First: some truth. I miss blogging. I didn’t fully understand when I became a teacher that it would affect my personal life so much. Working with children means that I am always, _always_ worried about my public face. I can’t step foot outside my apartment without considering that a child or parent is going to see me and take note of what I’m buying, or where I’m going, or what I’m reading. I’m sure I’ve said here before that I love and appreciate how much this integrates me into my community the way working in an office wouldn’t – I love to see kids and families out and about, and I love to be invited to their activities. There’s a wealth of community events that I wouldn’t even have known about without an invitation from a student to a performance.
Still: online, especially, I self-censor quite a bit. It’s taken the fun out of some of my favorite social network-y things to do, not because I would say or do anything vulgar, but because I must always be Ms. Plainy rather than just plainy. Like everyone else, I also hesitate before putting anything too personal on there, because I don’t want colleagues, students, or parents knowing every thought in my head. And what’s the fun in writing a watered down version of everything?
HOWEVER.
I’ve decided to throw caution to the wind a tiny bit, and blog more. Anybody who is really searching hard can find this blog and piece together who I am, and some of my students are very determined. Still, I feel that I’ve made taken reasonable (if not air-tight) measures to try and keep my online-self as un-easily google-able as I can.
Mostly, I’m developing a contradictory resentment to how controlled and public our lives are becoming. Border crossings to visit my family have become wildly unpleasant, the new airport security measures seem creepy, and my mother is on facebook. It would seem to follow that these sorts of things would make me want to protect my privacy even more, but I don’t like how often I am censoring myself *in my own mind*. It’s creepy.
So.
On to the post:
As per usual, I’m suffering from a general malaise. Maybe the reason I like nineteenth century literature so much is because mental distress is described in such a satisfyingly familiar way. I’ve got ennui, I feel a malaise, I’ve had a terrible case of fin-du-siecle for the last ten years. How else to describe these fits of restless melancholia that come on me every so often? Granted, without these moments of restlessness and dissatisfaction, I would never do anything interesting – they are the root of everything I’ve ever applied for, every trip I’ve ever gone on, every major life decision.
Sometimes I’ll decide to do something and endlessly chew over it and mull and brood over it (grad school). Sometimes I’ll just leap. Actually, I leap into things quite a bit.
The worst part is that I *know* the recipe for unhappiness, and I still fall into with depressing regularity. Or rather, I know what the recipe for happiness is, but I still avoid it.
These are things that keep me happy:
1. Visits with friends. It’s essential.
2. Creating something. I do this less and less every year.
3. Exercising and eating right. Duh.
4. Reading interesting things. I read all the time for work, but that’s not the same thing.
Hooray for blogging more!
I know the first time I ran into a student and her mom at the grocery store was a bit of a shock to the system… but there must be balance!
Would you have time to create something over Winter Break?
I’m hoping to get some reading in, once the five big assignments due in the next week are finished…