feels worse than your an American hospital or a private hospital. Maybe because Turks are more dramatic, maybe because the people that come in are more desperate, maybe because of the conditions ... I don't know. But that afternoon was exceptionally bad. Two girls game walking in fast, maybe 14 and 12 years old. They looked panic and were carrying a bag. "Babam nerede? Babam nerede?" Where's my father? Where's my father? The mother wasn't far behind - and it didn't take long before all three began crying and screaming. There were a large amount of people standing around - I learned later some city workers had suffered from methane gas poisoning. Two died, and on was critically ill. The crowd, I'm not sure where they came from.
Our leave was delayed by two hours because of this ... and when we finally left, I was exhausted, and Tomris was looking pretty good. Her IV was out and we drove home.
Except, she threw up in the car. The expert she is - she threw up in the bucket I gave her.
I lay in bed with her but I couldn't sleep - and every half hour maybe she'd wake up, say "I'm sick", and throw up into the bucket I had, then lie back down. Finally we got up at 7:30 and I brought her downstairs to see how she did - and she seem to get worse. She'd play, and then say "I'm sick," throw up in the bucket or sink or floor, then sit in my arms some. She was throwing up stomach acid at this point, or dry heaving - so I tried to give a little food and drink. She wanted to drink water, and I was trying to only give her a little ... but it was hard to stop her. She would eat a few crackers and throw up anyhow. We called our doctor back in Ankara and he suggested a suppository. It was hard to leave the house, but even after I got the medicine and gave her the medicine - she threw up a half hour later, fell asleep in my arms - I carried her upstairs and laid her in her bed - and she woke up right a ways and threw up again. It was two o-clock now and at this point we decided to take her to the hospital.
"We" being Tolga and I - Tolga is away in the field and I was updating him and consulting him over the phone. This is his third week away from us, and it is torture for him - especially when things like this are going on. He was nervous and stressed over the phone, and doing his best to control things from his end of the line.
Hakan, his brother, wouldn't answer the phone, and I decided not to drive myself - we had plenty of nice neighbors I had no problem asking for help. I get the feeling its not tactful here - because no one was suggesting it. Tolga wanted me to wait for Hakan, Anne wanted to lock up the house and for us all to go. Maybe my neighbors couldn't refuse me, but the seemed ready to help anyhow. The husband and wife piled in the car. I brought the diaper bag and a bucket. Tomris threw up twice on the way to the hospital.
There aren't really clinics in Turkey. If you need any tests done, or medicines given - they are done at the hospital. The hospital is a government hospital, newly built, with the best view in the city. We entered into the ER for the third time this summer. The attendant takes her kimlik card - the national identity card, then we follow the yellow line back to the ER. It's an open room with lots of beds with curtains, and lots of people standing around. When a doctor finally asked us what the problem, my neighbor answered, usutdu. She got cold.
I couldn't get a word in fast enough, but it didn't matter - they sent us upstairs to the children's doctor where we registered and got in line. While waiting my neighbor was pushing Tomris to drink water and eat crackers. Tomris threw these up all over me.
We waited almost an hour and Tomris fell asleep standing up, with her cheek resting on my knee. The doctor was Hakan and Yesim's doctor (my in-laws) and they really like him of all the doctors in Kusadasi. I have know idea if he's good or not. He was fast when it came our turn. He checked her eyes, her breathing, her stomach, her mouth, and then said a lot of things to me really fast. Not only did he speak fast, I didn't understand half the words he used. I just stared at him blankly so he said it more slowly.
I still didn't understand him, and when it comes to doctors and my children, I want to understand every detail. He repeated it slowly and loudly and with a bit of annoyance. That only made me annoyed. I understood something to the effect that he was giving me the choice to stay in the hospital with her or not.
That only frustrated me more.
Of course I don't want to stay here - but should I? I came to you for help. She isn't holding down water, she isn't stopping vomiting, I don't know at what point she is in danger of dehydration ... does she need to stay?
Everyone agreed she should.
I still wasn't sure - I knew they'd give her IV fluids which meant a needle, screaming, and who knows what - but I was also afraid of dehydration, and while this would hurt, hopefully it would help even more.
The yatak hastanesi was full. Our doctor called over to make room for us (which really impressed my neighbors and made them conclude he was a great doctor). We waited in a waiting room there and Tomris fell asleep on my lap. She had made it an hour-and-half now without throwing up. It crossed my mind to go home then, maybe it had passed? But if it hadn't, it meant more debating at home, more stressing. I brought to another room to get the IV. The couldn't see a vein in her arm so they did it in the back of her hand. The nurses wouldn't let me hold her, so I had to lay her on her back and the best I could do was put my cheek next to hers while she screamed in my ear. The doctor had come over at this point and was making jokes about Yankees.
I was liking him less and less.
We went to our room which had a beautiful view of the port - but I sat in the bad most of the time holding and comforting Tomris. She was sensitive about her hand and occasionally cried in frustration about it - but we managed. They didn't want her eating until after 8pm, but dinner was served at five or six. Hakan came later in the evening and stayed the night in the hospital too. He brought food and snacks for us. Tomris loves her uncle Hakan, and while she didn't really want him touching her - she was looking at him shyly and giggling. He had brought her a small toy that she snuggled with, and whenever she'd wake up, she'd ask "Where's Hakan amca (uncle)?"
It it typical in government hospitals to bring your family. It is the families job to look after the patient. Not the nurses. I'm not sure what the nurses job is actually. She gave me a urine cup and something to sample my daughter's poop. Yea, that's not happening. I don't mind it - it's just trying to get a 2 year old to pee in cup is impossible. Tomris slept well, in my arms, and I woke up periodically because of a pounding headache. At three in the morning, I noticed how hot her body was and the IV fluids had finished so I went and found the nurse. The nurse gave a huge eye roll. (Again, not sure what her actual job was...). Tomris had a fever, she gave her some medicine, and changed the fluids bag.
At seven in the morning, the attendant woke us up with "Breakfast". She/he had opened the door and hollered inside. It woke up Tomris and I, but I couldn't get up because Tomris didn't want me to leave her side. So I waited and breakfast never came. My head was pounding. Half an hour later or so, I was able to get up and check what happened to breakfast. I asked an attendant. Apparently it was self serve. I was supposed to come out into the hallway and grab myself a tray. The attendant came in our room to clean, at this point, I had worked up an argument in my mind with him ... so he was quite unlucky.
"So what? My kid can't eat now?"
"Breakfast came, you were supposed to get it yourself."
"How? I can't leave her for even a second. How was I supposed to now it was self serve?"
"There's nothing to do now."
Hakan had woken up from my yelling at the man and asked what the problem was. I told him, and Hakan calmly got up and said he would go get something from the canteen.
Why does Hakan drive a half hour from work to fight with a man about an umbrella, but say nothing about the attendant's attitude toward me?
Hakan left, and I cried. I started crying and I couldn't stop. I couldn't pull it together. My head hurt, I was tired of things I didn't understand, and tired of not being understood. I was tired of Turkish, and Turkish families, and Turkish culture, and Turkish hospitals.
Hakan came back and was instantly nervous when he saw I'd been crying. "Are you mad about breakfast?" He asked. At the same time, Tolga called and Hakan tried to give me the phone. I tried to refuse because I was trying to stop crying, and hearing Tolga's voice was going to make it worse. But, I couldn't refuse Tolga because that would stress him out even more too. I took the phone and Tolga asked me if I had got Tomris to pee into the cup.
Well, that momentarily took care of my breakdown because I was instantly angry and started getting mad at Tolga - "It's that easy huh? Just tell her to pee and she'll pee in the cup? With the IV fluid in her hand and the bag and holding her on the toilet and the cup and her just learning how to use the toilet ... REALLY?!??" I gave the phone back to Hakan.
This was not going well. Obviously. But then again, a really good cry is what I really needed.
I calmed down after that. The doctor came and ordered two more bags of fluids, and said if she had no fever nor threw up all day, we could leave after 4pm. Hakan went to work. We watched lots of videos, and around 4:30 the doctor released us to go. I had to take care of some paperwork down in the emergency room before they would release us, and I took Tomris with me downstairs.
ERs in the government hospitals are typically one of the most depressing places. There is just so much pain and desperation and it always feels worse than your an American hospital or a private hospital. Maybe because Turks are more dramatic, maybe because the people that come in are more desperate, maybe because of the conditions ... I don't know. But that afternoon was exceptionally bad. Two girls game walking in fast, maybe 14 and 12 years old. They looked panic and were carrying a bag. "Babam nerede? Babam nerede?" Where's my father? Where's my father? The mother wasn't far behind - and it didn't take long before all three began crying and screaming. There were a large amount of people standing around - I learned later some city workers had suffered from methane gas poisoning. Two died, and on was critically ill. The crowd, I'm not sure where they came from.
Our leave was delayed by two hours because of this ... and when we finally left, I was exhausted, and Tomris was looking pretty good. Her IV was out and we drove home.
Except, she threw up in the car. The expert she is - she threw up in the bucket I gave her.
Monday, August 3, 2015
where is the fire?
I watched this inspiring clip where a professor asked, "What would you do if money weren't an object?" And he walks his students through the steps of realizing what they want out of life. Money is the object for most, or so most think - and so we work to make more money at jobs we don't like and we teach our children to follow this same vicious cycle - never realizing what we really want, or how going after what we really want would be more productive, rewarding, etc.
I started thinking about this again - what do I want if money were no object. I thought it was a great question, but then I realized money is not the only object. People, politics, and our personal inhibitions are pretty big objects as well.
The person who posted this video was someone I know who is currently traveling the world - and he posted it in response to why he is traveling- with the caveat that he still doesn't know what he wants.
When I was traveling, I think I did realize this - what I wanted, and that was to write no matter what. To create. I had been many places, seen many things, met many people - and I enjoyed it all. But it wasn't what I wanted. When I got home, after some years, I began planning a Mississippi River trip. I had dreamed up this idea when I was younger - to canoe the river top to bottom - and after Hurricane Katrina, I thought I could combine my dream with a good cause. And while I planned, and wrote, and asked for support... I realized my trip was going to cost a lot of money. Money I could spend, but it seemed so ridiculously hipocritical to spend money on fancy light weight canoes and other such equipment when the need in New Orleans was so much more basic. If I lost my home or savings in a flood, and some do-gooders come paddling down the river in the name of a fund raiser - taking the attention of media while my children are suffering from mold allergies - well, it's a bit ridiculous. I could hand a check, but money wasn't the only object there was it.
Another time, when I was searching for my career, and I was delving deep into psychology, sociology, and education issues. I was writing a story based on the school shootings and the details became to real - I could picture the disconnect in the students, the events of the day, the emotions - too clearly, and so I stopped. Because that's not what I wanted either. I wanted my writing to edify - there was too much ugliness in this world.
When I first began my teaching career, or even before, I began dreaming of an alternative type school - one that taught hard work, responsibility, and discipline through nature, farming, and animals. Something that what be individualized and would give students joy and pride in their work. But I've realized, especially after working at a famous charter school - that I didn't really care that much about education either.
There are so many things I enjoy, but is there something out there I'm really passionate about? In America we worked hard, and played hard - filling our free time with ... distractions. In Turkey, there are surely less distractions to fill my time with, and I find myself content mostly. Sometimes I wonder if I'm just sitting on my heels too much and not letting myself take risks for something meaningful. Where is that fire that should burn in my soul?
I am working for my kids - I am raising them and happy with my family - but twenty or thirty years later, is my goal to simply raise them, educate them, support them towards good careers so they can have families and begin this same cycle?
Surely there is more.
I started thinking about this again - what do I want if money were no object. I thought it was a great question, but then I realized money is not the only object. People, politics, and our personal inhibitions are pretty big objects as well.
The person who posted this video was someone I know who is currently traveling the world - and he posted it in response to why he is traveling- with the caveat that he still doesn't know what he wants.
When I was traveling, I think I did realize this - what I wanted, and that was to write no matter what. To create. I had been many places, seen many things, met many people - and I enjoyed it all. But it wasn't what I wanted. When I got home, after some years, I began planning a Mississippi River trip. I had dreamed up this idea when I was younger - to canoe the river top to bottom - and after Hurricane Katrina, I thought I could combine my dream with a good cause. And while I planned, and wrote, and asked for support... I realized my trip was going to cost a lot of money. Money I could spend, but it seemed so ridiculously hipocritical to spend money on fancy light weight canoes and other such equipment when the need in New Orleans was so much more basic. If I lost my home or savings in a flood, and some do-gooders come paddling down the river in the name of a fund raiser - taking the attention of media while my children are suffering from mold allergies - well, it's a bit ridiculous. I could hand a check, but money wasn't the only object there was it.
Another time, when I was searching for my career, and I was delving deep into psychology, sociology, and education issues. I was writing a story based on the school shootings and the details became to real - I could picture the disconnect in the students, the events of the day, the emotions - too clearly, and so I stopped. Because that's not what I wanted either. I wanted my writing to edify - there was too much ugliness in this world.
When I first began my teaching career, or even before, I began dreaming of an alternative type school - one that taught hard work, responsibility, and discipline through nature, farming, and animals. Something that what be individualized and would give students joy and pride in their work. But I've realized, especially after working at a famous charter school - that I didn't really care that much about education either.
There are so many things I enjoy, but is there something out there I'm really passionate about? In America we worked hard, and played hard - filling our free time with ... distractions. In Turkey, there are surely less distractions to fill my time with, and I find myself content mostly. Sometimes I wonder if I'm just sitting on my heels too much and not letting myself take risks for something meaningful. Where is that fire that should burn in my soul?
I am working for my kids - I am raising them and happy with my family - but twenty or thirty years later, is my goal to simply raise them, educate them, support them towards good careers so they can have families and begin this same cycle?
Surely there is more.
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