Look Out, Lula!

Is this leader and his South American worker’s paradise ready for the Independent’s schoolteacher/ diarist?

June 21, 2006

On the drive to work last week, I heard a story on NPR about twenty-somethings living at home with their parents. I paid particular attention to the story because I know a few twenty-somethings (namely Dennis) who live at home, so I was interested in hearing what the commentator had to say about them, and hopefully to find some golden line in the story to share with and to make fun of Dennis later.
While I initially listened with a humorous ear, one guy they interviewed said this: ​“We are a nation of wimps.” I stopped listening after that. Although the voices on the program droned on and on, that one sentence struck me dead on. The thing is, we never want to hear we are afraid. And it probably takes a lot to convince ourselves that we are.
This weekend, I realized I have been a wimp about leaving the country. In the months leading up to this weekend, I talked a lot about leaving, I had some interviews and whatnot, but all in all, no solid plans. My plans for the upcoming months kept changing — ​“Japan, Thailand, Florence, New Zealand. I remember saying to one of my friends that thinking about planning my next move was probably more fun and actually more rewarding than actually doing it. In the matter of a few months, I’ve been seriously considering living on three different continents, imagining myself in all sorts of situations working with all different people and learning new languages. It’s been quite an imaginary trip. I’d continue on it if it were financially feasible.
For a while I was nervous about the fact that I’d quit my job here in New Haven. Tod at Roomba said, ​“If you don’t find anything overseas, you’ll have your job at school here.” And I quickly corrected him, saying I’d already resigned. His eyebrows raised and he said, ​“Oh wow. So you’re done here.” I think it was his emphasis on ​“done” that made me realize that if I don’t find anything overseas, I really don’t have anything to fall back on here.
In Philadelphia this weekend, I went to a job fair for International Schools. I used a reputable teacher recruiting service called International Schools Service and arranged interviews with four schools in Nicaragua, Brazil, Colombia, and New York City. Going into the weekend, I didn’t expect to get a job, nor did I go into the weekend really wanting a job in these countries. I figured I would go down, see how these job fairs work, and then register for another one down the line when countries and schools that I was interested in would be there. (At this job fair were mostly schools from South America, China, and the Middle East. None of these locations were high on my list of desired destinations and I told myself I didn’t have to take any job if I didn’t want to.)
I told everyone, ​“I’m going to this job fair but I’m really holding out for Thailand.” Even on the drive down, stuck in traffic for five hours, I called friends and told them I expected Thailand and a TEFL course in Florence. That’s what I kind of held onto — ​“the dates are flexible, I could work at Roomba over the summer, make a little extra money. If I would be leaving New Haven and my school then I wanted to make sure the next couple of years would look like I wanted them to — ​“full of exploration and adventure, but really on my own terms. Never once did I consider that I might really be afraid.

Last night, driving down Whalley Avenue, a car crashed into me from behind while I was stopped at a traffic light. It wasn’t a serious hit, but it was enough to throw my body forward in the car and to send enough adrenaline through my body that my fingers shook while I took the driver’s information. I was fine, definitely uninjured, and left the scene alert and, as odd as it sounds, exhilarated. The crash was a wake-up: It was a jostling out of a routine drive, an interaction with someone I might not ever interact with, and a realization that I’m okay. I wasn’t afraid, I didn’t see it coming, and in the end, I knew everything would be alright.

In Philadelphia, I was in a different kind of crash. This one, too, I never saw coming. I wasn’t afraid befor hand. It left me with adrenaline and exhilaration. I’m going to Brazil. I leave in five weeks for two years. Talk about a jostling out of a routine drive.
I will be teaching 7th grade Literature and Social Studies and a high school elective. I will also get to coach or advise an after-school club, so hopefully I can start a writing club. I’ll be living in Campinas, on the outskirts of Sao Paulo, in an area called Cambui. I’m thrilled. It wasn’t until I accepted this position, or rather, until I was deciding whether or not to accept it, that I realized all along, I’ve just been scared. And before I approached Steve Herrera, the administrator who hired me, I had to give myself a pep talk.

“Gina,” I said to myself. ​“If you’re going to make a change, make it. Get up your courage, put your fears on the side, and just do it. Go away. Don’t hold onto ridiculous amorphous plans for Thailand and TEFL because you’re afraid. If you’re going to make a change, make it.” And with that, I accepted the position.

So I’ll be going away. July 15th is my last night at Roomba. I have a lot to do in the meantime: visas, packing, moving out of my apartment by Wednesday. Selling things, sitting in the sun, filling my senses with the people I love. Memorizing them. Last night I realized for the first time since accepting the position I won’t see Dennis. I know it’s an obvious realization — ​“it’s a ​“duh” moment. ​“Duh, Gina. You’re moving to another continent.” But, as with any traumatic experience, I’m going through the stages. I think I’m floating back and forth between denial and self-actualization. Dennis thinks I won’t fully realize that I’ve left the U.S. until three weeks after I’m in Brazil. I think I agree.