It has been over two weeks since I last wrote, and that's at least a week too long. I have wanted to, though, numerous times, and I have a slew of barely-begun-but-ready-to-edit blog posts to prove it. Lots of interesting things have happened, things that I want to discuss and share, but gosh darnit I'm just too tired.
Right after Halloween (specifically, after singing a rousing and vocally challenging Halloween song with six consecutive classes in one day), I began feeling that I was either losing my voice or getting a cold. It turned out to be a cold. I thought it was on its way out until it came around to throw a few more punches, not unlike the character in a movie who walks away from the fight only to whip around and deck the other guy in a surprise attack. It hasn't been all bad, though. There have been a few positive outcomes of this unshakable indisposition:
1. My Contigo travel mug is the new love of my life, and one of very few products I will recommend with the zeal of a street preacher. Thanks to this, my tea stays warm through a train ride, a walk to school, and about five periods of teaching. If the tea lasts that long, that is.
2. I am incredibly thankful to my mom's friend who gave me the tea kettle for my wedding shower. It's easily the single most-used utensil in the kitchen right now.
3. I have been so tired that I've gone to bed at or before 9:00 pm at least four times in the last week, and it's glorious.
4. Thanks to this cold, I have perfected my impression of a 67-year-old man with smoker's lung. It's spot on. In fact, I think when I'm home for Thanksgiving I should stage a competition with our aging neighbor who thus far has gone unchallenged in the Hocking-Loogies-From-The-Balcony-While-Shirtless event.
It's really the fatigue that gets me, though. I can live with the phlegm and the sore throat, so long as I have my Contigo to keep me company. I can live with the sniffling nose and even the occasional mild headache. But when I have so many things to do, - planning a wedding which is just over a month away, planning a school's winter show which is less than a month away, plus everything else that's part of my daily or weekly routines - feeling unable to do any ounce of work past 6:30 pm doesn't help my stress level. Thankfully, most of the wedding planning is taken care of at this point.
The other byproduct of this fatigue is not being able to write. For some reason, I can't sit down and write a creative, coherent, or remotely interesting blog post when I can feel the need for sleep creeping in behind my eyes. It becomes impossible to concentrate or write freely, even when I have accomplished all my other tasks for the day and have a few hours free.
I hope that when things die down a little and when this cold finally frees me of its burden, I'll be able to write a little more. Until then, tea and sleep will be my extracurriculars of choice.
Showing posts with label Laziness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Laziness. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
Sunday, September 22, 2013
Shul Shopping, Part III
The Holiday Season is in full swing and along with it come plenty of opportunities to go to the synagogue. We began with Rosh Hashanah two weeks ago, then last Saturday many of us spent a good portion of 25 hours in the synagogue and not eating. Just four days later we commenced the celebration of Sukkot, that bizarre Jewish holiday in which Jews suddenly become carpenters and build strange huts in their yards topped with bamboo sticks, tree branches, or corn stalks. Oh, and we also say a blessing while holding onto the trimmed branches of three different trees (date palm, willow, and myrtle) plus an Israeli citrus fruit called an etrog and shake them all around. It's all very symbolic. Take my word for it.
Here are some pictures if you have no idea what I'm talking about:
With all these opportunities to go to the synagogue, it can be a bit of a challenge to get in the holiday spirit if you aren't enjoying the congregation with which you're spending so much time. I spent all of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur at Shul #3 which, although it was the best of the three I tried out, still lacked much of what I was looking for. By the powerful concluding service of the holiest day of the year, culminating with one long blast of the shofar (ram's horn), I knew I needed to start looking for another shul to call home. I've already written at length about my dissatisfaction in my own neighborhood so it shouldn't surprise you that I needed to look a little further.
A quick search on Google Maps for "Modern Orthodox Synagogue Brooklyn" provided a couple other options. I'm sure there are more synagogues than appeared in the search results, but any synagogue that has an Internet presence is probably closer to what I'm looking for anyway. To my dismay, the next closest synagogue was three miles away, which wouldn't be so bad if I weren't planning on walking to shul every Shabbat. But I'll get to that later.
I walked to the synagogue on Thursday morning and entered to find that although I was fifteen minutes late for the service, they hadn't yet begun. I actually took this as a good sign. There's this thing known as "Jewish Standard Time" in which everything starts later than expected, and I'm very used to that way of doing things in a synagogue. The building was a bit smaller than the other three I had been to, but the sanctuary was bright, open, and featured a single curtained mechitza down the center of the room. This barrier was designed as sectioned frames on wheels so they can be moved and manipulated as necessary, and even removed entirely for an event in which they'll allow a mixed crowd. There were no pews; instead, there were rows of chairs set up, again making for a very convertible space. The ceiling featured a domed skylight, and the morning sun poured freely into the space.
The service featured a great deal of singing, much of which was accomplished by the untrained voices of the congregation, a small but delightfully boisterous bunch. Unlike the other synagogues in which most people seemed to sit back and let the leaders do their job, I felt that the members of this congregation were more personally involved with the service and with one another. I especially smiled when one paragraph was read out loud in English by an old man in the back - the same paragraph that my Dad has had the honor of reading in our synagogue for years. We use a different translation, but the message was the same: we want you to pray with us, and we want you to understand it. Let's face it. It can get really easy to forget what's actually being said when you're praying in another language.
By the end of the service, there were maybe 30 people in attendance (a high estimate, perhaps), and most of us went to the sukkah for the kiddush reception. By the way, it was a single kiddush, with a single table. Finally! A kiddush for the men and women together! At the kiddush, I could tell that people were friendly, but nobody really approached me to say hello. I was a little dismayed until I decided to leave and the rabbi stopped me at the door.
"Hello. You're new here. Where are you from?"
"I just moved to Borough Park."
"Oh? And what are you doing all the way over here?"
"Well, I didn't like any of the shuls in my neighborhood, so I came here."
We spoke a bit longer, he invited me to lunch, and I politely declined because I told him I had to get back to have lunch with my fiance. So he invited both of us for the following day. Before leaving, I told him:
"Y'know, of all the shuls I've been to around here, you're the only rabbi who has spoken to me. Thank you. I really appreciate that."
He seemed stunned.
The next day I convinced Tomm to come with me, and after services we were approached and welcomed by the president of the congregation, the Rabbi (who wished us mazel tov on our engagement and confirmed our acceptance for his lunch invitation), and the old man who read the paragraph in English. Additionally, I was invited to lunch by the rabbi's wife who I didn't realize was the rabbi's wife, so I declined only to find that it was her food I was eating an hour later. At kiddush, someone helped us when he realized we hadn't managed to get a bit of the wine after the blessing was made, and when kiddush seemed to be ending and we had lost track of the rabbi, the old man from before said "Oh we'll get you to that lunch! Don't worry, I'll take care of you."
Music to my ears.
The lunch table was graced by many of the congregants and the rabbi's 20 children (okay, maybe there were only 12), and I managed to get into pleasant conversations with a few other people. After a fabulous meal replete with salads, fish, chicken schnitzel (Tomm's favorite), potatoes, vegetables, and a scrumptious dessert, we had to take our leave early because of Tomm's work schedule. The best part for him? Not a single person raised an eyebrow or protested about the fact that he was working on Shabbat. Instead, everyone treated him with the respect owed to a hardworking doctor, recognizing that there is no greater mitzvah (commandment or good deed) than to save a life, even if it means working on Shabbat.
Speaking of working on Shabbat: Many of us - regardless of our faith background - are familiar with the precept to "do no work" on the Sabbath. It is, after all, the reason many Christian establishments are closed on Sundays. Throughout the Jewish community this commandment is observed to varying degrees depending on the individual's level of religiosity (wow, that's actually a word?). However on the Orthodox side of the spectrum there is a very little room for debate; the 39 categories of labor that define "work" are clearly delineated and avoided on Shabbat. They go beyond the commonly understood definition of "performing a service in exchange for money" and extend into such activities as building, baking, and lighting a fire. These categories provide the framework for the myriad of rules that observant Jews follow in order to create and experience a holy, joyous holiday every single week.
While I do my best to observe the Sabbath, I do so in a way that is comfortable for me, a way is constantly in flux. I haven't reached the point where I strictly follow all the laws of Shabbat and I am still trying to figure out what works for me to make the day holy. There are a few things I do my best to avoid, such as spending money, working (I refuse to work at a job for which I am paid on the Sabbath), and driving. I have my own excuses for certain things, like using the phone in order to stay connected to my family on Shabbat and thereby make my experience more enjoyable, and while that may change with time it suits me for now. As for driving, that is something I definitely try to avoid, especially driving to the synagogue. But when the synagogue is three miles and a full hour each way by foot - potentially through pouring rain, snow, extreme temperatures, and other cumbersome natural phenomena - driving or riding on the bus becomes a much more appealing option. For example, today, when I was just plain tired and didn't want to get up early enough to make the trek. Had I resigned myself to taking the bus I could've cut the commute in half and felt much more willing to go. But I was lazy, so I didn't attend services today.
I want to walk, I really do. But I may have to consider what's really important in terms of my Jewish practice and experience. If avoiding transportation means not going to shul and missing out on the positive experiences of participation in a community, then am I really making Shabbat holy? I realize that for the more observant Jews out there, this is a non-issue. This isn't even a discussion. But the spirit of the law means just as much to me, if not more than, the letter of the law, and I may need to seriously consider what is important to me at this point in my life.
As for the shul, this one might not be the end of my search. I still want to see what else Brooklyn has to offer, to make sure I find the place and the people that make me the happiest. In the meantime, I'm just glad I've found a place that makes me smile and is willing to invite me for a meal.
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| A traditional sukkah Source: The Mendel Sukkah, sukkot.com |
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| The Lulav and Etrog Source: Blueenayim, dreamstime.com |
With all these opportunities to go to the synagogue, it can be a bit of a challenge to get in the holiday spirit if you aren't enjoying the congregation with which you're spending so much time. I spent all of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur at Shul #3 which, although it was the best of the three I tried out, still lacked much of what I was looking for. By the powerful concluding service of the holiest day of the year, culminating with one long blast of the shofar (ram's horn), I knew I needed to start looking for another shul to call home. I've already written at length about my dissatisfaction in my own neighborhood so it shouldn't surprise you that I needed to look a little further.
A quick search on Google Maps for "Modern Orthodox Synagogue Brooklyn" provided a couple other options. I'm sure there are more synagogues than appeared in the search results, but any synagogue that has an Internet presence is probably closer to what I'm looking for anyway. To my dismay, the next closest synagogue was three miles away, which wouldn't be so bad if I weren't planning on walking to shul every Shabbat. But I'll get to that later.
I walked to the synagogue on Thursday morning and entered to find that although I was fifteen minutes late for the service, they hadn't yet begun. I actually took this as a good sign. There's this thing known as "Jewish Standard Time" in which everything starts later than expected, and I'm very used to that way of doing things in a synagogue. The building was a bit smaller than the other three I had been to, but the sanctuary was bright, open, and featured a single curtained mechitza down the center of the room. This barrier was designed as sectioned frames on wheels so they can be moved and manipulated as necessary, and even removed entirely for an event in which they'll allow a mixed crowd. There were no pews; instead, there were rows of chairs set up, again making for a very convertible space. The ceiling featured a domed skylight, and the morning sun poured freely into the space.
The service featured a great deal of singing, much of which was accomplished by the untrained voices of the congregation, a small but delightfully boisterous bunch. Unlike the other synagogues in which most people seemed to sit back and let the leaders do their job, I felt that the members of this congregation were more personally involved with the service and with one another. I especially smiled when one paragraph was read out loud in English by an old man in the back - the same paragraph that my Dad has had the honor of reading in our synagogue for years. We use a different translation, but the message was the same: we want you to pray with us, and we want you to understand it. Let's face it. It can get really easy to forget what's actually being said when you're praying in another language.
By the end of the service, there were maybe 30 people in attendance (a high estimate, perhaps), and most of us went to the sukkah for the kiddush reception. By the way, it was a single kiddush, with a single table. Finally! A kiddush for the men and women together! At the kiddush, I could tell that people were friendly, but nobody really approached me to say hello. I was a little dismayed until I decided to leave and the rabbi stopped me at the door.
"Hello. You're new here. Where are you from?"
"I just moved to Borough Park."
"Oh? And what are you doing all the way over here?"
"Well, I didn't like any of the shuls in my neighborhood, so I came here."
We spoke a bit longer, he invited me to lunch, and I politely declined because I told him I had to get back to have lunch with my fiance. So he invited both of us for the following day. Before leaving, I told him:
"Y'know, of all the shuls I've been to around here, you're the only rabbi who has spoken to me. Thank you. I really appreciate that."
He seemed stunned.
The next day I convinced Tomm to come with me, and after services we were approached and welcomed by the president of the congregation, the Rabbi (who wished us mazel tov on our engagement and confirmed our acceptance for his lunch invitation), and the old man who read the paragraph in English. Additionally, I was invited to lunch by the rabbi's wife who I didn't realize was the rabbi's wife, so I declined only to find that it was her food I was eating an hour later. At kiddush, someone helped us when he realized we hadn't managed to get a bit of the wine after the blessing was made, and when kiddush seemed to be ending and we had lost track of the rabbi, the old man from before said "Oh we'll get you to that lunch! Don't worry, I'll take care of you."
Music to my ears.
The lunch table was graced by many of the congregants and the rabbi's 20 children (okay, maybe there were only 12), and I managed to get into pleasant conversations with a few other people. After a fabulous meal replete with salads, fish, chicken schnitzel (Tomm's favorite), potatoes, vegetables, and a scrumptious dessert, we had to take our leave early because of Tomm's work schedule. The best part for him? Not a single person raised an eyebrow or protested about the fact that he was working on Shabbat. Instead, everyone treated him with the respect owed to a hardworking doctor, recognizing that there is no greater mitzvah (commandment or good deed) than to save a life, even if it means working on Shabbat.
Speaking of working on Shabbat: Many of us - regardless of our faith background - are familiar with the precept to "do no work" on the Sabbath. It is, after all, the reason many Christian establishments are closed on Sundays. Throughout the Jewish community this commandment is observed to varying degrees depending on the individual's level of religiosity (wow, that's actually a word?). However on the Orthodox side of the spectrum there is a very little room for debate; the 39 categories of labor that define "work" are clearly delineated and avoided on Shabbat. They go beyond the commonly understood definition of "performing a service in exchange for money" and extend into such activities as building, baking, and lighting a fire. These categories provide the framework for the myriad of rules that observant Jews follow in order to create and experience a holy, joyous holiday every single week.
While I do my best to observe the Sabbath, I do so in a way that is comfortable for me, a way is constantly in flux. I haven't reached the point where I strictly follow all the laws of Shabbat and I am still trying to figure out what works for me to make the day holy. There are a few things I do my best to avoid, such as spending money, working (I refuse to work at a job for which I am paid on the Sabbath), and driving. I have my own excuses for certain things, like using the phone in order to stay connected to my family on Shabbat and thereby make my experience more enjoyable, and while that may change with time it suits me for now. As for driving, that is something I definitely try to avoid, especially driving to the synagogue. But when the synagogue is three miles and a full hour each way by foot - potentially through pouring rain, snow, extreme temperatures, and other cumbersome natural phenomena - driving or riding on the bus becomes a much more appealing option. For example, today, when I was just plain tired and didn't want to get up early enough to make the trek. Had I resigned myself to taking the bus I could've cut the commute in half and felt much more willing to go. But I was lazy, so I didn't attend services today.
I want to walk, I really do. But I may have to consider what's really important in terms of my Jewish practice and experience. If avoiding transportation means not going to shul and missing out on the positive experiences of participation in a community, then am I really making Shabbat holy? I realize that for the more observant Jews out there, this is a non-issue. This isn't even a discussion. But the spirit of the law means just as much to me, if not more than, the letter of the law, and I may need to seriously consider what is important to me at this point in my life.
As for the shul, this one might not be the end of my search. I still want to see what else Brooklyn has to offer, to make sure I find the place and the people that make me the happiest. In the meantime, I'm just glad I've found a place that makes me smile and is willing to invite me for a meal.
Friday, August 23, 2013
A bit o' writer's block
There were a couple times this week where I wanted to write something, or even began writing, but lost the energy, motivation, or creative spark to complete it. I also sometimes felt that what I had to say was too mundane or uninteresting to really make it worth writing. Still, I want to write, so I'll share a few of the interesting things that happened throughout the last week:
On Sunday, Tomm and I treated ourselves to dinner at a restaurant in the neighborhood. I say we treated ourselves, but really a friend of the family treated us with a generous gift certificate to the establishment. When we got there I asked if we could use the gift certificate and the man looked at it quizzically, looked at me, took the slip of paper, and mumbled some comment or question about where it came from. I suppose they don't have many patrons using or even requesting gift certificates. When I told him it was a gift from a friend back home, he said "Oh right! She ordered it from... where was it..." "Wisconsin," I offered. "Ah, yes." It's a small world.
After Tomm ordered, the man looked at us and said "You know how I can tell you're not from around here? You said 'please' three times." Apparently we stick out like sore thumbs with our Midwestern sensibilities, but at least it makes for a good laugh. And as far as identifying habits are concerned, being overly polite isn't such a bad one.
The week was predominantly lazy, and I treated myself a couple times with swimming laps at the pool, finishing books, making trips to the library, and even going out once. I've become an amateur fan of Meetups, the website dedicated to social groups and their outings, and the site led me to a Yoga group that happened to be meeting on Tuesday in Manhattan. The group leader was hosting a free class, and though I haven't done yoga for years I've been itching to get back to it so I felt this was the perfect opportunity. The weather was pristine for an evening of outdoor yoga on a pier by South Street Seaport, a wonderful little corner of the city. I was swept away with the carefree, lazy-summer-day nonchalance that tinted the air that evening. The passersby strolled to and from little boutiques and restaurants, some of which were delightfully impermanent and made you feel that you had to experience it just once before it drifted away with the summer breeze. I suppose that's seasonal capitalism at its best, but I prefer a more poetic outlook.
The yoga group consisted of less than ten people, a cozy group suitable for the patch of grass on the roof of a restaurant on the pier. Nearly surrounded by water, with a vast blue sky and a perfect panoramic view of Brooklyn with its sandy browns and reds, I wouldn't have needed the yoga to relax. But once we felt the entirety of the group had arrived we began by adjusting our posture and finding our breath, and for the next hour I followed the instructor's soft voice through poses that I surprised myself by still remembering.
Afterward, feeling sufficiently relaxed and appropriately chill, I popped into a shop offering "artisanal lemonade," and ordered a "Coolcumber" lemonade with cucumber and basil. It seemed like just the sort of yuppy drink one should have following yoga, and it was incredibly refreshing. I smiled all the way home.
Yesterday I had a final interview for a part-time job at a public school in Manhattan, and it was conducted as a group interview. It went well, but even more importantly for my social life I made a friend! At least that's what facebook tells me. But between that and yoga the day before, I feel like I've had more legitimate conversations with otherwise strangers this week than I have since I arrived. It felt good.
After the interview, I made my way back to Brooklyn to meet the sister of a family friend who lives there with her wife and (as of today) one-year-old son. On my way there I stopped for a slice of $1 pizza - just my price! When I ordered it the man behind the counter said "Just one? Okay. One million dollars." He agreed to give it to me for just a dollar, with the promise that I'd have the million next time. Oh, those cheeky New Yorkers. Ever so generous!
I had a lovely afternoon with the friend's sister and her adorable son, as well as her cat and dog, and we chatted for hours about working in New York, pets (I've resolved to get a cat at some point), children, and neighborhoods around Brooklyn. She loves being in New York and specifically in Brooklyn, and she had no lack of good things to say about various areas. However, she admits that not every neighborhood exemplifies what she views as the most endearing aspects of the borough, and I wondered if perhaps it might be best for us to find a community a little more to our liking for next year. But we'll see how the rest of the year turns out.
And now I have about four hours until Tomm and I leave for a Shabbat dinner hosted by a friend, which gives me plenty of time to finish up a few errands and chores. For the first week since I got here, my only responsibility for Shabbat dinner is the cake (which I nearly destroyed getting out of the Bundt pan but I think it's salvageable), so I'm enjoying the relaxing afternoon and looking forward to Shabbat.
(P.S. Sorry if this post seems a little disjointed. I wrote it in between playing a game of "Hide and Go Seek" with the mouse in our apartment. I think it's winning.)
On Sunday, Tomm and I treated ourselves to dinner at a restaurant in the neighborhood. I say we treated ourselves, but really a friend of the family treated us with a generous gift certificate to the establishment. When we got there I asked if we could use the gift certificate and the man looked at it quizzically, looked at me, took the slip of paper, and mumbled some comment or question about where it came from. I suppose they don't have many patrons using or even requesting gift certificates. When I told him it was a gift from a friend back home, he said "Oh right! She ordered it from... where was it..." "Wisconsin," I offered. "Ah, yes." It's a small world.
After Tomm ordered, the man looked at us and said "You know how I can tell you're not from around here? You said 'please' three times." Apparently we stick out like sore thumbs with our Midwestern sensibilities, but at least it makes for a good laugh. And as far as identifying habits are concerned, being overly polite isn't such a bad one.
The week was predominantly lazy, and I treated myself a couple times with swimming laps at the pool, finishing books, making trips to the library, and even going out once. I've become an amateur fan of Meetups, the website dedicated to social groups and their outings, and the site led me to a Yoga group that happened to be meeting on Tuesday in Manhattan. The group leader was hosting a free class, and though I haven't done yoga for years I've been itching to get back to it so I felt this was the perfect opportunity. The weather was pristine for an evening of outdoor yoga on a pier by South Street Seaport, a wonderful little corner of the city. I was swept away with the carefree, lazy-summer-day nonchalance that tinted the air that evening. The passersby strolled to and from little boutiques and restaurants, some of which were delightfully impermanent and made you feel that you had to experience it just once before it drifted away with the summer breeze. I suppose that's seasonal capitalism at its best, but I prefer a more poetic outlook.
The yoga group consisted of less than ten people, a cozy group suitable for the patch of grass on the roof of a restaurant on the pier. Nearly surrounded by water, with a vast blue sky and a perfect panoramic view of Brooklyn with its sandy browns and reds, I wouldn't have needed the yoga to relax. But once we felt the entirety of the group had arrived we began by adjusting our posture and finding our breath, and for the next hour I followed the instructor's soft voice through poses that I surprised myself by still remembering.
Afterward, feeling sufficiently relaxed and appropriately chill, I popped into a shop offering "artisanal lemonade," and ordered a "Coolcumber" lemonade with cucumber and basil. It seemed like just the sort of yuppy drink one should have following yoga, and it was incredibly refreshing. I smiled all the way home.
Yesterday I had a final interview for a part-time job at a public school in Manhattan, and it was conducted as a group interview. It went well, but even more importantly for my social life I made a friend! At least that's what facebook tells me. But between that and yoga the day before, I feel like I've had more legitimate conversations with otherwise strangers this week than I have since I arrived. It felt good.
After the interview, I made my way back to Brooklyn to meet the sister of a family friend who lives there with her wife and (as of today) one-year-old son. On my way there I stopped for a slice of $1 pizza - just my price! When I ordered it the man behind the counter said "Just one? Okay. One million dollars." He agreed to give it to me for just a dollar, with the promise that I'd have the million next time. Oh, those cheeky New Yorkers. Ever so generous!
I had a lovely afternoon with the friend's sister and her adorable son, as well as her cat and dog, and we chatted for hours about working in New York, pets (I've resolved to get a cat at some point), children, and neighborhoods around Brooklyn. She loves being in New York and specifically in Brooklyn, and she had no lack of good things to say about various areas. However, she admits that not every neighborhood exemplifies what she views as the most endearing aspects of the borough, and I wondered if perhaps it might be best for us to find a community a little more to our liking for next year. But we'll see how the rest of the year turns out.
And now I have about four hours until Tomm and I leave for a Shabbat dinner hosted by a friend, which gives me plenty of time to finish up a few errands and chores. For the first week since I got here, my only responsibility for Shabbat dinner is the cake (which I nearly destroyed getting out of the Bundt pan but I think it's salvageable), so I'm enjoying the relaxing afternoon and looking forward to Shabbat.
(P.S. Sorry if this post seems a little disjointed. I wrote it in between playing a game of "Hide and Go Seek" with the mouse in our apartment. I think it's winning.)
Monday, August 12, 2013
"Too much time on my hands"
It's a darn good thing Jews don't subscribe to the concept of the Seven Deadly Sins, because if we did I would undoubtedly be guilty of sloth. I certainly wouldn't want my watching an entire season of a show on Netflix over the course of a few days to be the cause of some Divine wrath. Besides, I don't think our renters insurance would cover the couch if it were mysteriously struck by lightening on a perfectly sunny day.
Since I was 15, I have always had a job or been a full-time student, and sometimes both concurrently. Every summer I have had at least a part-time job, typically working between 20 and 35 hours a week which is just enough to keep one occupied. This summer, for the first time, I am unoccupied. Sure, moving was a big deal and the weeks surrounding the move were hectic and busy, but now that everything is unpacked, organized, filed away, and set in its appropriate place, I find myself without a whole lot to do.
"But it's New York!" you implore. Yes, yes. New York City, center of the universe (bonus points if you can identify the song I just alluded to), but I seem to be suffering from the same malady which affects so many of today's youth: "I'm booooorrred. There's nothing to DO. Ugh."
It's hot and sticky again outside and quite frankly I'd much rather hang out on the couch in front of a fan or the air conditioning instead of venturing to the subway where the stagnant heat is amplified to an impressive impersonation of a warm oven. And sure, it might be a small price to pay for the reward of lounging in a library or a coffee shop or under a shaded tree in the park, but it always comes back to the same old excuse - that I simply don't want to.
Don't get me wrong, I have things to do around here, and I've been doing them. Laundry, dishes, grocery shopping, cooking, more grocery shopping, more cooking. I'm actually finding that I kind of enjoy participating in these very domestic activities. They're comforting. Making a home feel like a home is comforting. Walking out to brush shoulders with silent strangers is not quite as comforting.
I keep hoping this is a temporary thing, but my job hunt over the past couple months has, so far, been disheartening. The application-to-response ratio is less than ideal, and the application-to-interview ratio is even worse. Being a young and relatively inexperienced teacher is challenging enough as it is when everyone seems to want "Two years of experience, required," but being a young, inexperienced teacher in a field that is rapidly dissipating in public schools is even worse. I want to be a music teacher. Specifically, I want to be a strings teacher for a school orchestra. Not only are there an aggravatingly small number of jobs in that field, but they're disappearing before our eyes as schools are forced to focus more on the core subjects of math and English Language Arts (ELA).
This could be a rant about the state of music education in today's schools, but I'll leave that for another day. For the moment I'm just frustrated at my lack of occupation and afraid of how long this may continue.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go find another TV series to get hooked on.
Since I was 15, I have always had a job or been a full-time student, and sometimes both concurrently. Every summer I have had at least a part-time job, typically working between 20 and 35 hours a week which is just enough to keep one occupied. This summer, for the first time, I am unoccupied. Sure, moving was a big deal and the weeks surrounding the move were hectic and busy, but now that everything is unpacked, organized, filed away, and set in its appropriate place, I find myself without a whole lot to do.
"But it's New York!" you implore. Yes, yes. New York City, center of the universe (bonus points if you can identify the song I just alluded to), but I seem to be suffering from the same malady which affects so many of today's youth: "I'm booooorrred. There's nothing to DO. Ugh."
It's hot and sticky again outside and quite frankly I'd much rather hang out on the couch in front of a fan or the air conditioning instead of venturing to the subway where the stagnant heat is amplified to an impressive impersonation of a warm oven. And sure, it might be a small price to pay for the reward of lounging in a library or a coffee shop or under a shaded tree in the park, but it always comes back to the same old excuse - that I simply don't want to.
Don't get me wrong, I have things to do around here, and I've been doing them. Laundry, dishes, grocery shopping, cooking, more grocery shopping, more cooking. I'm actually finding that I kind of enjoy participating in these very domestic activities. They're comforting. Making a home feel like a home is comforting. Walking out to brush shoulders with silent strangers is not quite as comforting.
I keep hoping this is a temporary thing, but my job hunt over the past couple months has, so far, been disheartening. The application-to-response ratio is less than ideal, and the application-to-interview ratio is even worse. Being a young and relatively inexperienced teacher is challenging enough as it is when everyone seems to want "Two years of experience, required," but being a young, inexperienced teacher in a field that is rapidly dissipating in public schools is even worse. I want to be a music teacher. Specifically, I want to be a strings teacher for a school orchestra. Not only are there an aggravatingly small number of jobs in that field, but they're disappearing before our eyes as schools are forced to focus more on the core subjects of math and English Language Arts (ELA).
This could be a rant about the state of music education in today's schools, but I'll leave that for another day. For the moment I'm just frustrated at my lack of occupation and afraid of how long this may continue.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go find another TV series to get hooked on.
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