I’m sitting alone in my Brooklyn apartment staring at the plants that died while my room was being sublet, and the pile of clothes that need to be hung up or folded. My parents, who kindly carted me and my belongings back to NYC, are currently somewhere on the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway as they make their way back to Michigan, and my roommate is at work. I have the buzz of the ceiling fan to accompany me, but aside from that, it’s quiet and I’m just sitting here waiting for my coffee to brew.
This stands in stark opposition to the prior two months of my life which included planes, trains, and automobiles (truly) that took me across the country and on adventures throughout Michigan, Colorado, and California. I visited my parents, brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, aunts, uncles, cousins, grandma, and friends old and new. I made it to the family cottage, traveled “up north”, and stuck my toes in Lake Michigan. Sandwiched in the middle of all the family travels, I spent seven weeks on the campus of UCLA wrangling the temperatures, illnesses, injuries, and “faking-it-to-get-out-of-class” attitudes of teenagers from across the globe at an academic camp. And as of 6 p.m. last night, I am back in Brooklyn ready to embark on my first year teaching in NYC, a year that begins September 4th. And now I’m just sitting here, me and the ceiling fan.
So now what?
Apparently, now I just wait. In spite of the curriculum planning that has yet to take place, I wait for emails to be met with responses. In spite of the classroom I’ve yet to see, I wait for directions from my principal. Instead of setting up insurance and direct deposit plans, I wait for paperwork to be completed.
And until these things happen, as I attempt to quell my mounting anxieties, what do I do?
Well, it looks like my coffee is ready, so I suppose I’ll start with pouring a cup and go from there.