If I am crazy, what does it mean to be sane?

I go through these phases of loving my life, wanting more from my life, absolutely hating the majority of my life, and then back again. What's scary is that very rarely is this change of heart caused by a major event, or a sudden revelation. It truly is my mind that takes me there. Sometimes I find myself extremely aware of my surroundings, completely conscious to my situation and my connection to the world around me. And it can be terrifying-- to feel so insignificant in a world full of billions of people, and yet feel like the center of something at the exact same time.

Sometimes I envy the common person who has no clue where they are in life-- simply happy to be here. And I'm not saying they're less of a person because they aren't awakened, but they certainly have less worries. What is the trade-off for knowing? How much sleep do I lose at night by knowing what type of person I am, what type of person I'm not...and the worst one, what type of person I could be?

This isn't one of those times where I'm suddenly awakened and hating life...not even close. I'm actually just studying for my World Literature Final Exam. Dostoevsky to be exact. The Underground Man feels the same way, but mostly just hates himself for who he is. And he also hates everyone else...for being who they are. Not taking life for face-value, The Underground Man criticizes the way man perceives the world, easily believing everything they hear. For me, it doesn't really bother me to know that some people just take things as they come, because I know I fall victim to that type of living from time to time. But what gets me is when I open my eyes and take a good look around, and I actually see the things I've been missing out on. I see the passion and the beauty, but I also see the disparity and tragedy on every doorstep. And then I stop to think about how I can't change every tragic story I read about, and I fall victim to my insignificant thinking. I fall victim to my insecurities about remaining a genuine human being.

And now that I've completely gone off track from the Underground Man's angry thinking, I will return to my studies, somehow a little more disconnected from his pessimism this time around.

Growing up, in need of a clue.

Less than four months remain until my twenty-first birthday and only recently have I found myself utterly confused about my current path in life. I may be cliché in thinking that this birthday should be some kind of paramount event in my life, but how I envision my twenty-one year old self is someone who is about to begin their final year of school, either preparing to take certain exams to move onto Graduate School, or editing resumé samples to create the perfect one for each employer. But all I see is a scared little girl, afraid to move out of this seemingly new comfort-zone. And it's not that I'm not excited about the future and I'm certainly not going to try to keep it from coming, but I have this eerie feeling that I am misplaced.

At seven years old, I took pride in telling people that, "When I grow up I want to be a teacher. And maybe a coach."

At ten years old, I took pride in saying, "I'm going to be a teacher and a gymnastics coach one day."

At sixteen years old, I took pride in saying, "I'm going to the University of Miami because the School of Education there is awesome. And I'm going to be on the track team."

And finally at eighteen years old, my mother was able to take her turn in gloating. "My daughter attends the University of Miami, studying French and Secondary Education."

Up until the eighteen year old point, I think people always thought my dream to one day become a teacher who could change the world of teaching was...cute. Or maybe just valorous. But now it seems like everyone who asks, stops, tilts their head and slowly begins to say, "Sooo, you're thinking of becoming a teacher who coaches French people?" And then comes the chuckle. And I never took it to heart because they simply did not understand. And to a certain degree I still don't take it to heart. What bothers me is that I now find myself questioning what I will do with my French degree, and if Education will be enough.

Before I could read I started building up this wall of security, unconsciously reassuring myself that no matter what happened in life, I knew I could become a teacher. And a big part of me really senses that wall of security is crumbling down. Surely everyone has a childhood dream of becoming something special one day; NFL star, firefighter, doctor, etc. For me, the something special was becoming a teacher. So for years I closed my eyes to various professions. Sure, I dabbled with the thought of studying Math, becoming a doctor of some kind (but I can't say I love seeing needles or sharp objects), and even a crime-scene investigator or psychologist at one point in time. But I always staggered back to teaching. I told myself I was born to be a teacher and a mother. But now I ask, why have I limited myself to these roles?

I'm twenty years old and I haven't got a clue what to do. Almost three years into a degree and two specialties, I find myself altogether questioning what I will be when I supposedly "grow up". Yes, age is just a number and I'm a firm believer that no one ever truly has to grow up. But let's be honest, bills and car payments and career decisions are kind of a grown-up thing to handle. And it seems as though I have about a year to square everything away.

Twenty years old; with a fifteen year old false sense of security; without a clue.

A little help from a wise woman.

"Ultimately, we have just one moral duty: to reclaim large areas of peace in ourselves, more and more peace, and to reflect it toward others. And the more peace there is in us, the more peace there will also be in our troubled world." --Etty Hillesum

Helping others find peace does not find me peace. And it doesn't find peace for the people I interact with on a daily basis. Instead of looking to fix everyone else's problems, why can't I just stop and look at the situations I'm creating? Why can't I look at the people I'm hurting, instead of the strangers who are hurting themselves and begging for help? I'm a troubled, reckless little girl with only a few vague directions in life. And I guess that's how most twenty-year olds are, but for some reason I find myself in this extreme version of that lifestyle. And I'm not at all sure how I ended up in this place, hurting the people I love the most and only feeling bitter and alone at the end of the day.

"It gets more confusing everyday. Sometimes it's heaven sent, then we head back to hell again." --John Legend

midday fight.

ever since i can remember i've fought for the underdog, given the sucker a second chance, and always tried to see the brighter side of things for everyone...but myself. and it's never really occurred to me that fighting for myself is just as important as fighting for the world. i never felt gipped or jaded by what has happened to me-- just hurt and confused.

but i do ignore myself a lot of the time. i do worry about others when i should be worrying about myself; and to be honest, i'm not entirely sure what it feels like to fight for myself anymore. i have these passive mannerisms that i use to imitate what fighting for myself would be like, but i haven't directly fought for myself in a very long time.

that's not to say that i just lay down and surrender to people, but when it comes to making decisions for myself, for what i want, and for what will make me (and sometimes only me) happy, i let a lot of opportunities pass me by.

there's a huge difference between being selfish and wanting what's best for yourself.

so maybe for now i can just work on fighting for myself, for what i believe in, and for what i need from life.

New Beginnings

It would be an understatement to say that I can't count on two hands how many times I've searched for something new-- for how many times I've run away from what I have. And I don't necessarily only run away from things I'm scared of, upset about, or even angry at...I tend to run from things I grow tired of. It's not that I'm a bored person in general, because I can always find something to do, or something to entertain myself with, but I never feel satisfied with what is in front of me.

Some people call that ambition, or a taste for adventure, but sometimes I think of it as a curse. Never being fully satisfied with the life I have is very tiresome at times. Always wanting to help people, travel somewhere new, make more money, buy something else small that makes me happy-- it all just exhausts me.

And when I can get away from my life, I pretend that the few days I have to ignore reality will somehow fix every problem I'm faced with. Those few days where everyone wears a smile and gets along, will somehow finish my homework assignments, clear up my daddy issues, and deposit money into my bank account.

The Holiday season is approaching, but all I can think about is how I will do at the Orange and Green Meet...how I will do on my French paper that I haven't started...and how I will ever be able to clear my mind into enjoying the Holiday season.

Maybe, for the next two weeks I should just close my heart into a library book and hide it away on a shelf in the stacks. That way, I can get my work done and train the way I need to without having to stop and worry every three seconds if someone is trying to break into my house, if I paid my credit card bill, or my never-ending medical bill, or if my car has enough gas to get to class tomorrow. And maybe after finals are over, I'll be able to focus on what I actually care about, solving worldly issues and falling more in love with my best friend.

Disney has doomed us all.

Fairytales, from the way I've been exposed to them, don't come in many different packages. They start off with a little girl who either has daddy issues, step-mother issues, an evil magical spell cast upon her, or just plain bratty-princess syndrome. They start off with a little girl who usually wants for nothing, but wishes for everything. They start off with a beautiful, young, tortured soul.

As the story progresses, the little princess runs from her problems, sweeping them under the rug until there comes a point when they're staring her in the face and she has no where to turn but to a handsome prince, or a fairy godmother, or maybe a pack of friendly animals. She never saves her own ass. Instead, it's saved for her-- by some guy who she will ride off into the sunset with to get married, have really attractive babies, and then begin another generation of want-for-nothing-wish-for-everything(s).

Life isn't a cookie cutter though. It's not molded into an early onset issue that can be magically healed with one kiss or a magic fairy waving her wand. Life is brutal, it's harsh, yet it's magical in its own ways. Very few people experience trauma, struggle with money, or have an absent parent from a young age. But those that do don't go about finding their fairytale in a systematic way. There is no Pythagorean Theorem that tells them which step to take next. Sure there are some pretty pivotal steps a person has to take in their lifetime; go to school, get a job, get married, have kids, and obviously pay taxes. But how they go about those steps, if they even want to take them all, is entirely up to them.

A pregnancy can occur in high school. Drop out or keep going? Keep the baby or terminate? These aren't things Cinderella had to deal with.

An absent parent can surface in college. Take the easy way out and ignore them? Be the bigger person and forgive easily? Okay, maybe a few of the Disney princesses had to confront poor parenting skills. Good thing for my generation that we don't have to worry about the "you must be married to a prince" rule...or the whole arranged marriage setup.

Life is messy though. Very very messy. And we don't always get what we want. I may not come from nothing in the full sense of the phrase, but I certainly don't find myself wishing for everything. I have hopes and aspirations, of course, but the reality is that not every wish you make comes true. Not every prayer you utter will have a positive outcome. And not every person will want the same things you do. One thing I have to face as a non-Disney princess is the concept of compromise. And boy does it suck sometimes.

I wish I was still young enough to be convinced that coming from nothing means you can wish for everything...and have a pretty good shot at getting it all in the perfect order.

A New Perspective.

I was given an assignment for teaching and learning class the other day and I was told to read the Sunshine State Standards for my subject area and write a response to what I see. The Sunshine State Standards, in a nutshell, are just the hopes and dreams the state sets up for all teachers to follow as they form their curriculum. It's a long list of what a student should learn in a particular content area, in a few school years. The standards are broken down into Pre-K to 2nd grade; 3rd to 5th grade; 6th to 8th grade; 9th through 12th grade. And since Florida, the wonderfully education-driven state it is, decided to re-write the standards over a ten year period, has not yet re-written them for foreign language, I had the opportunity to read the older standards for my subject.

What I find interesting is just how much a student learning a foreign language is expected to know before entering 6th grade. There are things that I didn't learn until I myself traveled to Paris to study for four weeks! Some of the cultural integration and comparative knowledge about grammar and syntax styles just amazes me. I didn't even know schools offered foreign language before middle school, so it was only to my surprise to see what was crammed into six years of school for me.

The reason we were given this assignment was not just to read about the secondary schooling standards. It was to see what students were expected to know by the time they were handed over to us. We are to see what we're up against, and what we'd have to play catch up for. The purpose of this assignment was to see just how disparate some of our students will be upon entering our classroom simply because of a very not-simple issue; literacy. It's just now hitting me why it seemed so many of my peers struggled in French class in 6th and 7th grade. They weren't reading at a level that allowed them to be successful in English class, let alone any other content-area. The structures, grammatical comparisons, and overall use of mature vocabulary didn't make sense to them.

So now I'm left wondering, do I step into a classroom full of struggling students, knowing that the State will be on my back making sure I cover a certain number of standards, all the while my students struggle to read the instructions in English? Or do I step back and consider teaching Elementary level French, and have more time to help my students master the English language while learning a new one simultaneously? I hadn't considered teaching Elementary school since I gave up the notion that I could be as great of a kindergarten teacher as Mrs. Prewitt, but maybe literacy is where I could find my calling. Maybe I could make the difference I've wanted to make in a younger classroom, improving the literate abilities of a very impressionable group of kids.

Inspiration

This summer I thought I discovered my own way to be inspired. I thought I had finally captured my personal method of internalizing the world around me. But I guess not. Since I've come back to reality, to track workouts, to reading assignments, and daily chores, I've felt lost when it comes to expanding my mind. My eyes are wide open, but my heart feels oddly shut off from the world, from myself.

Maybe it's how I perceive my surroundings and there really is a lot to be inspired by walking down US-1. Or maybe this really is a city you live in to just drive right by everything around you, too busy to recognize anything or anyone but yourself. I've never felt so alone, even living in one of the most populated cities in America. Sure I felt alone in Paris from time to time, walking to school alone everyday will make a person lonely. But for the most part, the loneliness didn't bother me. It was my time to think clearly, to feel the sun's rays on my shoulders, to look up at the sky and know I was where I should be. It was my time to buy a Euro-worth of candy, or buy the International Paper, when I know very well that I don't even buy papers back in the states. I can't describe how I felt in Paris, because I just was. In Miami, I feel confused, closed off and sick the majority of the time.

The sickness I feel isn't a cough, and it's not a headache. It's a rising feeling starting in the bottom of my stomach. It's the kind of rising anxiety you get when you've just heard your boyfriend cheated on you, or you might have been caught cheating on an exam. First, the drop comes. Your stomach drops to the floor, pulling your heart down with it, inch by inch. But then your breathing calms you for a moment, and your equilibrium sets in. The nausea settles in at the bottom of your stomach, but quickly works its way to the top. It's an aching nausea that you feel all day long...like something in your world has gone terribly wrong and there's not a thing in the world to be done to mend the pain.

That's the loss of inspiration. That's the sickening feeling I get each and every day, doing the things that supposedly bring me joy in other areas of the world.