It’s a Sunday and I slept in, and it was glorious. I wake up everyday around 6:50 and, as a non-morning person, I have found this to be quite helpful in my life to establish a routine. 

Routine is important for people like me who transcend into the world of bright colors, deep emotions and occasional sadness. We are called unicorns. 

I have also found that mornings are less tortuous if you like the task at hand. And as challenging, tiring and overworked the profession of teaching is, I am enjoying it. I think that’s a good sign. But it’s also deeper than that: it is acceptance and a decision. There isn’t something that wells up from inside of me and says: “This is my life’s work,” rather, it is an objective look at the facts: I am 33, I want a career, I love Spanish and I like teaching, and I don’t like everything else I’ve tried. And I need to pay my bills.

Also, my perspective on work has changed. The three women on Calle principal don’t realize how much they taught me about discipline and hard work. In my 20s I was totally bummed out that I had to have a job at all. I suppose I wanted a life where someone fed me bon-bons but now I’ve learned a thing or two: work is not only a necessity, it is healthy. Having a place to be everyday is grounding. Self-sufficiency (within limits) is empowering. Being in an arena where you will someday be an expert is an exciting possibility. And ultimately, buying groceries and paying bills is downright necessary. But below all of that is something foundationally vital which few people in this society recognize (I find): there are jobs to be had. And in many societies, there is not paying work which is why people have to resort to leaving their beloved homes. In the United States, I am a white woman who needs work. It would be better if I were a white man but still, odds are that I am going to find a job without a problem. And I cannot forget, not even for a second, to be grateful for that every damn day.

I’ve taken out loans to cover my living expenses this year. Yes, it gives me all the heebeewillies because that’s something I’ve never done before. My parents discouraged debt my whole life, and I have always been extra-disciplined with spending (some call it cheap). But I am going to be a teacher, so I have to be diligent about how I spend my money, and that is that. 

I am learning a lot in this program. I am learning about how important positive incentives are. You remember the classroom experience? If you talk or don’t do your work, the teacher stared you down and made you feel two inches tall? Well, I am learning and gaining skills on how to work through that without anyone feeling terrible. I am learning about how to make parent phone calls (when students perform WELL, too!), how to manage a classroom without having to raise my voice and what “high performing classrooms” look like. I am learning a lot about curriculum and I am also, thud, learning about the realities of classrooms. I am seeing the dynamics at play: IEPs (Individualized Education Programs), Mandatory Reporting, Lesson planning (when?), Professional Development (Wednesdays at 7:30), using technology in the classroom, grading (when?), district meetings (other Wednesdays at 7:30), parent meetings (when? at 6:45am). 

Now, a few things that have shocked me: the students don’t use lockers. Yes you heard it from me 32-06-20, no locker combinations are in their brains anymore because, guess what, the students don’t carry text books anymore because, guess what, they have laptops and guess what, they take tests online and we do most of our lecture through powerpoint, and guess what, the lockers just became cubby holes for temptation for things that are strictly prohibited in schools so they did away with them entirely. But the lockers are still in the hallways, locked-up and useless, and it feels like walking through a graveyard of my high school experience every time I walk down the hall. RIP lockers. Que en paz descansen.

Next thing: students (and perhaps, all people) no longer know how to read analog clocks. You remember it well: trying to figure out the confusion of the hour hand and minute hand (why do call them hands, not arms or fingers?) and how to count the minutes and how long you’d stare at the clock’s face until you figured out the time that the time practically changed and you had to start all over or occasionally got it wrong and felt embarrassed. Society’s next step is to do away entirely with bicycles and shoelaces. 

Now, why haven’t I written? 

Many reasons, but mainly it’s because the temptation of recounting all of my student teaching experiences is too great. I can’t turn to the internet to recount these tales for obvious reasons. My students live on the internet. They will find me and it will be all over: I’ll be like an analog clock and lockers, a thing of the past. But secondly, I am working on a book! Send me encouragement, remind me that anything worth having is worth fighting for, that you’ve enjoyed my writing, etc… Or send me a note and ask me: “When was the last time you wrote?”

Now, I try to write about my surroundings on this blog and how I interact with them, and what I learn from it. So here are a few things: 

Tucson is hot. Yes it’s the desert but have you ever been fully hydrated, fancy free and walked outside for 5 minutes to find you have dry lips and the sensation that you might wilt? That is Tucson. 

I effing love it. I’ll tell you why: Tucson is not for the weak. I mentioned IT IS HOT. But also Tucson is a border town. We are not Mexico and we are not the United States. We live in the borderlands and guess what, SO DO I. My heart is in Guatemala, Alaska, Seattle, Georgia and with Nana, que en Paz descanse. I am “on the border” of who I am at any given moment. I am learning how to be a teacher but also a student of life. I am learning how to teach Spanish while I learn how to speak it because a language learner’s work is never over; not in your first, second or third language: there is always more to learn. I am learning how to write about life as I learn how to live it. 

I have also learned that a Mexican burrito is not what you might have experienced. Authentic Mexican burritos, or burros, are filled with one main ingredient. So if I order a chicken burrito, you know what I get? A giant tortilla filled with chicken. If you want extras, they are more than likely going to come on the side. Now, what came first? Tex Mex or Mex? Mex. But as a person from the Southeast region of the country, Willy’s Mexicana grill was as close as I came to Mexican. It’s totally different. 

Did you know that you can eat cactus? They serve it at restaurants. 

In other news, I’ve got a little side-hustle going in babysitting and petsitting. I find that I have time in the evenings and weekends which comes as a complete surprise to me because I am in grad school. You know what I’ve learned? As fun of a babysitter as I was in high school and college, I’m a much better one now. And when I hold little people in my arms or swing them for 20 minutes non-stop (do you know how long that actually is?) or break up banana chips into bite-sized pieces, I am reminded that children are amazing creatures. And I continue to ask myself: “Do I want one of these for my own?” as my friends and those close to me recreate and raise children, and I am finding that the answers seem to come back as such on the magic 8 ball: “Reply Hazy, Try Again” and “Ask Again Later.” As someone who is obsessed with babies and thinks kids are pretty great, I am surprised by this. But turns out that loving little people and wanting my own are not mutually exclusive and guess what: I am excited about that. I can see my life without children or a partner, for that matter, and that seems fine enough to me. I’ve read Journal of a Solitude and I like the forecast from here.

The fact is, as it comes to the borderlands about singlehood vs. partnership, the same weather systems exist in both: rain, sleet, and sunshine. The differences exist in the lifestyle pursued under the same sky but the circumstances are largely the same. And death awaits us all, no? Is that too morbid? Forgive me, we are all living in the borderlands between life and death so sip your coffee (or tea), hug your loved ones and take a deep breath because this moment is what you’ve got: Tex Mex, Mex or none of the above.

I write this as I monitor my email. I am supposed to volunteer at the shelter today. The shelter is a place for people seeking asylum (usually from the Central Americas but not always). It’s a place for them to rest, shower, get some new clothes, eat food and plan their travel to their sponsors. Their sponsors are people in the States who have residency. The guests have court dates set for the cities where their sponsors live. We have to review their paperwork issued by ICE and Border Patrol to make sure their court dates are located in the same places as their destinations. Believe me, we see everything. And these people have traveled for weeks now, this is just a short part of the journey. But finally, they can take a breath because, for a moment, they are free. Free impending further trial on the part of our government to determine if they indeed “are worthy of” the title ‘asylum.’ They are living in the borderlands, too, in the most true and painful sense.

So I try to take this all in, and remember that, as I provide positive incentives for my students, I must provide them for myself. I am making a point system called “Adulting” and every time I perform a task like fill tires with air, get oil changed, go to gynecologist or workout on a Saturday night after babysitting, I get points. Survived another week of student teaching, turned in my assignments early, I get points for their level of difficulty (subjective) which I write down somewhere. The points themselves are the incentive. Like, at the end of the year I’ll have something like 1,433 points and I’ll stand with pride as I like at my point counter and feel like an adult. And that’s the trick of adulthood, right? Not forgetting that you still need treats and pats on the back. And points.

Until next time, from the borderlands. Hasta la próxima desde la frontera.