Archives for posts with tag: choices

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  1. Pretty much everything you think you know for certain, you don’t.
  2. Plan pee breaks, know where the nearest toilet is…at all times.
  3. My waist is becoming a distant memory.
  4. The amount of fucks I give is rapidly declining; at the same rate my waistline is expanding.
  5. Never deny yourself pleasure. Eat. Drink. Being skinny does not feel as good as real Italian pizza tastes, or fresh sushi, bacon sandwiches, picanha with soy and wasabi. Devour everything.
  6. The internet is dangerous for bored husbands with mobile phones and penis in hand…
  7. Dick pics are rarely enticing.
  8. Don’t try and change people. Everyone tells their own tale, we craft our own narratives, become characters in our own stories. If their reality is different to your version, let them keep it.
  9. Never stop being a kid. Once in a while sing, play, build nests and forts, jump around and laugh until you cry.
  10. My teeth are divorcing, the distance between them is so great, whole sirloin steaks can be found in the crevices. Toothpicks loiter in all my handbags
  11. When you have heard all their stories, if you are not making any new ones…it’s time to move on.
  12. You are as beautiful, sexy, alluring or desirable as you want to be, this does not come from outside. Radiate you, give a giant fuck off to anyone who doesn’t get it.
  13. You can move across the world, twice, and still find kindred spirits, good hearts and wise women.
  14. An early night in your own bed is a moment of pure pleasure.
  15. ‘Just stick it anywhere’ is not a romantic phrase to hear in a tender shared moment.
  16. Never, never, Google your symptoms. Inevitably it will say cancer, then you will have to spend the next hour panicking and further couple of hours reassuring yourself you are not dying.
  17. Your friends will have children who are adults, how is this possible when we all still need to grow up?
  18. Dating is not a game, it’s a procedure.
  19. You have definitely heard it all before.
  20. People may say you are an inspiration or a role model. You remember the time you slipped over in your own vomit after too much red wine and keep quiet…
  21. Travel is wonderful exhilarating and exciting but you can afford comfort over authenticity.
  22. Do not be afraid to be seen, be judged, be stupid, fuck up, fall over, all you need to do is get up and smile.
  23. Sing. Loudly.
  24. Inhabit the body you have, not the body you think you should have. Touch the sides.
  25. No more waiting, the time is now.
  26. There are people in your life who have grown older alongside you, and these are precious gems.
  27. You will experience loss and you can survive it.
  28. The excesses of youth do catch up with you, recovery times are increased, at times I feel like my body is angry with me, I am ever grateful it never gave up on me, despite the abuses.
  29. There are some people you have to let go.
  30. And some that go but stay with you forever
  31. Manage your expectations, be content with the reality of people and not the projection of what you wish they could be.
  32. You will know the meaning of perimenopausal and start to look out for ‘changes’.
  33. Don’t blame others for the consequences of your choices, own it, overcome it and hope to choose better next time.
  34. Vigorous dancing, especially jumping, can result in a little leakage…
  35. Don’t let this stop you jumping and dancing, a life without leaping is a life half lived.
  36. Fear is fading fast, I am no longer as afraid, it is not courage, it’s survival.
  37. There is still so much wonderful music you haven’t heard.
  38. Create, create, create and surround yourself with creative people, this is the real life force.
  39. Avoid people who want to change you.
  40. Avoid people who want more than you can give.
  41. Spend time with people who know and love you exactly as you are.
  42. Birthdays matter less but always take the opportunity to celebrate.
  43. Age ain’t nothing but a number baby
Me and the baby elephant!

Me and the baby elephant!

If, like me, you prefer to be in control of what happens in your life there are two main methods I would use to ensure I was always in control. The first method was, do nothing. If you don’t do anything different then you always know what is going to happen next. You will get up, go to work, go to the pub, sleep, see the same friends, laugh at the same jokes and memories. You can plan your life around TV schedules and opening hours. It is safe comfortable and actually very, very enjoyable. I am not knocking it; it worked for me for a long time.

The second method was do things alone, that way you can decide when to go, where to go and when to leave.

By moving abroad and becoming an expat, it becomes more difficult to stick to either method. These days I am using the second method more frequently but I am also trying to feel less control about what happens next.  I am trying to relinquish some control because what I am learning is by sometimes letting others lead you, you can discover many new and wonderful adventures.

To recap; I spent around 10 years living a relatively pleasant existence in Brighton, working, having fun, spending time with lovely friends and generally getting by. But I was sticking to method one. I didn’t really DO anything. I was in control of what happened because it followed a pattern. Three years ago I took control of the boredom that was starting to set in and applied for a job in Brazil. Three years later here I am, sitting in a coffee shop in Pai, Northern Thailand thinking about how I finally managed to open myself up to new experiences.

I started to travel when I moved to Brazil, I was a little nervous so my first trip was a three week organized tour. Life was easy I was in a small group (luckily all fantastic people who became good friends) and we were led from one place to another across Bolivia, Argentina and Chile. I didn’t have to worry about booking bus tickets or accommodation. Johan, the leader, Spanish-speaking South African, took care of everything. However, I did have to give up control, I had to give up knowing the detail of what would happen next. I am sure I drove Johan crazy, as I always wanted to know, so this bus is at what time? And it takes how long? And we arrive when? Questions, questions, questions…

I have grown to love travel but often I travel with others, with more experience (or confidence) than me, and although I am happy to let them take the lead this can be a struggle for the control freak inside me.

During the last three weeks I have been travelling again, with new friends in places they know very well. They are able to take me to locations I would never have found on my own or in The Lonely Planet. In order to fully enjoy these adventures I had to once again relinquish control but also to trust. I see now that being in control is really an issue of trust. I don’t think I trusted people when I lived in the UK. I was still learning to trust in Brazil, but Japan, sweet strange Japan, has helped me learn to trust. It’s so safe, organized and efficient. I trust that the train will arrive on time, the taxi driver will take me to my destination, the parcel will arrive on time.

So now, when I get on a minibus in Thailand and it stops, and I’m not sure why because I don’t understand the whole itinerary, now, I am not as worried. I’m not thinking someone is trying to rob me, attack me, mislead me or rip me off. They are just picking up some extra passengers.

In Chiang Mai I left some friends around 9.30pm and walked back to my hotel, a short walk 10 minutes maximum, along busy streets. Next day my friend asked, “Were you ok getting back?” I was little nervous, I answered truthfully but I knew it would be ok, “It’s so safe”.  She said, having been a Chiang Mai resident in that area for a few years. And I remembered friends in England walking back late at night telling me the same thing, but I didn’t believe them, I didn’t think it was safe then. But I trust more now, in what? The goodness of people? Trust that the world is not so dark, it shines a little brighter or I am not so afraid of not knowing everything that will happen next or preventing ignorance by never moving.

So I learn that travel requires a certain naivety. This town, full of youthful backpackers zooming around on cheap rented motorcycles with little thought of consequences. I have seen at least two people with bandaged injuries, one holding ice to her head. But they are joyful, and still having fun. I don’t advocate dangerous driving but I do have a little to learn or remember from these happy go lucky souls.

As I bounce along in these vehicles, on a road to who knows where, at the end of the journeys I have found; balloon rides, incredible scenery, delicious food and even baby elephants! I am so proud that I am learning to trust, because trusting people has given me some of the richest gifts of my life.

The Great Wall

The Great Wall

I am at the beginning of my first proper solo travel experience, waiting for my connection, flying to Thailand, planning to explore South East Asia for a month. I first flew to Thailand 23 years ago, a terrified 18 year old, petrified, wide eyed. It was my first real experience of the wider world. I can clearly remember the taxi arriving in Ko San Road in Bangkok and feeling like I had been transported to another world, an alien planet. It was so unlike anything I had experienced previously. I also remember the realisation  (obvious to many perhaps, not so much to small town thinker from suburban UK) that there were all these people living their lives around the world at the same time as I was eating my fish fingers and chips in Herefordshire. The more I live abroad the more I realise that those things I take for granted as ‘normal’ are not the same normal for everyone (see this previous post on kettles http://createeducatedeviate.com/2013/10/20/314/ (actually the first thing I did when arrived in my hotel room last night was get the kettle on, old habits die hard!).

I was gifted and encouraged in this opportunity by a wonderful friend. My two closest friends in my late teens were two sisters, fantastic women whom I still love dearly today. In my old age and hindsight I see more and more clearly the legacy of my friendship with these two and their family and friends. They welcomed me in to their world, and I was permanently changed by this connection.

Not only did I travel to Thailand with the elder sister, Alison, I also remember them both sharing with me many new experiences; my first taste of ‘exotic’ foods like, avocado, whole baked salmon (I don’t think I had seen a fish with a head on before) and gin and tonic. We discovered new things together like music, clubs, bands, festivals, love and heartbreak.  They encouraged me to be brave. I don’t know if they or I even realised at the time how much I needed them.

I did not always live up to their encouragement to be braver. I was in Taiwan last week and a friend organised a surprise balloon ride, instead of planning an excuse not to go up in the balloon or succumbing to the fear, I just thanked her and climbed in. The view of the rolling Taiwanese countryside was worth it and the balloon was tethered so it really wasn’t such a frightening experience anyway. Rewind 18 years, those same two sisters offered me the chance to go up in a balloon over our hometown. Back then I was not so brave. At the last minute I ducked out, giving some lame excuse. I remember feeling their irritation, and later my regret at not seizing the moment

It has taken me a long time to become brave. It is an adjective I have heard much more often in the last few years to describe my actions. Of course I never feel brave, on these worldwide adventures I am in a constant state of fear. The little girl from St Albans who had never tasted an avocado still never very far from the surface.

When I think about Alison and Sophie encouraging teenage me to new experiences, and then the people I have met over the last few years who have given me the strength to take risks and be brave, I am so grateful. Grateful, they could ignore and forgive that negative fearful voice that sometimes over powered me. The one that tells me, ‘you can’t do it’, ‘you don’t do that’ or ‘you are going to fail.’ Ultimately, what am I really afraid of? Failure? Falling? Looking foolish? I have done all these things many many times before and survived. Well, I have never fallen from a hot air balloon but I have definitely fallen over in the street a few times… but you get up, laugh, rub the graze on your knee and carry on walking to work.

As I walked/climbed/crawled along The Great Wall of China, I learned two very important lessons which I am trying to hold on to every day since. There was a moment when we had been told that the way ahead was closed, that we should turn around and go back as we wouldn’t be able to get through. Already exhausted I turned pathetically to my intrepid travel companion and asked feebly “When do you think we will turn back?”

“We are not turning back.’ He said decisively, “We go forwards until we can’t go any further.” And forwards we went until we came to a locked gate and a Chinese guard who may have brandished a gun, and finally even my fearless companions agreed to turn back.

That last section of wall, when all other wall walkers had already turned back, was a special experience. We were on our own in blazing sunshine, the magnificent views all around, on crumbling parts of this ancient wall. Thighs burning, knees feeling like they would give up, but each time I stepped out of the guard house and had managed another section of the wall, the rewards were always incredible. Don’t turn back, keep going till you can go no further. I think I had already turned back in my life too many times.

I wanted to turn back because I believed I couldn’t do it, I was momentarily distracted by that awful voice in my head, that anti cheerleader, shouting ‘you can’t do this’ at me. Thanks to the intervention of another brave friend pushing me on, I was able to silence the voice. I could ignore it because do you know what?

I could do it.

I did do it.

I made it all the way to the end,

And back.

So, I sit here waiting for my connecting flight to take me back to Thailand remembering the fears I let make decisions for me in the past. Remembering how I used these fears to create the persona I fell in to as a protection from that voice. Finally working harder to ignore the negative voice, to give up the props, bandages and self-medications I used to protect myself from its furious pessimistic tones.

I think I am ready. I think I am ready to be braver, because I am realizing that being brave just means being afraid, but doing it anyway.

I will not listen to that voice, telling me ‘You can’t do this’ because I could and I did. The voice is wrong and I need to silence it. Ever forwards, never backwards all the way along my own great wall.

 

A shamed samurai actor posing for photos in a Kyoto film studio

A shamed samurai actor posing for photos in a Kyoto film studio

My good friend Vicky and I often suffered from, ‘Booze Guilt’. We would wake drenched in shame the morning after a night out on the drink. After a few hours of throwing dirty doubles down our necks, ranting about work and men, cackling with laughter at ridiculous jokes, we would fall home to troubled sleep. Texting each other in the morning filled with fear of broken friendships or foolish behavior; “Sorry if I was a twat last night”, “No I was a twat I was so annoying”. Self-loathing messages zooming back and forth between our mobile phones. The demon drink getting in to our brains and distorting the night’s events. Unnecessary fear and shame making us doubt ourselves.

Shame and fear. Empty emotions.

But fear and shame allowed me to make that final journey to leave the UK. Shame allowed me to leave. Not bravery, not courage, simply shame.

I sat on the shuttle bus at Charles de Gaulle airport waiting for my connection to Sao Paulo and it finally hit me, The Fear. What was I doing? Why was I leaving? I couldn’t do this. I needed to go home. I didn’t want to live in Brazil. The only thing that stopped me from getting a flight directly back to Brighton was shame. I would be ashamed to have not even made it to Brazil, this great adventure I had boasted about for months. I couldn’t scuttle back home, tail between my legs, failed, the adventure a failure. So rather than face the shame I got on the plane.

Absolutely the right decision. The two years in Brazil were life changing.

And now I am here in the land of incomprehensible shame, Japan. This place with shame ingrained in the culture. Haji (shame) is said to form the core of Japanese culture. Japanese culture is described as “shame culture ” in contrast to Western “guilt culture”. A place where shame can lead to suicide, where you must not stand out, must not make mistakes and must be ashamed if you do. They trace this back to the samurai era, and the concept of seppuku or hara-kiri, to cut one’s own belly with a sword, to suffer for shame. In this era, it was better to die than bring shame on oneself. Killing yourself for shame was an honorable act.

Even now the Japanese students I have taught struggle with being wrong, preferring to be silent than make an error in their spoken English. I am told that Japanese people won’t speak their mind that “… no doesn’t always mean no and yes doesn’t always mean yes”. There is a shame in being definite and a fear in being wrong.

I have had my own struggles with shame recently. I am planning a trip to The Great Wall of China and determined to stride powerfully up the steps and along the wall I am trying to exercise. I am overweight and unfit but the biggest hurdle I had to cross to start the journey to getting stronger was my own shame. The real pain didn’t come from the lunges or squats I was doing but the burning, searing pain of feeling so inadequate and judged and useless and embarrassed. It took extreme willpower to stay in the gym and continue for the first few days.

I am lucky there is a space at work where I can exercise easily and I have supportive new friends who eased me in to exercise, gently encouraged and motivated me. I feel humbled that once again I have travelled across the globe to find strength and care in a new group of people. So, once again my shame has given me the most amazing gifts.

And as I struggle home on the train, limbs aching, barely able to place one foot in front of the other, so tired I have forgotten my own name, I hear a beep and the messages came in on my phone from these new friends, encouraging and kind. Being the DQ (Drama Queen) that I am, I start to well up, crying in public, shaming the Japanese commuters with my overflow of foreign emotions.

Shame keeps pushing me to new experiences and in each one I find a wealth of new connections which continue to fill me with joy. The further I travel the more I realize that the world is filled with good people and I am so grateful to be able to fill my life with such wonderful people. So to my beloved Brightonion, Brazilian and now Japanese connections, thank you from the bottom of my heart, you help more than you know.

 

If rage were a drink...

If rage were a drink…

I could map my journey through life as the distance between an angry young woman to a seething old lady. Along the way I have moments of intense rage giddy euphoria, frustration, elation, confusion, bleak black dogs, searing highs and piercing lows. You can chart some of these mood swings with the changing of the tides and passage of the moon but in general, I think, they are manifestations of a soul on fire.

I am proud to be a passionate person. I intend to remain passionate for a long as I can, embracing my raging fist shaking nature, continuing to fight and battle and believe that I can make a difference because, who wouldn’t?

Why wouldn’t you want to try and make the world even just a tiny bit better, to make things a little more fair, just, smooth, happy beautiful, funny or loving.  I want to always be enthusiastic about people, places, ideas, music, art, stories, words, creation, EDUCATION.

I feel so lucky to be part of education, but I wasn’t always this way. In those early days of teaching sometimes it just seemed such a thankless task. Every morning as I travelled nearer to the school I would start to feel a little sick, and the nerves and stress and fear and frustration would grow. And I would count down the days until I could have a week away from the classroom and the constant falling short, of never quite being good enough. Because if you didn’t know, most teachers exist in a fog of guilt, always thinking that they could do more, that they don’t do enough, that they did it wrong. Almost without fail when I have worked in colleague’s classrooms they would stop me on the way out to tell me what went wrong, what they missed, what they could have done better. Because we know, we really do know that we have been entrusted with a precious gift and that we owe those young people and their parents the best, but after a while the pressure of that gift weighs heavy on them, weighs them down and you see them droop or drift, survive or fall.

I was lucky. I am brave/foolhardy and in my moments of falter I would CHANGE, move to another speciality, move to another country, move to another school and I believe this has kept me strong. Plus I had my rage, my passionate burning rage and belief that I could be a voice for those without one, that I could use this loud abrasive, assertive, big voice, big body and big personality for good rather than evil.

My rage has propelled me across the world to Brazil and now Japan and here in this quiet country of bows and nods and formalities of language I can’t even begin to understand my rage continues to energise me. The more that silence is expected the louder I get, the more they think I will shut up the more I want to shout.

My now beloved Americans, with their eccentricities of language were tying me in loops when I arrived. I didn’t understand the smiles and compliments delivered with dead eyes. This along with the Japanese habit of having meetings to discuss decisions already made, being agreed as if they were being made in that exact moment. I didn’t know where to place my British pragmatism.

Now I am literally translated by my American colleague, I send him my emails scribbled in fiery fury, metaphorically scratched out in my own blood and he gently changes a few words and points out passages that will alienate and antagonise. He prepares me for meetings, acting as my language coach, I rewrite my questions and answers in advance following advice trying to make sure I get it right.

I am afraid of losing my passion and fire. I am enjoying my ‘American Language’ training, I like learning new skills. BUT I must never forget that sometimes I might choose to antagonise and challenge. Sometimes I don’t want to get more with sweetness and sugar, sometimes I want to squeeze lemon in their eyes, rub salt in their wounds, drink tequila and dance with the devil.

You can read all the posts about Brazil in one place. I have edited them in to a small book. Available on Amazon.

http://www.amazon.com/Saved-City-Lucinda-Willis/dp/149433495X/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1386657746&sr=8-2&keywords=saved+by+the+city

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The sunrise over Sao Paulo from my bedroom window

I have cried twice since I left the house the morning, weeping as I walked to work. I gazed around me at the Sao Paulo sky, feeling the rain gently fall on my face. The day is so English, grey skies, drizzle, it is almost like I am already home.

I am feeling such a mixture of emotions today, my last day at work in Brazil. I am still overwhelmed by what has happened to my life, still slightly shocked by these wonderful changes. Utterly terrified that I am breaking the spell- that when I finally shut the door and say goodbye, it will all disappear and I will be back to before and will never have left England. I feel such sadness at the ending of this life that has grown over the last two years.

Saudé!

People ask, “What will you miss about Brazil?” I could say many things, Acai (delicious with strawberries and banana) or Guarana (a fizzy drink) or picanha (fantastic cut of meat) or the skies over Sao Paulo I love and have photographed endlessly. But I realised, as they asked, what I will miss most, or rather what I gained most, was connections. Not just connections but the intoxicating and joyful knowledge of the possible.

I moved 5000 miles from all I knew and found that despite fumbling language skills, different cultural references, different childhoods and different worlds; human connection is possible and in a moment the world became smaller and held me tighter.

I found this as a teacher with my pupils, found that despite all the differences between us my ´teacherness´ was now so much a part of me, it shone out of every pore. I supported some older students teaching English in a local school. I know that I looked nothing like the usual teachers who taught the local children.  I could barely speak Portuguese, and they were fascinated by my nose stud and tattoo. Despite all these differences they still knew I was the teacher and when I gave them the `teacher stare` as they got too noisy, or encouraged them in my incomprehensible English our interactions were teacher and student, no different to my classrooms in the UK.

Learning English

Learning English

I felt it with my colleagues, my wonderful open, enthusiastic, warm colleagues. The fantastic department I worked with. I never would have believed that we could form such a strong bond. A Brit, Brazilians, a South African, a Columbian, a Belgium, an American, an Argentinean, an international group but with a shared passion for helping and supporting children. We connected and the connection is more powerful that I ever could have hoped for. I will miss them and I am eternally grateful for their warm welcome and heartfelt farewells.

Graffiti outside Pablo Neruda's house in Santiago. A man who would not be told what to do.

Graffiti outside Pablo Neruda’s house in Santiago. A man who would not be told what to do.

And my friends… When I left Brighton I ached for my friends, missed momentous moments, birthday, births. Two years in Sao Paulo and I have found friends for life, friends who filled those gaps and will now leave me with new gaps. I say goodbye to our Brazilian life together with such sadness because these friendships, these connections, have been tied up with a new spirit of adventure, open mindedness, exploration and fun that has shown me a whole part of myself I never knew was there.

Ah yes, me, always at the centre of all my over-analysis. The biggest connection I made was to myself. In England amongst the stress and the hard work and the overwhelming frustration and sadness of my job, I lost sight of many things. Being here has given me back so much, creativity, language, music, energy, travel, courage and pleasure.

I am thankful that on that dark December day in 2010, I pressed enter and sent off the email that changed my direction. My finger hovered over the key and even then I knew that pressing send was the possibility of a whole new world opening before me. I took a chance, pressed send, and since then everything has changed.

Iguazu Falls

Iguazu Falls

So I finish this, my final Brazilian blog, enabled by my experiences here, ready to start to writing about Japan and the new challenges, adventures and connections I hope to find there. A friend described Brazil as my Kindergarten, preparing me for the next stage of my life. Giving me the tools to move to another new country. She was right, I wouldn’t have been ready two years ago. But I’m ready now.

This is to say one final obrigada to every Brazilian connection; it has truly been a most wonderful adventure.

O tempo não pára! Só a saudade é que faz as coisas pararem no tempo…

One of the familiar sights of Brighton beach

One of the familiar sights of Brighton beach

As my time in Sao Paulo draws nearer to its end I see the city transform before me. The once sinister and confusing cacophony metamorphosed in to friendly bars and smiling faces. Light seeps in to the darker places, infusing them with safety and normality. What once seemed so different, so other, is now mine, my own familiar world. No longer inhabited only by strangers, now friends and familiar faces.

On Friday I went out later than usual and on my own, travelling across the city in a taxi. A simple and common enough task in my old Brighton life. In that world I would zigzag the city throughout the night seeking out friends and entertainment until the sun rose and I found my way home. But not here, not in Sao Paulo. It was, in part, a conscious decision. The new lifestyle, the new me. But it was also fear of the unknown. I was afraid of so many things in this wonderful crazy city. Where I was going, how would I get there, would they rob me, shoot me, crash in to me. Danger lurked in every unfamiliar corner.

But on Friday as my taxi zoomed the busy streets and I remembered how I once was so afraid, afraid  that it was dangerous to drive, afraid that I would be in an accident, attacked, lost, sold in to slavery, missing, murdered, remembered the doom scenarios constantly filling my gringo mind. Now, as the taxi made its way to a new part of this world I didn’t know, I realised, I was comfortable, and maybe that was why it was time to go.

When I arrived in Brazil almost 2 years ago I relished the unfamiliarity and challenge, I thrived on not understanding the rules or language. Now I contemplate a return to my familiar world in England I feel so sad to let it go. I have become addicted to unfamiliarity, obsessed with not understanding, proud of survival.

In my moments of homesickness I longed for the familiarity of home. The normal tastes of English food, sitting at the bar in a pub, my beloved and beautiful Brighton beach on a windy day, the friends who had known me for more than 10 years, they who had already forgiven me for foolish acts in my 20s and loved me in my 30s. On those days I craved familiarity. Sought to recreate a little piece of England in my flat, eating roast potatoes, drinking tea, British TV blaring, sending messages home, connecting to the familiar.

I have grown to love São Paulo. When I flew in from my last trip to Nicaragua I felt like I was coming home. I was coming home, home to my familiar life. I wasn’t lost or confused, I knew the route the taxi would take, I knew what to do, what to say. But a small piece of me is saddened by the loss of mystery. Of course I will never be a true Paulista, a Brazilian, totally immersed, but I can see how it would be easy to stay, I can see how I could adapt, that this could be home.

So I have decided to leave, I’m still not sure yet where I will end up next. I have been given a very dangerous gift. The gift of choice. I have a whole world to choose from. Safer now in the knowledge that I am able to make a home in amongst unfamiliarity. That I even enjoy the confusion and struggle of the new place.

I want my classroom too, to be a space filled exploration, discovery and unfamiliarity. I don’t want my classes to know what to expect when they enter the room. I want them to be occasionally surprised, shocked, confused and excited by the lessons. And I want this for myself too. I am most afraid of returning to the UK and returning to my old apathy, sunk in to a life of frustration and laziness. The electric shock of unfamiliarity Brazil gave me has bought me back to life. I think I need the unfamiliar to continue to feel alive.

Brazilian commitment

For the month of November 2012 I am trying something very new and very difficult for me, commitment. I am not a committed person I am a fly-by-night, faddy, over enthusiastic, easily bored, wilful female. I usually start fantastically, have a good steady middle and then fade out at the end when I run out of steam or get bored. I have never been married, never owned a property, and barely had a serious boyfriend. I dislike routine. I don`t even like committing to a single brand of toothpaste of shampoo!

I like change, variety and difference. I struggle to make a commitment to most things. I have been fortunate in that the teaching profession allows for diversity in what you do and that I have been able to move around within its parameters. Starting out as an English teacher and ending up teaching History in Brazil. I am committed to teaching but only because it has allowed me to constantly change and grow and develop, if I only I could find a man like that too…

This month I am committed to the new love of my life, writing. One of the most life changing events of the life changing event of moving to a new country has been finding the inspiration and commitment to write. This is my 22nd Blog post; each post is about 800 words that is over 17,000 words written about my experiences here so far. I have penned a poem in Portuguese for a book the Portuguese department have put together (you can read it at the end of this post if you like). I have been writing other bits and pieces of poetry, putting together a documentary for a film course I am doing and trying to write a play. I am not intending to stop being teacher and be a writer but it feels wonderful to be writing and creating.

November is Nanowrimo, National Novel writing Month and so this month I am trying to commit to writing every day. The aim of nanowrimo is to write 1667 words each day, I am well below that target (day 9 and I have about 8000 words) but I have written something everyday. It`s not a novel, it has no narrative, no plot and no real characters. It is a meandering waltz through droplets of ideas, but I don` t care, I am writing.

Often teachers expect a high level of commitment from pupils, they should be committed to their studies, to doing their best. I wrote about motivation before, where does this intrinsic motivation come from. I`ve always loved writing but never committed myself to it before, so what`s changed.? Me. If something has been imposed on me from outside I will fight it, indeed if you said you want to be a writer sit down and write everyday I wouldn’t do it, I’d have got angry with you and told you all the reasons why I didn’t have time, had too much to do, was too tired etc. etc. etc. We can`t expect children, especially teenagers to be any different. Why would they be committed to their homework when they are more likely to be committed to updating face book? We have to support them in finding intrinsic motivation, why would you want to do this, how will it help you?

Brazil has infected me with its intoxicating fever of possibilities, and as I see new things and have new experiences, I feel the freedom that this life brings me and I am less afraid. I am less afraid to fail here and that has helped me to commit. I think the move to a whole new life away from expectations also allows you to try out other aspects of your personality. I just wish I had done it before, in the UK, and not been afraid of looking foolish or giving up. And now after 15 months, I have a decision to make, to commit to Brazil for another two years or finish my adventure and get back to real life. Will I be able to carry my new commitments back with me or will they remain in Brazil? The decision to leave is much harder to make than deciding to come. I want to make a commitment but as always, it fills me with fear and the urge to move on is strong. I am committed to Brazil and my new life her but as Paulo Coelho writes in the quote which opens this blog, you have to choose to commit to what is best for you and once I work that out, I will definitely commit to it….

A Historia da minha Viagem

A cidade,

Um estranho.

Saudade.

 

Saudação.

Saúde!

Saudável.

A cidade me salvou.

 

 

Brighton

I look down at the list of restaurants, what do I want? I have been craving ‘English’ food but now it is in front of me, what do I want? The abundance of choices, the plethora of possibilities. What is it that I really want?

How do we know what we want, what we like, where to go, who to be? How to tune in to that base desire, what do I really want?

This question has been spinning around my brain since my return visit to the UK. After months of dreaming of fish and chips, cheddar cheese, pints of beer and spicy curries I can’t decide what to have. Ever.

After months of longing to see friends and family, I can’t work out who to see and when. What do I want? Am I making a new life in another place or am I waiting to come back?

How to find that core part of ourselves? How do we work out what we want? Layers of expectations, social niceties, obligations and responsibilities can obscure that internal primal desire.

I consider myself a selfish person; I’m single and childless. In the main, I do what I like, I’m inconsiderate and unreliable, I rarely have to question, what do they want? Another person’s choices don’t usually have to affect mine. But still I struggle to know what I really really want (thanks Spice Girls!).

Is choice ever imposed from outside? People can crumble under the pressure of expectations, make a bad decision, make the wrong choice. or are we always in control of our choices? Are we sometimes afraid to admit what we really want? I try not to judge the choices, be whomever you choose; a parent, a husband, an artist, a lazy fat TV addict, be whatever you like, just be happy. Or sometimes, are people doing what they want but hide under the pretence of obligation? Why shouldn’t you do what makes you happy? Celebrate it when you know what you want, enjoy it!

Do we have too much choice? I have been trying to work out why my pupils in Brazil value education so much more highly than my UK pupils. At first I thought it might be because they pay for it but I don’t think these rich Brazilian children are totally aware of how much it costs.  Also the staff and pupils in the rural free school I visited, value it as highly, if not higher. Despite my absolute belief in a free and equitable education system I can’t help but feel that, in Brazil, education is valued as it is so hard come by. For my pupils in England education was such an intrinsic given right it had ceased to be valued.

As an aside I also think that the relentlessly negative statements about teachers, teaching and education by politicians and the media are also systematically destroying the value we place on our system. The rest of the world values the UK education system; I can see the fantastic grounding it has given me as I share my knowledge in Brazil. Why is it so difficult for us to appreciate what is on our own doorstep?

Now that I am back amongst the familiar, all those things I thought I wanted don’t taste the same. It was the comfort and safety of the known that I chased. The flavours of home have served to remind me that I moved on for a reason. Maybe I had already eaten too much cheddar cheese in my life; maybe it was time for something new?

Do we have too much choice? Do we ever know what we really want? The tyranny of choice can leave us unable to really choose. Constantly dissatisfied, frustrated, looking over our shoulders at what ‘they’ have got instead of trying to get what we want. The bindings of expectations confuse us as to our real desires.

And me, what do I want? I don’t suppose I will ever really know for certain. Instead I will make the journey to discover what I want and take pleasure from the adventures on the way.

Today, I want a roast dinner.

 

 

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