It's My Life

Anyone who knows me really well knows I’m a proponent of theme songs. I don’t mean, The A-Team or The Facts of Life. I mean personal theme songs. When I came back from Mexico after Daddy died, I chose Bon Jovi’s Who Says You Can’t Go Home. It was a perfect fit – I had returned to my childhood home, and I was teaching at my old high school and my old rink. I came home with a vengeance. In addition to being my theme song, it became my ringtone. But, after Mommy died, home wasn’t home anymore, and the song didn’t fit. I was in search of a new song, but couldn’t really come up with one – probably because I was in search of a great deal more.

So, I chose a temporary theme song, or rather I had one suggested to me, London Calling by The Clash. It was a good fit for the past year of living in London, but it could never be a permanent theme song. After all, I’m writing this on the plane as I move back to New York from London, so is it really calling anymore? I don’t know, London will probably always call to me, but that particular phase of my life is over, so it’s time for a new theme song.

I gave it a lot of thought during my soul-searching walks along the Thames. Truth be told, I gave a lot of things a lot of thought during those walks. As the months progressed and I began to gain confidence in my identity without Mom and Dad in my life, I knew I had to make some difficult and risky decisions. But. I knew life would not continue to move forward if I didn’t take those risks. After much deliberation, I decided not to return to my job at Ursuline for the coming school year. There are practical concerns that make it unfeasible to return to Ursuline. Now that I will be living in Manhattan, the commute by train would be just too difficult. And, it would be a ridiculous expense to try to keep a car just to commute to school. But, there is more to it than that. This year in London has given me the opportunity to move forward in my life, and returning to Ursuline would be a major step backward.

It wasn’t an easy decision. Like I said – risks. I’m going back to adjuncting because I want to focus more on my writing. And, that’s not just a hollow statement. If I’m going to make a go of it as a writer, I need to do it now. My focus has been dragged away by teaching and other concerns. My future is not in teaching, I know that. I’ve always known that. I like teaching, but I don’t identify myself as a teacher. I am a writer who teaches. And I’ll always teach in some form or another, I know that too. Like I said, I like it. But it’s not enough for me; I want more.

So, back to the choice of theme song – as I started making these decisions as I walked along the Thames, I realized that I was treading dangerous ground – giving up a secure job for the nebulous world of adjuncting (or academic temping, as I like to call it). But, I knew I had to make a quality of life decision – and spending 12-13 hours a day commuting and teaching, and then coming home and having to do more work for school in the evenings was not going to give me much quality of life. And it was not going to give me any writing time. I found myself reverting to my old identity – the one I had when Mom and Dad were alive. The one that always needed their approval because I was afraid of letting them down. Not that I made decisions for them, per se. When I left the Foreign Service to come home for Mom, it was my decision and not something she asked me to do. But, with every decision I’ve ever made, the first question I’ve always asked myself has been, “Will Mom and Dad approve?” To be honest, I do still wonder that, but not quite so actively. My decisions are for me – and if I make a mistake, I’m the one who will have to fix it. It’s my life.

And so, a theme song was born. I have to admit, Bon Jovi is a surprisingly rich source for theme songs. I didn’t intentionally search their discography for a new theme song. I was open to anything – any artist, any genre (well, almost). But, once again, it’s the perfect choice: “It’s my life, it’s now or never/I ain’t gonna live forever/I just want to live while I’m alive.” I have to live my life. I have to do what feels right to me, even if other people think it’s crazy or stupid. Life is fragile and we never know how much time we’re going to have. I’ve always believed in living life with no regrets. I can honestly say, I have no regrets about anything I’ve ever done. The only regrets I have are over things I haven’t done.

So, the plane lands in about 4 hours. In 4 hours, my new life starts. New apartment, new job(s), new lifestyle, new focus. It’s my life, and I’m going to live it.

Who You Callin' Canadian?

I haven’t written in a while – not so much because of my well-documented unreliability as a blogger/journal keeper, but, rather, because there isn’t much else to say at this point. I used this blog to explore life after losing Mom and Dad , and that process is mostly complete. That is, I’ve more or less figured out my identity without them. Not that there isn’t always more to learn, but the main process of discovery has reached it’s natural conclusion. The year in London was the best way for me to figure things out, because it took me away from everything that was familiar. The fact that I’m going back to the new apartment keeps me from taking any steps backward when I get back to New York.

But I digress – those topics are for the next entry (the last one from London, and the penultimate overall). This particular entry is about something very different, as you can no doubt tell by the title. Now, don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against our neighbors to the North. I’ve been to Canada. It’s a beautiful country, and I hope to see more of it (particularly the Canadian Rockies). They love hockey, the people are friendly (I met some lovely Canadian couples on my trip to Greece and Turkey this year), they produce some decent TV programs, what’s not to like? Except this one tiny thing – it’s a little something I’ve discovered through my various experiences living abroad: Canadians get offended if you call them American.

Come on, guys, where’s the love? Is it so bad to mistaken for Americans? Are we really “The Great Satan?” You’d think so if you heard the number of times people have asked me if I am Canadian or, my personal favorite, North American: “Is that a North American accent I detect?” “What part of Canada are you from?” Um, the part that’s in the United States?

It’s not that I’m offended by being called Canadian – like I said, lovely country, lovely people. No, I am offended that Canadians abroad are so offended to be called American that they have everyone running scared. When did Canadian become the “safe” guess when it comes to nationality? And, I kind of hate to burst their bubble, but just about every Fulbright teacher who was in the UK this year can attest to the fact that a lot of people here think Canada is the 51^st state (in some cases the 52^nd). Frankly, if I were Canadian, I’d be more offended by the fact that people don’t seem to know they’re a real country. In fact, you’d think the British would know Canada’s a commonwealth country. Just sayin’.

Hmm, so maybe being asked what part of Canada I’m from simply means, “What part of the state of Canada, in the US are you from?” Food for thought. Kind of sad when you think about it, actually. Oh, and while we’re on the topic, people might need to broaden their definition of a North American accent. The geographically challenged over here don’t seem to realize that Mexico is part of North America. Of course, before I get too cocky, I’m sure there are more than a few Americans/Canadians who forget that little fact too.

We are an increasingly global society. The understanding of that is one of the reasons I wanted to do this exchange. The lack of understanding of that is one of the reasons I struggled this year – for the first time in my life I was called a “foreigner,” in that negative way we’ve all heard used about others. I’ve had to defend the American perspective, and explain why some Americans don’t have the most open worldview (when you can travel 1000 miles in any direction and still be in your own country, sometimes it’s hard to see beyond your borders). I wouldn’t mind so much if the people challenging American Xenophobia weren’t the same ones lamenting the number of foreigners in London in their next breath. A little pot and kettle there, don’t you think?

A lot of people from home asked me how the students in the UK were different from students back home. In fact, they’re not. Not really. Teenage girls are teenage girls, no matter where you are. People are people. That’s what we seem to forget. We get caught up in labels; we focus on the differences, and we miss the big picture. American . . . Canadian . . . Mexican . . . we’re all North American, as are all the people who have moved to North America from around the world. English . . . Scottish . . . Welsh . . . Northern Irish . . . you’re all British, as are all those who have moved to the UK to start a new life. Diversity brings flavor and vibrancy to the world. Embrace it. So, you got that, Canada? – Lighten up! There are worse things in life than being called American! No offense. xo