transition to teaching

January 2004

“You need to get a job.  You’ll feel a lot better about yourself—“ 

Here it comes.  I inadvertently began holding my breath.  Patrick was looking straight ahead, but beyond the traffic in front of us, and so I joined him in his philosophical stare.

“When I was in my twenties, I took this job that I hated, but it was where I met Laura (his wife).  When I started my business, times were really tough, but I kept asking the Lord for direction in my life . . . His plans for my life, and for yours, are good.  You just have to put yourself out there.  You never know who you’ll meet and what sort of connections will be made through that.  It can’t hurt.  Maybe you’ll meet your husband, or make a connection through publishing, or maybe begin in a career you never considered before.  You’re very independent.  You could do great in business.  You just can’t let this control your life.  I think you may have just become paralyzed, not knowing what to do, and maybe you just need to hear it from someone else.  You’ve got to put yourself out there.  Even if you want to still teach, there are other ways.” 

“You should get a job in Jersey.  I’m not sure why you’re going into the city.  Or tutor!  You could make a lot of money tutoring.  I’m not sure why you won’t do that.  I personally can’t bear the thought of being under the control of a boss or company, having to punch in and out five days a week.  But some people need that kind of structure, but I couldn’t do it – I could never have taken the kids down to Florida – but my business, and Laura’s home schooling – has allowed as to be flexible.  But you have to put yourself out there.  There’s something to be said about going to work.  You’ll feel better about yourself.  I know you’re diligent.  I know you’re doing things, but even in my own business, even if I don’t have a strong reason to go into the city, by one o’clock I’ll head in – just to visit other dealers, galleries, and make new connections, to feel more productive.” 

“Its good to have money.  When Philip Lewis lived here, he was doing nothing, I finally told him – because he was dragging Alice (Phil’s mom) and everyone down – not that you’re doing that – but I told him he had two weeks to get a job.  And he did.  He got a job at MotoPhoto, and he started feeling better about himself.  He made some good friends there – and look at him now.  He’s still working in retail.”

That’s not exactly how the conversation ended.  But a good enough ending point.  His harangue lasted the entire ride to the city where Patrick was to conduct art deals, myself to walk to class from wherever he dropped me off to save on the $2 subway fare.  Patrick gave me opportunities to respond, but I stuttered and hemmed.  Patrick’s string of thoughts were without condemnation.  I didn’t feel offended.  I knew the vulnerability it took on his part to assert that father-type role and give gentle criticisms into my life.  It was very loving and it was solely to help me – or rather give me a shove out of a hard place.  Everything he was saying was sensible, practical, straightforward, and so on. 

And it hurt a lot. 

I am trying to look to the future, and Patrick was pointing out the screaming obvious emotional/financial present.  I know its there . . . oh, how I know its there.  I have learned my worth – it is in the dollar that I bring home.  I have learned how my self-esteem is rooted in going to work everyday. 

But the thing is, I’m holding onto this extremely fragile hope to follow my dreams.  I have not taken an ordinary path of education and career.  I went to a 9-month Bible school out of high school instead of college.  I worked my way through college.  I took a year off to travel Europe into the Middle East.  And I’ve found what I love: writing.

I decided as a child, that in order to be a writer, I needed to hold an interesting life. 

So here it is, first love: writer.  Second love: adventurous life to write about.

It is latent, I believe, in all our natures to be zealous, passionate, loving, extreme – but few will recognize this.  It is also, however, in my Scandinavian blood to appear reserved. 

But my imagination gets a hold of me – good for writing, hard for life.  I call it imagination, my three mechanical/carpenterish brothers refer to my ideas as unrealistic.  And yet, here it is . . . I did not know for a long time what I wanted to do, and now, it no longer matters.  I am a writer.  I enjoy teaching, children, the creative setting.  And I am moving forward into a teaching career.  A blond, from Minnesota, in Brooklyn.  I’m sweating, my knees are shaking, and I’m afraid and discouraged – but stubbornly staying put with the full knowledge these actions could be my demise.  Dramatic?  Maybe.