Monday, June 23, 2008

Waiting To Exhale

537 days ago I first met Eric, the head of this nascent school, KA in Jordan. We had dinner in New York, guests of my dear friends Anne and Peter. I held my breath as he relayed the vision of this school, and mused about how exciting it would be to work amongst the founding faculty of such a daring project. I held my breath as I dared think whether he would ask me to join in this venture. For so many reasons, I have been holding my breath for 537 days.

I held my breath as I wondered whether it was safe to go to live in the Middle East. I held my breath as I mulled over the offer to head the History Department at KA. I held my breath as I pondered whether I should leave the confines of my comfortable Westchester and Manhattan life. I held my breath as I worried how I would approach the subject with my family. I held my breath as I flew for a weekend trial visit to Jordan. I held my breath as I prayed for discernment about the direction of my life. I held my breath as I questioned my fears and insecurities. I held my breath as I resolved to start afresh, from scratch, at KA. I held my breath as I told my beloved students at Hackley that I would be leaving at the end of the school year. I held my breath as I braced myself to tell everyone I would become an ex-patriate and live between Iraq and Israel. I held my breath as I designed new courses for a student body I had never met. I held my breath as I introduced myself, via the cyber-waves of email, to soon-to-be colleagues. I held my breath as I anticipated the “last” of everything at Hackley. I held my breath as I welcomed invitations for dinners and lunches from soon-to-be former students. I held my breath as I concluded the final days of my courses. I held my breath as I cried through my last graduation at Hackley. I held my breath as I packed up the boxes—85 in all—of books I had around me in New York. I held my breath as I planned the minutiae of moving and shipping a life. I held my breath as I faced the panic attacks of starting over. I held my breath as my dad and brother-in-law arrived to spearhead the cross-country (well, from the east coast to the Midwest) drive. I held my breath as I bid adieu to friends whose hearts we had mutually touched. I held my breath as I typed up the first of what is so-far 90 blog entries. I held my breath as I got on that plane.

This is my fourth school in my teaching career, and whenever you are new, no matter how seasoned you may be, you hold your breath that entire first year. Up until that last meeting of the year, you are not quite sure what might be around the next corner. In effect, I have been holding my breath for 537 days.

Yesterday I completed the cycle of meetings. It was a long day—from several hours of faculty discussions to manic jags trying to secure financial reimbursements (like for relocating 11 months ago!) to a splashy meeting with new parents for fall course registration to a wedding party for a colleague, to packing and cleaning for the summer. But it is finished, and now in about an hour I will grab a ride from my great friend Sam, and he will whisk me to the airport in Amman and I will be home in hometown Cincinnati before midnight tonight.

To call this year eventful is quite an understatement. Everything was a first. Everything had to be named. Everything required a discussion, or at least a snap decision. We had a contest to name the school mascot, a contest to name the school newspaper, the new traffic circle, and the literary magazine, et cetera. We had the first sports defeat, the first sports win, the first expulsion, the first play, the first music concert, the first Ramadan, the first exam period—every single thing was new to somebody, either from an Arab perspective or an American perspective, or both.

The literary magazine was christened, Al-Majnoonah, and in the preface, our Dean of Faculty wrote:

“Al-Majnoonah—literally “the crazy woman”—refers to the flowering vine of the bougainvillea, remarkable for its ability to flower prolifically in vivid shades of orange, vermillion, magenta, and lavender. Its hardiness allows it to withstand difficult climactic conditions, and its numerous sharp thorns protect it from external depredations.

Blooming wildly, resilient, beautiful, eccentric, and occasionally prickly—these are the contours of our literary and arts journal…where we hope knowledge will always flower….”


This afternoon as I rushed to my classroom to hide the valuables (as was suggested) and take down the posters, I took from my desk drawer one of my so-called valuables to hide in my apartment for the summer. It was a gift from my sister from Staples, and it is the device, the magic button, that when you press the big red “EASY” disk, it calls out, “That was easy.” I had used it during the year on test days if a student was so inclined to push the easy button upon his/her departure from the test.

Last night, after the evening of Arab dancing and American karaoke (it was an American teacher and a Jordanian buildings-and-grounds man who married) I walked home, and of course, waxed a little philosophical. What had we accomplished this year? We implemented a plan for a school that was utterly progressive, utterly optimistic, utterly idealistic, and utterly necessary.

We coaxed this plan to come alive. We crafted decisions, often making it all up as we went along, that may shape the school for decades. We made history. We trusted that we would all show up and be consumed by the pioneering spirit. We defined what we are supposed to be doing in life.

In the last three days we met as a faculty about 8 hours a day, trying to refine the decisions of this first year, trying to steer this ship even more on course. These were long days—I had never had so many meetings, and yeah, of course you don’t like them, but they asked us for input, and after 20 years I had never seen meetings where faculty actually contributed and discussed and debated.

I arrived here on July 31, 2007. Today was the last day of faculty business. Essentially, it has been a 47-week school year. I’m sure there will be more reflection, but for right now, it is time to breathe.

Sigh. Whoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooosh…

That was easy.

2 comments:

Amy Robertsonsmith said...

Hi John,
Just a note of encouragement. Every new venture, whether big or small causes us to hold our breath. A word of advice, the first thing they teach you in a self defense class is to BREATHE. You can defend yourself or thing clearly if you are holding your breath. I feel the same way at my work at times, and then I remind myself....this is life, enjoy, experience, breathe. I hope to see you sometime while you are in Cincinnati. Tell that sister and brother-in-law of yours to host a welcome to Cincinnati party. Kind Regards, Amy

powellsa74 said...

I am glad that you made it back safely to the U.S.! Hope to catch up soon!
Sarah