For a while, I admit, it was difficult for me to even think of returning to blogging--not because of the support I receive through sharing my 'present moment' with you, but because I wasn't ready to confront, nor return to, the emotional place I was in March, when I last wrote. Nor could I believe, in good faith, I could continue blogging without returning to my previous (unresolved) writings.
For several months after I finished teaching in June I sat at my brutally un-optimistic window, and looked out (I think of Billy Collins' 'Monday'). Through that tinted glass, everything looked gloomy. Even with distance (time and space) between my experiences teaching, I still felt pain and disinterest (a strange combination).
And then, I started thinking about return.
This idea of 'returning' has always been fascinating to me--the tension I feel between the comfort of coming back--a familiar landscape, people, community, system, language. and the frustration of having changed, grown, morphed while away (and that this place, this community has also changed)--and then, here we are, trying to fit two puzzle pieces together that once matched perfectly, and now are just slightly off.
But I think, in this case, the reverse may be true. When I left Tetovo, my professional puzzle pieces didn't match any more, and I felt like I was trying to wedge a round peg into a square hole. and lord, was it difficult.
I know my position, my role has changed in Tetovo--and that I can approach, remember, and interact with my students in an entirely new light--as I am no longer wielding that hammer--trying to just. make. them. fit. right.
And I think, I hope, that I'm also more free to see the strengths of my students--and the possibilities-- because I no longer feel emotionally drained by them.
They are amazing individuals--and I learned so much from them.
I think I'm ready to approach them again with the optimism young people deserve.
