Rain on the way home

reminded me of Midnight in Paris, how Owen Wilson's character likes to walk around the city in the rain and Rachel McAdam's character does not. It made me think of how we can see a circumstance beyond our control as favorable or unfavorable. Just like how right now, I can't control how much ink gets soaked into the screen or how much reading I have to get done for tomorrow. But I can choose to see what I have as a positive- that I'm having this opportunity, even though it's intense and hard and everyday gets closer to the end when I have to turn something in and feel proud of it, as opposed to seeing myself as not being able to do it.

I can see New York as a place where I'm not connected to many people, or I can see it as a good thing- being done with church right after it's over and having more time to wander around on a Sunday afternoon and getting to go and see the inspiration for City Church.

I can see Columbia as a school where I'll never feel confident and I'm self-conscious about everything I turn in or I can see it as a place where I can learn and grow as an educator and a person. I can rely on other people to tell me I'm doing the right thing, or I can believe it for myself.

Screenprinting

May not be my venture back into the art world. I'm learning to accept failure. I've almost cried every time in the studio as I get anxious with an exacto knife trying to get my stencils exactly right. I will get sweaty with anxiety, cover myself with ink, and compare myself to my classmates, before it's all over. Talking with Aldwin today from Paris!, I realized that both of us will always doubt our decisions. I've been doubting being here since I first set foot on Columbia's campus- every day I go through a rise and fall of emotions about whether or not I can actually do this and not fail at it. Or whether I can survive this city in the summer- it's magical, it has every art museum imaginable, you could eat out every night and still not get to all of the restaurants, but it's also humid, grimy, and there's something about it that makes me cough and sneeze constantly.

Sufjan Stevens wasn't in Brooklyn last Saturday, or at least not where Maggie and Moses and I were walking. Nor was he at Vito's church. I think I'm looking for signs that will make this experience seem worthwhile on a daily basis, and I'm not sure I'm going to get any. I might say an intelligent thing in class but then seconds later, dissolve realizing that I haven't gotten through all of the readings for that day. But, like most artists, I'm learning to trust in the process more than anything else- to trust my professors when they say that this will all make sense in a week and I will somehow master screenprinting by "just doing it over and over again."

7 days later

Here I am, officially a New Yorker, or inhabitant of New York during the summer time. I've had moments of thinking, "What am I doing?!?" while trying to navigate registrars, financial aid, and subway stations crowded with people. One thing I've learned is how I have to stick up for myself, but also depend on God. I went through some periods of pretty intense loneliness last week, thinking, "Meg, why would you ever give up what you had in San Francisco for this?" But I've had moments where it's all felt worth it, where crossing Central Park at the end of the day, eating out with an old friend from college and high school, getting a drink with a new roommate at our local bar, exploring a new museum (for free!) and finally figuring out my way amidst the maze of Teacher's College seemed to overshadow all of the hard things about moving to a new place. Day by day, as has been the trend the past few summers, I've had to depend on God more than ever- getting to places, praying that I'm taking the train in the right direction, hoping that someone will help me with all of my luggage, and that I'll feel connected to someone at some point during the long, hot, hazy days.
Classes don't start until tomorrow, and maybe then, I will realize more of my purpose in being here. Or maybe not. Maybe I had it figured out that it would be an idealistic end to an enduringly difficult school year, where all of my problems would melt away and I could rediscover myself in a new city. But, as Maggie says, I'm still me, still Meg, the problems don't leave you wherever you go, and no where is like you actually imagined it will be.
All that to say, I miss you San Francisco, but I'm thankful for Blue Bottle care packages, youth prayer requests from Emily, family a train ride away, and notes from former students and dinner dates with future colleagues that make me think, "I can do this," as though I'm being cheered on from the sidelines from 2,500 miles away.

Concrete jungle where dreams are made of

Is what I've been playing since being at Katie's lake house last weekend and realizing the audacity of what I've gotten myself into. I've basically moved most of my things into storage, including my classrooms, lugged two bags of luggage across the country, begun thinking about my new job, and said goodbye to many who won't be in San Francisco when I get back. It's been a long month, a long two weeks, figuring all of this out.
In North Carolina now, I'm starting to realize how much I am giving up. I missed my roommate Rachael's bday yesterday, I'm not going to see my favorite French-American families everyday next year, I won't be able to speak French on a daily basis. I'm going to have to confront my fears and create things this summer even if I think I can't right now. I'm going to have to step into a new public school and start over my career as educator at ground zero. I'm going to try and manage a long-distance relationship, even when I don't even feel capable of having a relationship with someone who lives across the street from me.
There are good things in the midst of all of the transition: driving solo across beautiful parts of the US (Yosemite to the mountains of Cashiers), reconnecting with the south and realizing how friendly everyone is, feeling taken care of by families that don't even know me, and knowing that I'm doing this, even though at times it seemed impossible.
I'm excited, scared, anxious, calm, ready, all at the same time.

L'annee de changements

"Meg, this year has been one of changes for you," so my French colleague Laurence told me today. It has been five years after college, exactly on this day, and I think that makes sense. A lot has happened in the last five years since I've graduated- I've lived in France and San Francisco, I've made great friends, I've been to Africa twice, I've gotten my teaching credential, worked at a French school, and learned about myself. Now, I'm on to giving my attention to what's next- a new city for the summer, more school, relationships, a new school to start at in the fall.

It's going to be an emotional last week of school, of that I'm sure- I choked up just walking my normal route from the bus stop to school today. It's the first school I've ever worked at, the one in which I've gotten to interact with some of the coolest parents and families I know, and speak French everyday. Where teachers toast to my new future, people know me, I know them, I take their kids to the beach, they drive me home. In some ways, I'm scared to leave a place where I'm known and loved.

It's the year of changes, and sometimes it's better when they happen all at once, right?

On the eve of 27

I feel more loved than I would have ever imagined, from the woods in the middle of nowhere. After having an eight-year-old throwing up with me most of last night, I did not want to wake up this morning and face the fact that I would be in the woods for my birthday the next day.

Something about today changed all of that and now I'm okay about tomorrow. It was the mysterious package at my dinner table from "my friends in SF" who made me feel so loved, complete with coconut water, seaweed, peanut butter eggs, dried bananas, and gummies. Barclay, I have a feeling that you had something to do with it! I started looking through the photographs in the package, wondering why there were photos that I didn't recognize the people in them in there. With a bunch of eight-year-olds swarming me, I came to realize that the photos might not be from people I know, but that they each had a note on the back from some of my life's most important people that brought me to tears. Even people from Africa and Pennsylvania. People who know me so well that they know what to do to make me feel less lonely this week, when I was scared of feeling abandoned and unnoticed.

Try explaining all of this to eight-year-olds as your eyes well up with tears- you tell them that you haven't spent your birthday without your friends in SF and then they get offended that they aren't your friends and aren't important to you. Which of course, you say, they are, but they aren't your same age. They will then say that teachers are your age, but you'll say it's different with these friends, not wanting to go into all of the details.

Thank you to those of you who put this together and shared your kind thoughts and words to a Ms. Frizzle in the gold country of the Sierra Nevadas on this eve before she turns 27. I'm eternally grateful...

Film fest

Here it is, my fourth! film festival since being in SF. Hard to believe that two years ago I saw 500 Days of Summer before it became big or witnessed American Teen with my friend Pryor that solidified my commitment to the big screen.

I picked the movies this year before I saw the members' preview. Knowing that was a gamble, I did it anyways, trusting my instincts, and they paid off. So far, I've loved all of the movies I've seen for different reasons:

The Whistleblower, for attacking the difficult topic of sex-trafficking

The Future, for the cat's narration and paws

Life, Above All, for the realistic portrayal of AIDS in Africa

Page One: The New York Times, for showing the behind the scenes of a major journal

and tonight,

Terri with John C. Reilly in attendance, for demonstrating an understanding of the difficulties of teenhood

Today felt like one of those days where I wanted to crawl back into bed- from the minute I woke up and found out that my teaching credential status had been posted online (I'm credentialed! and passed PACT!), to getting anxious about parallel parking, to leaving messages for everyone I wanted to talk to. I woke up from my nap, showered, eager to go to the film festival and make the pilgrimage to the Sundance Kabuki once more. I wanted to enter another world, where I could feel like I had made it, where I could lose myself in a story line, and become surrounded with other cinephiles.

Two more to go- Incendies and American Teacher, to escape to before the festival is over.