Stumbling Toward Enlightenment

In the midst of all the craziness that is my current career path, I feel that I have at last found my flow. That every step I've taken up to this point--every uphill battle, every almost-gave-up moment, every credential complication--has actually served several purposes. I wanted  this path, I chose this path against all the odds that were stacked against me. From the initial last minute application process to the overnight stays in a shady hotel in the armpit of LA County in order to finish my last classes, I did it. I did the hard things. Now I can say that I fought for my place here, and certainly not for fortune or fame. In fact, I didn't even end up at a "good" school or in a comfortable district--I am here after a hardscrabble journey, with my students who have also had hardscrabble journeys, who deserve teachers who fought to be with them.  So that's it. That's the post. 

I'm in a better space today, thanks to touching base with friends and with myself. I realize that I was holding onto anticipatory anxiety--that I was already bracing myself for the lift of the quarantine and the ensuing toxicity of forced interactions. I was preparing my energy to become defensive, protective, contained and suppressed (which is so against my nature). It is draining to come out of those interactions, and I was mentally girding myself to head back into battle. Sounds dramatic, I know, but that is what it feels like to deal with narcissism and another person's unresolved anger--it's exhausting! And in this particular situation, I am not the only one who has felt this over the years. The ripples of that locus of rage can be seen in my own distancing, sibling dysfunction, marital strife, fakeness of many kinds, kids, etc. But by all means, continue with the sarcasm, LAUGH, and have another drink. So I gave myself permission to not just go back to business as us

Thank goodness for writing therapy, amiright? I mean, I have a lot of patience for most people, so my fury is like a comet, only coming around every ten years or so. But when the emotional load gets to a certain point and tips the scale just so, look out. It's about to go down. This needs to be said--has needed to be said for years--and will be said the minute my switch is flipped in person. So the next time you decide to make fun of people’s "eccentricity," (you're using the word wrong in the wrong way, btw, and there ain't nothin wrong with being whomever the fuck you want to be so screw off with the judgmental bullshit), or weigh in on our choices of "weird" vacation spots or jobs that should be more "prestigious," (WTF?) or refer to me as "white" when you know damn well that I'm not; or "check in" on people who just lost a parent to Covid--not because you actually care about them, but because you want to get the scoo

Alrighty, folks, bear with me. Hell, no one reads this, so I'm gonna go ahead. If there's one thing I've grown to detest, it's smug-ass privilege. Now, I didn't know much about this concept until recent years. I had ignorantly assumed that most everyone grew up like me--working class, ungated communities, family members on the wrong side of the law, and a general sense of just getting by. I'm not complaining, I had a great childhood and had no sense that we were all squished into a tiny house and had never been on a plane-vacation. Our house had a familiar and worn in revolving door, and I actually loved it. My cousin lived with us, my uncle, my grandma for a while, then more cousins came after I moved out, then me again for a while, and so on. The furthest we went on vacation was Santa Cruz, and we stayed at a Motel 6 and ate breakfast cereal in styrofoam bowls in the Safeway parking lot to save money--actual restaurants were for special occasions. Yet there is