What could be more narcissistic than blogging? Really. The blogger may espouse a desire to help others or provide instruction, but blogging is quintessentially narcissistic expression. On that happy note, let me tell you what I'm thinking today, or rather, how I'm feeling.
I woke up as Eeyore today. Another Monday morning. The weekend blew by far too fast, which is what happens when they're jam-packed with activity.
Perspective #1: The Intellect
My head knows that I have a good gig. I am in a profession that allows me two weeks off at Christmas, a week off in spring, and nine to ten weeks off in the summer. I'm paid a decent wage, though not exceptional by any means. Except for the rare event, I don't work nights nor weekends. And in my most recent post, I teach small classes of students in a specialized program, in which I have had fewer (almost NO) discipline problems or issues than anywhere I have taught over the past thirteen years. My job is not physically demanding and I work with nice people. It is close to my home, so my five-mile commute takes me all of about ten or eleven minutes. Regardless how cold it might occasionally get in Florida, I never have to shovel snow, or contend with blizzards. Believe me, I realize that my situation could be FAR worse!
Perspective #2: The Heart
I'm tired and I'm so very BORED. I feel like thirteen years in education for someone who never aspired to be a teacher, is a respectable investment of time and effort, and ample time to discover a passion for the profession if there was one to be found. So far . . . nuthin'! I'm ready for something else.
|Union Street in Spencerport, New York|
I feel stuck. Trapped in a place of my own choosing, though more out of default than design. I miss every season, autumn
|Autumn is the BEST time of year in Western New York|
|I love the traditions that never change|
The waging war between my intellect and my heart is ongoing, but thankfully the battles are not daily ones. Most of the time, there exists a peaceful stalemate. But there are days like today when the battle is brutal and everything in me wants to run and find my sweet spot. Bombarding thoughts barrage my brain reminding me of the brevity of life, begging the question, if not now, when?
|The historic Erie Canal and the Spencerport gazebo|
I am not without hope. I do believe one day we will have the opportunity to bring change into our lives. Perhaps it will start with a new job. Eventually we may be able to spend summer and fall up north and the rest of the year down here. If I can let the possibilities seep into my consciousness, the battle eventually subsides, and the war ceases to torment me. Perhaps today, the balm has been in this self-indulgent expression, in my whining.
I really, truly, honestly know how very blessed I am, and how extraordinary my life is. And I do feel guilt for my dissatisfaction. But how does one ignore the longing of the soul indefinitely without feeling as if she's wasting her life? I refuse to waste my life.
Until next time . . .