What I Did Over My Summer Vacation

The mood to write doesn't strike me as often as I'd like. When I am overworked, stressed, or just plain tired after each day of hard work, I find I am simply uninterested in the prospect of sitting in front of my computer and doing anything productive.  I'd much rather sit back and enjoy mindless amusement in as passive a manner as possible.  And usually that's what I do.

This summer I have been working at a Jewish day camp for children ages 5 to 12 and Friday was our last day.  It has been an astonishing experience and I finally have the wherewithal to sit down and reflect on it.

The camp was located on Staten Island which, though technically part of New York City, has a fair share of roughly wooded areas that are home to a number of summer camps. Every day I took a yellow school bus full of young campers over the Verrazano and into a campground where instead of car horns and angry commuters I heard insects and laughing children. Every day I enjoyed escaping the right-angled city to a place with open-sided shelters and winding gravel paths, preferring the shade of trees to the shade of apartment buildings. I came home covered in bug bites, dirt, and tan lines, (although honestly, I think I've sustained more mosquito bites from the couple of mosquitoes living in our apartment than I did all summer at camp.) and I was happy.

My position at the camp was a Division Head, and I was in charge of all the campers and counselors in 2nd grade, known at camp as the Grapes Division. I developed and enforced systems and procedures used in our shelter, supervised and directed all the counselors in the division, responded to all parent questions and concerns, and worked closely with the directing staff to ensure a successful summer for everyone. I worked a great deal beyond the 7.5 hours we spent at camp five days a week, but although the hours were long I enjoyed the summer immensely.

Never before have I been in a supervisory or administrative position, and I am incredibly happy I took this opportunity. At first, I thought the most challenging aspect of the job would be working with parents and their anxieties. I was warned there would be crazy parents, kind parents, aggressive parents, and over-sensitive parents. It was true, I encountered all those types of parents, but what they didn't tell me that all most parents are looking for is to be assured and reassured that their child is receiving the best care possible when they aren't around to supervise. And once I was able to calm or assuage their concerns and fears, it was usually smooth sailing from that point forward.

What they didn't tell me was that the most challenging part would be supervising high school and college-aged counselors who are not as receptive to suggestion or reprimand as the average 2nd grader. While I am confident in my classroom and behavior management skills as an elementary school music teacher, I found that reminding a 20-year-old to hand in progress reports on time or reprimanding a slew of staff members for their poor attendance was not nearly so straightforward. I constantly wondered how I was doing: if I was too harsh or not harsh enough, too friendly, too standoffish, too accommodating, too forgiving. You name it, I considered it. I compared myself constantly to the other division heads whose personalities and supervising styles were so drastically different from my own. By the end of the summer I knew that my counselors liked me, but did they respect me? Was I effective?

Ultimately, I think the answer to that question is yes, I was effective, because the Grapes Division was among the most well-run on camp and had some of the happiest counselors. Still, I am already thinking of ways to change and improve for next year.

Unlike the other Division Heads, I had no prior experience at a day camp. When I was younger I attended an overnight camp for four weeks every summer, but the two camping experiences are drastically different in many ways. (In fact, I remember all of us campers dreading the week when the young kids from the affiliated day camp came to see what sleepaway camp was all about. I regret that we made fun of them mercilessly behind their backs. Day camp simply wasn't nearly as cool as sleepaway camp. We were clearly just obnoxious teenagers.) Not only have I never had experience at a day camp, but I had never so much as worked at a camp before this. I was truly jumping into the deep end with little more than a bachelor's, a teaching license, and ambition to keep me afloat. Now, at summer's end, I can honestly say that not only did I not sink, but I swam with the best of 'em.

While I'm sure Tomm would tell you a different story based on my occasional rants at home, I really did have a wonderful summer. Today I got so many hugs by campers and counselors alike, and my directors told me in no uncertain terms that they intend to see me next summer. I feel buoyed by the success of the summer, especially considering it was a job that required a very different set of skills than what I use during the school year. I was challenged, I learned, I taught, I guided, I planned. I used my skills and developed new ones. I grew. And so did my campers and counselors.

I am still a music teacher. I will still return to the public school in a few weeks to teach lessons on steady beat and dynamics and playing rhythm sticks. I am still dedicated to the pursuit of education through sound and song. But spending my NYC summers in a forest with sun and mosquitoes and smiling children doesn't seem so bad. 

Counting my blessings

I'm suffering from a bad cold and it's well past my bedtime. I have to be up in about six hours (which is barely sufficient for me), and I have a 13-hour day ahead of me. But I am anxious - for mostly good reasons - and sleep is evading me, so I turn to my very neglected blog.

Though the NYC public school year doesn't finish until the end of June, my daytime position at one school has come to an end. The principal wanted to make sure the program wrapped up before the end-of-year craziness really began, and I can't entirely blame her for that decision. I was kind of looking forward to a bit of a break myself, despite how sad all the students (and teachers!) seemed upon learning that Monday was my last day with them. To make my departure even more emotional, I received an enormous number of handmade Thank You cards from students which made me smile like a crazy person as I read them on the subway.  But I promised them all I would be back next year, and the principal and I hugged on it to make it official.

As for that break I was hoping for before my summer camp job starts in June, that was only wishful thinking. Two weeks ago my supervisor asked if I'd be willing to fill in as the music teacher at another school for the last seven weeks of the year.  The regular music teacher is apparently unable to complete the year, so I agreed to take on the position. This means an additional 9 hours of teaching a week (plus 5 per week of prep and meetings), on top of the after school position I'm still doing through June.  I was hoping I would have a week to prepare things after finishing the other school, but nope! I start tomorrow morning.

Naturally, I'm nervous and apprehensive, as I suspect most teachers are before their first day with new students.  It doesn't help that I have a cold which has left me feeling stuffy, sneezy, sleepy, and a few other dwarfs (with Doc making me chicken soup when he's home), so I'm definitely not bringing my A Game.  Still, I'm looking forward to it and I'm excited to use these weeks to strengthen some of my lesson plans and try out some new ones.

I also found out fantastic news today: I was accepted to a graduate school program! Starting in September, I will be working towards my Masters of Music in Music Education in addition to teaching.  I'm equal parts excited and anxious, but I have a few months before I really have to start freaking out about it.  I'm just glad I'm in and that two years from now I'll have another advanced degree under my belt.  

Y'know, riding the subway every day gives me a lot of time to think. I don't always use the time wisely, but occasionally I think about all the luck Tomm and I have experienced since moving here. He's nearly done with his first year of residency and we both agree it hasn't been quite as atrocious as we expected it to be. Together we are making it through his residency, we're beginning to establish ourselves in a new Jewish community, we have found a great apartment in a wonderful area (the keys to which we should be able to get tomorrow), and he even got his first vacation request for next year so we can celebrate Pesach with my family.  On a personal level, I found two jobs fairly quickly after moving here, I have organized and prepared for successful concerts both as a teacher and as a performer (with the BSO), I have made connections that led to a long-term subbing gig and a full-time summer job, and I have been accepted to grad school.  But maybe "luck" is the wrong word; perhaps "blessings" is more adequate.  My father-in-law reminded me today that he is always praying for his children. Worrying and praying. And I know he's not the only one.  Both Tomm and I are surrounded by so many people who love, support, care for, and pray for us that it's a wonder we ever worried about whether or not we'd be able to survive in big bad New York.

Maybe that's why I get these colds so often.  They are annoying and sometimes keep me from getting things done, but they also help me recognize all the bright and good things in my life.  If being sick occasionally is the price I pay for being blessed in so many ways, then keep the Vicks and tea coming.  I can handle it.

Back to the blog

John Lennon once sang "Life is what happens to you when you're busy ignoring your blog."

Or, y'know, something like that.

In any case, it's been well over a month since I last wrote and you can generally assume that I haven't written because I've been busy.  First it was preparing for Passover (spring cleaning with a deadline, as my mom likes to describe it), complete with making my very first seder.  Then it was actually Passover, which was surprisingly busy. Then it was full-tilt concert preparation, hard core apartment hunting, New York State teacher's licencing tests, applying for graduate school, and a few other obligations.  Thankfully, most of the hard work of the last two months appears to be paying off.

Big news number 1: I made it through my first really, truly, honest-to-goodness, did-it-all-by-myself Pesach!  Passover is one of those holidays that requires so much work and has so many laws, traditions, and procedures associated with it that I avoided "making Pesach" whenever I could.  As a college student, I either went home for the holiday or stayed with my aunt and uncle. Even in my apartment last year I ate as many meals as I could elsewhere so I didn't actually have to buy new food, new dishes, or cover my countertops.  This year, however, I couldn't get out of it.  Not only that, but I was also making a small seder for three for the first night.  Thankfully I think I pulled it off, and it wasn't even quite as scary as I thought it might be.

Big news number 2: We found a new apartment!  Although our current apartment is a total steal in NYC and the hubby is a block away from work, the neighborhood leaves something to be desired. Since finding a synagogue and community that has yet to disappoint me, we started looking for an apartment closer to that neighborhood.  It was a long and arduous search, but I am happy to announce we found a place only a few blocks from shul and we're signing the lease on Tuesday.

Big news number 3: My spring concerts for the Pre-K through 3rd grade classes at my school has been a source of great stress for me the last few weeks, but after a few hours of very successful rehearsals on Friday, I'm actually looking quite forward to them.  The theme is "Music Through the Decades," and each class has a song to represent a particular genre and decade.  Early American folk, 30s swing, 60s R&B, 70s pop, 80s hard rock, you name it.  The kids have worked so hard, and after hearing them on stage I am extremely excited for the performances next week.  Admittedly, though, I'm not sure if I'm primarily excited for the concerts or for them to be done.  Either way, I'm looking forward to it.

Big news number 4: Applied for grad school.  Will hopefully get in.  Will keep you updated.

Tonight after Shabbat I had every intention of finally tackling some of the house chores that I have been putting off for the last two weeks, but somehow I'm sitting at the computer instead.  For the first time in two months I'm feeling like things are actually under control, and I am so chilled that even the piles of laundry on the floor aren't bothering me.  It'll all get done. The worst of it is over. And pretty soon, I'll be able to relax in a brand new place to call home.

The It Crowd

This past weekend was the holiday of Purim, a Jewish festival celebrating the victory of the Jews over the evil vizier Haman in ancient Persia under the rule of King Ahashverosh (who is most likely King Xerxes I). It is a joyous holiday during which we read from the Book of Esther (known as the megillah), eat hamantaschen (triangle-shaped pastries filled with jam, poppy seed, chocolate, or other goodies), dress up in costumes, and imbibe.

It is one of the most rambunctiously joyous holidays in the Jewish calendar, yet I've never been a huge fan of it.  Since I became old enough to decide on my own costumes instead of my parents putting me in whatever mask they wanted, I realized that I was very bad at making costumes and so I haven't dressed up much in the last few years.  I don't like drinking, nor do I enjoy being around people who drink copiously, and big parties usually aren't my thing.  So I've come to ignore Purim, more or less, and prefer to focus instead on the holidays I'm good at.

But this year, as with most things in my life since moving to New York, things were different.

This year I attended a giant party at a huge Reform synagogue which was co-sponsored by at least three congregations and a couple Brooklyn Jewish social organizations.  There were multiple readings of the Book of Esther to accommodate the different communities represented, then we all coalesced afterward in the social hall across the street for a giant costume and dance party. 

With a guest list of nearly 300, this is not typically the kind of event I would attend, especially without a group of friends to go with.  But in the last few months I've been getting to know some new people and have even made a few friends with whom I've hung out outside of Jewish events.  A few of them said they would be there, so I went hoping that I'd at least be able to mingle momentarily with a few people here or there.  I didn't expect to stay too long or involve myself much in the party, but at least I would have the experience and be able to say I was there.

I decided to get together with a new friend beforehand and walk with her to the event.  She is even newer to Brooklyn than me, so for once I was the one familiar with the area and the people.  It felt pretty cool to know what I was doing, where I was going.  When we got there I started looking for the people I knew from the shul I've been attending regularly the last couple months, and I wasn't disappointed.

After the megillah reading, we slowly made our way over to the social hall where the party was getting started.  It didn't take long to get separated from my friend and lost in the crowd (and it didn't help that I was probably the shortest person in the room), but eventually I found another friend who I knew would be there.  She introduced me to her friends and while talking to them someone else bumped into me.

"I'm sorry!  Oh, hey!  Great seeing you here!  I'm going over there, but we'll talk later!"

I recognized the girl, but could not for the life of me think of her name right away.  Where had I met her?  How did I know her?  It took me nearly 15 minutes to remember that I had only met her a week prior at another event for Jewish Brooklynites, and I think I remembered her name.  But what's really cool to me, what I consider to be a major milestone in my social exploration of Brooklyn, is that not only am I just randomly bumping into people I know, but others are recognizing me, too.

Nearly eight months ago I moved here knowing nobody.  I had no social circle, no friends in the area, no network to speak of beyond Tomm.  The fact that I not only attended but thoroughly enjoyed a huge dance party last weekend is an enormous step for me.  I can confidently say I'm making friends and finding my niche in this big city.  Now that's an accomplishment.

The Optimism Challenge

A few weeks ago I found myself in the stressful and emotionally tumultuous trifecta that is school concert preparation, wedding planning, and not seeing enough of my fiance.  It seemed that everything had to be done right now! and if I couldn't get it done then surely entropy would ensue and the world would be over as we know it. Such stress was not uncommon for me, but this time it manifested itself in a single sentence, repeated mantra-like every time I stepped on the train, crossed unnoticed through bustling crowds, or dealt with indifferent and outright rude sales clerks:  I hate New York.

Most of my life has been regularly punctuated by these moments of severe stress nestled uncomfortably between moments of slightly less severe stress.  In fact, I distinctly remember a moment in elementary school (5th grade, to be precise) when I found myself stressed and unable to fall asleep well past midnight, trying to convince my parents that maybe I should call my classroom teacher so she could assuage my fears about whatever homework assignment or project was at hand.

I was a special child.

I was also never good at transitions.  The first year of junior high, freshman year of high school, and freshman year of college all featured extreme emotional instability that made it hard for me to cope with anything life had to offer.  I am forever indebted to the people who were closest to me during those years, and I suspect karma will make me pay for that some day.  Big time.

I always strove for success, though, and my need to be a scholastic perfectionist was only strengthened during my periods of self doubt.  I suppose I figured that if I could do well in school, it would be proof for everyone else that at least some of my stress was valid.  "See?" I could say to my parents, "I worked like crazy to get that A!  And if I hadn't worked that hard I definitely would've gotten an A-."

Like I said: special.

So with this insight into my neurotic need for perfection and my utter inability to manage major changes in my life, it is no surprise that from the moment I moved to New York I have been off-balance, and when I found myself surrounded by every obligation in the world a few weeks ago, I lost it.

And Tomm, the saint who for whatever reason will be publicly promising in less than four weeks to put up with this the rest of his life, finally called me out on it.

In no uncertain terms and with a good dose of tough love, he helped me realize that I needed to find a way to stop this vicious cycle of stress, anxiety, and discontent with everything around me.  I needed to pull it together and change something since New York was not going to change itself for me.  I was hurting - everyone could see it - and it simply wasn't healthy for me.

I thought a lot about what he said, and I instinctively knew he was right.  Just as in every other juncture in my life I had a choice about how to respond to it, and now was the moment of truth: How would I learn to love (or at the very least tolerate) a city I never imagined I'd call "home?"

I was reminded of when I was still in grade school and my mom introduced a new family bonding strategy at dinner.  Every night she would ask us "What is the best thing that happened to you today?"  My younger sister and I, being the sullen teenagers that we were, often rolled our eyes but we always found a response.  Sometimes it was "I did well on a test." Sometimes it was "I came home."  But whether we knew it or not, my mom's trick worked and slowly changed the tone of dinner; we began to look on the bright side a little more often.

The day after my stern talking-to from Tomm, I told him I'd like him to do me a favor.  "Every day, I'd like you to ask me: 'What was the best thing that happened to you in New York today?'  I want to start focusing on the good things about New York, and I need your help."

As the days went by, he was faithful to my request.  Most days my best part of New York was a kind stranger on the train, but even such a minor detail made a big difference in my outlook the moment I focused on it.  Suddenly, I noticed my attitude changing.  Instead of blindly muttering "I hate New York I hate New York I hate New York" in rhythmic unison with the train clattering over the tracks, I heard the toddler singing children's songs with his mom in a seat nearby. I saw the disgruntled teenager hold the door open for the old man.  I became more and more aware of the good people, the kindness that had previously been missing from my sights. 

There are still moments when some New York experience grates on my nerves, but it's a work in progress and that's okay.  In the meantime, I'm changing how I see this city, and it seems to be responding in kind.

Sally the Singing Guitar

It’s been a while since I last wrote, which is perhaps to be expected in the first weeks of a new work schedule.  Additionally, the community orchestra I’m performing with had its opening concert of the season on Sunday.  It was the first concert I performed as a member of a symphony orchestra since I was in college.  It’s been three years.  I know that probably doesn’t seem like much to most people, but after having performed with string orchestras regularly since I was 10, a three-year hiatus is notable.  It feels nice to be back on the stage playing that particular flavor of music – the kind that only 60 string players, a full wind section, and percussion can pull off simultaneously.

Meanwhile, I spend my days pushing my music cart around three floors of an elementary school with my guitar on my back.  Sixteen classrooms – in and out, in and out, setting up, tearing down, every 50 minutes.  Initially I was put off by the thought of not having my own room.  The classrooms in this school are great, but there's not nearly enough room in which to dance, move, explore, get into groups, play instruments, and do all the things I intended to do with my perfectly planned, immaculately designed lesson plans. You know, in that dream world of mine. Still, despite my discontentment at not having a space to call my own I’m discovering there are a number of benefits to using the students’ own classrooms for music.  First of all, they know the room.  With knowing the room comes knowing the room's rules, which makes my job easier.  Then there's the fact that their teacher is still in the room.  Her presence alone is helpful, but it's especially beneficial if there is a student who needs just a little more one-on-one help with paying attention, in which case the teacher or her aid can step in without me having to turn my attention away from the class.  So even though pushing a cart around isn't remotely ideal, it's not quite as bad as I had imagined.

The students know me best by the guitar, whom I have affectionately named “Sally” for the sake of the kids.  Their reactions upon seeing me in the hallway are adorable, as expected.  “Hi Sally!”  “It’s Sally!”  “Saaaaallllyyyy!!!!”  and the occasional “It’s the music teacher!”  Many do remember my name, but I’m apparently not nearly as cool as my guitar.  Either that, or they think my name is Sally, which is fine so long as they’re saying it with such excitement. 

I feel like I’ve stumbled upon a nugget of teaching wisdom in personifying my guitar.  Last year I made the rookie mistake of assuming that the students would have some sort of innate, evolutionary predisposition to respecting instruments and personal property.  Oh, how wrong I was!  The youngest students were always reaching out to touch the shiny, blond wood, or brush their fingers over the strings like they saw me do every day in class.  It was especially tempting for them when they lined up and there stood the guitar in its stand by the wall, so close!  All it took was a single finger, a quick flick of the wrist, and out came the ringing tones that didn’t quite make a diatonic chord but sounded like music nonetheless.  At least, that’s what I figure it sounded like to them.  The same sound, to me, had quite the opposite effect.  My head whipped around, eyes searching wildly for the child attached to the fingers which had so brazenly touched my guitar.  My guitar!  Really, I guess I wasn’t so different from the children.  I just didn’t want to share.

What I had failed to do was introduce them to the guitar as a thing to be respected.  Yes, it is mine.  Yes, it is [relatively] fragile.  No, students shouldn’t get to play it whenever they please because, well, chaos.  But I never explained that to them or helped them understand the difference between mine and yours, about asking permission, about respecting instruments just like we respect people.  I forgot that children will be children, and it is my job as an educator to help them grow up, little by little, into the kinds of human beings we need in the world.

So this year I changed things up a bit.  It wasn’t a well-planned conscious decision; like many things that happen in the classroom, it just kind of happened.  “This is my guitar, and her name is Sally.”  Sally?  Don’t know where the name came from, but it seemed appropriate for my small, well-loved guitar.  “Sally loves to play music, and she loves singing with friends, but she’s very shy.  She doesn’t like when people she doesn’t know try to touch her or play her, and if she gets scared she might go back home (to her case, of course).  So let’s promise to respect Sally so she stays with us to make music!”

Wow.  Why didn’t I think of this before?

The immediate response among the children was powerful.  By giving the guitar a name she transformed from an inanimate thing into a someone, and someones can be spoken to, cared for, and respected.  Sure, sometimes a student’s curiosity still gets the best of them, but even then my response is measurably improved because the lesson I teach in reprimanding them is far more powerful than “It’s mine, don’t touch it!”  I can speak to the child and say “Oh no! Did you touch Sally?  Remember, Sally doesn’t like being touched by new people.  What should we say to her?”  Respect, apologies, and just a dash of guilt, all thrown into one!

Little by little, I think I’m figuring out how to be a good teacher.  Between the ideas that pop into my head without a moment’s notice and those that I steal shamelessly from other teachers, I’m slowly collecting the tricks for that bag my music ed professors always talked about. 

Great, one more thing to carry around!  Maybe I should name it, too.

Sun spots

Every so often, I happen upon Clara sitting in the kitchen in a pool of sunlight that has sneaked through the clouds, between the tall buildings, and into our window.  My first thought is always "Why is she sitting in the middle of the kitchen?" but I quickly notice the brightly lit rectangle in which she has placed herself and I dismiss my initially absurd question.

At home, my dog used to do the same thing around the house.  You could often find her curled up in splashes of warm afternoon sun, oblivious to the world.  I know that a lot of animals do this, and it makes sense.  If the sun is shining, go sit in it!  But sometimes I'm envious of the way Clara can just wander around until she finds the warmest part of the floor, hunker down, and enjoy it for as long as it lasts.  Wouldn't it be nice if we could all do that just as easily?

Well, after much searching and waiting, I think I have finally found my sun spot.

My last job as a music teacher ended in June and until last week I was unemployed.  Originally I had thought surely I would have a job by the beginning of the school year in September.  Throughout the spring and summer I applied for a multitude of teaching positions, hoping desperately that I might be able to use my music education degree to its full extent here in New York.  But the pickings were slim and, more frustrating than that, agonizingly slow to materialize.  At the very end of August I was finally offered a part time after school position.  Minimal hours, decent pay, challenging school environment, but teaching music nonetheless.  I knew I still needed something in addition to the 8.15 hours I would be paid there, but I was at least happy to have something.

A few days later, I got a call for a general music position that I had been pursuing for months.  I was ecstatic to finally have clinched that one, but I'd still have to wait nearly a month to do a demonstration lesson for the principal and the program directors.  In the meantime, I calculated that I would have less than 17 hours a week of classroom teaching, and I knew I'd need a little bit more.  Not even because of the money, but just to keep myself occupied.

So I sat around and twiddled my thumbs for a few weeks, waiting for one program to start and for the date of the demo lesson to arrive.  I was happy I'd have some work, but I was frustrated by both the lack of positions in my field (especially since I really wanted to teach in a string program) and the astonishingly slow pace with which everything was moving forward.  While I was sitting around, students had already started school and I wondered "Why aren't these music programs starting, too?"  Apparently this is one of those New York things.

Then, a week before my demonstration lesson, I got a call about a school that needed a string teacher twice a week for 10 hours total.  Oh my goodness, yes! I thought.  This is what I want!  And I could probably do this in addition to the other two programs, so long as we could organize the schedule correctly.  I immediately called for an interview, we set one up for the following Monday, and it went very well.  It looked like I was well on my way to having three jobs at three different schools, but doing what I love.  Hard work, to be sure, but I was excited nonetheless.

Two days later was the demonstration lesson.  It went swimmingly.  Afterward I was shooed away so the principal and the program coordinators could talk behind my back, and later that day I got an email from one of the coordinators.

"The principal wants you to teach 16 classes."

Twice what we had first discussed.

Crap.

Somehow in the span of a week, I went from worrying that I wouldn't have enough hours to being offered an overabundance of classes to teach.  I may have been pushing it thinking I could teach at three schools every week - an after school program for around 9 hours, 8 classes at one school during the day twice a week, and 10 classes at another twice a week - but add another 8 classes to that and I knew it was past my limit.  Thankfully, I had a few days of Jewish Holidays to think about it before any decisions had to be made.

Throughout the holidays on Thursday and Friday, plus Shabbat, I didn't know what to do.  And what's more, I felt frustrated.  Why was I told something at the last minute that would force me to decline something else that I so desperately wanted to do?  Why was this all happening at the same time?  Why wasn't it easier?!

But when I told people about my situation, many of them noted the overwhelmingly positive aspect of my circumstances.  Unlike a month prior, I had plenty to choose from!  I had options, and the people offering them to me really wanted me to work for them!  So shouldn't I be happy?

Well, today I talked with one of the program coordinators for the school that wanted 16 classes a week.  We spoke at length about the situation and he sympathized with my circumstances.  He knew what I wanted, he knows where my educational passions lie, and we figured it out.  By the time I made the decision to decline the string teaching position, I was confident I was making the right choice.

Once I made the decision, I immediately felt better.  I felt as if I had chosen the best option, not only for me but for the adults and students involved.  I'm confident that in the next few years I'll get other opportunities to teach strings, and I'm incredibly happy to be working for this particular organization for my first year in New York.  It took a while, but I think things finally settled in the way it's supposed to be.  I found my own little sunspot, and I'm going to enjoy it as long as I can.

Gainful Employment

After months of searching, resume submissions, cover letters, emails, and the occasional interview, I have finally landed a job!  Before you start getting too excited and congratulatory, I'd like to temper it by saying that this is a part time, after school job which will amount to fewer than 10 hours a week.  Still, it's a job in my field which will allow me to use my specific skill set with almost complete curricular freedom.

I'll be working in a public school in Manhattan which works with an outside organization to provide "extended day" school (a well-attended after-school program which extends the standard school day until 6:00 PM).  I was originally interviewed for the position of Community Educator, an entry-level position which would have placed me and a colleague with a specific classroom to work with them every day after school from 3:00 to 6:00.  After the final round of interviews I received a call from the organizer offering me a choice between the Community Educator position and that of an Activities Specialist: fewer hours a week, but greater pay per hour and would allow me to specifically teach music to students in grades K-2.  After some deliberation I decided that although I would not make as much per week as a specialist it was a far better career opportunity, so I took it.

I'm excited for this position for a variety of reasons.  One wonderful feature of the job is that I can pretty much teach whatever I'd like.  There is no curriculum set out, no specific objectives that the students must achieve, no expectations about concerts or other performances.  This freedom is exhilarating because it means that I can finally focus on musical concepts that I have, up until now, found very challenging to teach within the context of a standard school music program.  Namely composition and improvisation.  Without having a concert to prepare for (at least not one that's already scheduled), I can use this as a learning opportunity for me in addition to an exciting and fun class for the students.  Besides, the students already have a music teacher during the school day, so I want to be sure I'm not stepping on the other teacher's toes and focusing on exactly the same things she is.

The other reasons I'm excited for this position have much more to do with me than with the kids.  Call me selfish, but I'm excited to be getting out of the apartment, using my degree and experience in a productive way, making a little money, and hopefully making some friends.  Apparently there is research to support this kind of need for personal fulfillment, for when I looked up "gainfully employed" to make sure I was, in fact, spelling it correctly, I found a Wikipedia article all about it:

Gainful employment is a positive psychology concept that explores the benefits of work and employment. Second only to personal relationships, work is the most important determinant of quality of life.^[1][2] Over 7,855 articles were published on job satisfaction between the years of 1976-2000.

Turns out I'm not being selfish after all.  Upon reading this article, I learned that gainful employment is not just about making money; it's about job satisfaction, fulfillment, and all the other personal needs that a good occupation addresses.  While being employed might just mean "getting paid to do a job," gainful employment is about the kind of work that makes you want to go to work, the kind of job that makes you happy, and the kind of environment in which you enjoy growth, responsibility, empowerment, and positive relationships.

Thinking about my employment history it's easy for me to separate the jobs from the gainful employment.  Working at a grocery store part time?  A job.  I went, I worked, I got paid.  But every single time I had the opportunity to teach - whether I was making money or not - I felt that I was doing something worthwhile for my students, my colleagues, my superiors, and myself.

The Wikipedia article lists nine components of this particular brand of employment, and they are as follows:

1. Variety in duties performed
2. Safe working environment
3. Income for family and oneself
4. A purpose derived from providing a product or service
5. Happiness and satisfaction
6. Positive engagement and involvement
7. A sense of performing well and meeting goals
8. Friendships at work
9. An environment that respects and appreciates diversity

 I was surprised to read some of the items on this list.  For instance, the fact that the first component listed is "Variety in duties performed" seems odd to me from the perspective of an employee, especially one who has worked a number of jobs that had very few duties to perform.  Yet thinking about my best jobs, especially those in teaching, I realize that all of them included a wide variety of duties to perform, and instead of constantly feeling burdened or overwhelmed by the things I had to do, I was generally happy that going to work meant something a little different every day.  Or what about "Friendships at work"?  No wonder I've hated the summer jobs where I didn't get along well with my coworkers, even if my superiors and the customers were pleasant and enjoyable to work with.

Reading this list makes me consider not just my own employment history and career, but work in general.  In movies, television, media, and sitting at the bar on a Saturday night, people are often quick to complain about their jobs.  In college, my classmates working part-time jobs to pay for rent and tuition regularly groaned about their horrible bosses, the agonizingly mundane tasks they had to perform, the crappy hours, and all the other issues inherent in being at the bottom of the work ladder.  "But at least I have a job," they'd say, and it was true because without the money they made from that job, they couldn't have been studying to get the education necessary to ultimately make them gainfully employed.  Still, I have to wonder: is it worth it?

Is it worth it to work your tail off doing something you dislike as a means to an end?  Is it worth it to spend a third of your waking hours just waiting to leave?  Is it worth it to downright hate what you're doing and allow yourself to be unhappy and frustrated, even if the money made from that minimum wage job is an absolute necessity?

The fact of the matter is, sometimes we can't avoid working a job we don't like, which is rather sad when you consider how much of our lives are spent at our jobs and how desperately many of us need something, anything to pay for the other necessities in life.  So maybe the onus is on the higher ups, the bosses and supervisors and CEOs, to make sure their employees are, in fact, gainfully employed.  I don't know. I certainly can't provide a solution to the quagmire.  All I can do is ask questions.  So I ask...

Are you gainfully employed? 

Making it Home

After nearly two weeks in the apartment without so much as a chair, our stuff has finally arrived.  Thank G-d.

To say we had challenges with the moving company is a gross understatement; from the moment they told us we were misinformed about the timeline of the moving process (a few weeks after picking up all the possessions from Tomm's old apartment) to finally getting our belongings a day later than promised, the whole ordeal has been a series of the most unfortunate events. But hopefully the bad luck that was the hallmark of this experience will make way for only the best of luck in our new apartment.

There is a great sense of accomplishment to be had in completely unpacking, assembling, putting away, and organizing one's apartment in a single day.  If only I could be that productive every day!

Today is my last full day in New York before I return to my small town home for the rest of the month.  Since the street had to be cleared for street sweepers today I had the responsibility of moving the car from the most glorious parking spot ever and finding some way to occupy myself for a couple hours.  So after filling the tank and cleaning it of all the papers and garbage that have accumulated since Tomm first bought it, I drove around trying desperately to find a parking spot so I could get some breakfast.  Oh, that reminds me.  Gotta buy milk today.

It took a while, but I finally found a one-hour spot along a street with a variety of cafes featuring words like "Organic" and "Vegetarian" on their artistically designed windows and signs.  I found a cozy little one and I only wish the parking meter would allow me to relax here longer.  Streaming unobtrusively through the speakers in the corner is the music of Louis Armstrong, Ella Fitzgerald, and Billie Holiday.  The granola was homemade, the fruit fresh, the baristas friendly and charismatic.  One even took my name with my order and then proceeded to actually call me by name as he brought out my food.  It's the little touches like that that make me feel a little less alone around here.

Loneliness is undoubtedly my greatest fear in this adventure.  I wouldn't call myself introverted, but nobody would peg me as a social butterfly.  It often takes time and a great deal of consistency for me to make friends.  People said it would be wonderful that we're living in resident housing because I would find the spouses of other doctors who are left with too much time on their hands, but unless I start knocking door-to-door trying to find them, I'm not sure how we'll meet.  It's not as if the super hosts weekend mixers for the non-doctors in the building.  Though wouldn't it be interesting if he did?

The last two days I combated the loneliness by going to a local animal rescue.  It's about a mile and a half away, a pleasant walk.  Once there I asked if I could walk some dogs, so I was presented first with a highly energetic pit-bull mix that strained at the leash.  We walked around for about a half hour and when I returned they asked if I'd like to walk another.  This went on for a couple hours and by the time I left I had walked five dogs ranging in size from a small terrier to a beautifully monstrous cane corso with a brindle coat.

I returned the next day and the employee from the day before recognized me.  I walked four dogs and also got into a conversation with another volunteer whose name I actually remember!  I walked with her to the train station along with the fattest dog I've ever seen who was incredibly happy when the walk was over.  There seem to be a lot of volunteers at the shelter and though I don't know if they need more, spending quality time with dogs who desperately need the attention is good for everyone involved.  If I have a chance I'll go back this afternoon.

Ultimately, my goal is twofold: to not be lonely, and to make friends.  Hopefully one leads naturally to the other.  Wish me luck.