Awakening.

Several places I interviewed with recently found me a very strong candidate. They were ready to bring me in for a building interview as soon as I got back from vacation. And then someone swooped in last minute and was "too good to pass up." It was someone who had high school teaching experience and RTI experience and Kagan experience. And so my last morning in Providenciales, I sat on the beach and cried.

I didn't think for even a minute that I would get that job. Because the thing is, the universe is against me.

The universe is a bad place and if there is a God, he doesn't care what happens. I'm just one of 7 billion people on earth. Some have it better, lots have it worse. But there isn't any rhyme or reason to how the beauty and benefits of life are handed out. It's just a crap-shoot. You do what you can on your own, you make out as well as you're able and you thank your lucky stars you're not one of the poor saps living in Haiti or some destitute, war-ravaged country because they didn't do anything to deserve their plight either. If you base your life on the belief that God loves you because you woke up in the morning and the sun is shining and your pet gave you a kiss and you have a roof over your head, your theology is faulty at best and deadly at worst. So why bother?

There's just some people born fortunate, and some born under an unlucky star, and all the shades in between. And at the very end of it all, you can't really change your fate much, you can just keep plodding along until the day you can't anymore.

And that's basically the day you walk into the Gulf like the heroine of Kate Chopin's novel, The Awakening. You get to the point where you know you can't live within the small confines of your own life so you take a deep breath and you walk out into the sea one day and you just let it swallow you whole. Because really, what difference does it make if the sea swallows you or if your own life swallows you? The point is that you chose and there's something noble in the choice, even if it's Death.

Burnt.

Everyone says that you should travel solo at least once in your life, that you'll "discover yourself!" and "meet new people!" and "learn to be alone!"

I think that is a bunch of baloney.

This week I traveled to Turks and Caicos, rated the second most beautiful beach in the world, for just such a solo vacation. I intended to read a lot of books, write, journal, collect sand dollars and starfish on my long, solitary beach walks, etc. It would be rejuvenating and refreshing and if the authorities on such matters were correct, I would meet lots of locals and not be alone for long anyway. After all, my trip to Ireland in 2014 was basically a solo vacation and I ended up meeting Paul and Eilish and having a blast!

Well, I am 3 days into my vacation and it is not fun solo vacating at all. For one thing, there are no seashells on this beach so I have found nary a sand dollar. And instead of a starfish, I spotted this stingray, of which I am terrified:

The only locals I have met are working at bars but don't seem all that keen to talk to someone who would pay $17 for a pina colada, which is understandable.

Then there is the problem of this:

...by which I mean, of course, that for most of the activities one does on a beautiful island, one needs a partner. I do not know how to canoe (is that a canoe?), but even if I did, I would want someone else in the canoe to help me drag it into and out of the water. Same thing for the sailboats.

And therein lies the problem. I already spend time by myself, lots of it, in fact. I've been alone and solitary most of my life, unwilling to be in relationships just to be in them. All that coming here has done is highlight for me the fact that most people come to beautiful islands either with their families or with their partners. The fact that my back is sunburnt is a sore testament to the fact that I have no one to put lotion on the places I can't reach, either girlfriends or boyfriend or sister.

I am glad I came on this trip because this is a beautiful place and trying a solo vacation was worth a shot. But all in all, it's just not for me. I need to get over myself and find some friends who will travel.

En Flux

I often wish I knew who was reading this blog, if for no other reason than it would afford me opportunities to be like, "Hey there, Pria-from-Texas! What are your thoughts on thus-and-such?" As it is, I can only see a map of the world, and it shows things like "12 people logged in from an Android phone!" I fail to see how this is useful information, but I look at it anyway and feel some sort of kinship with the 12 people. They never leave me any comments or thoughts, but sometimes it's comforting to look at the number and imagine that they are having empathetic feelings.

I need the empathetic feelings because I hate the building where I live now that Gigi has left. When I moved in 5 years ago, I was coming from a bunch of 1-year leases here, there, and everywhere. This apartment was the first place I really felt safe. I used to lean against the door and take a deep breath every time I got home, relishing the fact that I had a home and no one could ask me to leave it, as long as I paid my rent on time and didn't have loud parties.

But then about a year ago, this terrible woman took over as the property manager. She and Gigi used to go head-to-head with each other all the time. One time, she sent Gigi 6 separate texts, ALL CAPS, about how Gigi better not try to screw her over on rent! Another time, Gigi's shower leaked so badly that water and dirt started pouring down into my bathroom from the ceiling. When I was unable to reach our landlady, I called the old landlord (her relative) and she FREAKED OUT about how inappropriate that was. Suffice to say, I hate interacting with her and what used to be a very pleasant place to live has since become unpleasant enough to consider leaving.

On that note, I have now applied for hundreds of jobs, all over the world, to no avail. I was so close to Blue Springs (and getting really excited about it -- so excited that I threw away all my teaching material for my current district!). But then they went with the candidate who had an advanced degree in English instead of in Education.

Fine, I said to myself. I, too, can get an advanced degree in English. I've had an idea for another Master's thesis taped to my fridge for 3 years. This will merely force me to take the steps necessary to get said degree. But first, I better make sure having a dual Master's won't bite me in the ass in the long run.

Ergo, I made an appointment with my boss's boss's boss, a woman I worked with some years ago at the district level. I like her level of smart-assery and I'm not sure why she likes me. Possibly because I strike her as a Hopeless Case.

"Donna," I said to her, "I need to leave this district. I'd like to try high school, but I'd also teach middle school if it meant getting out of here."

Donna said, "Are you willing to relocate?"

"Yes," I said, thinking that perhaps she would go over some options of places where she had contacts.

Instead, she picked up the phone, called a friend, and said, "Hey, it's Donna. Gotta' good teacher here. Wants to teach high school English. You have anything? Okay, call me back if you hear something."

It wasn't until after this that I was informed that I'd have to move to Fort Leonard Wood (which I always thought was Fort Lindenwood). I do not even know if there is anything there, besides camouflage.

One thing led to another and Donna told me, "They like your resume. You have amazing references and look phenomenal on paper. I'm sticking my neck out here for you getting you an interview," and before I could even catch my breath I was Skyping the principals. Then, BAM! They called me 2 hours later. Would I like to teach in Fort Leonard Wood?

This is all happening way too fast. Yes, I hate my apartment building. And yes, I feel like I am dying at the district I'm in now. But is that a reason to leave a city full of culture and art and music and things like THIS:

??? I think we can all agree that I am a City Girl. I would not do well living in the middle of cornfields (unless those cornfields contain New Town, which I love). My soul might die a different kind of death if I were living in Fort Lindenwood, staring at camouflage all day long instead of going to the Fox or the Art Museum or volunteering in the city.

When I said I wanted to leave urban teaching for awhile, I was envisioning a nice job in the suburbs. Not a relocation to the smack-dab middle of the state where there is NOTHING for miles around.

But I feel like I have to take it because Donna was all, "I really stuck my neck out there for you." 

So, pros: military kids would provide an interesting contrast to who I've been teaching; military parents would probably be much more receptive to teacherly input than urban parents; I could have the opportunity to see if I like high school teaching; that's all the pros I can think of...

And cons: would have to pack up everything and move; I would be living 2 hours from anything remotely cosmopolitan; and I would have no friends; also, if I don't like it, there would be one more one-year position on my resume and Donna says those look bad. Really, can I afford a bad-looking resume?

My Dad's advice was, "I'm more worried about you attracting attention from the men stationed there." He would say that. I think my Dad lives to worry about me attracting undo attention from men. But the rest of his advice was, "Listen. Didn't you see that sign in Lucy's bathroom when we were visiting her yesterday? It said, 'But what if you fly, question mark.' That's how you have to look at this. Yeah, it might be terrible. BUT, it might also be great. You don't want to end up like my friend who just lived his whole life in misery because he was too afraid to try things!"

My brother said the same thing. Really, so did everyone. But it's easy for them to say that from this thriving metropolis when I'm the one would have to pack up everything I own, rent a truck, and drive to the middle of nowhere to forge a new life. I just don't know that I have that much Jane Eyre left in me.

Tell Me Sweet Little Lies

There's this part in My Big Fat Greek Wedding where the main character, Toula, wants to go to college but she knows that her extremely conservative (Greek) father will frown upon that, as there is no need for a woman to get an education.

Her mother, Maria, tells her not to worry, she will handle it, but Toula is skeptical.

Maria nods, "The man may be the head of the house," she says firmly. "But the woman... she is the neck, and she can turn the head any way she pleases."

Sure enough, the matriarch convinces everyone to act helpless and befuddled enough by the demands of their family businesses that the father -- after some consideration -- finally  throws back his head in triumph and says, "AH HAH! I have it! Toula will go to college and learn the computers!" Problem solved.

It's the classic literary archetype of Eve the Temptress and follows a rich tradition of women manipulating men into doing what they want. In Thackeray's Vanity Fair, Becky Sharp cunningly plays the damsel in distress card often enough to have all her bills paid AND snag an unwitting husband (one she eventually poisons, naturally).

In Edith Wharton's House of Mirth, Lily Bart studies her mark -- the rich but boring Percy Gryce -- and pretends to be captivated by his interests in order to secure a marriage proposal and her continued place in society.

More chillingly, in Steinbeck's East of Eden, Cathy Ames inspires the sentence, "I believe there are monsters born in the world to human parents." A true sociopath, Cathy, too, studies her prey and with dexterous emotional manipulation, secures her own safety at the hands of a farmer after being beaten nearly to death by someone else.

Whether for benign purposes like those of Maria Vardalos, socially-sanctioned ones like Lily Bart's, or outright villainy like Becky Sharp's and Cathy Ames', it cannot be denied that women know how to manipulate men.

The question is, Do all women?

There was a time when I was absolutely sure who I wanted to spend my life with. He was someone I'd been friends with and had an on-off relationship with for years. I respected him immensely, but we were on the "off" cycle of our friendship, me having pissed him off, I suppose. I needed us to give things an actual chance, but how to accomplish this when we were barely speaking? I came up with a plan...

Step One: Move to New York for the summer
Step Two: Convince him to go out for a drink "for old time's sake"
Step Three: Ply him with questions about his volunteer work with "The Church" (his Achilles heel was talking/instructing)
Step Four: Do not talk about Self at all; merely listen, nod enthusiastically, and look impressed
Step Five: Wave goodbye airily and wait for eventual call from guy who will obviously leave the situation thinking I am an amazing conversationalist

This worked. One drink stretched into calamari in Bryant Park that lasted 3 hours, 'til the last bus left the island. That led to drinks at the Lamb's Club on the Upper West Side, which led to dinner in TriBeCa, which led to him cooking for me at his place... which eventually led to premarital classes 3 years later and Christmas in Point Pleasant.

I would have married Nick. I loved him. The trouble was, we never grew beyond that initial interaction in Bryant Park where he talked about himself and everything God was accomplishing through him and I listened. I guess I figured that at some point in our relationship, he would start to care about my thoughts and perspectives, that they would matter. But why would they? I had set the relationship on its track during that first drink. It wasn't his fault for believing I would always be content to listen and nod adoringly.

Anyway, that summer I realized that the hubris of men is their downfall and that an intelligent woman can control even the way someone feels about her.

I don't know if the art of reading men is a superpower that only some women have, or if all women possess it and use it to their advantage, but I don't like it. I decided I would not use the superpower anymore. From now on, I would say exactly what I think and feel and want, if anyone asked; straightforward. No coyness, just truth.

There's a certain power in knowing that you are intelligent enough to manipulate someone's feelings and perceptions of you but good enough not to. I would rather someone like me because they recognize my worth, not because I'm smart enough to control what they think of me. Let the chips fall where they may.

"How to be Single" -- the movie, the reality, the fallout

If you haven’t watched How to Be Single, don’t. It’s a truly terrible movie. However, the one salient part for me was when womanizing bartender Tom lets sweet girl Lucy into the mysteries of the male species. “Listen,” he says. “Guys say what they mean all the time. It’s just that girls only hear what they want to! Watch...”

At this point he walks up to a girl in the bar, slides his arms around her waist and whips her around for a deep kiss. “Hey, Sweetheart,” he purrs. “I just want you to know that I’m only using you and that this relationship is heading nowhere. I want you to know because you’re so beautiful, talented, and sexy that you deserve only the best partner, someone better than me.” As Tom walks away, the girl turns back to her friend and giddily says, “Awww! He’s so amazing! I really think he’s The One!”

I probably butchered that because I wrote it from memory, but Tom’s point is still clear: Men say what they mean, but women choose not to hear them. It’s a funny bit in an otherwise awful movie, but with all due respect to Tom, I disagree. I’ve known lots of people who think it’s easier and less messy to just – not say what they’re thinking.

I believe John Mayer said it best when he crooned, “Say what you need to say, say what you need to say.” Would he have sung that if none of us needed reminding? The irony of this is that John Mayer is a womanizer, a breed notorious for their inability to say what they need to say to the women in their lives.

It seems, however, that the John Mayers of the world are multiplying because -- Bartender Tom aside -- at any given time, there are lots of guys not saying what they need to say. I think it’s a by-product of our internet age.  And there are so many options now! If a guy decides he’d rather not go on a date after he set it up, he doesn’t have to call to cancel anymore. He can send a text: “I’ m sorry, I can’t come after all.” Or for the even more callous, an email: “Something came up, won’t be there.” Or even better, a Facebook message: “Hope you get this. Not gonna make it.” When sent at the last minute, when the woman is already at the restaurant for a date planned a week ago, after being stood up once already by the same guy, these are pretty debilitating. Why? Because they don’t say what they need to say. After all, if you don’t see someone’s face when you leave her alone at a restaurant, it’s easy to forget she’s a real person.

I think what men don’t realize is that women would much rather be told, “Hey, I changed my mind,” or “I’m getting back together with my ex.” But in this day and age, that doesn’t happen. Our world of screens – phones, tablets, laptops, – has created distance between us and the people we would once have just been honest with. When you no longer have to hear someone’s voice after you tell her you’ve lost interest, it’s much easier to pretend the whole thing never happened. She’s just a tiny phone screen, one that can be easily deleted.

I’ve noticed a huge shift in dating recently. It’s much more commonplace now to either A) cancel a date last-minute (when one party is already at the restaurant); or to B) “ghost” – meaning, to gradually increase the amount of space in between phone calls, dates, and texts until one day, you have vanished from someone’s life altogether, without any of the messy by-product of having an actual conversation.

That’s really sad to me because it seems that as a civilization, we are becoming far less civilized than we used to be. And sadder still, the men I’ve noticed this in most strongly are “Christian” guys, ones who claim that their faith is the guiding force in their lives. I don’t get that. It’s part of what made me begin the walk away from faith 2 years ago. I understand that Christians aren’t better than anyone else. But should they be so significantly worse? Should they treat the women in their lives as so much less human than other men do? At least the non-Christian guys are honest. If we're stood up or ghosted by them, it’s not such a shock to the system. I rather prefer it that way.

Resignedly Ever After

Once upon a time there lived a little princess. She lived in a subdivision of modest homes, in the Age Before Cell Phones, if you can believe it. During this period in history, children used to play outside. Together with the other neighborhood children, the princess played tag, street hockey, and baseball, as well as more advanced games like What-Should-We-Do-With-This-Duck’s-Nest?! and Will-Anyone-Notice-If-We-Pretend-To-Go-Missing? It was a golden age in many ways.

In due time, the princess became a young woman and fell in love with a bespectacled boy up the street. He loved Mystery Science Theater 3000, went to church a lot, and wanted to work on the new Internet when he grew up. On her birthday, he made her a scavenger hunt out of roses. It led her all over the neighborhood to important locations in their youth and culminated with a gift of glow-in-the-dark stars, which she glued to her bedroom ceiling. The princess thought he was perfect in every way.

Her parents were not of the same opinion. They were devoutly religious, and while they did not dislike this boy more than anyone else, they harbored a general loathing of boys in general. No matter what the princess did, she could not convince them of her innocence or purity. If she played basketball in the boy’s driveway, they were scandalized; they considered it wanton licentiousness. If she jumped on the trampoline in his backyard, they thought she was giving the neighbors something dirty to talk about. The princess tried to grow up but anytime the boy came over to court her, the environment became so hostile that he left in sadness and misery. Eventually, the Queen told the princess that since she obviously had no regard for their beliefs or standards, she might as well leave and raise herself.

The princess was heartbroken. She thought that perhaps she could earn the King and Queen’s approval by foreswearing all romantic love from that day forward. So she told the boy goodbye and determined to raise herself into the best, most brilliant woman in the land. In due course, she left her kingdom and ventured out into the great, wide world to do just that.

Many years passed and the boy waited for her. And then many more passed and still, he waited. And one day, he quit waiting. And so he got married and had 3 beautiful children and moved far, far away.

The princess, meanwhile, did her best to raise herself into a brilliant, accomplished woman. And by the time she felt sufficiently brilliant and accomplished, she realized that she was utterly alone in the world and that she had never learned the art of relationship, in her effort to appease her Sovereigns. And now, at this stage, it seemed far too late ever to learn. People would think her foolish and inept. And so the great jest was that the King and Queen could keep the princess for themselves after all.

Then one day when she was out in the fields on their estate, the boy came back. Only he was a bald and skinny man now. He had come from his land far, far away and heard that she was nearby. And so they sat down with the King and Queen and chatted for quite a long time. The princess learned all about the 3 lovely children, and the boy learned all about…nothing, really, because there was nothing for her to share. At the end of the hour, the princess hugged him tightly and sent him on his way.

Her nephew, 5 years old, strolled over and crawled onto her lap. “I love Kora,” he said solemnly. “She’s my best friend. I’m going to marry her when I grow up.”

“That’s nice,” said the princess. “Did you know, I used to be quite good friends with Kora’s uncle? He used to live in her house when we were little. It was a very long time ago, when I lived here. My bedroom was the one you have now!” 

He stared at her bemused. Finally he said, “And did it have the glow-in-the-dark stars?”

 “Yes. Kora’s uncle gave me those stars almost 20 years ago. Isn’t that strange?”

He shrugged and announced that it was time for him to go back to his friend’s house to play.

The princess turned to the King. “He certainly likes Kora.”

The King, delighted, said, “Yes, what a nice little girl! And she comes from such a good family.”

The princess stared at the King. “Yes, I know, Father,” she said. “They were always a good family. Even back when I wanted to be with one of the sons.”

The King looked down at the ground, saddened. “And we drove him off, didn’t we?”

She nodded. 

“I’m sorry,” he sighed.

"Thanks," she swiped her hand across her eyes and attempted a grin. "It's all right."

"No. Will you forgive me?”

I wish I could tell you that this story ended well, but how could it? For as I’ve stated, the boy was married and lived in a land far, far away and the princess never did quite manage the art of relationships after spending years neglecting it. So she continued stolidly along into eternity, with only the King and Queen to keep her company. But she hoped that perhaps one day, she would sit in a place of honor at Kora’s wedding.