Start young. Very young. Long before you've met anyone. Watch children's movies -- particularly the ones from Disney, where the main characters always get married in the end. Pay attention to the fan fare, the perfect Prince Charming, her absurdly tiny waist and perfectly ample bosom. Let that settle into your ever-growing schema as you reenact what you watched with your Barbies, whose waists could rival those princesses any day of the week.
Watch as the older females around you fuss over their own wedding. Scan through the wedding magazines they pile up in your mother's kitchen. Scan through the "inspiration binders" that accidentally get left behind at the frazzled bride tries to get everything together.
Meet the one you are destined to spend your life together with. Meet your life partner. Or meet someone you wouldn't mind marrying and figure you should since you're about that age and you guys have been together for so long anyway. Get engaged. Compare your engagement ring with every single one around you. Feel inadequate when it's not as big or as pretty.
Get bombarded with emails. Sign up for a million wedding websites. Be told that DIY weddings are the best. Feel inadequate when you hire vendors instead. Feel inadequate when you try making crafty things for your wedding, but fall short.
Have absolutely no idea what you want to do. Listen as wedding blogs tell you to go big, go small, go simple, go elegant, go fancy, go retro, go modern. Feel criticism when you forgo a traditional DJ. Feel criticism when you decide you want a traditional DJ. Feel criticism when you hire a live band or a string quartet or both.
Make a guest list. Realize it's too big. Realize it's too small. Feel guilt over those you aren't inviting. Feel guilt over the fact that you're inviting way too many people. Worry about it being too formal or too cozy. Consult the websites and become even more confused.
Try on dresses. Hear about the disdain for strapless a-line gowns. Hear about the disdain for cocktail dresses in lieu of wedding gowns. Bite your lip when dresses hug you wrong, or emphasize all the wrong areas. Pretend that you feel like a princess even if you feel like your waist is going to explode out of the corset, or your chest is a solid foot from the edge of the top of the bodice. Avoid all clichés while still being traditional and living up to this nagging voice in the back of your head telling you that you're falling short of the Perfect Wedding.
Worry over money. Have people invalidate and worsen the worry by telling you that you're spending way too much money on "a stupid party".
Process a million people's varying input at the exact same time. Listen as your mother wishes to invite the people she wants to invite. Listen as your co-worker clicks her tongue over the style and layout of your invitations. Be called extravagant by your cousin. Be called stingy with money by your sister. Take everything in with a smile, even as the corners of your mouth descend downwards.
Stress out. Be told not to stress out. Be told how juvenile weddings are. Be told that you're silly for getting so worked up over one. Watch as they nonchalantly shrug their shoulders and talk about how they won't be falling into the same traps that you are falling into. Be reminded that you're spending way too much money and you could've spent those thousands of dollars on something way more pragmatic.
Pay attention to the magazines, the Pinterest boards, all the wedding shows on premium cable. Have people think less of you because you do. Decide you aren't going to pay attention to them, only to catch a wedding magazine out of the corner of your eye at the drugstore, telling you all the ways you can lose weight for your wedding.
And, above all else: smile! You are the center of attention, if people haven't made that abundantly clear, either genuinely or sardonically. This is supposed to be the best day of your life! This is your happy ending with Prince Charming! Everything just needs to be perfect, and you just need to be nonchalant about every possible screw-up or setback, lest you be called a bridezilla or immature. No big deal or anything.
Hey, why are you crying?
Saturday, December 14, 2013
Friday, December 13, 2013
Day 131 of 365: Six Months Later
Sometime around this year, I put my foot down about leaving teaching. I even put a countdown marker on one of the windows of my mac, counting down the days until the last day of school. After what felt like a lifetime, I finally told them I wasn't renewing my contract and I left.
In some weird twist of fate, the last six months have gone by in the blink of an eye. And I only know it's been six months, because I forgot to take down the countdown marker. When I went to that particular window on my mac to use the calculator widget, I saw the countdown marker tell me, "6 Months Since Last Day of School!"
I think the back of my brain was already cognizant of this, because I've been thinking a lot about being a teacher. I realized that I'm still trying to piece together everything that happened over the last 4 years. There's still a part of me that hasn't exactly forgiven myself for burning out; there's still a part of me that hasn't forgiven myself for every time I was a crappy teacher. Every time I lost my cool, or rolled my eyes, or just gave up when the old me would've figured out a way around. I think about the last few months when even I could tell I was digging in my heels and being uncommunicative and doing the bare minimum necessary to squeak by.
I've had a lot of (former and current) teachers tell me to not be so hard on myself. But it's definitely easier said than done. It takes more than a pat on the back to come to terms with the five-year plan you so expertly laid out crumbling in front of you. I went from researching M.Ed programs to staying as far away from working with children as possible.
But, to steal a line from an old blurb here: where I am on that path doesn't matter, so long as you're going forward. And forwards on I go. Just after I delete that stupid countdown marker.
In some weird twist of fate, the last six months have gone by in the blink of an eye. And I only know it's been six months, because I forgot to take down the countdown marker. When I went to that particular window on my mac to use the calculator widget, I saw the countdown marker tell me, "6 Months Since Last Day of School!"
I think the back of my brain was already cognizant of this, because I've been thinking a lot about being a teacher. I realized that I'm still trying to piece together everything that happened over the last 4 years. There's still a part of me that hasn't exactly forgiven myself for burning out; there's still a part of me that hasn't forgiven myself for every time I was a crappy teacher. Every time I lost my cool, or rolled my eyes, or just gave up when the old me would've figured out a way around. I think about the last few months when even I could tell I was digging in my heels and being uncommunicative and doing the bare minimum necessary to squeak by.
I've had a lot of (former and current) teachers tell me to not be so hard on myself. But it's definitely easier said than done. It takes more than a pat on the back to come to terms with the five-year plan you so expertly laid out crumbling in front of you. I went from researching M.Ed programs to staying as far away from working with children as possible.
But, to steal a line from an old blurb here: where I am on that path doesn't matter, so long as you're going forward. And forwards on I go. Just after I delete that stupid countdown marker.
Thursday, December 12, 2013
Day 130 of 365: Ya Never Know, Kid
So I wrote a little essay on this blog a while back about women who choose not to have kids. It's been something on my mind as of late, since a good chunk of the friends I've known since forever are not planning on having kids. And they've received the "you'll change your mind," spiel a thousand times, even as they slow approach 30 (oh God, I'm slowly approaching 30...). I wrote it just as a way to counteract all those people who blindly say, "hey, go have kids."
And then I kind of forgot about it. I thought about submitting it to Thought Catalog, but I decided against it, because it felt a little pedestrian and I felt like I had to "one up" my teaching essay. But a week went by and I had no ideas for a new essay, so I decided to spruce it up a bit and submit it.
Within hours, I had over 100 shares. The next morning? It was up to 750. It's only been out for three days now, and it has already been shared 10,000 times.
I find this very fitting, because I'm currently working on sprucing up my first manuscript. A manuscript that I had completely given up on. I'm submitting a pitch to somewhere in January (again, petrified to talk about it until it actually happens, so we'll be chatting about this after January 14th), and it almost makes me sick to my stomach to be working on this book that I have spent so much time, blood, sweat, and tears on. The likelihood of things going no where is so huge, but the payout if things going somewhere is so big.
But you never know. Or, if you're a Bostonian: ya never know, kid. I never thought my (second) teaching essay would take off the way it did. Especially after it received a moderate-to-tepid response when it was first published. And I never expected it to go so viral as to reach even my own former teachers, friends of friends who were teachers, long before they realized who wrote it.
My life has been a whole lot of topsy-turvy ever since I left the early education world. And, if last night was any indication, I'm a long ways from fully coming to terms with my time as a teacher and my decision to leave (but more on that later). I've definitely questioned my choice to be so whimsical as to write and model and do tai chi in place of a sensible full-time job. But, again: you never know. One day you're scanning Monster.com in a defeatist manner; the next, you're replying to hundreds of emails from people commenting on your work.
And then I kind of forgot about it. I thought about submitting it to Thought Catalog, but I decided against it, because it felt a little pedestrian and I felt like I had to "one up" my teaching essay. But a week went by and I had no ideas for a new essay, so I decided to spruce it up a bit and submit it.
Within hours, I had over 100 shares. The next morning? It was up to 750. It's only been out for three days now, and it has already been shared 10,000 times.
I find this very fitting, because I'm currently working on sprucing up my first manuscript. A manuscript that I had completely given up on. I'm submitting a pitch to somewhere in January (again, petrified to talk about it until it actually happens, so we'll be chatting about this after January 14th), and it almost makes me sick to my stomach to be working on this book that I have spent so much time, blood, sweat, and tears on. The likelihood of things going no where is so huge, but the payout if things going somewhere is so big.
But you never know. Or, if you're a Bostonian: ya never know, kid. I never thought my (second) teaching essay would take off the way it did. Especially after it received a moderate-to-tepid response when it was first published. And I never expected it to go so viral as to reach even my own former teachers, friends of friends who were teachers, long before they realized who wrote it.
My life has been a whole lot of topsy-turvy ever since I left the early education world. And, if last night was any indication, I'm a long ways from fully coming to terms with my time as a teacher and my decision to leave (but more on that later). I've definitely questioned my choice to be so whimsical as to write and model and do tai chi in place of a sensible full-time job. But, again: you never know. One day you're scanning Monster.com in a defeatist manner; the next, you're replying to hundreds of emails from people commenting on your work.
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
Day 129 of 365: Sticklers to Routine
In the weeks following NaNoWriMo, I've found myself getting a bit lackadaisical. It was getting harder and harder to get anything done, from household chores to updating my blog. I figured it was the emotional fallout of pushing myself to my writing limit. But one week or this has started morphing into two weeks and I decided it was time to nip this problem in the bud.
First step? Re-establish a routine. The reason why I was so intense with yoga and tai chi while still working full-time was because I had a very established routine. Exactly one snooze on the alarm clock, followed by making coffee, followed by a yoga sequence and at least one form practice, followed by a shower, followed by getting ready and finally drinking that wonderful coffee (which, ironically, I didn't really need after exercising and showering, but an addiction is an addiction). And I had the same routine when I came home for break: clear the sink of any dishes (or unload the dishwasher) before having any lunch.
Routines are vital for the human brain. It's why they say routine is so important for little kids (something a good chunk of the parents whose children I looked after never really seemed to get but that's for another time). If there is a routine you can stick to, you're more likely to do whatever it is that you need to do, as opposed to getting it done randomly throughout the day.
So I'm back at it. Yoga every morning, no excuses. One tai chi form practice right after that, no excuses. And then I write in this lovely blog, no excuses. And then I work on my novels or my collection of modeling essays. If writing is more or less my main job right now, I need to treat it like a main job. And that means getting to my "office" (aka the kitchen island) at a proper time and logging in the hours, even if I don't feel like it. Writing is my main gig, with tai chi and modeling as part-time jobs. Not the other way around. I desperately want to get this collection of essays out in time for spring, and I'm still holding out hope that I can sell a manuscript before it comes times to try for children.
I'm easily distractible (as evidence that I've gone on five different sites while writing this entry), so a solid routine is what I need to kick my ass into gear. The nice thing is, much like a kid, I could totally schedule in a no-if-ands-or-buts nap for after lunch (because, like a kid, I find every excuse not to nap, even when I'm exhausted).
First step? Re-establish a routine. The reason why I was so intense with yoga and tai chi while still working full-time was because I had a very established routine. Exactly one snooze on the alarm clock, followed by making coffee, followed by a yoga sequence and at least one form practice, followed by a shower, followed by getting ready and finally drinking that wonderful coffee (which, ironically, I didn't really need after exercising and showering, but an addiction is an addiction). And I had the same routine when I came home for break: clear the sink of any dishes (or unload the dishwasher) before having any lunch.
Routines are vital for the human brain. It's why they say routine is so important for little kids (something a good chunk of the parents whose children I looked after never really seemed to get but that's for another time). If there is a routine you can stick to, you're more likely to do whatever it is that you need to do, as opposed to getting it done randomly throughout the day.
So I'm back at it. Yoga every morning, no excuses. One tai chi form practice right after that, no excuses. And then I write in this lovely blog, no excuses. And then I work on my novels or my collection of modeling essays. If writing is more or less my main job right now, I need to treat it like a main job. And that means getting to my "office" (aka the kitchen island) at a proper time and logging in the hours, even if I don't feel like it. Writing is my main gig, with tai chi and modeling as part-time jobs. Not the other way around. I desperately want to get this collection of essays out in time for spring, and I'm still holding out hope that I can sell a manuscript before it comes times to try for children.
I'm easily distractible (as evidence that I've gone on five different sites while writing this entry), so a solid routine is what I need to kick my ass into gear. The nice thing is, much like a kid, I could totally schedule in a no-if-ands-or-buts nap for after lunch (because, like a kid, I find every excuse not to nap, even when I'm exhausted).
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Day 128 of 365: The Critical Mass of Facebook
I think it might've happened. For the first time in over 8 years, I think I'm sick of Facebook.
I don't know the exact moment. Somewhere between 15 "Facts About my Pregnancy" posts, pictures of shots before they are taken at the bar, and reposts of glittery pictures saying inane shit like "Kids Get Their Coolness From Their Aunties!!!", I found myself going, "Who CARES?"
Granted, I've been rolling my eyes of some of the posts for a while now. But spontaneous positive reinforcement is funny: you can be sick to death of a website, but so long as it sometimes gives you something you enjoy, you'll keep coming back. And now, I'm not even concerned about the positives. What used to be my go-to page when I first went online is now something I check about as regularly as I check my email. Which is still too often for my liking, but it's a start.
This was something I realized when I was talking with my husband last night. We talked about how much more productive we'd be if we didn't have the internet. And while the internet is why I have any type of audience when it comes to my reading, I'm still woefully unproductive because of it. Youtube has been my primary killer: I could practice my new form, or I could watch "Everything That's Wrong With Spiderman in 4 Minutes or Less". But it's not Facebook anymore. I'm not diving through the newsfeed and constructing my own statuses and carefully picking out which selfie I want as my next profile picture.
Maybe it's the end of Internet 2.0 as we know it. We're all so super-saturated with the internet being a "social experience". Youtube wants to crosspost my comments onto Google+ (and they still won't admit defeat and give up on Google+). Every single retail, news, and entertainment website wants to you to share their stuff on everything from Pinterest to Twitter. And I don't think I'm alone in saying that I'm just exhausted by it. I don't care about that picture of a karaoke machine. I don't care that you "had your baby on the exact due date!" And while I like that I can keep in contact with practically everyone I've known since forever, unless I actually know you and consider you a close family or friend, I just don't care. And, odds are, if I care about you enough to read about it on Facebook, there's a good chance I already know about it through actual talking.
It'll probably be a long while before I stop Twittering (at the very least, because Twitter is like a release valve for my scattered brain). And it'll probably be just as long before I stop swooping over to YouTube to check out an old fight or a cute kitten spazzing out. But it's a step in the right direction.
I don't know the exact moment. Somewhere between 15 "Facts About my Pregnancy" posts, pictures of shots before they are taken at the bar, and reposts of glittery pictures saying inane shit like "Kids Get Their Coolness From Their Aunties!!!", I found myself going, "Who CARES?"
Granted, I've been rolling my eyes of some of the posts for a while now. But spontaneous positive reinforcement is funny: you can be sick to death of a website, but so long as it sometimes gives you something you enjoy, you'll keep coming back. And now, I'm not even concerned about the positives. What used to be my go-to page when I first went online is now something I check about as regularly as I check my email. Which is still too often for my liking, but it's a start.
This was something I realized when I was talking with my husband last night. We talked about how much more productive we'd be if we didn't have the internet. And while the internet is why I have any type of audience when it comes to my reading, I'm still woefully unproductive because of it. Youtube has been my primary killer: I could practice my new form, or I could watch "Everything That's Wrong With Spiderman in 4 Minutes or Less". But it's not Facebook anymore. I'm not diving through the newsfeed and constructing my own statuses and carefully picking out which selfie I want as my next profile picture.
Maybe it's the end of Internet 2.0 as we know it. We're all so super-saturated with the internet being a "social experience". Youtube wants to crosspost my comments onto Google+ (and they still won't admit defeat and give up on Google+). Every single retail, news, and entertainment website wants to you to share their stuff on everything from Pinterest to Twitter. And I don't think I'm alone in saying that I'm just exhausted by it. I don't care about that picture of a karaoke machine. I don't care that you "had your baby on the exact due date!" And while I like that I can keep in contact with practically everyone I've known since forever, unless I actually know you and consider you a close family or friend, I just don't care. And, odds are, if I care about you enough to read about it on Facebook, there's a good chance I already know about it through actual talking.
It'll probably be a long while before I stop Twittering (at the very least, because Twitter is like a release valve for my scattered brain). And it'll probably be just as long before I stop swooping over to YouTube to check out an old fight or a cute kitten spazzing out. But it's a step in the right direction.
Monday, December 9, 2013
Day 127 of 365: Winter Wonderland
Today, I am thankful my car has all-wheel drive. The snow has not stopped, which makes driving in a small town downright murder. My tai chi class was also canceled after getting stuck in traffic for two hours, but that's for another day.
Driving in this muck reminded me why I used to dread winter as a teacher. If I had perfect administration, perfect class sizes, perfect everything else, I think I still would've eventually burnt out because parents will drop off their kids during the most dire weather situations.
The joys of working for a private school: the owner of the school was in charge of when the school closed or not. And the owner prided herself on staying open no matter what. Even when Massachusetts issued a no-drive curfew for all its highways (and we were just on the MA border), we were still open. And the few times we closed early, we had parents begrudgingly picking up their children at the last possible second, because how dare we close down in the middle of a hurricane?
I fully recognize that some things are out of the control of the parents. Some people just have to work, and some people have jobs that really don't care if there's two feet of snow outside. And some parents picked up their kid past emergency closing time, making comments about how they didn't want to bring their kid home because they're such a handful on snowy days.
Hey, remember when we were kids? Snowy days meant dressing in our fluffiest apparel and enjoying the damn snow. If we were too young to leave the property, we went nuts in the front or backyard. We went nuts on the sidewalk. We learned how to make snowmen and created snow angels. We tired ourselves out in a way that you can only do playing around outside.
Here's a crazy idea: the next time the weatherman calls for a blizzard -- and you have the abilities to take some personal time -- take the day off. Wrap up your kids in the fluffy apparel. Take them outside and teach them how to have a proper snowball fight. Run and dive into snowbanks. Get exhausted. Go inside and warm up with some hot chocolate. Take a nap or wrap up in some blankets and watch a well-earned movie.
Sounds like a great time, right? A lot nicer than fighting traffic into a job you really don't care for anymore anyway, slogging through the tedium, getting the call that the child care center is closing early, rush back, take your kids -- who are mentally exhausted from child care the same way adults get mentally exhausted from work, but that's for another time -- and drag them home, hoping to God they'll be somewhat obedient until it's bedtime.
One thing I used to tell other teachers when talking about parents who seem to never be there is, "It's your children's childhood to miss." It goes by so fast, even for those who can be with them full-time. If a raging storm and some extra personal time available isn't reason enough to enjoy a day with your kids, then nothing will be.
Driving in this muck reminded me why I used to dread winter as a teacher. If I had perfect administration, perfect class sizes, perfect everything else, I think I still would've eventually burnt out because parents will drop off their kids during the most dire weather situations.
The joys of working for a private school: the owner of the school was in charge of when the school closed or not. And the owner prided herself on staying open no matter what. Even when Massachusetts issued a no-drive curfew for all its highways (and we were just on the MA border), we were still open. And the few times we closed early, we had parents begrudgingly picking up their children at the last possible second, because how dare we close down in the middle of a hurricane?
I fully recognize that some things are out of the control of the parents. Some people just have to work, and some people have jobs that really don't care if there's two feet of snow outside. And some parents picked up their kid past emergency closing time, making comments about how they didn't want to bring their kid home because they're such a handful on snowy days.
Hey, remember when we were kids? Snowy days meant dressing in our fluffiest apparel and enjoying the damn snow. If we were too young to leave the property, we went nuts in the front or backyard. We went nuts on the sidewalk. We learned how to make snowmen and created snow angels. We tired ourselves out in a way that you can only do playing around outside.
Here's a crazy idea: the next time the weatherman calls for a blizzard -- and you have the abilities to take some personal time -- take the day off. Wrap up your kids in the fluffy apparel. Take them outside and teach them how to have a proper snowball fight. Run and dive into snowbanks. Get exhausted. Go inside and warm up with some hot chocolate. Take a nap or wrap up in some blankets and watch a well-earned movie.
Sounds like a great time, right? A lot nicer than fighting traffic into a job you really don't care for anymore anyway, slogging through the tedium, getting the call that the child care center is closing early, rush back, take your kids -- who are mentally exhausted from child care the same way adults get mentally exhausted from work, but that's for another time -- and drag them home, hoping to God they'll be somewhat obedient until it's bedtime.
One thing I used to tell other teachers when talking about parents who seem to never be there is, "It's your children's childhood to miss." It goes by so fast, even for those who can be with them full-time. If a raging storm and some extra personal time available isn't reason enough to enjoy a day with your kids, then nothing will be.
Sunday, December 8, 2013
Day 126 of 365: Christmas Traditions
This weekend was the first full weekend without any mandatory overtime for my husband. We used this sudden increase in mutual free time to finally dive into Christmas. We spent hours (and way too much money) buying Christmas lights for the house. We dug up all of our Christmas decorations, fully mindful that I might just be creeping over to TJMaxx after everything is said and done and buying more decorations. Since we finally once a house, we decided to retire the fake tree (and by "retire" I mean, "set up in the crafts/cats/future second child's room" sans ornaments) and get a real, live (for now) tree. We've taken full advantage of the in-wall speakers that we installed and have been blasting Christmas music in a way so loud and so constant that Gitmo has been taking notes. And I've been starting both Saturday and Sunday morning with big, homemade breakfasts as if it were Christmas morning already.
I don't know exactly why Christmas traditions mean so much to me. I once wrote my dad a 3-page email in college, arguing for a Christmas tree, because he wanted to skip getting any type of tree that year. In a world where people dread seeing their in-laws, I get excited over going to Ohio for Christmas, because of all the traditions and rituals and general fanfare surrounding Christmas. More so than Thanksgiving, Halloween, Fourth of July, my own birthday, New Year's, I love everything involving Christmas.
In fact, the only thing I couldn't care less about when it comes to Christmas is the one thing that everyone puts an over-emphasis on: presents. And maybe that's why I'm so gung-ho about Christmas: I avoid stores like plague. I do my best to do my Christmas shopping online, or in passing throughout the year, and I focus on the parts I love most. The traditions that hold everyone together. The love and the kinship that can get taken for granted, especially during the harsh winter.
There's a quote from the show Community that I absolutely love. To paraphrase: there's something beautiful in the fact that we all look forward to a holiday that takes place in the coldest, darkest time of year. We put up lights and sing songs and see family and friends in the heart of winter. It's why I love Christmas and I'm a-okay with it being just days after the shortest day of the year (even though, if we're getting technical, Jesus was born in the springtime *sigh*).
This is one big "why I like this me me me me me" post, but, oh well. Fresh batch tomorrow. Hang tight, kids.
I don't know exactly why Christmas traditions mean so much to me. I once wrote my dad a 3-page email in college, arguing for a Christmas tree, because he wanted to skip getting any type of tree that year. In a world where people dread seeing their in-laws, I get excited over going to Ohio for Christmas, because of all the traditions and rituals and general fanfare surrounding Christmas. More so than Thanksgiving, Halloween, Fourth of July, my own birthday, New Year's, I love everything involving Christmas.
In fact, the only thing I couldn't care less about when it comes to Christmas is the one thing that everyone puts an over-emphasis on: presents. And maybe that's why I'm so gung-ho about Christmas: I avoid stores like plague. I do my best to do my Christmas shopping online, or in passing throughout the year, and I focus on the parts I love most. The traditions that hold everyone together. The love and the kinship that can get taken for granted, especially during the harsh winter.
There's a quote from the show Community that I absolutely love. To paraphrase: there's something beautiful in the fact that we all look forward to a holiday that takes place in the coldest, darkest time of year. We put up lights and sing songs and see family and friends in the heart of winter. It's why I love Christmas and I'm a-okay with it being just days after the shortest day of the year (even though, if we're getting technical, Jesus was born in the springtime *sigh*).
This is one big "why I like this me me me me me" post, but, oh well. Fresh batch tomorrow. Hang tight, kids.
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