shift

To borrow an analogy from my good friend and fellow blogger, Hannah, packing for a trip can often feel like the book, If You Give a Mouse a Cookie*, meaning that you realize there are so many things that you realize "must" be done that you abadon your packing all together. This leads to the most productive kind of procrastination; hence, why I am writing to you all, while avoiding doing laundry, making copies of my passport, and turning on the away message for my e-mails. I'm glad to have the time to reflect before heading off again.

In the month and a half since graduation, to be honest, I haven't felt like myself. I will admit that this could be because of the drastic change in my sleep schedule. My main job for the past six weeks has been coaching the swim team of which I was once a member (back in my glory days - ha!), and it has been thoroughly enjoyable. It's my fourth summer with the team as a coach, and there is nothing more special to me than watching these kids grow up, become real and kind people, and achieve their (very different) goals. Aside from that, my two favorite things were acting as goofy as possible with the 4-6 year olds to prevent them from getting bored at meets, and knowing that, at least once during the day, I would be crying of laughter from either my co-workers or the little ones. Or both. Being at work at 6:30am, however, has taken its toll, and I am not sorry to be finished with morning practices.

I think, though, my feeling of malaise can be better explained by the loss or changing, of two pretty serious identifiers that, up to this point in my life, had remained a source of consistency and stability, as well as a measure for growth, progress, and change. I would imagine, although you all are free to correct me, that if I were to ask you to pick three words that summarize me, you would not pick "dancer." I would. While my professional aspirations as a dancer are still up in the air, I realized not long ago that most of the people I am closest from Stanford and otherwise have never seen me perform, which leads me to question why I hadn't been more forward or forthcoming about this part of my life. At this point, I have a studio or two identified in France, but no real plan of how to condition my body and to have artistic goals without the structure of an institution and the prospect of devoting my life to this art. That scares me. Similarly, up to this point, I've always listed my occupation as "student," something which I cannot technically do this year. Without the cover of being a student, I feel weirdly vulnerable and ordinary in a way that I can't really describe. That sounds a bit silly, and what I've realized is that I have always associated being a student as being part of a group/class/cohort that has relationships with each other, which I don't know if I will have next year as someone who is mostly doing her own thing. That also scares me.

In the hopes that writing things that are difficult releases them into the world and out of my head, I am wondering how your lives are transitioning and growing, improving and making you question and think and learn. I would similarly love it if you would share with me your answer in any form of communication - letter, e-mail, text, call, even carrier pigeons or the old fashioned can-on-a-string.

Tomorrow morning, I will be leaving on my fifth trip to Israel in as many years. It will be a relatively quick trip, but one that will likely be exhausting - I'm working for my fourth summer with the Diller Teen Fellows program, though this year, in addition to being with 300+ high schoolers, I will be learning from, traveling and teaching with ten college students from North America, along with our Israeli counterparts. I am so looking forward to some much needed downtime (for my first few days before I start work), a change of scenery, seeing old friends, getting to know some incredible teenagers and educators, eating some kick-ass hummus from Abu Ghosh, and updating you all from my second favorite city on earth:  Jerusalem.


With love,
Doria


*If you know me well enough, you may object to this title and amend it to read If You Give a Mouse Two Cookies.