Brave.

Timidity is not an attractive trait. I acknowledge that, but it doesn't make me any bolder. I am a cowardly woman... I balk at change the way my cat balks at being put into a carrier to go to the vet: there are claw marks everywhere and we're both growling by the end. Any change I've experienced in life has been both preceded and followed by massive anxiety attacks, which has led me to the following conclusion: I only change when it becomes more painful and debilitating to stay where I am than to hurl myself into the unknown.

This summer, I am supposed to go to Europe for 6 weeks. The whole thing is planned out: 3 weeks at L'abri, a retreat where I would study and ask questions and try to find God; and then a few weeks traveling through western Europe on holiday. I should be very happy about it all, but I'm not. I don't really know why. Perhaps it's because at the end of the 6 weeks I'll have to come back here and return to a job I loathe and a life I'm lonely in.

Europe is kind of a crap-shoot for me: I felt a huge sense of oppression when I was in Athens, like there was something evil lurking about. In Dublin, I was my best self. Kusadasai made little impression at all. But during these trips, I wondered if I was traveling because that's what people DO? Or was it because I genuinely wanted to go places?

Last year I started exploring international education. Everyone swears by it and how it will change your life. I wanted my life changed. I've interviewed at probably 15 different international schools since then... and for each one, I've immediately thought of reasons I couldn't go. At the top school in Istanbul, where I would have been living in a gated community and teaching the highest echelons of students, I reasoned that it was too dangerous. At a school in Aruba, I said the pay cut was too drastic. At a school in Mexico City, I said too many foreigners disappear. In the Bahamas, I just didn't feel "right." Portugal, the tax rate was too high. Morocco, I worried I wasn't "spiritual" enough. The Honduras wouldn't let me bring Mocha. And on and on it went.

When it really came down to it, there were only about 5 countries I was willing to give up my whole life to enter; and these were all in western Europe. The international coordinator assigned to work with me was frustrated by this. EVERYONE wants to go to western Europe, those schools receive hundreds of applications per day. You need to broaden your horizons!! What about Qatar? The United Arab Emirates? Or China, perhaps?

I was resolute. I'm not packing up my Pottery Barn life to move to effing Qatar. No thank you! It's England or bust. She sighed. I was a lost cause. She quit contacting me.

And then, on about my 50th international application, I got a bite. A school in Trieste, Italy, looked at a picture I emailed and offered me an interview. It was supposed to last 40 minutes but we Skyped for twice that. Then they sent me the salary: 9 years teaching and a Master's+ will net me 22,000E. WHAAAA?!?!?!? My salary in Hazelwood has already been frozen so many times that I'm making $7,000 less than I should be. And now I'm supposed to alter my living habits to survive on 22,000E?????

My friend Michelle, who just took a cushy job in China (where they actually pay the teachers) said this: "Teachers go to Asia and the Middle East for the salary. They go to Europe for the experience."

That's true. In Trieste, new teacher orientation week includes a trip to a 300-year-old vineyard for a wine-tasting. You can take an overnight train south and have breakfast in Rome. Venice is a mere 70 miles away. Or, for 100E you can hop over to the Greek islands.

Andrea says that if anyone in the world can survive on 22,000E it's me. I think that's probably true. I'm pretty good at doing what needs to be done to make things work financially. I could sell everything I own (except my books, of course) and use the savings to offset minuscule wages. But then what? I get to Italy and have a nervous breakdown because I've sold my adorable Pottery Barn life and am surrounded by someone else's junk in a town that time forgot?

One thing seems certain: I cannot stay where I am. I hate who I am becoming there. I remember my 3rd year in the district, I was so happy and bouncy on the first day of school. There was a decrepit old teacher with a limp standing in the hallway and as I zoomed past her she said, "Well. Another day in this hell-hole." I remember feeling quite disdainful of her, but now I get it. I am miserable here. My building has had 11 principals in 6 years. Our standardized scores have dropped below those of Riverview Gardens and Normandy. Two assistant superintendents have resigned in the wake of massive budget cuts that call into question district spending habits. The last 2 superintendents were fired. And the current one was in the news recently for making racist statements about parents. On top of all of this, our salaries are frozen and we receive no administrative support. I'm not teaching anymore. I'm babysitting, and my attitude has become so cynical and resentful that I can't keep it hidden.

I believe, in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary, that I will not be returning next year. I have had a psychotic break with reality, apparently. The question is, am I brave enough to leap into the unknown?