How did I get here?

Life is funny, at least to me.

Do you want proof? Here I am.

I teach.

I teach languages.

I now write as well.

Let us begin with I teach. You see, I was the quiet one in the family. I was not the only quiet one but I was the kid you would forget and only realise it a few hours later. (Don’t worry. My parents never did.)

As I did my Bachelor’s degree, I took a class called Code Oratoire ( public speaking). The professor had asked me what my future intentions were. When I told her I wanted to be a teacher, she told me to change paths…

31 years later, I am still in a classroom. Though I am feeling more and more ready to leave, I don’t think I will permenantly close the door on it. I even told the elementary school secretary, I will probably leave my name to do long term subbing for them. (It is a fully bilingual elementary school teaching the International program, all of which I have done in junior high.)

Now, let us look at what I teach. I teach languages. Now that one is pretty funny. My worst marks in school were… drumroll please… you guessed it, English and French (depending which was the mother tongue at the time)

You see, being an army brat had us change schools and the language taught at school. I started school in French, then English, then French, then English…then French, then English finishing in French. Such stability makes it a little difficult to be proficient in anything…

The funny thing is I majored in English lit and minored in French for my Bachelors. For the bulk of my career, I taught English as a second language which is not even in the same ballpark.

Let us move on to: I write.

This one is a shock. Writing is scary, or at least it was. I remember how difficult it was in high school to write however many words were asked of us. I would come home in a panic thinking how in the world will I ever get that many words out? I have nothing to say!

I did journal on and off but that was just for me. At least it was until the day I wrote a little journal entry of a few hundred pages. (The brave of heart are welcomed to read it. It is called My Family’s Crazy Ride. Come on, I dare you…)My Family's Crazy Ride

All of this leads me here.

It seems my shy, introspective self, uses the voice my professor said I didn’t have and words I couldn’t find to share, whether through teaching or writing.

I now crave the moment in front of a screen to organize my thoughts and put them down.

I did it again this morning.

I should have been correcting.

It is a little addictive. I might need therapy…though writing in my journal was therapy for me…