I was obviously very tired yesterday. As my friend/colleague N.T. were on our way back into town from school, this thought came into my head and I had to share it. I looked over and said something along the lines of, "I feel fuzzy. I mean, my hair does. I think I need a haircut. Do you ever feel like your head looks like an old, worn-in teddy bear? I do, and my hair feels like that right now." I laughed out loud to myself, and said, "Ah... my life as a pilly sweater! I should write a book about that." I looked over at N.T. and inquired, "Would you buy a book by me titled, 'My life as a pilly sweater'?" She laughed and I felt like a bit of a meathead. Still funny.
Yesterday just felt like the longest half-day of teaching I've had since being here. I'm sure some of it was caused by a mediocre sleep (or just lack of spring-break sleepins), but nonetheless I needed a bit more of it. Then I had two hours of volleyball after I got home and cooked, then marked until 11pm before finally crawling into bed (where I fell asleep immediately after hitting the pillow). Today is gonna be another long one, but I have a limited amount of work to do and tomorrow's Friday (oh joy, oh bliss). And next week is a short week and so is the week after. And then after those 2 weeks, I only have 3 more weeks after that until I'm certified. Not that I'm counting. Okay, maybe I'm counting. And it's springtime. And there's ice cream in the freezer. So really, life's swell. Other than darn kids giving me migraines, life's swell.
- T
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Cute things I saw as I was driving to the school today
I had to get some photocopying done, and as I was driving, I saw some pretty funny things....
One billboard read,
"My wife and I had words last night... I just didn't get to use mine."
Another one read,
"Fat is what you get for breaking the feed limit."
The final entertaining thing I saw was a group of kindergarteners waiting on the side of the road and pumping their arms in the air. At first I wasn't sure what they were doing, but then I heard a deep, loud honk coming from the cement truck. They successfully got the cement truck to pull his air horn, hence the arm-pumping motion. During sport road trips back in junior high and high school we used to do that to passing semi's all the time. That, as well as reaching out the window and making paddling motions as we passed people (yes, like in a canoe). Fun times.
- T
One billboard read,
"My wife and I had words last night... I just didn't get to use mine."
Another one read,
"Fat is what you get for breaking the feed limit."
The final entertaining thing I saw was a group of kindergarteners waiting on the side of the road and pumping their arms in the air. At first I wasn't sure what they were doing, but then I heard a deep, loud honk coming from the cement truck. They successfully got the cement truck to pull his air horn, hence the arm-pumping motion. During sport road trips back in junior high and high school we used to do that to passing semi's all the time. That, as well as reaching out the window and making paddling motions as we passed people (yes, like in a canoe). Fun times.
- T
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
How I communicate:
Interestingly, I did this once and had "You Communicate Like a Man" come up. I then went back and changed only one answer, and this came up. Interesting, very interesting...
You Communicate Like a Woman |
 You empathize, talk things out, and express your emotions freely. You're a good listener, and you're non-judgmental with your advice. Communication is how you connect with people. You're always up for a long talk, no matter how difficult the subject matter is. |
In other news...
I had a really enjoyable trip back to Alberta last weekend. It was great to see a huge number of friends and acquaintances, as well as my family. As always, it never seems like long enough, but it's enjoyable all the same. I'm glad that I have the opportunities to see everyone from time to time.
I was also thinking about where I'm going to be in the next few years. I've been asked repeatedly if I plan to go back to my home town or to Alberta in general, and my response keeps coming back to, "I'm not sure." I'm sure some people think that I hesitate because I don't want to be close to my family, or that I really despise Alberta. However, this isn't really the case at all.
There's no doubt that I love my independence and the fact that I can make a life on my own (with K, of course) outside of the place where I grew up. Other people have difficulty with this. But the fact remains that I simply love B.C. I feel pretty much at home here, and now that I'm in the interior, I'm really enjoying the fact that K and I can drive home for our holidays rather than shelling out money for a flight. This is the real reason I'm hesitating at the move back home. Along with the fact that only a few of my friends still live in Lethbridge and I have many here in B.C. makes me want to stay. The real reason we're considering the move back to Alberta is our families, and as we start considering having a family of our own, we'd like to be closer to them all. If they were in B.C., I wouldn't be planning a move back to the 4-0-3, but since they are there, we're slowly moving closer and closer as time moves on.
Another consideration is where I get a teaching job. I'm hoping to get one here in the valley, but I have no idea if that's going to happen (even though I'm hopeful and moderately confident). I'll probably apply for jobs all over the place, and maybe even send in an application for my old mentor's teaching position. I don't know. All I know is that I've got a lot on my plate and I have no clue where I'll be in 6 months. Wherever it is, though, I'm sure I'll be happy...
- T
I was also thinking about where I'm going to be in the next few years. I've been asked repeatedly if I plan to go back to my home town or to Alberta in general, and my response keeps coming back to, "I'm not sure." I'm sure some people think that I hesitate because I don't want to be close to my family, or that I really despise Alberta. However, this isn't really the case at all.
There's no doubt that I love my independence and the fact that I can make a life on my own (with K, of course) outside of the place where I grew up. Other people have difficulty with this. But the fact remains that I simply love B.C. I feel pretty much at home here, and now that I'm in the interior, I'm really enjoying the fact that K and I can drive home for our holidays rather than shelling out money for a flight. This is the real reason I'm hesitating at the move back home. Along with the fact that only a few of my friends still live in Lethbridge and I have many here in B.C. makes me want to stay. The real reason we're considering the move back to Alberta is our families, and as we start considering having a family of our own, we'd like to be closer to them all. If they were in B.C., I wouldn't be planning a move back to the 4-0-3, but since they are there, we're slowly moving closer and closer as time moves on.
Another consideration is where I get a teaching job. I'm hoping to get one here in the valley, but I have no idea if that's going to happen (even though I'm hopeful and moderately confident). I'll probably apply for jobs all over the place, and maybe even send in an application for my old mentor's teaching position. I don't know. All I know is that I've got a lot on my plate and I have no clue where I'll be in 6 months. Wherever it is, though, I'm sure I'll be happy...
- T
Certain all-consuming things
I was tossing and turning. My feet were slightly cold since we decided to leave the window open a crack in order to let in some of the fresh (but chilly) night air. And I was dreaming. Not about sunsets or puppies or eating cheeseburgers (do people actually dream about these things?), but about school. Not university either, but my upcoming return to my sponsor school after a generally enjoyable spring break.
As I rolled over for the tenth time, I grabbed my glasses so I could see the alarm across the room; it read 4:13am. I was awake. Actually, not just awake.... wide awake. I came to the realization that I had only two days to meet with my sponsor teacher about my unit plans for the upcoming 6 weeks, and I hadn't sent them off yet. Of course, this is typical me, but still created some stress.
I thought about what I needed to do, and even wrote down a few things on a post-it sitting on my bedside table. I had it all somewhat clear in my mind, although there were some unanswered questions that I'm still not sure about. So I tried to roll over and get some more sleep. The clock read 4:27. And then it read 4:35. I read it again with the same result a few moments later (the minutes passing by exceedingly slowly), so I just got up, turned on the computer, and started typing. It was early, but when you're awake, you're awake. Or, at least I am.
I didn't get a huge amount accomplished, but I laid out some things that I finished today and got rid of the demons that troubled my sleep. After typing up some of the plan and writing myself some notes, I had a glass of milk and crawled back into bed. And I'm still wondering why I'm doing far more work than almost anyone else in the program. I constantly ask others what is expected of them, and I keep running into the same general response: a limited amount. As long as they're doing a tolerable job, they have the class under control and they show a sense of competence, sponsor teachers are happy. And this seems to be the case in 2/3 of my classes. But in one, it's an all-consuming battle to meet expectations and try to figure this whole thing out.
- T
As I rolled over for the tenth time, I grabbed my glasses so I could see the alarm across the room; it read 4:13am. I was awake. Actually, not just awake.... wide awake. I came to the realization that I had only two days to meet with my sponsor teacher about my unit plans for the upcoming 6 weeks, and I hadn't sent them off yet. Of course, this is typical me, but still created some stress.
I thought about what I needed to do, and even wrote down a few things on a post-it sitting on my bedside table. I had it all somewhat clear in my mind, although there were some unanswered questions that I'm still not sure about. So I tried to roll over and get some more sleep. The clock read 4:27. And then it read 4:35. I read it again with the same result a few moments later (the minutes passing by exceedingly slowly), so I just got up, turned on the computer, and started typing. It was early, but when you're awake, you're awake. Or, at least I am.
I didn't get a huge amount accomplished, but I laid out some things that I finished today and got rid of the demons that troubled my sleep. After typing up some of the plan and writing myself some notes, I had a glass of milk and crawled back into bed. And I'm still wondering why I'm doing far more work than almost anyone else in the program. I constantly ask others what is expected of them, and I keep running into the same general response: a limited amount. As long as they're doing a tolerable job, they have the class under control and they show a sense of competence, sponsor teachers are happy. And this seems to be the case in 2/3 of my classes. But in one, it's an all-consuming battle to meet expectations and try to figure this whole thing out.
- T
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Walking... stories.
If I ever go for a walk, I often think about the people I pass or see from the sidewalk and wonder what they're doing, or where they're going, or what they're thinking. I look at a young man with his child at the park and I wonder if he has an interesting story to tell about the tatoos that crawl up and down his arms. I'm curious about the young girl with a heavy backpack, wondering if she's a good student, and wonder what her favorite subject is (or if she even likes school at all). Maybe it's not even school books in her bag. Not that it matters. I create a reality for the elderly gentleman nearby, who is walking his yappy pomeranian and smoking his tobacco pipe. The scent vaguely reminds me of someone from my childhood that smoked a pipe, though I don't recall who. Again, it probably doesn't matter.
I used to walk all the time... it used to be my way of shutting my mind off getting away from bitterness or frustration or from situations that I didn't know how to handle. After a fight with a parent or a miserable breakup, I would throw on my shoes and head for the park near my house. The bike path cutting through it led all over the west side. Sometimes I'd end up over at the house I grew up in. Other times I'd get all the way to my old elementary school. I guess it depended on the time of day/night and how cold I was getting. At one point in high school, I bumped into another troubled soul who had also taken off from her house to get away from an argument with her parents. Just as I was entering the park I noticed her and said hi. We went to school together, but hadn't really said more than a few words to each other in two or three years. I was a bit of a jock/prep/nerd type, and she hung out more with the wannabe misfits who hung out in the smoke pit and talked about Curt Cobain and Jim Morrison and the idiotic nature of the popular kids. I didn't always have to make up personalities and worlds of other people... sometimes they revealed themselves to me.
So yesterday, I went for a walk. I put my headphones in and let my mind wander aimlessly to the violins that always linger in the background of Dave Matthews' music. I strolled a few blocks and turned a corner toward the nearby strip mall. My objective: coffee. And not just coffee... but a delicious toffee-nut Americano (with cream, of course... I drink baby coffee). After turning the corner and tapping my fingers to the music in my ears, I notice a police car parked a block up the road. Since it was sitting just outside a parking lot, it seemed out of place. After a few more steps, I saw the officer standing near the corner. No radio. No radar. Just standing. He was young... maybe 30, if that. Probably got stuck here doing some sort of traffic duty while the vets ate muffins at the station or were busy breaking down the doors of meth houses. This young guy was probably thinking he'd rather be writing parking tickets than standing on the side of some road looking lost. I kept on walking, knowing that he probably had everything under control, even though he looked thoroughly bored. As I got closer to the coffee shop, I noticed another police car, this time parked in an apartment parking lot. Two officers were sitting in the car. No one in the back. No radar. No lights. Just sitting. This is even more strange, I thought. But again, I kept walking.
After reaching my desired destination and acquiring my delicious caffeine jolt, I return on the same route I came. Still, the two officers sat in their car. No lights. No radar. And again I passed the young officer on the side of the road. No radio. No radar. An ambulance then passed by the both of us, but didn't stop and kept going past. Same with a firetruck, sirens blaring. We both watched and wondered what the destination was... who was in trouble. And the officer remained, checking his pockets for something. And I kept walking.
I got in the apartment a few minutes later, wondering if the officer had a girlfriend waiting for him at home. Maybe he has a small dog sleeping at the foot of the stairs, waiting for him. I took a drink of my coffee. His job could be dangerous. How long would the dog wait? Probably a long time. Forever, if it took that long. That's the nice thing about dogs... their loyalty doesn't wane. What about the girlfriend? Is she as understanding and patient about his chosen career? Maybe... it's hard to say.
- T
I used to walk all the time... it used to be my way of shutting my mind off getting away from bitterness or frustration or from situations that I didn't know how to handle. After a fight with a parent or a miserable breakup, I would throw on my shoes and head for the park near my house. The bike path cutting through it led all over the west side. Sometimes I'd end up over at the house I grew up in. Other times I'd get all the way to my old elementary school. I guess it depended on the time of day/night and how cold I was getting. At one point in high school, I bumped into another troubled soul who had also taken off from her house to get away from an argument with her parents. Just as I was entering the park I noticed her and said hi. We went to school together, but hadn't really said more than a few words to each other in two or three years. I was a bit of a jock/prep/nerd type, and she hung out more with the wannabe misfits who hung out in the smoke pit and talked about Curt Cobain and Jim Morrison and the idiotic nature of the popular kids. I didn't always have to make up personalities and worlds of other people... sometimes they revealed themselves to me.
So yesterday, I went for a walk. I put my headphones in and let my mind wander aimlessly to the violins that always linger in the background of Dave Matthews' music. I strolled a few blocks and turned a corner toward the nearby strip mall. My objective: coffee. And not just coffee... but a delicious toffee-nut Americano (with cream, of course... I drink baby coffee). After turning the corner and tapping my fingers to the music in my ears, I notice a police car parked a block up the road. Since it was sitting just outside a parking lot, it seemed out of place. After a few more steps, I saw the officer standing near the corner. No radio. No radar. Just standing. He was young... maybe 30, if that. Probably got stuck here doing some sort of traffic duty while the vets ate muffins at the station or were busy breaking down the doors of meth houses. This young guy was probably thinking he'd rather be writing parking tickets than standing on the side of some road looking lost. I kept on walking, knowing that he probably had everything under control, even though he looked thoroughly bored. As I got closer to the coffee shop, I noticed another police car, this time parked in an apartment parking lot. Two officers were sitting in the car. No one in the back. No radar. No lights. Just sitting. This is even more strange, I thought. But again, I kept walking.
After reaching my desired destination and acquiring my delicious caffeine jolt, I return on the same route I came. Still, the two officers sat in their car. No lights. No radar. And again I passed the young officer on the side of the road. No radio. No radar. An ambulance then passed by the both of us, but didn't stop and kept going past. Same with a firetruck, sirens blaring. We both watched and wondered what the destination was... who was in trouble. And the officer remained, checking his pockets for something. And I kept walking.
I got in the apartment a few minutes later, wondering if the officer had a girlfriend waiting for him at home. Maybe he has a small dog sleeping at the foot of the stairs, waiting for him. I took a drink of my coffee. His job could be dangerous. How long would the dog wait? Probably a long time. Forever, if it took that long. That's the nice thing about dogs... their loyalty doesn't wane. What about the girlfriend? Is she as understanding and patient about his chosen career? Maybe... it's hard to say.
- T
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
My love for all things Canadiana and reflections about home
Maple Syrup
Beavers
Sock&Sandal Hippies
The NDP
Gretzky
Curling
This Hour Has 22 Minutes
Don Cherry
Passive-Aggressive Politeness
Prairie
All these things make up something uniquely Canadian. Now, some people won't identify with the prairies, or they may have an aversion to maple syrup, or they may see Jack Layton as a communist conspirator. Nonetheless, these things combined create something uniquely Canadian, whether we admit it or not.
A few quotes from Will Ferguson's Why I Hate Canadians should be appropriate here...
"The border between Canada and the U.S. was forged in geography, trade routes, blood, war, threats and ultimatums. It was not a psychological yearning that kept us clinging to the border, it was the combined threat of frostbite and Manifest Destiny."
"Could Canadians have chosen a less inspiring emblem? The Russians have a bear, the Americans a bald eagle, the British a lion rampart - and Canada? Canada has a beaver. If you want to play a round of Could'a Had, the list is long. We could'a had a timber wolf. Or a polar bear. Or a bison. Or a lynx. Or even the conveniently named Canada goose. But no, we got stuck with a 30-kilogram, bucktoothed rodent whose most heroic trait is that he thinks to slap his tail to warn his buddies before he runs away."
One thing I noticed last night (that may or may not be unique to other parts of the world at night), is that Canadian towns all look the same on the drive through. I was out on the Westside last night hanging out with a few friends when I came through the city's downtown. For a few moments, I wasn't sure where I was. I saw the fast-food neons, vacancy signs, the obvious Wally's World (a.k.a. Walmart), and side streets that slipped quickly and quietly into the suburban neighbourhoods off the highway strip. It could have been Kamloops, or Regina, or Winnipeg. The annonymity was a bit overwhelming, as I rolled down my window and wondered when this place had become so strange but at the same time so familiar.
It is still strange to me why certain things feel like home. When I return back to Lethbridge, it's the coffee shop. The familiar trips across the river. It's the recognizable faces. It's the dogs greeting me at the door. My family, friends, former acquaintances. Ex-girlfriends, ex-teachers. But once again I wonder... what's changed? The town may have grown a bit, and the staff at the local grocery store has probably turned over a time or two. I used to wonder why everything didn't just look so different, but why it felt so strange. I think I realized that the scenery doesn't change... just the eyes do.
I think about the coast in the same manner, and I yearn for that sense of what I know. I knew the ferry schedule really well. I knew exactly how long the #14 bus took to get from the stop across from my apartment to the school, and what days I should make sure I'm early in case one is too full to pick me up. I knew that the Moka House in Cook Street Village was a place I could always go for an escape. Even though I knew people that frequented the shop from time to time, I also knew that I could preserve my annonymity through headphones and a quiet table in the corner. I could also enjoy the fact that downtown was a mere 10 minute walk, and if I needed a taste of the ocean, I just had to hop on my bike for 10 minutes for that much-needed indulgence. I've been here in the valley for more than six months, and I still don't know my way around. I don't have a hangout (other than my sponsor school), and I'm still not sure what the best way to get to downtown is. Much of this has to do with the fact that my schedule doesn't allow such indulgences right now, but I'm hoping that it'll come. I do like it here... but it's going to take some time for me to make it feel like home.
- T
Beavers
Sock&Sandal Hippies
The NDP
Gretzky
Curling
This Hour Has 22 Minutes
Don Cherry
Passive-Aggressive Politeness
Prairie
All these things make up something uniquely Canadian. Now, some people won't identify with the prairies, or they may have an aversion to maple syrup, or they may see Jack Layton as a communist conspirator. Nonetheless, these things combined create something uniquely Canadian, whether we admit it or not.
A few quotes from Will Ferguson's Why I Hate Canadians should be appropriate here...
"The border between Canada and the U.S. was forged in geography, trade routes, blood, war, threats and ultimatums. It was not a psychological yearning that kept us clinging to the border, it was the combined threat of frostbite and Manifest Destiny."
"Could Canadians have chosen a less inspiring emblem? The Russians have a bear, the Americans a bald eagle, the British a lion rampart - and Canada? Canada has a beaver. If you want to play a round of Could'a Had, the list is long. We could'a had a timber wolf. Or a polar bear. Or a bison. Or a lynx. Or even the conveniently named Canada goose. But no, we got stuck with a 30-kilogram, bucktoothed rodent whose most heroic trait is that he thinks to slap his tail to warn his buddies before he runs away."
One thing I noticed last night (that may or may not be unique to other parts of the world at night), is that Canadian towns all look the same on the drive through. I was out on the Westside last night hanging out with a few friends when I came through the city's downtown. For a few moments, I wasn't sure where I was. I saw the fast-food neons, vacancy signs, the obvious Wally's World (a.k.a. Walmart), and side streets that slipped quickly and quietly into the suburban neighbourhoods off the highway strip. It could have been Kamloops, or Regina, or Winnipeg. The annonymity was a bit overwhelming, as I rolled down my window and wondered when this place had become so strange but at the same time so familiar.
It is still strange to me why certain things feel like home. When I return back to Lethbridge, it's the coffee shop. The familiar trips across the river. It's the recognizable faces. It's the dogs greeting me at the door. My family, friends, former acquaintances. Ex-girlfriends, ex-teachers. But once again I wonder... what's changed? The town may have grown a bit, and the staff at the local grocery store has probably turned over a time or two. I used to wonder why everything didn't just look so different, but why it felt so strange. I think I realized that the scenery doesn't change... just the eyes do.
I think about the coast in the same manner, and I yearn for that sense of what I know. I knew the ferry schedule really well. I knew exactly how long the #14 bus took to get from the stop across from my apartment to the school, and what days I should make sure I'm early in case one is too full to pick me up. I knew that the Moka House in Cook Street Village was a place I could always go for an escape. Even though I knew people that frequented the shop from time to time, I also knew that I could preserve my annonymity through headphones and a quiet table in the corner. I could also enjoy the fact that downtown was a mere 10 minute walk, and if I needed a taste of the ocean, I just had to hop on my bike for 10 minutes for that much-needed indulgence. I've been here in the valley for more than six months, and I still don't know my way around. I don't have a hangout (other than my sponsor school), and I'm still not sure what the best way to get to downtown is. Much of this has to do with the fact that my schedule doesn't allow such indulgences right now, but I'm hoping that it'll come. I do like it here... but it's going to take some time for me to make it feel like home.
- T
Friday, March 09, 2007
Oh, Happy Day
And I'm not talking about the old gospel tune.
Today is the day in every teacher's life that is just a little more bearable, more enjoyable, more glorious than other days past. No, it is not simply that it is Friday, although Friday is a wonderful thing on it's own. No, I'm talking about the final day before HOLIDAYS! Spring Break starts at 3:14 today, and I may be just the slightest bit excited. Maybe.
As per usual, things have been crazy lately. Luckily, I think they're going to be a bit more under control from this point forward (I hope) since I don't have any more coaching clinics to attend and there's only 5 more weeks of practicum time before I'm fully certified. Sure, I have to stay on until the end of the year so I can still keep teaching one class "in the spirit of volunteerism", but certification is coming oh-so-soon, and I'm just that much closer to being able to actually make a bit of money at this teaching gig. Not that I'm in it for the money, because if I am, I should go back to school and reacquire some math skills.
The sun was even shining over the valley this morning, which must be a positive omen.
Other things that have been going on:
- I met Paul Yee, a Governor-General award winning writer who came to our school a week ago for a presentation
- I finished my interim report for part one of the second practicum session I'm doing. It went well, but I still have some things to nail down before I'm approved as an excellent candidate for a teaching job next year.
- Now that the weather is better, I hate the fact that I'm not allowed to Barbeque on my deck.
And that's about all... I'll try to come up with something brilliant as time goes on.
-T
Today is the day in every teacher's life that is just a little more bearable, more enjoyable, more glorious than other days past. No, it is not simply that it is Friday, although Friday is a wonderful thing on it's own. No, I'm talking about the final day before HOLIDAYS! Spring Break starts at 3:14 today, and I may be just the slightest bit excited. Maybe.
As per usual, things have been crazy lately. Luckily, I think they're going to be a bit more under control from this point forward (I hope) since I don't have any more coaching clinics to attend and there's only 5 more weeks of practicum time before I'm fully certified. Sure, I have to stay on until the end of the year so I can still keep teaching one class "in the spirit of volunteerism", but certification is coming oh-so-soon, and I'm just that much closer to being able to actually make a bit of money at this teaching gig. Not that I'm in it for the money, because if I am, I should go back to school and reacquire some math skills.
The sun was even shining over the valley this morning, which must be a positive omen.
Other things that have been going on:
- I met Paul Yee, a Governor-General award winning writer who came to our school a week ago for a presentation
- I finished my interim report for part one of the second practicum session I'm doing. It went well, but I still have some things to nail down before I'm approved as an excellent candidate for a teaching job next year.
- Now that the weather is better, I hate the fact that I'm not allowed to Barbeque on my deck.
And that's about all... I'll try to come up with something brilliant as time goes on.
-T
Friday, March 02, 2007
A few things mashed into one...
I was having a conversation with one of my sponsor teachers the other day, and she asked me to come up with my own list of what went well in the class and what I need to work on. As the term's progressed, this has been the strategy for her... moving away from her advice and criticism to a place where I can come up with my own ideas of being self-aware and self-critical. After filling out about three items in the "recommendations" column, I stared blankly at the "commendations" column. I tensed up, my eyes were getting a bit glassy, and I couldn't come up with a single thing to put in the positive column.
Now, it wasn't that it was a terrible day. I think it was simply... how do I say it... uninspiring. Lately, I've been dealing with the pressures of a boatload of marking, upcoming interim marks (both for my students and the second part of my practicum), getting ready to apply for certification, thinking about getting my resume together, beginning my unit planning for after Spring Break, spending time with Kerrie, coaching 2-3 days a week, and the list seems to go on and on for a long time. I've also been fighting off the early stages of a cold for nearly a week, and although I've been getting some sleep, it just hasn't felt like enough. I don't usually have really bad days... lately they have just been lacking epiphanies and inspiring feelings that I'm changing the world. She made a comment about pessimism and optimism, and how I'd been in the bottom of a whisky bottle if I didn't learn to positively self-reflect. And not grandpa's good whisky, either.
Every once in a while I get thinking about what I was like as a kid. I remember being goofy, but the amount of specific events I recall seem to be pretty sporadic. I have a sister that has the most creative memory on the planet and she claims she remembers all sorts of things that no one else can vouch for.
I remember thinking I was going to be a lawyer when I was in my early teens. I was really into Grisham novels and wanted nothing more than to save the world through my cunning intellect and saavy nature. I also considered being a psychologist, since I was a bit of a go-to guy for friends when they needed a shoulder. Early in university, I considered entering the philosophy and religious studies department to be a scholar of sorts. Anyone who knows me well has probably shared an extended, long-winded discussion with me about religion and philosophy in some form or another. Most recently (before getting into education), I thought my life was going to be in publishing or writing, since I originally moved out to the coast with ambitions of entering the creative writing program. However, I didn't declare a major when I first moved and all the spots for the intro writing classes were taken by creative writing majors. So, I went into English Lit. And four years later, here I am.
Don't get me wrong... I 'm definitely not complaining, because I really enjoyed my degree and my time out in Victoria. If my collective families were closer to the coast, K and I probably would've stayed (minus the fact she hated being on an island). Even when I was in high school and early university, I joked about the fact that I wasn't going to get married for a LONG time, likely in my 30's. Now, I'm the first of my friend group from high school to get married and the third out of my university friends. It's funny how life works out, and how we can have all the expectations and plans we want, but life takes it's own route.
I think reflective people are fatalists by nature. They look back on their lives, and have a hard time imagining how it could be any different. I go in and out of phases of fatalistism. Sometimes life seems so ordered. When looking back, it's hard to imagine how things could be different. But looking ahead... who knows? I'm sure I've quoted him before, but that C.S. Lewis guy is pretty clever...
"For the longest way round is the shortest way home".
- t
Now, it wasn't that it was a terrible day. I think it was simply... how do I say it... uninspiring. Lately, I've been dealing with the pressures of a boatload of marking, upcoming interim marks (both for my students and the second part of my practicum), getting ready to apply for certification, thinking about getting my resume together, beginning my unit planning for after Spring Break, spending time with Kerrie, coaching 2-3 days a week, and the list seems to go on and on for a long time. I've also been fighting off the early stages of a cold for nearly a week, and although I've been getting some sleep, it just hasn't felt like enough. I don't usually have really bad days... lately they have just been lacking epiphanies and inspiring feelings that I'm changing the world. She made a comment about pessimism and optimism, and how I'd been in the bottom of a whisky bottle if I didn't learn to positively self-reflect. And not grandpa's good whisky, either.
Every once in a while I get thinking about what I was like as a kid. I remember being goofy, but the amount of specific events I recall seem to be pretty sporadic. I have a sister that has the most creative memory on the planet and she claims she remembers all sorts of things that no one else can vouch for.
I remember thinking I was going to be a lawyer when I was in my early teens. I was really into Grisham novels and wanted nothing more than to save the world through my cunning intellect and saavy nature. I also considered being a psychologist, since I was a bit of a go-to guy for friends when they needed a shoulder. Early in university, I considered entering the philosophy and religious studies department to be a scholar of sorts. Anyone who knows me well has probably shared an extended, long-winded discussion with me about religion and philosophy in some form or another. Most recently (before getting into education), I thought my life was going to be in publishing or writing, since I originally moved out to the coast with ambitions of entering the creative writing program. However, I didn't declare a major when I first moved and all the spots for the intro writing classes were taken by creative writing majors. So, I went into English Lit. And four years later, here I am.
Don't get me wrong... I 'm definitely not complaining, because I really enjoyed my degree and my time out in Victoria. If my collective families were closer to the coast, K and I probably would've stayed (minus the fact she hated being on an island). Even when I was in high school and early university, I joked about the fact that I wasn't going to get married for a LONG time, likely in my 30's. Now, I'm the first of my friend group from high school to get married and the third out of my university friends. It's funny how life works out, and how we can have all the expectations and plans we want, but life takes it's own route.
I think reflective people are fatalists by nature. They look back on their lives, and have a hard time imagining how it could be any different. I go in and out of phases of fatalistism. Sometimes life seems so ordered. When looking back, it's hard to imagine how things could be different. But looking ahead... who knows? I'm sure I've quoted him before, but that C.S. Lewis guy is pretty clever...
"For the longest way round is the shortest way home".
- t
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