First Milestone of the New Year

My substitue teaching certificate arrived in the mail today. For years, I've been talking about how I'm going to teach someday, but I have been, as in so many other ways, all talk. Surely you, cherished reader, have constructed pat answers to certain uncomfortable questions: "What are you going to do now that you've graduated?", "Why don't you have a girlfriend?", et cetera. Well, now my automatic response is crossing the line from well-spun fiction to reality.

Non Sequitir: One of the most terrifying things I have ever imagined is the prospect of offering myself to the universe without a spark of reservation and with complete faith, only to be measured and found wanting: "Mene Mene Tekel Parsin."

Sequitir: So now I'm going to teach. That just blows my mind. One of my more ambitious New Year's resolutions is to have a full-time, permanent teaching position by the end of the year. Now it might happen; I mean, I don't have the best resume, but I happen to know that I interview very well, and I am pretty charming. Who know what sort of contacts I'll make as a sub? It is entirely conceivable to me that some Principal will like my teaching style and offer me a position. I just know that I am meant to teach; the only question is at what level: elementary or secondary, the answer to which will be well-answered by a variety of substitue experiences.

Non Sequitir: I notice that this post is more rambling and less well-constructed than most of my others. I wasn't even going to write about this today; I had a profound thought on the connection between Romance and Maslow's hierarchy of needs, but it seems so relatively pointless.

Sequitir: Could I actually be on the right path? It feels so foreign. I mean, I just don't experience victory that much. Here are my victories to date: I won on a game show once. I graduated from Horizons 30. I got my Bachelor's degree. I haven't killed myself yet. Imagine a pause here while I try to think of others, but come up blank. In fact, it seems like I have been studiously committed to not succeeding. Not that I fail at everything, but I am in the habit of reserving about 15% of myself so that failure is not a reflection on my personal worthiness. Well, to quote Saint Augustine, "fuck that shit." 2004 was a huge year for personal reflection and epiphany, and I've found myself on a healthy, if scary, growth path. 2005 is hereby officially declared NOT the year of the chicken. In the past I have turned back for fear of success, but I have experienced the box wine of "Close Enough" to satiety, and have a craving for the Appelation Beaujolais Controlee: "Better Than I Dreamed."