Rock On

 

I stole this from a Threadless profile. And I love it.

Life: for a limited time only.

My mind likes to run in circles. Sometimes when I read my own writing I feel like I can see concentric little circles of thought spiraling their way down the page. Likewise, I find that each season holds its own set of cyclic thoughts, memories, and compulsions, and each year they return like clockwork—circling back to remind me of where I’ve been and where I’m headed. 

Spring has forever been my season of crossroads, of evaluation, of decision.With the monumental decision at hand now, I’ve realized something really amazing: There are no wrong answers. There are no bad options. Not anymore, baby.

 I don’t think I’ve ever been able to say that. I guess age and education really do bring some valuable gifts, and I’m so grateful to have gained and realized. With that thought swirling around my head, the decision seems much more of a blessing than a curse. It knocked out some blockage up there and dusted off a whole room full of perennial spring dreams.

 Ever since I found out that a unique and brazen bunch of people set out each year to through-hike the 2,200 miles of the Appalachian Trail, I’ve dreamed of saddling myself up and meeting them at Springer Mt; and each early spring I’m reminded that I’m still not among them, and I wonder why.

I’ve always wanted to travel out West, working seasonal jobs in the desert. I’ve even accepted jobs in the Four Corners states on a few occasions, but I’ve never gone. I want to volunteer in a developing country. I want to actually give writing a go, even if it means selling my eggs and slingin’ Timmy’s coffee… There are so many dreams I’ve thrown away because they just weren’t feasible. Everyone has those, I guess.

But why we choose to toss those shiny little dreams over our shoulders is probably a little more personal. Probably the most common two reasons are: something better came up, or I just had to focus on my career/finances/family… It’s totally understandable. That’s life.

 
Of course those have been some of my common factors as well, but on the other hand I’m realizing that one of the biggest culprits is actually fear. I always sort of imagined myself somewhat less prone to fear (I like to think I grew up like a Kingsolver woman or a London man), but I’m slowly realizing just how much that nasty little four-letter wretch has dictated my life.

I’ve been afraid to commit to going home in case I don’t find a job. I’ve been afraid to stay in case it turns out to be a sad and lonely year. I’ve been afraid to look outside those two options because I worked so hard to get where I am now.

But, when I let go of the fear I can see something really exquisite: there is no expiration date on my career.

I’ve been working so hard for that career pass—that little piece of paper that gets my foot in the door. And here I am, standing fully inside that room, with nothing expiring but my life. Whether I land a job today, tomorrow, or three years from now doesn’t matter. That option will forever be open to me, but some other parts of life may not…

And that brings me to the most powerful fear of all: not being accepted, not being understood, not being approved. We single people often find ourselves in the same really beautiful boats; only trouble is that many of the child-laden powerboat people out there think our sails are vain and inadequate and feel the need to point that out as regularly as the tides knock us around.

Do I sound bitter? GOOD. I’m tired of people shooting pea holes in my sails.

I admit, I’ve caught myself thinking it too: when you get into the real world, you’ll realize why that’s not feasible. But why on earth do we all feel the need to judge other people’s lives based on our own? There ARE people out there who grow up and never marry, never have kids, never settle into a house, career, and square little box. Are they all immoral, degenerate losers? Not even at a glimpse. Not even for a second.

But still, if I told most people that I was going to give up my life and job here in Sweden, go back to North America, get a puppy, work as a sub until next March then hike the AT, they would have a very common reaction: why is she throwing it all away? Why won’t she grow up?   

Yes, I am up on my soapbox, and I am yelling.

 

  

Love ya, but I just don't need your stamp on my life...

 

 

BEING SINGLE DOES NOT EQUATE TO BEING YOUNG AND IMMATURE!

DIFFERENT DECISIONS AND VALUES DO NOT EQUATE TO WRONG DECISIONS AND VALUES!

INGENUITY AND AMBITION IN THOUGHT AND DREAM DO NOT EQUATE TO IMPULSIVITY!

QUIT TRYING TO IMPOSE YOUR VALUES ON MY LIFE!

 

 

 

Phew, got that out. In short, I’ve realized that other people run my life far too much. I think it may be more of a single person’s curse, as it’s hard to forget judgment when there’s no one at home to back you up. I think many of us are seen as younger because our lives are so much “easier.” That’s a whole blog for another day, though.

I’ve been afraid of losing my chance at my career. I’ve been afraid of making the wrong decision. I’ve been afraid of letting my family down. I’ve been afraid of relegating myself to a life without a family. I’ve been afraid of everything. And I had no idea.

I hold no illusions. I realize that I may remain single for the rest of my life and that my family may never understand or approve of my decisions. But what’s most important is that I know that my career isn’t going anywhere, but my life is running out by the second. And no one can find that happy variable but me. I’m going to take it in whatever form it arrives, and I’m going to search for it anywhere I please without fear.

And I’ll welcome all thoughts, suggestions, and constructive criticism. All judgment and guilt will be tossed aside though, because I’m going to make this decision on my own, based on my life and values. Because this life is mine—for a limited time only.

Variable Advice and Happiness on D Day

In grade 4 we read Gary Paulsen’s “Hatchet,” and I quickly followed it up with many of Jack London’s greats. I fed my starving little literary brain on morsels of Northern ice and adventure, scraps of wild men, embers of fires circled by snarling wolves. I grew up yearning for a life of unrivaled adventure and fierce independence.
Before boarding the plane to Sweden last August, my father held me tight and recalled those old dreams, “you always wanted to run away into the Northern woods… This is a better way to have a northern adventure.”

And I’m sure that he was right, but it’s been an adventure of different dreams.

Living abroad is an adventure and a bore all at once. Everything is new and different, and even the simplest things can be a trial. Food shopping is interesting at first, but as you grow tired of living your life by means of pictograms you find yourself cooking the same, safe, recognizable dishes over and over again.

At first the different language exhausts you and interests you, but you shortly find yourself tuning it all out… living in an auditory vacuum. In fact, when I was back in North America over the holiday, I found myself exhausted because I couldn’t help but listen in on every conversation around me—I felt obligated just because I could understand them.

The exciting sheen of originality wears off. You find yourself craving familiar things you thought you hated. I miss London traffic. I miss Hockey Night In Canada, The Beer Store, and even traffic on the 401. I miss giant stores that have whatever you want whenever you want it. Heck, I watch TV now. It’s become my best friend because it talks to me in my own language and shows me all kinds of pictures from back home.

I would kill for a Timmy’s and a breakfast sammich.

People seem to get me wrong all the time though. I’m not miserable here. In fact I quite like it, but Sweden is not my favourite country. I see why Swedes love it: it’s beautiful, there is a system for everything, everyone and everything is taken care of, life is calm and smooth and pleasing. If you fit into the parameters of the system, that is; if you don’t, you’d better enjoy breaking trail.
I’m happy I came here. I’ve met some really amazing people, I’ve had some great life and work experiences, and I’ve seen parts of the world I probably never would have seen otherwise. But I’ve come to a point where I have to make my decision…

Should I stay or should I go?

It’s a tough decision. Personally, I have no life. Professionally, things are pretty solid for me here. Back home that equation stands right on its head. So the question is, does the happiness variable come out equally in both equations? I’ve been mulling it over for months, but now I have an official deadline: have to tell Greg in Mid March.

Another fave author of mine, Terry Pratchett, mused that “the trouble with having an open mind, of course, is that people will insist on coming along and trying to put things in it.” And that’s the obnoxious story of my decision, it seems.

I’m asked almost daily if I’ll stay. I understand the interest, but really… It’s a bit of a personal question, and it’s not something I plan to tell strangers (or anyone) before I tell my boss. But I guess that’s the thing with Expat communities: we throw away the formalities because we’re all breaking trail on the same mountain.

Over and over again I hear that I “have to stick it out at least two years. I cried for two years, then it started to get better. Sweden is a really great country, you know…” Uh huh. Sounds fun. The parts they forget to consider are great: I have NO Swedish spouse to tie me here, my country’s pretty darn good too, and I have a life—a good one at that—back home. I’m tired of people assuming Sweden is better than Canada and that I was yearning for a life I couldn’t find there.

Truth be told, I just wanted a job.

So remind me again why I want to cry for 2 years? A negligible increase on my maternity leave, a decreased pay, and less medical benefits?? Riiiight. Thanks for the input. I’ll make my decisions and you can stick to yours.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Seriously though, I do generally appreciate input. I am just really tired of the assumption that I came here fleeing from some lack of life or worse. I came because I wanted to teach. Now I have, and I wonder if that’s enough of a life to give up all I have at home for yet another year of my life.

I’m also sick of the guilt factor. I’m a teacher, so it’s a given that I care deeply about the kids. I’ve bonded with them, and of course I consider the fact that my mentor class has had a new co-mentor every year they’ve been there. I would love to see them through their final year at our school next year, and I would be proud to have stuck by them and supported them for as long as I could. But, just as I need to consider them, so too do I need to consider me—perhaps a little more heavily.

Yes, I am young.

But my life is finite, and I plan to spend some of it just enjoying—not just struggling and living for others.

I’ve been meditating on a Theodore Roosevelt quote daily for about a month now. “Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checked by failure, than to take rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy nor suffer much, because they live in the gray twilight that knows not victory or defeat. “

I know I appreciate it. I know that it represents how I’ve tried to live my life. But I can’t figure out how it weighs into this decision yet. More on that later, I suppose. For now I’ll be spending my vacation time balancing those equations, searching for that elusive happiness variable.

Wish me luck. I wish you love and light.

 

The pond’s freezin’ over, now where are my skates?!

I’ve received numerous requests for an update from across the pond, so here it is… But someone should have told you all to be careful what you wish for. Truth be told, life East of the Atlantic isn’t all that different from West: eat, sleep, work, repeat. There hasn’t been all too much to say.

But that makes it sound all so simple, and really it isn’t. As I’m not here for vacation, there’s been much paperwork: I had to get my visa, work and residence permits, bank account, you name it. And while some people might have you believe that everything in Europe is better, easier, and more friendly than back home; I’m here to tell you that’s a nasty little rumour. And shame on you liars who are spreading it!

It took months and much stress to get my visa and permits, but now I’ve been here over 2 months and I still can’t get my personal number, which I need to open a bank account, get a doctor, a phone, the internet, even to rent a movie. So I still can’t even cash my own paycheques. I’m like a child—a child that doesn’t exist.

But, even though I can’t access my own money, the government can still take a third my pay, then deny me any benefits (like healthcare) because I still don’t have a personal number, which they won’t give me. I’d like to call someone and demand they send all that tax money to Canada, where my benefits would gladly be provided, but I’ve noticed that most people only speak English if you have positive things to say and simple requests… Go figure.

Every country suffers from its own case of nationalism. I admit, I’m guilty of buying into the Canadian I AM mentality—it’s so reassuring to have a whole country standing behind you chanting the same mantra. But so far, I don’t appreciate having a whole country chanting another in my face. I don’t speak Swedish, I have different cultural expectations of people around me, and most of what is normal here in Sweden is down right rude to me.

I’ve been through this before, once moving to Montreal, again moving to the States, then a little again moving back to Canada… But this is the first time in my life that it’s offended me so much. I hate to say it, but at this point the Swedish language just sounds like rudeness to me.

Am I a glutton for punishment?? All signs point to YES. But we Canadians are friendly and trusting. We smile and say hello to people we don’t know, we assume the best of one another, and as I once read (excuse the approximated quote, please) ”Canadians actually seem to like each other.” Perhaps that’s why I run into other countries with open arms; I assume they feel the same way we do. Think again, naïve little Canuck.

Here in Sweden people don’t say hello to strangers. In fact, if you make eye contact with someone, they still won’t even acknowledge your presence. Here’s goofy old me, walking down the bike path, smiling at everyone I meet, only to be met with cold stares… people looking right through me. Where I come from, that’s the coldest of insults you can give—we don’t denounce each other’s existence. It’s been explained to me that here, people are calculating enough to worry that if they smile at me today they may have to say hello tomorrow, then next week we’re chatting about the weather, and suddenly they’re stuck with me. Such a commitment, all from one smile, oh my… I had no idea I was like a disease that could spread and infect all days and time to come. Sorry Swedes. I’ll keep my horrific smiles to myself.

It’s kind of tough to be a happy go lucky Canuck/Vermont wave gal in such a cold and moderate country, but I refuse to stop smiling. Even if people in town ignore me, people at work shrug me off as an immigrant, people at all the important offices refuse to help me or offer some helpful advice. Even then, I just keep reminding myself that the last thing I want is to lose my identity and humanity while I’m here and find myself back in Canada insulting people by ignoring them. So I keep smiling, even if I have to curse at people’s rudeness afterwards from time to time.

And keeping that smile on my face is proving to be no easy task as the light is fleeing to somewhere down in Antarctica. Enjoy it, d little penguins, I hope you really do need it more than I do right now.  Already we’re down to a little under 11 hours of light per day, and I hear that it will shrink to a measly 6 hours (or less) once real winter hits. Hoo boy.

And right now the ‘sunshine’ at work is really dwindling as well. The kids have really settled in and are testing their limits again (read: trying their hardest to make me crazy), assessments are piling up and need marking, and we’re in Sweden’s version of report card time—yup, I get to mark & write lengthy comments for all my 160 students. Ida and I have been joking about setting up bunkbeds in the office, but the joke is bordering on a twisted reality lately. At least it keeps me busy, I guess.

And while I’m busy dedicating my life to Swedish kids, the Swedish Board of Education is dedicating it’s time to a new push: cutting back on foreign teachers without Swedish certification. Thanks for another stab in the back, my new Nordic friends. How about I educate your kids while you stand behind me and kick my knees in, eh? Yeesh.

You’d think I could ignore this new push and go on with my marking since I have a contract, but the news at the staff meetings is that one of our company’s schools had to ‘let go’ 3 of their teachers, all of whom had some type of contract– one of which was a permanent contract. And, gulp, you guessed it, now they’re taking a much closer look at all of our company’s schools. YAY!

So today we had a meeting, and I was the only one in a desperate enough situation to ask the direct question “do I need to be concerned about my job?” Did I get a direct answer? Hell no. Did it even sound like an indirect no? No again. Am I irate, nervous, and one strong nudge away from buying a ticket back home? Oh hell yes. YES indeed.

No one else seemed all too concerned, but they’re here for good anyhow. They have wives, husbands, homes, other people to carry them through a job loss.  Me? I haven’t even enough in my bank account to get myself back home if the need should arise… Oh wait, that’s right, I don’t even HAVE a bank account. I miss making beer deliveries. Heck, I’d go back to teaching for free in Ontario right about now. In fact, I’m so sick of Sweden I’m happy Mats Sundin is off the Leafs. How Swede it’s NOT!

So, like I said, there’s the news and be careful what you wish for, my pretties. Today, I sat outside a colleague’s classroom for a minute just because I was happy to hear his (fading) Canadian accent, beautiful ehs, and wonderfully familiar pronunciation of the words out and about. Ah, my fellow Canadians.

But it isn’t all doom and gloom. As my sister would say, I only have five more sleeps until my first vacation, and I’m really excited to see Slovenia, maybe drive a car again (I miss driving!), and drink a Zlatarog (or two) for the Bezans back home.

And I confess, certain things really are better here: European fashion is phenomenal, and I indulged myself in some really great new digs this weekend. Nothing goes better with a fake smile than new sky high black leather boots, and a sweater dress, maybe another sweater, some jeans… you get the idea.

Next investment: a sun lamp. I’m going to carry this smile through the winter if it kills me, and who knows, maybe one day it’ll rub off. It’s worth a shot, eh? 

Pics from Sweden

Since I have nothing else to talk about now, here are some pics.

They’re randomly organized & I am too lazy to explain. Many from school, new ones from home, some from downtown & the park. Enjoy!

Ramblings from Sweden Part 2

WE CLEAN BEFORE WE FEAST

In case you weren’t already aware, my last post was written on Saturday while waiting for an internet hookup, which I still don’t really have. I arrived in Sweden on Friday afternoon, not yesterday… Though the difference, to me, is negligible.

 I’m not one for mass postings or group emails, but as you can imagine things are pretty hectic, and as I’m using Ida’s internet to post, I’m trying to minimize my time.  I figured this was a good solution. Plus, writing gives me something to do in my barren apartment when I’m bored & lonely.  I have to get a personnummer  before I can get a phone, internet, or bank account, so it might be a bit before any of those things happen.

            

As I mentioned before, my school’s facility was not intended for academia. Nej, it was once a textile factory and had lived many lives before becoming Internationella Engelska Skolan 5 years ago. It’s an interesting building in a very convenient location, and really it looks quite impressive from the outside—very large and brick… in fact, they’re those sepia-toned bricks you see quite often in Southern Ontario, which is comfy for me.

However, the inside is a different story altogether. There are… 4 floors… I think. There are 3 staircases, though only two go from top to bottom, and they’re on the far ends of the building… And the second floor creates a huge dilemma because it is not accessible from all sides. What I mean by this is that it’s got a quad of classrooms right in the middle of the floor, blocking access from one side to another. So, quite often, if you need to get from one side of the floor to the other, you need to hike up or down the stairs, cross over that floor, then go back up/down and around again. This may sound only mildly annoying, but what you need to know is that there are 1 or 2 staircases that only go up one floor (and not the right one), the hallways are like labyrinths that are nearly innavigable (not a word, but it works), and the whole process is a nightmare, even once you’ve finally figured out the snarl of halls and stairs that we call home.  Which I have not, as you may have inferred.

And, of course, you guessed it—I’m split between two departments, and their offices are on opposite sides of the second floor. And yes, you nailed it again; my schedule includes room changes that follow this stinkin route quite often… One more for the team, Ebie… One more.  At least I should build a nice set of stems, just getting between offices and classrooms… I’ll have to try not to raise my arms to write on the board… (“Why does Ms. Bingham always stink?”)

All that aside, the facility is quite nice. (Apart from that, Mrs. Lincoln, how did you like the show?) As I mentioned, the lunchroom is really quite amazing, and the food is really good! The classrooms are adequately furnished, bright, and clean, but no SMARTboards like back home in Ontario (no internet-based lessons for Ms. B… boohoo). My office is in the math and sciences department, which is great for me because it seems larger, brighter, and a little more lively than the English department. 

School is somewhat different here in Sweden, as our school is the equivalent of the Canadian “intermediate” or the US “junior high,” but the grades are 6-9. The kids seem to have a lot more freedom (which means we do too); for example they don’t have to come in until their first class (which may be as late as 10:30), and they can leave as soon as they are finished (as early as 1:30).  This also means that I have a lot more freedom with my schedule—namely, I can LEAVE in the middle of the day if I am free. Take THAT, Ontario.

Given I’m in Europe, there seem to be far less rules regarding physical contact, which is challenging for me… I never know whether to pull the boys off the girls in the halls or just let them go… On the other hand, they seem a far more intimate and less self-conscious culture, which may be attributable to this difference.  I find it sweet that grade 8 girls will still walk down the hall holding hands, and boys are unafraid to hug or throw an arm around each other– which is very European and seems so innocent & nice. There’s so much less of that typical North American awkwardness surrounding sex, sexual identity, and intimacy. It’s quite inspiring to see kids more comfortable in their own skin and comfortable with each other.

On the flipside of that, they are (perhaps) a bit too comfortable questioning authority for my liking. The kids are raised to expect explanations and to question authority, which I think is great… but (so far) they lack a basic respect for authority that I feel is necessary for a productive learning environment. I know, I never thought I’d say that either, but the old teacher snarl and stink eye just don’t work on these kids– and sometimes I just wish they’d poop their little britches and hop –to!! I prefer to teach, not discipline, and I fear there may be too much of that here… Perhaps it’s just a start of the year thing, but I’m finding it a bit of a struggle thus far…

As for the basics, the union agreement maxes us out at 35 hours a week, and I have a number of breaks throughout the day with which to plan—which makes my schedule seem quite nice (so far).  We have a really great system called SchoolSoft, which allows us to post homework, class notes, lesson plans, etc., all online—and it’s the kids’ responsibility to check every day and make sure they are up to date. What that means is that I don’t have to type those obnoxious Ontario lesson (etc) plans, I don’t have to write down homework on the board, and no one can ever say “I forgot my agenda,” or “I didn’t know it was due,” etc. They have more responsibility, which means less work for me.

HAHA, kiddies, HAHA.

I’m teaching 3 math  (grades 8 &9) and 3 English classes (grades 7 & 9), but I only have to plan for 2 math and 2 English because some of the classes are repeats. And really, I don’t have a whole lot of planning anyhow. Unlike in Ontario, the English department here has pretty much given me lessons in a can. We all do the same thing at the same time in basically the same way—which is bad for creativity and my level of excitement/challenge, but really good for my personal life and sanity. Math is basically mapped out, but I have the freedom to teach it how I like… and since math is fun & easy anyhow (another thing I never thought I’d say), the planning should really be quite easy.

Aside from those classes, I have what is called a mentor class. It’s a grade 8 class of 31 kids that a woman named Barbara Lundin & I share. We meet with these kids twice a week, their parents at least bi-weekly, and basically serve as their advisors. They seem a pretty good lot; though they’re talkative to an extreme and one of the girls is so histrionic and self-absorbed I’d like to smack her already.  I know that’s awful to say, but we’ve just spent the full two day orientation with them, and I’ve already seen some behaviour from her (towards Mrs. Lundin) that I will NOT tolerate—even for an instant. I have no patience for little girls who talk back and storm out. (Isn’t that a little hypocritical, you say? BAH! I say!)

If you take one thing away from this, it should be that teaching in a school where the kids speak another language is very, very strange. They say things to you sometimes, and you’re not sure they’re speaking English, thanks to the accents. They say things that are obviously about you, and you have no idea what they’re saying… In co-taught classes, they talk to the other teacher in Swedish, and you are left clueless… Everywhere I go I have no idea what is being said around me… It’s strange, but I’m getting used to having a dumb smile plastered on my face & saying “engelska..?” often.

But enough of the teacher babble… Very few of you are interested in it, I’m sure, but it’s my life & I’m trying to tell you about my life here.

On the other side of life, Ida has given me a number of things for my apartment, so now I have sheets for my tiny little IKEA bed and curtains for my windows. She also gave me some towels, candles, matches, etc… It was a really thoughtful little package she put together, really. She is super nice & has shown me the ropes here in town. Her office is with mine, and she lives next door, so I think we ought to be friends. In fact, I am headed over to her place to use the internet and talk about math in just a few minutes.  Also, Barbara has offered me a set of leather furniture (sectional couch, recliner, ottoman), and Mousafa (the school custodian) is going to drop it off this weekend sometime. So, by this time next week I should be fully furnished for next to nothing!  No more echoes in my apartment! Woo!

I’ve rambled too much, so I’ll sign off for now. I’ve been far too busy to take any pictures, really, but I’ll go on a hike around the city this weekend and snap some to post– so hopefully I’ll have some good ones soon.

I hope you are all well, as I know many of you are traveling across countries yourself, and I hope that this post hasn’t bored you to death. They should be shorter & more interesting from now on. I miss you all very much, and I hope to actually SPEAK to some of you relatively soon. You’re all in my heart (if not my continent) always.

Ebie!