I take a Mercedes Benz to work every day.
It's the nicest brand of car I've ever ridden in regularly. My high school boyfriend used to drive his dad's Mercedes and I remember being slightly intimidated by such an elite brand. In the States I drive a pre-owned 2012 Nissan Versa, so you could say I'm doing okay. This Mercedes I ride in doesn't have any seatbelts and also transports anywhere from 20 - 100 other people during my 45 minute commute. The faces change daily, but the route remains the same. We drive over a bridge out of our neighborhood, Arbolito, and get on the highway. We cross over our second bridge and approach a very wealthy neighborhood. They have grass. Grass is something I have grown used to not seeing. They also have palm trees, sprinkler systems, parks, and garages for their family cars. I don't know many people outside of our foundation who own cars, and if someone does have a car, they definitely don't have a room of their home dedicated to storing it. I have grown to really dislike driving through here. I've also grown to realize that I feel that way because it represents who I've been. It's funny how sometimes all we need to do in order to see a situation fully is to get up and move ourselves. Rather than simply imagine, or think about the other side, we need to stand in it with our own two feet and look back at where we had previously been standing. The view always looks different. The next bridge in our journey leads us by the airport. The airport is an ever-present reminder that I have a way out. This week I thought about a hypothetical situation where my program director, Manny, asked me if I wanted to go home and I reflected on how I would answer. There's a lot to that scenario: I miss my mom. I miss my friends and family. I miss sweet potatoes and coffee shops. So I allowed myself to imagine what saying "Yes" looks like... I get on a plane... get to Logan... hug my mom and other loved ones... and as I prepare for bed (after taking a warm shower and eating sushi) I know I would sit and wonder what the point was. I would ask myself why I did this at all if I was just going to duck-out early. Was there a point? And that is why I need to say "no" to that hypothetical offer. I believe there IS a point. I have absolutely NO idea what it is, but I believe it exists. About six months ago I was in Ecuador with a reatreat group. It was during that week that I first met my previously mentioned program director, Manny. One night Manny was sharing about his own story and told me that he has come to realize that there are some things he is not meant to understand, but he is meant to believe. Some things I am not meant to understand, I am meant to believe. That line has stayed with me since that night when he first said it. I thought about it when I arrived home from Ecuador in February and felt a stirring in my heart. I thought about it as I uprooted my life and applied to this program. I thought about it as I said my "see you laters". I think about it every day I board the Mercedes, pay $0.35, and ride past the people who symbolize who I've been, and also as I reflect on who I am becoming. It's like I said before, the faces change daily, including my own. I am not the same prson today that I was yesterday. I'm growing, reflecting, questioning, and transforming. The change is something I don't fully understand, but I believe.
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During the first lesson I ever taught in grad school all my technology failed.
We were in a classroom on the first floor of Harkins Hall at Providence College, it was our first evaluated lesson, and pressure was on. I had made a decked-out Prezi (because it was WAY cooler than PowerPoint) with videos and movements. I was excited to teach the room about beatboxing, which was a skill I had been honing for two years. I got up to the computer, and nothing would load. No videos. No fun movements. Nada. I looked back at the director of my grad program, Br. Pat, and he sat there intrigued, waiting to see what I would do next. Would I shrug my shoulders and give up, or would I get up off the ground I had fallen to and make music (both metaphorically and literally). See, what Br. Pat knew in that moment, and something I have come to realize, is that this moment, and more importantly my response, defined who I would be as an educator. What did I do, you may be wondering... hold on! A week ago today marked my first day of work in Ecuador. I travel to my morning sight with a community-mate, Clari, and we had a beautiful morning of coffee, making friends, and learning the art of dominoes. We take different buses in the afternoon, so we got to our bus stop and waited to wave down our buses when they came. This is where we started to get anxious. We were both really excited for our morning site, but felt the pressure setting in for our afternoon ones. I was nervous about a few things: 1. I don't speak enough Spanish. 2. I am at my worksite alone without another volunteer. 3. I still don't really know my way around the community I work in. 4. I realized I forgot my set of keys at home. So, I got on my bus and almost immediately convinced myself it was the wrong one, but talked myself off that ledge quickly. After about an hour, I was the only person left on the bus (this isn't suprising because I work in a community that few people are traveling to). The driver turned around to me and said, "Bienvenidos," or, "Welcome," which was his way of saying I had arrived, only he didn't bring me all the way I was used to from the days I shadowed an old volunteer. In my rookie Spanish I asked him what translates to, "You go there?" (side note: I am SUPER dumb in Spanish) and he simply said, "No," which translates perfectly to "No." I got off the bus (because I am also a pushover in Spanish as seen in this moment, and the time I was charged $0.25 for a banana, which is the equivalent of robbery). I walked the 5-10 minute walk to my worksite, let myself into the gated area, and sat in the shade waiting for my mentor to arrive. After some time a little boy showed up, then more kids started arriving, but alas, no mentor, and no keys. So I called my mentor, no answer. So I texted. Then my phone rang. "Hola Hermana. Estoy aqui. ¿Donde esta?" "Estoy in Quito." Quito is an 8hr bus ride from where I was standing. She told me she had told the kids no class and didn't know why they were there but she had to go and we would talk about it tomorrow. As I hung up the phone, six kids looked at me asking where hermana was and as I told them she was in Quito, I saw them look at me with the same look Br. Pat gave me five years ago. The "What now?" look. Back in 2013, when my tech failed, I had the two options previously mentioned: give up or get going. I can vividly remember seeing the "What now?" look on Br. Pat's face and accepting the challenge. I looked down at what was around me, grabbed an expo marker, and started my lesson. We made music that day, including Br. Pat, which had no intention of beatboxing that day, but he quickly learned that I would not be taking no for an answer. Not in my class. See, I like rising to the challenge, surpassing expectations, and getting what I want. That day I wanted him to beatbox, and I got what I wanted, and it laid the foundation for the day when I found myself standing in Ecuador, locked outside a classroom with six kids staring at me wondering, "What now?" I said, "Hoy nosotros aprendemos matematicas, ven aqui." We sat in a circle in the shade and I looked into my bag to see what I had to use. No expo markers or white boards today, but I did have a notebook and a pen. I ripped pages into smaller pieces as the kids looked on to see what the gringa was trying to do. On each piece I wrote down a number. We spent an hour practicing counting, number recognition, addition, greater than/less than, and played war. All with some notebook paper, a pen, kids who wanted to learn, and a teacher who likes getting what she wants. Lots of things went wrong, don't get me wrong. I should not have forgotten my keys, I should have told parents to get their kids at 5:00, not 5:30, I could go on... BUT what I have realized many times over is that it's more important to focus on what you can do, rather than on what is falling apart around you. I don't pretend that I can control everything or that I am free from mistakes--I make SO MANY every freaking day. But something I appreciate about myself is my grit. I don't quit when things get hard. I dig in and I dig deep. I keep moving, keep fighting, keep working. I do the thing. I fall and I rise. I get up, wipe off the dirt, and make the music. I show up and I show up the next day. With keys. :) |
AuthorHi! I'm Kate and I am spending the next year in Ecuador as a volunteer with a service organization. I am using this platform to share pieces of the journey as I go. Archives
May 2019
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