prepare for liftoff: culture shock

In 2010, I spent three weeks in Puebla, Mexico to finish up my master’s program in ESL. Amid ancient cathedrals and extensive teaching units and luxurious welcomes and late-night plaza dancing and studious students and chocolaty mole dishes and open air markets, I found myself–in the air conditioned safety of my hotel room–having a meltdown. My skin crawled. I was overwhelmed with exhaustion. My brain was tangled between two languages. My body felt like it was walking in the twilight zone. My heart ached for home… for comfort, for ease, for freedom from having to work so damn hard to understand the mere basics of life.

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Culture shock.

I can’t help but reflect on that experience as we prepare to move 5,769 miles south to Brazil.

Like the naive American expat I am, I have been predicting the layers of culture shock and in what order they will fall.

  • First: school culture. One of the reasons I am changing student demographics is because over the last ten years teaching, I have felt my pedagogical craft dwindle more and more into the realm of motivational therapy. In each of the three schools I have taught, I have spent the first year there working my way into the hearts and trust of students; if not, there would be no learning. And though that is exactly where I want to dwell, and also where students remain forever with me, it is utterly exhausting to pour the entire contents of your identity out over and over and over and over, just hoping it will stick. (And of course, I do not in anyway blame the students. I blame their trauma and the system, but that is another post.) When interviewing for my new job, one of the questions the superintendent asked me was: “What are you most nervous about?” To which, I responded: “Having to win over another group of students.” He looked at me, quizzically, and then followed with a statement: “Oh, you won’t have to worry about that; Brazilians are so warm and welcoming. They will love you from day one.” Talk about a foreign language. Huh? Additionally, I have spent the last ten years convincing students what they can do: overcome society’s low expectations, overcome their neighborhood’s low expectations, overcome the school’s low expectations, overcome their own low expectations. Now, I wonder how much of my job is going to be convincing students of what they do not have to do: be perfect, pile it on, extend their resumes from two to three pages, add one more club, avoid mistakes, look a certain way, do it all. I have felt my calling the last ten years as one of inspiration; and now, I think it will be more aligned with the archaic definition: giving students the space to breath.
  • Second, city culture. This feels even more poignant as I have spent the last couple of weeks before departing the country in the country. In the mornings, we sit on the porch and watch the circus-squirrels fly from tree to tree and comically climb up (or fall down) a slinky to get to the bird feeder. We sit on the porch and listen to the echo of morning doves and the call of cardinals and the squelch of black birds. We sit on the porch and watch the sunlight dance in and out of shade. We sit on the porch and feel the caress of the wind. We sit on the porch and rest in the peace of nature. We did that in Evergreen, too. And now, we are moving to the straight. up. city. High rises and traffic and airports and favelas and exhaust and pigeon poop and sirens and constant lights… well, I don’t know what else, because we’ve never done it before.
  • Then, third, Brazilian culture. In Mexico, I could manage the language. But Portuguese? And what am I going to wear on a very-liberal-almost-naked beach? How do I pay in a currency I can barely pronounce? Am I going to be just another fat American? How do I get my prescriptions refilled? How do I follow along in a foreign workout class? Am I going to stick out like a sore thumb? What if I cling my forks on the plate in a restaurant? What other faux pas am I going to commit before I even realize what a faux pas is? (And how do you say that? And is there a word for that in Portuguese?) How do I find someone reliable to wax my privates? What if we can’t even find our way out of the airport? What if they think my anxiety-reducing-poop-provoking-magnesium-powder is crack? The more question marks I type, the more I think this actually might be the first after all.

If I’ve learned anything from my meditation practice, it is that 1, what we avoid, expands and 2, by naming it, something loses its grip. And so, this post.

I will welcome culture shock by its name, a guest to the party of adventure.

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breath. earth.

Lately I’ve been stepping on a lot of crap–cords and belts and shoes and brooms and oh, there’s my underwear. This is because the beloved chipping-green-and-red-refuge we’ve called home for the past eight years is currently in the process of being dismantled and divided and donated as we prepare for our adventure to Brazil. I’ve gone to heat water forgetting the microwave is sold; I’ve gone to eat takeout on the plates currently in our friends’ homes; I’ve gone to sit at the table that’s no longer there. We are living in a construction zone: the construction of a new life.

Breathing in. Breathing out. I am grounded.

I am in the process of some heavy goodbyes. Students–who have had way too many people come and go in their lives–asking: Why does everyone leave us? Colleagues who have become friends. Friends who have become family. Family who will become foreigners. Not to mention, the scariest goodbye of all: the adios to urban education–or life as I know it. I wonder if it will be forever. I wonder if there will be regret. I wonder if I’ll be effective with a different population. I wonder how my identity will change.

Breathing in. Breathing out. I am grounded.

We hover near a cliff with unknown horizons. Questions float by like clouds shadowing the reddened landscape. Who will our friends be? How hard will it be to learn the language? What if sickness strikes? What if we hate living in a city? What happens if there is a financial crisis? And dear me, how am I going to look in a swimsuit on a beach in Brazil?!

Breathing in. Breathing out. I am grounded.

Tonight I meditated. As I have done daily for the past four months and twenty-five days. (If you do not have Insight Timer, download. it. now.)  As I was guided into my emotions, a sense of being overwhelmed rose to greet me. It was not the overwhelmed of Mary past. It was different. I am different. It showed itself as a coiled spring, loaded low to the earth with heavy weights. But beneath those compact spirals, a palpable sense of excitement breathed. A readiness to spring forth into something new and exciting and refreshing. An eagerness for expansion and space and adventure. An embrace of joy and hope.

Breathing in. Breathing out. I am grounded.

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a guide to getting a teaching job overseas

***Brazilian Wax Poetica is under construction. Until it’s up and running, I’ll blog on my home site about moving overseas.***

Since we’ve announced our move overseas so I can teach in Brazil, the question often arises: “how did you do it?”

And thus, this post. How DID we do it?

  1. Nurture the adventurer within. We have always been drawn to adventure. Before we married, Dave nearly up and moved out west by himself. When I graduated from college in December, we up and moved to Telluride with all of our belongings packed tightly in a Jeep (including the roof-top-vomit from our cat, whom we naively tried to sedate with Benadryl). We lived in a summer rental cabin, where we could see the snow falling outside through the cracks between the logs. We watched it fall as the electricity bill rose to $400–monthly. We worked at the ski resort, barely making enough to get by. But…we look back on those times like we were floating in a snow globe–magical, nostalgic, memorable.
  2. Reflect on career. Dave has been at his current job longer than he has ever been at any other job. While it has provided numerous treasures, he felt called to something new. Despite so much being unknown, he knew it was time for a change. I have spent the last decade tirelessly serving at-risk youth in three different urban schools. And now, I admit–with tears in my eyes and knots in my gut–that I cannot do it anymore. It was either: leave teaching altogether, or try a new kind of teaching. I am a teacher in my core, so onto something new.
  3. Pay attention to alignment. The stars aligned outside of us–and within us–before we felt confident to pursue teaching overseas. My parents are gone; our pets are gone; our best friends living near us gave us their blessings; Dave’s parents are healthy and successful but aren’t going to get any younger; the Evergreen market to sell our house is primed; we don’t have kids; my internal landscape is settled a bit; we are out of debt. It simply was, and is…the right time.
  4. Network. I am so thankful for several of my friends who have taught and/or who are now teaching overseas. Some I knew for years; some I just met. Through their experiences and advice, we were able to ask questions that opened up doors: most importantly the doors to our own courage.
  5. Be resourceful. It was through those connections that I found out about services that act as an intermediary in the international job search process. With several recommendations, I decided to go with Search Associates (SA)–and I have been very happy. I felt confident that 1, I was vetted and 2, so were the schools on the other end. I set up an account and was able to connect with many job prospects before a job fair.
  6. Go with integrity. In integrity. It is important to me to be good at my job, even when nobody is watching. This is one reason those people in my life who wrote recommendations are so valuable. Also important, not sneaking around my current boss. I am not the type to burn bridges. One, I want to make sure the students I am leaving behind have the best possible opportunity to get the best possible teacher in the best possible timeline to replace me. Two, most international search organizations need a recommendation from a current principal.
  7. Work the job fair. I signed up for SA in November and went to the Boston, MA job fair in January. I revamped my online portfolio. I created business cards for easy access to my picture and credentials. Dave and I (mostly Dave, it pays to have a “trailing spouse”) searched and researched and reresearched countries and cities and prospective schools. When we got to the job fair, we planned what schools we were interested in that also had positions available. We made a plan of attack. Dave went with me, which was a good thing, because we found he was “interviewed” as much–or more–than I was. There is no such thing as too much research or too much planning. 
  8. Only the best. I was not just looking for any job, I was looking for the right one. To uproot our lives here, it had to be perfect. We made a list of what we wanted personally, professionally, and financially. We held to that list fiercely. We wouldn’t settle. However, we also were open-minded, researching opportunities that came to us that we didn’t expect. One of the best resources for this is ISR–a website where employees post reviews of international schools. It is worth the yearly fee.
  9. Energy matters. I can guarantee you that both Dave and I knew Graded was going to be home from the very first interview. There is something to be said about the chemistry present (or not) during the interview. That interview felt more like professionals out for happy hour freely discussing pedagogy than it did a formal evaluation. And to top it all off, when the superintendent pointed out my work with mindfulness–of all things on my loaded two-page resume–I knew it was meant to be.
  10. Bless with gratitude. In the end, I would be an arrogant fool to say it was all us. I am grateful to all of those who sent us advocacy prayers and well wishes and good vibes. I am grateful to God for the ordering of the universe to be so much in favor of us.

 

let go. let it flow.

She saw him: beside me, to my right. She described him: a darker man, probably indigenous, dressed in the traditional garb of some ancient culture, regal headdress upon his crown, holding a spear as if standing guard. She said: the minute I declared I wanted to teach overseas, he started banging his spear up and down, in rhythm to some chant I didn’t know I knew. She emphasized: he would not guide me, that was for me to courageously do on my own. But, once I made a bold move, he would open doors for me and ease my transition and smooth the seas.

He has.

She said: it would heal me of my anxious tendencies. She described it: having been designed for vets suffering from PTSD, it has now become widely used in a variety of therapy sessions. She hypothesized: it’s grief; unprocessed grief is tearing you apart. I disagreed…until I tried it. In her chair I sat, headphones on, a binaural beat throbbing back and forth while I recounted trauma from my childhood. Inappropriate adult relationships; fearful encounters; accidents. And then, before I knew it, my Mom was there with me as vivid and visceral as her last trip to Colorado. Memories of her strength drowned my eyes. Gratitude for the joy we’ve shared lifted the corners of my mouth. I had grieved my Mom’s death, but I had not grieved the loss of her fierce protection in my life. I was now on my own, forced to embody her rather than rely on her. She was right: EMDR would help me.

It has.

People ask me often how I’m feeling about upending our lives and starting new in a foreign country. They know I’m prone to panic attacks and paralyzing fear and crippling anxiety. But something has broken open inside of me. I feel like the two aforementioned experiences have released the floodgates on my parched internal landscape, and liquid light is flowing now. I feel resolved. I feel surrendered. I feel exhilarated. I feel inspired. I feel strengthened. I feel encouraged. I feel emboldened. I feel renewed. I feel blessed. I feel like all of the God-Energy is pulsing within me, aligned and free, just as it should be.

 

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brazilian wax poetic

I remember it very clearly. I was sitting in front of the computer while Dave sat on our blue leather couch. With my approaching December graduation date from North Central, we were discussing what comes next. What do I do as a teacher who graduates in December? It’s awkward. It’s unfavorable. It’s ill-timed.

And so, I uttered two dangerous words of adventure: what if?

What if we move to Colorado?

What if we work at a ski resort for the season?

What if we just spend a few months playing?

Those two words changed our lives. We moved to Colorado with everything we owned in a jeep. Found careers that we loved and that loved us back. Made new friends and new memories with old friends. Hosted family for holidays and vacations. Embraced the land and the lifestyle of the mountains. Became runners and yogis and cyclists. Experienced new dimensions of the Divine and new nuances of ourselves.

For the last eleven years, we have lived blessed and beautiful lives. Thank you God.

And now: what if?

Dave and I have been revisiting these very two dangerous words for a while now. Adventure calls.

What if we move?

What if it’s far?

What if it’s overseas?

What if it’s completely foreign and unlike any life we’ve ever lived?

Those two very dangerous words of what if have tumbled into two other words: I accept.

This past weekend I attended an international job fair in Boston, at which I found Graded. Before we went, I made a list of what I wanted in an overseas teaching gig: financially, personally and professionally. I pursued schools who met those criteria with a singular devotion. But in the end, or perhaps in the beginning, Graded found me.

And so, Dave and I will be taking this… freak show… circus… adventure on the road starting July 2017, at which time we will move to Sao Paulo, Brazil for a two-year contract. There are a million things to do and a million goodbyes to cry and a million freak-outs to stifle and a million questions to answer…but for now, I’ll settle into the wild-eyed lap of what if.


For those of you interested in the details of our adventure, I’ll be starting a new blog by the title of this post. Stay tuned!

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