People often ask me 'So are you loving living in Ireland?'
I always find that really difficult to answer.
'Oh it's grand, much like home, but colder.'
But there's a major difference for me: I'm disconnected here.
No social obligation, no people I have to see, regardless of how much I do or do not want to. It is impossible to visit my grandmothers, and they never reply to my letters, so there's no obligation to write more. No one to say I'm going to catch up with...and then never actually do it.
Initially, it feels like freedom! There's so much available time and a whole vast new city to ingratiate myself to.
In the lack of hosting and attending social gatherings, other parts of my personality have come to the fore.
2019 was the year of embracing my introvert, and 2020 is shaping up to be the same.
I grew up in a family of introverts, and while I adore the blissful peace of being in their presence, I do not identify as an introvert, and have spent many hours and awkward conversations trying to work out their motivations (or lack thereof) and what makes them tick. I have a theoretical understanding, and love the insight, wisdom, calm and depth they bring to my life.
I would consider myself extremely extraverted, energised by people, and obsessed with making connections. It is often joked in my immediate family that I stole all the extravert, and there was none left for my three younger brothers. I certainly do enjoy the depth and philosophy of my inner introvert though. The part of me that likes to gaze at the clouds and people watch. The part of me that likes to come up with theories about life - life is like boogie boarding, life is like chewing gum - a few features from my teen years. The part of me that likes to muse on 'but where did we come from?' and the part of me that likes to write.
One of the parts of moving countries that I was looking forward to the most was having more time to write. I knew I definitely would have more time to write because when you move, your world shrinks: you're disconnected.
My world - being my social circle - has definitely shrunk. It's like a blank slate, and you get to entirely reinvent yourself, like a new outfit in a wardrobe, you get to choose which version of you you want to be.
After a little while the reality of being disconnected sinks in. It is, in a lot of ways, horrible. You have no friends, you have no one to call if you want to go shopping, you have no one to get new job leads from, you have no one to randomly go for a drink with, no one to just chill and watch a movie with, no one to help orient you around your new home. Who do you ask about where to get vacuum cleaner bags from when Google is sketchy with the answer?
Sure, I've been out and I have met a bunch of cool people, and we have some really beautiful beginnings of friendships.
All this has been hard for my extraverted side. I feel like I have been socially castrated. My discussion circle had shrunken. The input for a vast range of perspectives has disappeared. I don't currently have my gaggle of girls to guzzle Gewurztraminer with and gather to gossip and gritque (go with it) the latest gripping book.
No one I've met here yet seems to fully 'get' me, nor I them, and I feel like I'm playing blind man's bluff trying to figure out how to be cool and get people to like me. Like if we had to move again, we'd probably just do it by ourselves you know?
And as for moving bodies... well.
I really enjoyed 2018. I had a vast array of interactions with a vast array of teachers, students, and parents in my professional life, as I was relief teaching between 10 different schools rather than in one classroom, as well as tutoring 16 different students after school. 2018 was full of bouncing around between different schools, thousands of different people and different expectations and normals. I was fiesty, flexible and fabulous!
I would be doing phonics with five-year-olds one day and then coaching cricket with too-cool-for-school tweens the next. Most importantly: I was pretty boss at all of this. This was within my comfort zone and it was satisfying and really validating to be able to walk into nearly any classroom and have a good day.
People's different expectations of themselves, life, others fascinates me. They way they do life and how they interact with others is nuanced and individual. Each set of normals has its own pros and cons, and I have made it my life's mission to try and steal other people's brilliant normals. Each set of normals has its own behaviour that is encouraged and conversely shunned. I adjusted and adapted, but held largely to my harsh-but-fair-scathingly-sarcastic-firm-but-fun teaching self. Some schools I was not a good fit in, and because I was going between so many different ones, it was easy to rationalise it as 'I am not a good fit in that school' rather that 'They don't want me to work there again? There must be something wrong with me.'
One way to explain this is a values match or a values clash. I did a really interesting exercise when I was seeing a psychologist a while back where she got me to map out what things I valued from this list.
She got me to choose 5 that were super important to me, 8 that were quite important, 5 that were super unimportant, and 8 that were unimportant, and 10 or so that were important.
My chart looked something like this:
And she took one look at it and said 'is teaching the right fit for you?' Particularly the school I was working in at the time - the Quite Unimportant list were values that were integral at that school, and thus I did not fit in. My values were not aligned.
If I were to do that exercise again now, a little older, with a bit more teaching experience, a bit more life experience and a very opposite-to-me husband, the list would look quite different now. My normal has changed quite a bit since I was a 27 year old beginning teacher with crippling anxiety living in Auckland.
My normal has changed quite a bit even just in the last year. Moving is big. Moving countries is bigger. Leaving your job is big. Leaving your career is bigger. We've ticked off 5 major stress events in the last 5 years according to this internet list of stressful things, and my score is a soaring 446 of a possible 600 on the Holmes and Rahe Stress test, if you include getting married 2.75 years ago.
So slowing down has been good, necessary, strange, blissful, weird and kind of like that first deep breath as you relax in a nice warm bath.
This is my new normal...
It has taken a bit of getting used to, but I'm starting to enjoy this new normal of a small, little, quiet life. The pace of my life has changed a lot. Not only am I working part time, but I'm working less intensely.
My introverted side is in heaven.
I grew up in a family of introverts, and while I adore the blissful peace of being in their presence, I do not identify as an introvert, and have spent many hours and awkward conversations trying to work out their motivations (or lack thereof) and what makes them tick. I have a theoretical understanding, and love the insight, wisdom, calm and depth they bring to my life.
I would consider myself extremely extraverted, energised by people, and obsessed with making connections. It is often joked in my immediate family that I stole all the extravert, and there was none left for my three younger brothers. I certainly do enjoy the depth and philosophy of my inner introvert though. The part of me that likes to gaze at the clouds and people watch. The part of me that likes to come up with theories about life - life is like boogie boarding, life is like chewing gum - a few features from my teen years. The part of me that likes to muse on 'but where did we come from?' and the part of me that likes to write.
One of the parts of moving countries that I was looking forward to the most was having more time to write. I knew I definitely would have more time to write because when you move, your world shrinks: you're disconnected.
My world - being my social circle - has definitely shrunk. It's like a blank slate, and you get to entirely reinvent yourself, like a new outfit in a wardrobe, you get to choose which version of you you want to be.
After a little while the reality of being disconnected sinks in. It is, in a lot of ways, horrible. You have no friends, you have no one to call if you want to go shopping, you have no one to get new job leads from, you have no one to randomly go for a drink with, no one to just chill and watch a movie with, no one to help orient you around your new home. Who do you ask about where to get vacuum cleaner bags from when Google is sketchy with the answer?
Sure, I've been out and I have met a bunch of cool people, and we have some really beautiful beginnings of friendships.
No one I've met here yet seems to fully 'get' me, nor I them, and I feel like I'm playing blind man's bluff trying to figure out how to be cool and get people to like me. Like if we had to move again, we'd probably just do it by ourselves you know?
New Normals
I really enjoyed 2018. I had a vast array of interactions with a vast array of teachers, students, and parents in my professional life, as I was relief teaching between 10 different schools rather than in one classroom, as well as tutoring 16 different students after school. 2018 was full of bouncing around between different schools, thousands of different people and different expectations and normals. I was fiesty, flexible and fabulous!
I would be doing phonics with five-year-olds one day and then coaching cricket with too-cool-for-school tweens the next. Most importantly: I was pretty boss at all of this. This was within my comfort zone and it was satisfying and really validating to be able to walk into nearly any classroom and have a good day.
 |
| Don't you love/hate it when people remind you how good it is to grow but you feel like you're slowly being crushed under the weight of this new knowledge?? |
People's different expectations of themselves, life, others fascinates me. They way they do life and how they interact with others is nuanced and individual. Each set of normals has its own pros and cons, and I have made it my life's mission to try and steal other people's brilliant normals. Each set of normals has its own behaviour that is encouraged and conversely shunned. I adjusted and adapted, but held largely to my harsh-but-fair-scathingly-sarcastic-firm-but-fun teaching self. Some schools I was not a good fit in, and because I was going between so many different ones, it was easy to rationalise it as 'I am not a good fit in that school' rather that 'They don't want me to work there again? There must be something wrong with me.'
One way to explain this is a values match or a values clash. I did a really interesting exercise when I was seeing a psychologist a while back where she got me to map out what things I valued from this list.
She got me to choose 5 that were super important to me, 8 that were quite important, 5 that were super unimportant, and 8 that were unimportant, and 10 or so that were important.
My chart looked something like this:
 |
| (Lauren's Values c. 2014, age 27. Chart may be slightly exaggerated for journalistic purposes) |
If I were to do that exercise again now, a little older, with a bit more teaching experience, a bit more life experience and a very opposite-to-me husband, the list would look quite different now. My normal has changed quite a bit since I was a 27 year old beginning teacher with crippling anxiety living in Auckland.
My normal has changed quite a bit even just in the last year. Moving is big. Moving countries is bigger. Leaving your job is big. Leaving your career is bigger. We've ticked off 5 major stress events in the last 5 years according to this internet list of stressful things, and my score is a soaring 446 of a possible 600 on the Holmes and Rahe Stress test, if you include getting married 2.75 years ago.
So slowing down has been good, necessary, strange, blissful, weird and kind of like that first deep breath as you relax in a nice warm bath.
This is my new normal...
It has taken a bit of getting used to, but I'm starting to enjoy this new normal of a small, little, quiet life. The pace of my life has changed a lot. Not only am I working part time, but I'm working less intensely.
I spend a LOT of time in my own head at the moment, for better or for worse.
I have 1.5 week days a week to write, where I have the whole apartment to myself.
I didn't realise how much I enjoyed sharing situations I found myself in and having colleagues confirm (or deny) that I'd done the right thing, until I couldn't do that anymore.
It can a daunting thing having only yourself to rely on, your thoughts, values, judgements, beliefs, your modus operandi, your ways of moving and being.
This is more daunting when you realise that your thoughts and values are not the same as those around you. I used to take delight in being a little 'out of the box', now it seems like a liability.
I have 1.5 week days a week to write, where I have the whole apartment to myself.
I work as a nanny, and I have few colleagues. I have a boss now who is intimately interested in what I do in a day. I get paid to cook and play hide and seek and make sure homework is completed. I get paid to appropriately apportion time on the trampoline and ensure that rooms are tidy, and paint and craft. I get paid to parent someone else's darlings.
It can a daunting thing having only yourself to rely on, your thoughts, values, judgements, beliefs, your modus operandi, your ways of moving and being.
This is more daunting when you realise that your thoughts and values are not the same as those around you. I used to take delight in being a little 'out of the box', now it seems like a liability.
Professionally and personally, I have so much choice about what I do with my time. It is simultaneously wonderful and weird. Once the 'must dos' are ticked off, there's a bit of flexibility, which usually gets channelled into calming the chaos of the home rather than any personal projects.
My introverted parts have had very little air time since I started teaching in 2012; I haven't had time for them. More than that - I didn't have spare mental bandwidth.
You do also spend a lot of time in your own headspace teaching - but there's little to no room for your own thoughts. Teaching is in a lot of ways is quite a lonely profession. Despite being surrounded by people, you spend a lot of time planning, thinking about your own class and your own expectations and your own normals, and your interpretations of the curriculum, and your students behaviour.
Now my head is not constantly assessing and reassessing and reflecting and inquiring about all my students the hamster wheel that is my brain is at a bit of a loss as to what to be pondering about next.
Some of this time is now spent drafting an array of literature in my head - from children's stories to novels to self-help books. Some of it is spent doing a constant compare and contrast between Ireland and New Zealand. Some of it is spent philosophising about life like I did as a teenager... and wondering about the new normals I am creating for myself - are they going to lead to long-term happiness? What would life be like if everyone did have a Universal Basic Income? Are morphic fields real? Should I take a self-proclaimed expert economist seriously? How even does the economy work? I'm pretty sure it's just smoke and mirrors and 'confidence'. Could I write comedy? Why are the body corp. of our apartment building so angsty about car parks when there's 20 free spaces that NOBODY USES EVER? How long until the USA implodes in on itself because it's taken advantage of it's most vulnerable for too long? Why can't I single-handedly solve the homeless crisis and world hunger?
You know... the usual.
Now my head is not constantly assessing and reassessing and reflecting and inquiring about all my students the hamster wheel that is my brain is at a bit of a loss as to what to be pondering about next.
Some of this time is now spent drafting an array of literature in my head - from children's stories to novels to self-help books. Some of it is spent doing a constant compare and contrast between Ireland and New Zealand. Some of it is spent philosophising about life like I did as a teenager... and wondering about the new normals I am creating for myself - are they going to lead to long-term happiness? What would life be like if everyone did have a Universal Basic Income? Are morphic fields real? Should I take a self-proclaimed expert economist seriously? How even does the economy work? I'm pretty sure it's just smoke and mirrors and 'confidence'. Could I write comedy? Why are the body corp. of our apartment building so angsty about car parks when there's 20 free spaces that NOBODY USES EVER? How long until the USA implodes in on itself because it's taken advantage of it's most vulnerable for too long? Why can't I single-handedly solve the homeless crisis and world hunger?
You know... the usual.
Laos
I have lived overseas before. It's fascinating looking at what is similar and different about this time and last time, given the circumstances were so very different.
2008 I moved to Laos, a tropical third world country with pot holed mud roads and beautiful, friendly, kind people. I made some great friends there, and some great memories.
I wrote a lot of travel updates about my adventures in Laos, but not really anything much else, although I did start an autobiography of sorts - imagine thinking at 21 that I had a story to tell then! If only I had known what was in store...
I did a lot of travelling for work, and did a lot of reading whilst waiting for planes, and buses, and waiting to see government officials in far away villages.
My room was fastidiously cleaned because I had basically no clothes, and so this lack of stuff led naturally to a lack of clutter. I was also wary of giant spiders as big as my hand, which appeared on a weekly basis through the gap between where the walls joined the ceiling. My bed was made and my mosquito net securely overlapped by 1m so that there was definitely not going to be any nasty surprises when nestled in my bed.
Having to deck out a kitchen from scratch is expensive, so I existed with a chopping board, 2 glasses and 4 plates, and a basic cutlery set.
Time moved slower, because there was so much less to fill up the time. There was work and home, and trying to call people at home at a time that didn't suck for one of you, and little else initially.
Exploring... there was a lot of exploring. Just getting on my motorbike and going, seeing what there was to see. I slowly added ultimate frisbee, rugby, swimming and teaching English in the evenings.
My love of food mandated that there was food tourism in lots of the local restaurants and I discovered truisms like it is impossible to recreate a first time experience, and living like a Westerner in a third world country is a surefire way to be broke.
I got massages nearly every week. It was epic.
There was a barrier between me and Lao people in language, but also in ways of thinking, ways of being, ways of doing things, in what is considered polite, dress, appearance... Everything. And so, when no longer hemmed in by my society's rules, and not really knowing the rules of the society I lived in, I started to go a little crazier than normal - one day doing cartwheels down the street just because I could - nearly causing a Lao guy riding past on his motorbike to crash at the sight.
Culture shock hit, hard, and I was deeply lonely, disconnected and depressed. I cried at the drop of a hat and no amount of 'trying to make the best of it' seemed to work.
I thought Ireland would be different. I'm older, experienced, married, a professional.
There are echos of similarity though.
Things are just a little bit different. People are just a little bit different.
Everything is in miniature here. Our 'spacious' two bedroom apartment is smaller than our pre-renovated house in New Zealand. The roads are narrow, and footpaths crowded with signs half way across. Bars are cramped and crowded, and there is nowhere to dance.
Time bends, and the only person I really have to air my thoughts to is Jared and whoever is on the other end of the video chat on any given day for an hour or so.
It feels like a different universe to the plethora of people we had in Whanganui; different friends over each night, hosting parties and being involved in clubs, having family nearby, and friends in any city in NZ that I care to go to.
It's not that I haven't wanted to join clubs, but we're limited - financially, geographically, and time wise so it does make joining clubs harder. However, I am currently researching choirs and signed up to a dance class to start Monday night.
The gym is 10 minutes away, but despite its closeness, it still seems like Herculean task to go.
If I have a disagreement with Jared - thankfully seldom to never - I don't really have anyone here to talk to about that.
I have gone from a classroom about 25 different children each day to 3 children that I look after in much more depth and detail than any of my previous students.
I have gone from 60 hour weeks teaching full time in New Zealand, to 30 hours on a cruisy week, and 40 on a busy one.
My wardrobe had shrunk. I have only recently started adding some clothes to my wardrobe for the first time in over a year. I am now more discerning before I add things to my wardrobe - the criteria is 'what purpose does this serve' rather than just 'aww that's cute, I wonder if it fits'.
Money, possibly money that should be saved - is siphoned off for travelling or adventures as soon as humanly possible. Next adventure: Scotland and Liverpool at Easter.
The only thing that seems to have gotten bigger is my commute - Dublin is much bigger than Whanganui, which means more places to explore, but longer commutes.
You know the 'Am I the Asshole?' type conversations - the ones where you're trying to work out if it is you that is in the wrong by some unlikely happenstance - I do not have many people here to hash that out with, and the criteria for being an asshole is just a bit different. For those who thought I was a bit full on in New Zealand, I have the social nuance of a lead balloon here.
I have significantly less stress here. There is a certain amount of stress that comes with moving countries, but it is still less than your average year of teaching in New Zealand.
Because our apartment is so small, it is significantly easier to clean, and so that happens more often.
We have basically no bench space, cupboard space or fridge space so we eat less, so hopefully eventually I'll shrink as well - I yoyo a lot at the moment, but trending downwards.
Due to the significantly decreased strain on my brain, I can feel it turning to mush in some ways. I tried to do maths yesterday and had to seriously think about it way more than I was used to.
However, the brilliant bit about this slow paced tiny little life is I can finally hear myself think again. I used to write poetry, I used to have ideas, I used to spend a lot of time creating theories and philosophising, and then I started teaching and most of that got sidelined, as teaching is all-consuming that when you're not teaching, you're planning or you're recovering from teaching. It is potentially just the way that I do teaching, in a boots and all kind of manner, but I think it is bigger than that. It is the culture of teaching in New Zealand - if you're not 110% in then you're a crappy teacher.
I took a summer off from teaching and worked in my step-dad's honey shed over the 2015 summer and because my brain got to have a rest from incessantly analysing children and planning lessons, I composed - in my head, though not yet on paper - this whole series of children's books about bees and how honey is made, and all these brilliant learning experiences that I was going to create when I went back to teaching.
Some of them I followed through on, most of them I forgot about in the whirlwind.
I remember listening to a brilliant TED talk about stopping learning and starting thinking. He spoke of how Albert Einstein came up with his best theories, not when he was a paid academic, but when he was an office clerk, doing boring repetitive work.
In the same way a field needs time to be fallow in order to produce the best fruits, a brain needs downtime away from constant stimulation in order to come up with its most brilliant things. Learning is important, I love learning - in fact you can even rearrange my name to 'u learn' - but there is a time to stop learning and start thinking.
I think that this is what we miss about dead end repetitive jobs - particularly manual labour jobs - the time to think, the time to dream, the time to compose and create.
If work is your only and sole focus, then yea, a dead end repetitive job is lame, but if work is something you do to be able to finance the rest of your life, a dead end repetitive job is gold, and allows for ample time and headspace to be able to plan your life or compose your next book.
I have been away from the environment of a classroom for 15 months now, and I do miss it. There is something brilliant about creating learning activities for students. It feels like a super power when it goes right. But the way teaching takes over your headspace, and the way you take work, and children's dilemmas home with you, it takes over your whole mental bandwidth. It is a lifestyle not a job.
It is delightful to have some bandwidth spare, to do something other than life admin and teaching. It feels like coming up to breathe.
It is this beautiful reawakening of this fallow creative soul that has only had an outlet in creating lesson plans, but is now allowed to think and dream and create, this is the part that I'm really enjoying about living in Ireland.
So while I rail against this tiny little life and my Extra AF Extravert side is hell-bent on expanding this peaceful tiny existence, I'm trying to sit and be OK with the smallness, and embrace the enough.
And so like my teaching persona that I put on in a classroom, perhaps I have an Irish persona, a calm quiet life that I have in Ireland, free of the fun and frivolity of midnight spas, but also full of philosophising and drafting things to go in the Winter Papers.
At least a few chapters into my first book, so watch this space.
And what about you?
What is 2020 the year of for you? What have you done when you've had a values clash? What are your top 5 values? Have you moved countries? How long did it take you to feel like not-an-alien? What things have you been musing about lately? Do you have any theories about life? Lay them on me, I'd love to hear them.
Extra Reading:
The masks we wear - interesting if harrowing read
https://psychcentral.com/blog/the-10-masks-we-wear/
Extrovert vs extravert
https://blogs.scientificamerican.com/beautiful-minds/the-difference-between-extraversion-and-extroversion/
I wrote a lot of travel updates about my adventures in Laos, but not really anything much else, although I did start an autobiography of sorts - imagine thinking at 21 that I had a story to tell then! If only I had known what was in store...
I did a lot of travelling for work, and did a lot of reading whilst waiting for planes, and buses, and waiting to see government officials in far away villages.
My room was fastidiously cleaned because I had basically no clothes, and so this lack of stuff led naturally to a lack of clutter. I was also wary of giant spiders as big as my hand, which appeared on a weekly basis through the gap between where the walls joined the ceiling. My bed was made and my mosquito net securely overlapped by 1m so that there was definitely not going to be any nasty surprises when nestled in my bed.
Having to deck out a kitchen from scratch is expensive, so I existed with a chopping board, 2 glasses and 4 plates, and a basic cutlery set.
Time moved slower, because there was so much less to fill up the time. There was work and home, and trying to call people at home at a time that didn't suck for one of you, and little else initially.
Exploring... there was a lot of exploring. Just getting on my motorbike and going, seeing what there was to see. I slowly added ultimate frisbee, rugby, swimming and teaching English in the evenings.
My love of food mandated that there was food tourism in lots of the local restaurants and I discovered truisms like it is impossible to recreate a first time experience, and living like a Westerner in a third world country is a surefire way to be broke.
I got massages nearly every week. It was epic.
There was a barrier between me and Lao people in language, but also in ways of thinking, ways of being, ways of doing things, in what is considered polite, dress, appearance... Everything. And so, when no longer hemmed in by my society's rules, and not really knowing the rules of the society I lived in, I started to go a little crazier than normal - one day doing cartwheels down the street just because I could - nearly causing a Lao guy riding past on his motorbike to crash at the sight.
Culture shock hit, hard, and I was deeply lonely, disconnected and depressed. I cried at the drop of a hat and no amount of 'trying to make the best of it' seemed to work.
Enter: Ireland
I thought Ireland would be different. I'm older, experienced, married, a professional.
There are echos of similarity though.
Things are just a little bit different. People are just a little bit different.
Everything is in miniature here. Our 'spacious' two bedroom apartment is smaller than our pre-renovated house in New Zealand. The roads are narrow, and footpaths crowded with signs half way across. Bars are cramped and crowded, and there is nowhere to dance.
Time bends, and the only person I really have to air my thoughts to is Jared and whoever is on the other end of the video chat on any given day for an hour or so.
It feels like a different universe to the plethora of people we had in Whanganui; different friends over each night, hosting parties and being involved in clubs, having family nearby, and friends in any city in NZ that I care to go to.
It's not that I haven't wanted to join clubs, but we're limited - financially, geographically, and time wise so it does make joining clubs harder. However, I am currently researching choirs and signed up to a dance class to start Monday night.
The gym is 10 minutes away, but despite its closeness, it still seems like Herculean task to go.
If I have a disagreement with Jared - thankfully seldom to never - I don't really have anyone here to talk to about that.
I have gone from a classroom about 25 different children each day to 3 children that I look after in much more depth and detail than any of my previous students.
I have gone from 60 hour weeks teaching full time in New Zealand, to 30 hours on a cruisy week, and 40 on a busy one.
My wardrobe had shrunk. I have only recently started adding some clothes to my wardrobe for the first time in over a year. I am now more discerning before I add things to my wardrobe - the criteria is 'what purpose does this serve' rather than just 'aww that's cute, I wonder if it fits'.
Money, possibly money that should be saved - is siphoned off for travelling or adventures as soon as humanly possible. Next adventure: Scotland and Liverpool at Easter.
The only thing that seems to have gotten bigger is my commute - Dublin is much bigger than Whanganui, which means more places to explore, but longer commutes.
You know the 'Am I the Asshole?' type conversations - the ones where you're trying to work out if it is you that is in the wrong by some unlikely happenstance - I do not have many people here to hash that out with, and the criteria for being an asshole is just a bit different. For those who thought I was a bit full on in New Zealand, I have the social nuance of a lead balloon here.
I have significantly less stress here. There is a certain amount of stress that comes with moving countries, but it is still less than your average year of teaching in New Zealand.
Because our apartment is so small, it is significantly easier to clean, and so that happens more often.
We have basically no bench space, cupboard space or fridge space so we eat less, so hopefully eventually I'll shrink as well - I yoyo a lot at the moment, but trending downwards.
Due to the significantly decreased strain on my brain, I can feel it turning to mush in some ways. I tried to do maths yesterday and had to seriously think about it way more than I was used to.
However, the brilliant bit about this slow paced tiny little life is I can finally hear myself think again. I used to write poetry, I used to have ideas, I used to spend a lot of time creating theories and philosophising, and then I started teaching and most of that got sidelined, as teaching is all-consuming that when you're not teaching, you're planning or you're recovering from teaching. It is potentially just the way that I do teaching, in a boots and all kind of manner, but I think it is bigger than that. It is the culture of teaching in New Zealand - if you're not 110% in then you're a crappy teacher.
I took a summer off from teaching and worked in my step-dad's honey shed over the 2015 summer and because my brain got to have a rest from incessantly analysing children and planning lessons, I composed - in my head, though not yet on paper - this whole series of children's books about bees and how honey is made, and all these brilliant learning experiences that I was going to create when I went back to teaching.
Some of them I followed through on, most of them I forgot about in the whirlwind.
The Advantages of a Quiet Life
I remember listening to a brilliant TED talk about stopping learning and starting thinking. He spoke of how Albert Einstein came up with his best theories, not when he was a paid academic, but when he was an office clerk, doing boring repetitive work.
In the same way a field needs time to be fallow in order to produce the best fruits, a brain needs downtime away from constant stimulation in order to come up with its most brilliant things. Learning is important, I love learning - in fact you can even rearrange my name to 'u learn' - but there is a time to stop learning and start thinking.
I think that this is what we miss about dead end repetitive jobs - particularly manual labour jobs - the time to think, the time to dream, the time to compose and create.
If work is your only and sole focus, then yea, a dead end repetitive job is lame, but if work is something you do to be able to finance the rest of your life, a dead end repetitive job is gold, and allows for ample time and headspace to be able to plan your life or compose your next book.
I have been away from the environment of a classroom for 15 months now, and I do miss it. There is something brilliant about creating learning activities for students. It feels like a super power when it goes right. But the way teaching takes over your headspace, and the way you take work, and children's dilemmas home with you, it takes over your whole mental bandwidth. It is a lifestyle not a job.
It is delightful to have some bandwidth spare, to do something other than life admin and teaching. It feels like coming up to breathe.
It is this beautiful reawakening of this fallow creative soul that has only had an outlet in creating lesson plans, but is now allowed to think and dream and create, this is the part that I'm really enjoying about living in Ireland.
So while I rail against this tiny little life and my Extra AF Extravert side is hell-bent on expanding this peaceful tiny existence, I'm trying to sit and be OK with the smallness, and embrace the enough.
And so like my teaching persona that I put on in a classroom, perhaps I have an Irish persona, a calm quiet life that I have in Ireland, free of the fun and frivolity of midnight spas, but also full of philosophising and drafting things to go in the Winter Papers.
At least a few chapters into my first book, so watch this space.
And what about you?
What is 2020 the year of for you? What have you done when you've had a values clash? What are your top 5 values? Have you moved countries? How long did it take you to feel like not-an-alien? What things have you been musing about lately? Do you have any theories about life? Lay them on me, I'd love to hear them.
Extra Reading:
The masks we wear - interesting if harrowing read
https://psychcentral.com/blog/the-10-masks-we-wear/
Extrovert vs extravert
https://blogs.scientificamerican.com/beautiful-minds/the-difference-between-extraversion-and-extroversion/
An interesting read Lauren. I have been in Canberra for 8 years and still do not have any of those friends which you can tell anything to. It was hard, starting again socially, and being older, even more so. My family became my focus, and teaching my life. I take breaks to NZ to recharge my social battery, which works to an extent. I like my life here but I dont love it. I am still a foreigner, and will be for always I suspect. Mostly the same but different enough not quite to fit.
ReplyDeleteThere is something very strange about being a foreigner in a strange land - whether it be a Wellingtonian in Auckland, a Kiwi in Australia or anywhere else. The kicker being if you're away for too long, then you go back, it doesn't feel like home either. One thing I did like about living in Laos is they look at foreigners with intrigue and curiosity, and are so so excited if you learn some of their language. They take delight in showing you their customs - including the best place to get your nails done. It is a stark contrast to the thin acceptance that most Western countries hand out to immigrants.
Delete