Why Johnny Can't Blog

I've been gone for over a year now. I think I can readily say that it's been the most difficult year of my life. I've been looking back at some of my posts from Colorado, and I'm surprised at how chipper they seem. Things had already gotten trying by this time last June, but I was excited about Korea, hopeful about how the summer might still play out, and curious about everything. Now I'm just tired. I've been needled frequently about posting more often, and I've truly meant to. There's a roster of things to talk about in my calendar, and 'blog' is on every to-do list I've made for months. I want to do it, want to keep a record and share all these observations I'm still making. But most of the time, I just don't have the heart to write.

This is what defeat feels like. Last week, as I ran dialogues with every kid I teach, was the final (or not...there always seems to be more shit, no matter how much you've waded through already) proof that what I'm doing here is futile, and my approach to it pitifully ineffectual. Very, very few of the kids understand anything I say. Even fewer care. Most of my co-teachers are desperately overworked and down to their last nerve, and I'm just one more mosquito in their ear. As I've known with quiet certainty for 11 years now, I'm not a classroom teacher. "If you're neither learning nor contributing, use your two feet and move on." But I can't yet. Not for 9 weeks. (10 if they screw with my vacation, which is always a distinct possibility in Korea)

So there's nothing else for it but to show up every day and make a game attempt, although I'm losing my spirit for that, too. Some days are not so bad, some are. Most classes consist of 2-3 kids who are listening and reacting, 4 or 5 who are mocking and cutting up, 6 or 7 who are sleeping, and 15 or so who are chatting with their friends. It's not rewarding work.

Funny thing is, I still want to work with kids. Just not in a classroom. This is really not my scene. And not in a place where everything happens TO me. I'm looking forward to being an agent in my own life again.

So in the swirl of weariness, frustration, humiliation, and resentment, I don't have many words. I'd envisioned writing letters and postcards, talking about more than 'What I Did Last Weekend', keeping a second blog that would be worthy of touting to schools, answering emails that I get... I'd envisioned feeling really enthusiastic & alive, adventurous and fulfilled. Gifts don't always come in the box we expected. One of my mantras during the last year has been, "Even if you hate it, it'll be one of the most important experiences of your life." And I don't HATE it. Not usually. But it has been a critically important experience, and I'm not at all sorry I've done any of it. I wish I was a better teacher, I wish it was over just a little bit sooner, but none of that is going to burn forever. I've taken the measure of myself, and it's not as flattering as I would have fancied. I feel that I'm at the crest of a mountain, and something new and pretty amazing is about to open up in front of me. If I can just hold myself together until it does...