How did I get here?

A couple of weekends ago, I met my friend and former AHS co-worker, Brady, and her husband Shane in London for the day. Brady is actually the reason why I’m in England. She was the one who told me about Bluewave International, the recruitment company I went through to get my teaching job out here. A friend of hers had found the company online and decided to apply with them, just to see what would come of it. He was placed in a school out here in England very quickly, and since she was feeling unsettled in her teaching career in Colorado, she decided to give it a shot as well.

One evening several months ago, she and I were at our favourite “English Pub” in Denver, and I was expounding upon the many woes I was facing in my situation at the time. Things were rough for me, both personally and professionally, and I was searching for a solution. Leaving Denver and starting afresh someplace else was an idea I had been mildly considering since Terry died, but one night last November, over a year after his death, I had an experience that, since that night, I hadn’t been able to get the idea of leaving out of my head.

I was lying in bed waiting for sleep, when I suddenly thought I was drowning. Literally. It felt like someone was sitting on my chest. I was gasping for breath, my body was shaking uncontrollably with sobs, and I was convinced that my own death was imminent. These were not suicidal thoughts; I was not thinking of taking my own life. It simply felt like I was going to die…like death was coming for me. Never having had a panic attack before, I didn’t know that that was what was happening to me. It wasn’t until an emergency trip to my counsellor the next day that my experience was given a name. All I knew at the time was that it was one of the scariest things that had ever happened to me. When I was finally able to calm down enough to breathe and think, my first impulse was to run. “Impulse” is perhaps the wrong word. It wasn’t just an impulse. Every ounce of my being was on fire and pulling me out of bed and urging me into my car. Again, death seemed imminent. If I didn’t go, I would die. I was sure of it. I picked up my phone and called my friend Tommy in Hawaii and my friend Travis in Seattle, and I asked them both if they would be okay with my coming to crash with them for a while. They both kindly offered me a place to stay for as long as I might need it. I then called my sister Jessie in South Dakota. Whether I decided to go to Seattle or Hawaii, I was going to have to get the money for a plane ticket first, and I could not stay in Denver another minute. I was planning to throw some stuff in the trunk of my car and drive to South Dakota that very night. I knew I could stay with Jessie or with my grandma, get a job, and make some money to buy the plane ticket. This was the plan. Then I walked downstairs, still sobbing, and talked to my mom. She listened concernedly as I cried and tried to verbalize what I was feeling and what I wanted to do. As only she can, my mom calmed me down. She was understanding and compassionate about my need to flee that very minute from the feelings that were consuming me, but she made me promise to sleep on it, go see a counsellor the next day, then make a decision. As much as every molecule in my body was illogically screaming at me to get in the car, I was still able to comprehend the logic behind her request. This was a rash decision. I did as she asked; I went to bed. I slept very little, the immediacy of the urge to run still coursing through my veins.

The next morning, I went to talk to someone about what had happened the night before, praying she would be able to tell me exactly what to do. Naturally, it doesn’t work like that. She couldn’t make my decision for me, but she did help me a little bit. First, she described what a panic attack is, and it was pretty obvious that she was describing what I had experienced the previous night. That helped. This thing had a name. It was real. I wasn’t going crazy…well, not in that sense anyway. She also explained that to make a life-changing decision like moving to a different state could be a catastrophically bad idea in the immediate aftermath of a panic attack. She said that I was certainly still too emotionally unstable to be able to make a clear-headed choice of that magnitude. I did a quick internal emotional scan, and in point of fact, I was still feeling the effects of it as I sat in her office. I was still trembling, still uncontrollably crying, and the impulse to run was still pushing urgently at the back of my throat. I’ve never felt anything with such immediacy. Over the course of our conversation, I came to realize that I needed to wait a little longer before deciding to move. Her recommendation was a month, one month to mull it over and be sure of what I wanted, and while that seemed like a reasonable amount of time in my head, my body couldn’t fathom staying where I was for a whole other month.

Thankfully, Thanksgiving was only about a week away and that offered me a temporary solution. In just a few days, I was able to pack up my car and give myself a slight respite from the insistent demand for distance still resounding inside me. I drove to South Dakota and spent Thanksgiving with my sister, my grandmother, and a few of my aunts, uncles, and cousins. The ten-hour drive through relative nothingness put me at ease. I could actually feel the knots in my stomach start to release as I got closer and closer to the place where my mother grew up. I spent four days of stillness and quiet in the peaceful countryside where my mom’s family farm sits on a hillside surrounded by wheat fields that dance and shimmer in the prairie wind. I love it there. My soul is fed by the gentle silence and the endless sky. It’s a place that has always brought me comfort and solace, but never more so than this. The only way in which this trip was not a complete reprieve was that when I went home, I wanted to be gone again. The time away showed me, quite clearly, that I would need to leave again. Now came the task of figuring out how.

But life, as it tends to do, took over again once I got home. Out of necessity, I went back to working day to day, interacting with people day to day, and trying to cope day to day. The inclination to leave stayed at the back of my mind, and I spent nights in bed musing over how I might go about making it happen. Whether or not I ever took my musings seriously, I can’t be sure. Part of me believed that I would never be able to do it, that I was stuck. I felt as though, in the last year, all my decisions had been the wrong ones. My unpredictable emotions continued to wreak havoc over my life, harming me and those around me. I didn’t know how to fix it. By the time I had this conversation about Bluewave with Brady, I was feeling anxious and trapped. More than anything, I was utterly scared.

So why am I here? I’m here because I got scared. My life scared me. All that had already happened, all that was currently happening, and all that might happen…it all scared me. I chickened out. I couldn’t face it. I didn’t know how. I mean, there were other reasons too, of course. My wanderlust had been nagging at the back of my mind long before this. Travelling is one of my passions; it is a part of who I am. I travelled quite a bit last summer, spending a couple of weeks on the West Coast and Hawaii, then a month in Europe, but I wanted to be more than a tourist. I’ve always wanted to live – not just visit – in a different country. I wanted to become a part of a culture, not just observe it as outsider. Scotland, England, and Spain have always appealed to me, so when Brady mentioned this program, in the midst of all that I was feeling, it seemed like something I was supposed to pursue. However, if I’m honest with myself, I know that the main source of my motivation for this move was fear. When I look back on the last few years, it sickens me how many of my decisions were made on the grounds of fear. Fear has ruled me. Fear is a terrible power, and it is mostly self-inflicted. I let fear take me over, because that seemed like a safer route than allowing for any possibility of further loss and heartache. My single greatest priority became to avoid pain. Yes, I will admit it – the reason I am here is primarily a cowardly and selfish one. There were issues I didn’t want to deal with back home, so I ran.

But here’s the thing: it doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter why I left. The reasons that brought me here are irrelevant. I am here. And I need to be here. It is necessary. I am supposed to be living in this house, with these people, in this town, working at this school, at this exact time in my life. There is no other explanation for any of this other than I HAD TO. If I didn’t, I would always have wanted to, and I would always have thought that I should have. Years from now, no matter how good my life had the potential to be, there would always be doubt that I had made the wrong decision. I would regret that I had been too scared to give it shot. It all comes back to fear. I came because of my fear, and if I hadn’t come, that also would have been because of fear. “The lesser of two evils” required me to make a decision. What scared me more? The answer came to me surprisingly easily. I already have quite enough look-back-and-wonder-what-if material, thank you very much. I knew I had to try. Yes, there was the distinct possibility that I would come to England, fail miserably, and have to go back home again dejected, having sacrificed a great deal in the process. There is still that possibility. But if it happens, I will know that at least I tried and it didn’t work. I want so desperately to come home at the end of this truly ready to move on with my life. I think I am making steps toward making that happen.

I won’t lie and say that this has been easy. There are days that I am so frustrated with some of the aspects of teaching in this system that I am want to quit and walk out of the school. There are days when the students are so emotionally taxing that I want to sit down and cry. There are days that I am so sad about all the moments I am missing with my nephews that I want to get on the next plane and come home and never leave them again. There are days that I need my parents, and my siblings, and my friends so badly that I want to call every one of you, just to draw some strength from your voices. There are days that I am so lonely I want to climb into bed and never get up again. There are days that I’m so afraid that I’ve made the wrong decision and lost something so precious to me that it is hard for me to breathe.

There are those days. My only solution for those days is to try to make the next day better. I can’t always fix it, but I try. I do some exploring, or I make a new friend, or I read a new book, or I go to London and see a show, or I get a bunch of grading done, or I buy something British and fabulous, or I write, or I make plans for my next break from school. These things help refocus my mind and remind me that I am having a fabulous adventure. I have seen some amazing things that many people will never get to see. I have done some incredible things that many people will never get to do. I have met some wonderful people that I already can’t imagine my life without. It is these moments that make this whole life-gamble worthwhile. I am thankful that I have this opportunity to grow, learn, and heal. I realize that it is up to me to reap the maximum potential benefit from this endeavour, and I am really, really trying.

The Teaching Bit:

I don’t have to do it for a while! Hooray! We’ve just completed our first half term and I now have one week off. I really like this one week off for every six weeks of teaching thing. Brilliant! I am a little behind with things at school (like grading), so I will spend part of my break at school getting caught up. What can I say?...I haven’t changed much in my absolute inability to take a break from work. However, I am taking a few days to go explore northern England. Me, Samantha, and our friend Ben are taking a road trip up to Liverpool for four days. We leave today. I’m so excited! Outside of London, there just hasn’t been time to do a whole lot of sight-seeing. I am really looking forward to this.

Theatre:

The day that I met Brady and Shane in London we went to see Stomp, which is absolutely one of the most exciting and fun theatre experiences I’ve ever had. It was positively exhilarating. If you ever have a chance to see this show when it’s touring, I ABSOLUTELY recommend it. Samantha and I went to see Rain Man with Josh Hartnett the next weekend. It was quite good. Mr. Hartnett did a pretty good job, and Adam Godley (who played Ray) was outstanding, although not as good as Dustin Hoffman in the movie. But, come on, you can’t really expect that from anybody. I wasn’t terribly impressed with some of the supporting cast, unfortunately, but overall I thoroughly enjoyed it. Finally, this week we took about twenty of our year 10 Drama students to go see West Side Story since they are studying it in class. It was excellent. The woman who played Anita absolutely stole the show, and the actor who played Tony had one of the most beautiful voices I have ever heard. Swoon. Seriously. When he belted the high note in “Maria” I almost fell out of my chair. Oh dear…my face is getting a little flushed. I have to stop thinking about it. Anyway, the whole cast was fabulous. The dance element of the show was particularly fantastic, and the final scene was beautifully staged and positively heart-wrenching. Three more successful theatre experiences in London. Most excellent.

London:

Sam and I went to Harrods a couple of weekends ago. Now, I went there with Chrissy when I was in London four years ago, but we must have quit before we saw the whole store, because I do not remember my last experience there being nearly as grand as this time was. This time, we spent the better part of the day there, thoroughly enjoying all six ridiculously huge floors. I have never seen anything like this place. There is nothing you can’t buy there, if you have the money to afford the exorbitant prices. It is almost overwhelming. You don’t even know where to begin. In fact, it’s so big, that I am quite sure that we missed at least part of every floor. Each one was a huge, never-ending maze of merchandise, ranging from food to electronics to a couture wedding gown boutique. And here comes the highlight of the day, and perhaps the highlight of my entire experience in England to date: The shoe floor. I have never seen anything like it. It is not an exaggeration to say I almost fainted when we reached it. Every high-end designer you can think of had their own unique alcove throughout the floor…Gucci, Jimmy Choo, Manolo, Prada, D&G, to name a few. Then, of course, was the designer whose shoes speak directly to my heart, and who, if I ever had the funds, would be the recipient of my generous shoe-buying patronage: Christian Louboutin. His red-soled masterpieces stood along the gorgeous black displays, in the gorgeous black velvet covered room, with black ceiling-to-floor sheer drapes that separated row after row of his incredible creations. I tried on a pair of $900 red, patent leather pumps with criss-crossed straps across the top of the foot. I tried on a pair of the perfect $800 black patent leather pumps, so comfortable I am quite convinced I could have worn them jogging, though of course I would never do that. I held, but could not allow myself to try on, a $2000 pair of black satin, crystal-studded heels. They were perhaps the most beautiful shoes I have ever seen. *Sigh* It was a very good day.

*A-hem!* Now that I have pegged myself as probably the biggest girly-girl in all of Girldom, I have to remind you that I while I love shoes, I also camp, and get dirty, and climb rocks and trees, and shoot guns, and ride four-wheelers, and snowboard, and I don’t paint my fingernails. So there. I’m not a complete loss.

Well, I’m going to go get ready to run around Liverpool doing dorky Beatles-related stuff. I’m missing you much and wishing you well, as always.