coin toss

Four years ago, when I first moved to the wonderful state of California, decisions had to be made in a hurry. I had just been placed in my first teaching job, for which I felt largely unprepared, I was being put-up in a hotel in Foster City (with bed bugs, I might add), and all of my belongings were visibly stacked inside my car, albeit veiled by cardboard boxes. Finding a place to live was a top priority. My housemates-to-be and I set out on a housing hunt, guided by the promising leads of the craigslist housing ads. We covered the nooks and crannies of San Jose and even went as far as Los Gatos, where a half naked man answered the door of the apartment we were seeing. He was our surprise would be housemate, who although had his own living quarters downstairs, would be sharing our kitchen. Somehow, the ad had neglected to mention this. We thanked him and consulted our list for the remaining options. In our search, we came upon many "Brady-Bunch" houses, which looked like exact replicas of the house in the sit com. The mere sight of these houses made me feel like I was being suddenly trapped in a suburban vaccuum and time warp, and I excercised my veto power on those, although I think my housemates did not disagree.

There was even an instance where we were on the verge of signing a lease and where, to my recollection, we even had hundreds of dollars literally stacked on the table for a house where we would have had to pass through one person's room to get to the bathroom. For some inexplicable reason, I started to feel uneasy and hot. We were asking some final questions and the landlord kept conceding to everything we asked last minute and coaxing us to "sign, sign." Nothing turns me off like a pushy salesman. I somehow communicated my hesitation to one of my housemates, who thankfully brought the whole deal to a halt. We took our wads of money and left, as the landlord made a few desperate last attempts to sell us on the house: "Did I show you the dimming lights?" We walked faster.

With school starting in a few days, we cut down the list further and finally came across two places that we could all agree on. One was in Campbell- a small, freshly rennovated apartment with a small yard. The other, was an old Victorian house in San Jose- a bit creaky, but oozing with charm (ie: vintage stove and fixtures). It also had a yard, but it was huge with tons of fruit trees. I think it's clear which one I preferred, but my housemates and I couldn't agree. One really wanted the newer apartment, feeling that the other one seemed dirty and old. My other housemate was more of a diplomat, seeing both sides, although secretly leaning a bit more towards the older victorian. We went over the pros and cons, visited each house several times, drove past to refresh our impressions. Still, we could not make a decision.

Finally, over dinner at Sneha, a delicious South Indian buffet with a group of friends who had already managed to settle into a house, we discussed the decision. The same issues came up and no new light could be shed on the situation. This is when someone had the brilliant idea of flipping a coin. Now, the rational person in me would want to brush that off and insist that a reasonable compromise be found on choosing the best house, but the idea of flipping a coin, taking myself out of the decision-making, leaving it all to chance was unbelievably relieving. So we agreed to it, determined which house would be heads and which house would be tails and right there, over our rice pudding and melting mango sorbets, we did it- just flipped a coin.

The Victorian won and it turned out to be a wonderful home for the two years that I lived there. It was spacious and cozy and the landlord was wonderful (a doctor who planted heirloom tomatoes for us in our garden!!). I am confident that I will never find such a great housing situation again- well, definitely not in San Francisco.

And it was decided by flipping a coin.

Today, I went through a similar deadlocked decision making process in thinking about switching jobs. I've been over the pros and the cons so many times that they becomed blurred and one job doesn't come out beaming and victorious over the other. I know I have to take more responsibility over my decisions, but can't I just flip a coin?

home at last

I finally made it back to chicago, after packing up my whole apartment and storing it in a kind friend's garage. At home, I have space to think, free of the clutter of cardboard boxes and packing tape, free from all of the paper stacks built, demolished and rebuilt like temporary communities wherever I go. There is space and it is quiet... no afternoon serenades from my tori-voiced neighbor, no beats creeping in from my dj aspiring neighbor's practice room.. it's calm.
Now, I sit at our kitchen table, watching my mom chop up a mountain of parsley, next to row upon row of halved tomatoes turned upside down to dry. She is making my favorite dish- breaded tomatoes or pomodori in gratin, as we call it. I can smell the sweet smell of peaches from the nearby fruitbowl as I listen to the rain fall. Coming home is the best therapy.

oh my god, this is hilarious: http://www.claudiasroom.blogspot.com/

Today, I've convinced myself of taking completely opposing directions in my life all in the span of a few minutes/hours. Here's how it happens.
1. I freak out about my life and ask myself big existentialist questions: why am I here? What am I meant to do? Do I want to teach at my same school? teach at all? If I don't teach, what would I do? Can I afford this city?
2. I'll talk to someone who either convinces me that I'm being totally irrational and should clear my credential and stick it out... or to someone who says that I'm free as a bird, that nothing's holding me back- that I should definitely take off for a year of travel abroad or apply to a completely different district, or school. Then, someone else will remind me that just because I've had a year abroad to forget about my worries, they will surely be here when I come back- won't I be frustrated to be in the same position (credential-wise) when I come back? Yes, these are all valid points, good perspectives. I wish I knew which one to latch on to.

3. Then I'll research some things online: check edjoin for job openings in more 'milk and honey' districts like Brisbane, Berkeley, and Hayward, look into the actual coursework to clear my credential (pretty do-able, actually), research art education programs, looking into TOEFL courses....
changing districts would probably mean changing appartments, which would mean starting a whole new search and that I would have to tell the current people that I will be living with that I'm jumping ship. Starting over at another school would be a lot of getting used to- especially if I plan to only stay another year.

4. I'll choose one of the options that I've been debating and whole-heartedly embrace it. How can I go wrong? This is what I've been waiting to do? or ... This is the more rational thing to do........

5. Then, I'll talk to someone about it with enthusiasm and get a lukewarm, 'why on earth are you doing this' look, and I go right back to step 1.

This is the thing:

The possibility of escape sounds so good. Starting over somewhere foreign, forgetting all of the things that frustrate me about my situation: the fact that it's going to take me 2 more years to clear my credential after which point I will have spent 6 years getting... a credential, leaving the job which drains me daily and taxes my weekends... leaving a workplace that always wants me to give more of my time.

I just can't seem to make up my mind.

In the last few days, I have thought about the possibility of teaching abroad, working for a summer camp (a good friend coordinates their financial aid year- round), changing school district, interning at an art museum, going back home and curling up into a useless ball....


The problem is that I am indecisive by nature. I can see all of those options working out for me in one way or another and can't stick to one. Eventually, I think I'll stick to the one that offers the path of least resistance for now... because somehow, these life crises seem to happen with no time to spare... just when a decision needs to be made.... or maybe I'll go teach abroad. what do you think?

tired

the end of each school year seems to roll up on me so fast. The decisions that I've been planning to make- whether I want to stay in this job or not, whether I want to continue living in this city, whether I want to spend the next two years clearing my special education credential or start to research other career paths... all these decisions that have been in my mind all year, but have seemed to take a back burner to all of the more immediate needs of my job are now reemerging.

It seems that each year, I continue on the same path, because it is there, because it is easiest. I have had some pretty frustrating issues with the district this year- the biggest issue being that I have been underpaid according to the pay schedule that they have posted on their website (by about $10,000). For over 3 months now, I have tried to work this out with the district. I have emailed, called, gone through my union representative who has emailed and called. For over 3 months, I have not received an answer to the simple question: "How was my current salary derived?" My increasing frustration and feeling of helplessness makes me want to instinctively throw my hands up and leave. It seems simple enough- there is a huge need for special education teachers, there were about 5 substitutes and teachers who rotated through my position before I took it and stayed last year, you would think that the district would be working hard to keep special education teachers, by firstly paying them a fair wage (according to their own guidelines). Especially the teachers who demonstrate a significant level of growth in their students. You would think.

The fact that the district does not even bother to respond to my persistent attempts to contact them is beyond frustrating- it's quite honestly infuriating. The fact that the union, who faithfully takes money from my check each month, is also not able to help me with this issue just adds fuel to the fire. I am tired of these wasteful and ineffective bureaucratic institutions, tired of bowing down to them and trying to get even a simple answer.

All of this, makes me less than excited to continue in the same position next year while all of this is unresolved. Especially since my school has an extended day where teachers work one hour beyond what other teachers in the district work. At the very least, I could work for a school that has shorter hours so that I have time to do the other things that I enjoy doing: making art, reading, having a social life....

I feel like I am coming into my quarter life crisis. I.................. am............................ tired.

snapshots of the mission bus

My friend Leyla recently wrote that San Francisco blurs the lines between the sane and insane. When I read that, I immediately imagined the intersections of 16th and mission and 24th and mission, where between the sunday soapbox preachers and all day drunk loiterers, insanity is a wild spectacle with showings all day long. Several times while walking down a street in this city (mostly in the mission or downtown), I have looked around and concluded that I was the only relatively sane person for blocks on end. In no other city have I had to think fast while driving to avoid a man running full speed and couter- traffic with a shopping cart.

Still, it is true that in San Francisco, as in no other city, the worlds of sane and insane collide. Nowhere is this more apparent than on the confined spaces of public transportation. And as far as buses go, I think the Mission line takes home the gold for its advanced degree of blurring. Every time I ride the mission bus, I leave in shock at events that have transpired, laugh at the hilarity of them, and always grumble at the amount of time it took to reach my destination.

One time when I rode the mission bus, the trolley pole dislodged itself from the line and the bus remained motionless in time for all the passengers to witness an undercover cop drug bust on 14th st. There was cheering, hooting, general commenting while this scene took place, as if we were all watching a twisted reality show on TV. After it was all over and the street had calmed down, the driver, whose big bobbed hair gave her a close resemblance to one of The Supremes, stepped off the bus and fixed the line. I got to where I was going.... late.

Another time, there was a face-off between a driver and another man who had run up to the bus, only to have the doors shut in his face. A normal person would have waited for the next bus, but not this guy. He decided to stand in front of the bus and refused to move until the driver let him in. The driver, as it turned out, was equally as stubborn as the first man and refused to let him on. After about 10 minutes of back and forth, another man on the bus took it upon himself to tell the man in front of the bus exactly what he thought of him. Nasty names were exchanged until finally the man in front of the bus stepped aside and let the bus continue on its way. I got to where I was going.... late.

The last time that I took the mission bus, about a week ago, was by far the most eventful. I got on and sat in the first seat behind the driver. Looking across the aisle, I recognized a familiar face- a transvestite who hangs out at a bar in the mission often frequented by teachers for happy hour. It seemed that she was coming from this bar, or a bar in any case, because she had a full cocktail- cherry and all- in her drunken grip.
She leaned in towards me and confided, " I broke a record today, honey."
"Oh yeah? Which one?" I asked.
"I drank 5 Long Island Ice Teas.... and I am druuuuuuuuuunk."
"Wow, I bet. All I need is one and I'm done," I replied.
Her eyes turned their attention to a man sitting two seats to my right- a man dressed all in army fatigues, with a huge army-style backpack leaning on his knees and glaring at two older women to his right.
I couldn't hear what he was saying, but it made transvestite in front of me very angry. From what I could gather, the man was swearing at the older women under his breath and staring at them. Both women looked uncomfortable. The transvestite in front of me took it upon herself to defend these women. Her good intentions were unfortunately partnered with the boldness and distortion of alcohol and an exchange began between her and the military man that escalated rapidly. Her initial temperate requests for this man to watch his mouth quickly turned into aggressive yells for him to wach his f-ing mouth or she would have to take her heels off and 'fight him like a man.'
"I may have had surgery," she added, "But I will rock your world."
Everyone was uncomfortable. Well, I was anyways.
I started to wonder whether I should get off at the next stop.
Just as I started to weigh how late I would be if I walked against the likelihood of there being a brawl with flying heels, the transvestite suggested to the driver that the man should be kicked off.
The driver, who had already gotten quite an earful at this point, stopped the bus, walked over to the man in camouflage and asked him what was going on. After some back and forth, the man willingly got off as the victorious transvestite crossed her legs and continued to sip her cocktail. The older women thanked their valiant defender, wide-eyed, as they got off a few stops later.
My stop came soon after and though I wasn't late this time, I was thoroughly startled and alert from the good dose of adrenaline I had received.

essays

one of the last writing assignments in my class asked students to write a friendly letter to a new student in our class, telling them what they should expect to learn.
Here is what T. said:
"You will learn new things and you will learn to read. You will learn how to solve wars. You will learn to play without fighting."

The last two comments surprised me. We don't have a structured way of resolving conflicts, but we work through problems daily on the playground. I always felt like a broken record (ie: "Is it ok to kick someone because they're in your way?" "Is it safe to pull someone off the monkey bars?" "Look him/her in the eye when you apologize.") It's nice to know that some of it sank in.

What was even more surprising was that today JJ took it upon himself to resolve a problem on the playground- our own Judge Judy, playground judge and sherriff. T. and M. had a misunderstanding. I did not even get to hear what went down, but I observed JJ from a distance, bringing them both to sit on the bench. Kneeling and listening to one of them speak at a time, tears sparkling in each of their eyes. Apparently, the conflict was not completely resolved even after recess, because when we came back in the room, I heard JJ ask T, "Can I talk to you for a minute?" He was trying to get more information... to make his final fair judgement no doubt.

I was also shocked at how much T and M listened to JJ- a just listener who would hear their side and try to find a resolution. They sat and shared their version of the events... by lunchtime, the whole debaucle was forgotten.

I'm not quite sure where JJ picked up his methods of conflict resolution, but I'm not one to mess with a good thing.