I know I'm not the only person who leads a double life.
Given the vastness of the planet, of the universe, of history, of literature, of culture, what hubris it would be to pretend I am unique. This fear of the mundane stops me from writing more than any other of my many anxieties. The cold fingers of cliché wrap tightly around my stomach as I stare at the blinking cursor. My brain lies stagnant in an endless pool of tired images, plucking one after another out of the mucky water: a budding rose, a cat stretching in the sun, a boy becoming a man on the battlefield as he learns to shoot a gun. Each day is another pitter-patter rainstorm of middle class clichés, starting with the smell of coffee and ending between cool sheets in the wee hours of the morning.
Yet I am still moved by the miracle of sentient life and the beauty of shared human existence. How's that for a truism?
So when I say I lead a double life, I don't mean to suggest that you don't. In fact, I'm sure you do.
I don't hide my age when I teach, exactly. I suggest, via a series of half-told truths, that I am older: I speak of starting college in 2003. I mention my Master's degree, students I had two years ago, and voting in the 2008 election (the first time I could vote, of course, but I don't mention that). I dress deliberately in "professional" clothing that was trendy a decade ago, and I wear slightly heavier makeup than I need to suggest that I'm covering signs of aging that aren't there. I avoid bringing up specific ages and instead speak of generations, of "middle-aged" authors and "young people." I rarely speak about myself and my experiences anyway, so my exact age is almost never relevant. I know, though, that with only a Google search, any student could figure it out. It's on my website. If anyone asks, I've told myself, I will not lie. I am ready at all times to have a frank discussion of my youth and educational history. I've rehearsed the encounter in my head repeatedly, staring at the popcorn ceiling in the semi-darkness as I try to fall asleep, listening to the dishwasher gurgling downstairs.
In my first year teaching, I waited apprehensively for the question to be asked. "I'm 19," I planned I'd say, matter-of-factly, with a single, serious nod of my head. I imagined the surprised murmur of the class, the incredulous looks on my students' faces, and the awkward laughter of the few who would realize they were older than me. "Yeah, I started college when I was really young," I'd explain. But no matter how many times I ran through the scenario in my head, I couldn't imagine what would happen after that. Would they revolt? Would they ask me questions? Would they be content to leave it at that and move back into class material immediately? Would I be able to maintain my authority in the classroom--would they still respect me? When I finished my first year without anyone asking my age, mostly I was relieved. I passed! I did it! They didn't realize! One small part of me, however, was disappointed: never again will teaching college freshmen be so special.
Now, at 21, I am as tired of pretending as I am unsure how to stop. I want to be candid and honest with my students. Why shouldn't they know that I go home, put on shorts and a t-shirt, and play Mario Galaxy in a room filled with lava lamps? Why shouldn't I dye my hair bright colors and go to my office hours in a sundress and dance unselfconsciously at bars downtown? What is the purpose of professionalism and propriety, when I will only be in this job for four more weeks, and I'm not sure how much good my acting does my students anyway? Don't older educators work hard to cultivate an aura of friendly relatability and pop culture relevancy? Mightn't I make more of an impact on them if I was my "true" young and casual self? But this late in the game, how do I do that?
A student who came into my office yesterday wanted to know the difference between an A, a B, and a C. Before I explained the basics of my mental rubric, I went for candid and honest: "I recognize that there's a lot of subjectivity in grading in English. I know that it's hard to understand sometimes, as a student, why a paper you didn't work very hard on gets an A and another that you slaved over for weeks barely passes. I don't pretend to be beyond all subjectivity."
After a few minutes of explaining how I grade (a C paper meets the most basic requirements, but does so without being terribly interesting, engaging, well organized, or rhetorically powerful; an A paper is a pleasure to read), I asked if he understood and if my explanation helped at all. He furrowed his eyebrows and, glancing down at the grey linoleum, said, "Kind of." He was hoping for an easy answer, he said, or for a trick or formula or rule that he could follow to be sure to get an A on every paper.
Success just isn't that simple. Life isn't either.
Thus I return again to the same clichés. And sitting here on my mundane couch, I take another sip of my mundane coffee.
11.11.2011
2.12.2011
What a Year: A Photo Adventure!
Darling,
We have had so many fantastic adventures this year. My new job has been stressful in many ways, of course, particularly in the wake of the Wikileaks disaster, but we have taken full advantage of the traveling I have been forced to do. A year ago, could you have imagined what this year would hold? I certainly never imagined myself working for international corporations, let alone in espionage, but with you by my side anything seems possible. And as the vacation pictures I will share with you below demonstrate, you have been quite literally by my side for so much of the past year. You are a trooper, a hero, a king among men.
Remember when we went to Niagara Falls last spring?
Remember how just after that photo was taken, the wind picked up? The mist was so heavy that we would have been drenched, had we not been wearing our jumpsuits.
You won that adorable sock monkey in the claw machine when we went to Denny's for lunch. As you know, we lost him to the falls that afternoon.
No matter. By the time we reached New York at the end of April, I was hardly crying about Mr. Juggles at all anymore. Better to have loved and lost, etc. etc.
Being a tourist with you has been a supreme joy, and what better place to be a tourist than New York? Though we hit all the important spots (the Statue of Liberty, Central Park, the museums), my favorite part of the trip had to be standing with you in picturesque places wearing our signature jumpsuits, holding our thumbs up to the world. (Four upvotes for you, New York.)
If nothing else, though, we'll always have Paris: swimming naked in the Seine, stealing that corgi we found tied up outside a market, spitting off the top of the Eiffel Tower.
And as the trip went on, we even began to make friends. Remember the Extreme Spaghetti-Making class in Tuscany? I hadn't heard of extreme pasta-related sports before, but Marco and Carmina showed us how just how much fun it can be to cut spaghetti on the edge of a mountain after having shared several bottles of wine.
Carmina lost a finger in the pasta-cutting machine not too long after this photo was taken, but since it was only her pinky, she should be okay.
In Nepal, we had that entire group with us! This photo was taken on my birthday, I think. Some hill, huh?
From left to right: Sarah, Michael, Joanne, Robert, Enzo, Pierre, Jake, Fernando, Chris, Robert, Alonso, you, and me. I'm laughing now just thinking about Enzo and some of the crazy things he said--remember his Arnold Schwarzenegger impression? Shame about his sister, really.
Of course, we were sent back to the US after not too long.
We met Jason and Krista in Yellowstone. They were a little nonplussed by the geysers, but you were as enthusiastic as ever. How could I be anything otherwise? Hot water is awesome! It's science!
In Arizona, we spent a good hour making jokes with the Poopoulos kids, who we met on the trail.
In general, they were pretty good sports. Unfortunately, though, you just couldn't stop making poop jokes. Good thing we were in our skydiving outfits, still--when little Joey Poopoulos (that's him on the left) got fed up with us, he pushed us off. If we hadn't had our parachutes on, our trip might have ended at the bottom of the Grand Canyon! As it was, we were able to get back up the canyon, find our car, and make our way back to San Luis Obispo.
It's been quite a year and quite a trip. And now that we're back home safe, I can say without a doubt: I've seen the world, and you're my favorite thing in it.
Happy Valentine's Day, Sterling.
Love,
Elizabeth
We have had so many fantastic adventures this year. My new job has been stressful in many ways, of course, particularly in the wake of the Wikileaks disaster, but we have taken full advantage of the traveling I have been forced to do. A year ago, could you have imagined what this year would hold? I certainly never imagined myself working for international corporations, let alone in espionage, but with you by my side anything seems possible. And as the vacation pictures I will share with you below demonstrate, you have been quite literally by my side for so much of the past year. You are a trooper, a hero, a king among men.
Remember when we went to Niagara Falls last spring?
Remember how just after that photo was taken, the wind picked up? The mist was so heavy that we would have been drenched, had we not been wearing our jumpsuits.
You won that adorable sock monkey in the claw machine when we went to Denny's for lunch. As you know, we lost him to the falls that afternoon.
No matter. By the time we reached New York at the end of April, I was hardly crying about Mr. Juggles at all anymore. Better to have loved and lost, etc. etc.
Being a tourist with you has been a supreme joy, and what better place to be a tourist than New York? Though we hit all the important spots (the Statue of Liberty, Central Park, the museums), my favorite part of the trip had to be standing with you in picturesque places wearing our signature jumpsuits, holding our thumbs up to the world. (Four upvotes for you, New York.)
If nothing else, though, we'll always have Paris: swimming naked in the Seine, stealing that corgi we found tied up outside a market, spitting off the top of the Eiffel Tower.
And as the trip went on, we even began to make friends. Remember the Extreme Spaghetti-Making class in Tuscany? I hadn't heard of extreme pasta-related sports before, but Marco and Carmina showed us how just how much fun it can be to cut spaghetti on the edge of a mountain after having shared several bottles of wine.
Carmina lost a finger in the pasta-cutting machine not too long after this photo was taken, but since it was only her pinky, she should be okay.
In Nepal, we had that entire group with us! This photo was taken on my birthday, I think. Some hill, huh?
From left to right: Sarah, Michael, Joanne, Robert, Enzo, Pierre, Jake, Fernando, Chris, Robert, Alonso, you, and me. I'm laughing now just thinking about Enzo and some of the crazy things he said--remember his Arnold Schwarzenegger impression? Shame about his sister, really.
Of course, we were sent back to the US after not too long.
We met Jason and Krista in Yellowstone. They were a little nonplussed by the geysers, but you were as enthusiastic as ever. How could I be anything otherwise? Hot water is awesome! It's science!
In Arizona, we spent a good hour making jokes with the Poopoulos kids, who we met on the trail.
In general, they were pretty good sports. Unfortunately, though, you just couldn't stop making poop jokes. Good thing we were in our skydiving outfits, still--when little Joey Poopoulos (that's him on the left) got fed up with us, he pushed us off. If we hadn't had our parachutes on, our trip might have ended at the bottom of the Grand Canyon! As it was, we were able to get back up the canyon, find our car, and make our way back to San Luis Obispo.
It's been quite a year and quite a trip. And now that we're back home safe, I can say without a doubt: I've seen the world, and you're my favorite thing in it.
Happy Valentine's Day, Sterling.
Love,
Elizabeth
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