Price Tag

Every time I consider teaching full-time, there is one thing driving me.  It's not a love of teaching (which I don't have) or even a love of kids (which I have in spades); it's the money.

I'm not joking.  I know everyone says teachers are overworked and underpaid, and that is 100% true.  I'm not refuting that. But a teacher is paid more than a hostess, or a camp counselor, or a teacher's aide. A teacher is in the middle class. A teacher's aide is not.  They just aren't.

But seriously.

And in your early twenties, when you're single, it's easy to make your only expenses rent, groceries, and booze.  You don't need to be in the middle class. For three of the past four years, I've done this with varying amounts of satisfaction.  But anytime I start to think about pets, or home ownership, or god-forbid children, I suddenly find myself wanting more money. Actually needing it.

I can't afford the expense of a dog right now.  I can't afford the expense of a weekly yoga class right now (though if I was smart I would probably allocate my booze budget for this).  Point is, most of my time in California has been spent living exactly within my means.  With no wiggle room.

You want to go dancing?  You want a pair of leopard print pants?
You want a domesticated wolf to sleep in your house?!
 Don't worry, I've got it covered.  I'm in the middle class now.

I can't explain the mind-blowing relief I felt when I received that first teaching paycheck.  I suddenly didn't have to worry about money.  I didn't have to think about it.  I HAD IT.  I. Had. Money.  Was I happy that year?  No. Did that fix everything that was wrong with living in San Francisco? No.  But money, in a city that was so expensive, was suddenly off the table.  And that was amazing.

I can only imagine how far that teaching salary would stretch here in L.A.  And I do.  I imagine it a lot.  And that's a problem.

I don't know if I have the strength to be poor for another half-decade or longer on the off-chance this writing thing takes off.  I really want to settle down.  I really want a family.  And it's hard to imagine choosing to work in positions that take the choice of family off the table.

But do I really want to settle for career I'm not happy with?

I just find myself spinning in circles sometimes.  Because growing up, I was always such a creative person; I want to be that kind of person still.  I loved making stories and acting and creating art. And I feel like since going down this road with teaching those interests have totally been left behind.  So much energy has been focused on being a good teacher.  Growing as a teacher.  And I know people are gonna be like 'you can be a creative, artistic teacher', but that wasn't doing it for me.

White picket fence anyone?

Teaching just wasn't one of my passions.  It was kinda cool.  You know, how like making cookies is kinda cool.  But am I gonna try and become a pastry chef?  No.  I just don't like making cookies that much.

So what do I do? How do I feel like I'm making enough money to be comfortable, to grow with, but still have enough time and emotional energy to focus on this book I've started writing?  Or do I not?  Do I just get a job somewhere that's gonna give me plenty of money to settle down and admit that being an artist isn't for me?  That having a family was more important?  I know there's no shame in saying that, so... do I just have to choose one?  Hypothetical Family vs. Hypothetical Career?

That's the other ridiculous thing.  I have neither right now, so why am I pitting them against each other?  But I just quit my job and am looking for a new one, so I feel like now I have to choose what to actively pursue: Financial stability and possibility for settling down or financial instability and possibility of a career as an artist.

So here I am, spinning in circles again.

This is such an entitled millennial problem isn't it?

A Day Worth Writing Home About

The day started at ass-crack early in the morning. Even with my East Coast sense of time I had to drag myself out of bed. It was still dark, and being San Francisco (well, Albany) it was overcast and cold as sin. The night before I had decided to bite the bullet, pay the toll, and drive into the city. Awesome idea. It was early enough that traffic was nothing and the cityscape driving in was worth the $6 bucks. Besides I can't imagine how I would've dragged myself around the Presidio if I had been using public transportation.

What's the Presidio, Mel?

Good question: The Presidio is this enormous park on the North end of the city where people actually live and have yards and it makes you uncomfortable thinking about the amount of money these people must have. It has these amazing views of the Golden Gate Bridge that make you remember why you moved here in the first place. If the fashionably dressed, bicycling hipsters I saw throughout the day were any indication, I think you can actually access the bridge from the park ("To the Bridge!" they bugled).

So I drive into the Presidio for this day-long working interview. She had wanted me to work there for a week, but I politely told her I thought that was complete bullshit; we'd know if it was a good fit after a day. And boy I couldn't have been more right. I knew after about an hour that I'd never be coming back.

I arrived in the Presidio about 15 minutes before she did (great first impression). When she finally showed up she popped out of her green SUV in her jeansemble (jean vest, jean pants, jean hat), led me down a winding staircase on the side of a chapel, and cheerily informed me in her New Jersey accent that they had lost the space for the fall (apparently it failed fire department inspection and was unfit for young children... Oops!).

Opening up the basement door, it wasn't hard to see why they were kicking the kids out. Locked away in a musty basement with only one window, disgusting earth tone carpets, and the stench of a perpetually rain-soaked foundation, I wondered why anyone would ever leave there child here in the first place. We dragged all the supplies out of the cramped, toy-less room and into the foyer ("We share this foyer on the weekend, I wanted to have it all pulled out and set up before you got here, but just got in late!" ... of course you did). Being such a mess, you may think that she and I would get along perfectly. "Melissa, you are so type B, it's a match made in heaven!"... Yeah, but I'm also fiercely professional... and this woman's seeming inability to be so was already pissing me off.

And then she blew my mind; "I put all the marker's facing the same direction," she says, "And then I put the caps facing away from the children. That makes it look inviting for the students and the parents." Oh Fuck. Not only is she a fall-down mess, but she is a totally type-A, viciously irrational fall-down mess. The little snip-its of advice continued to rain-down over the course of the day.

Highlights include:

"We write in all capital letters here"

"Don't give the kids direction, just follow my lead, I'll do it"

"They need to eat the healthiest food first at snack time, that's the fruit." (Trust me, it was all healthy).

It didn't take me long to realize I was basically back at Goddard (do not send your children to a Goddard School, do not), with a woman as informed about working with preschoolers and I am about brain surgery. The best part of the day was a patronizing little game called "Rock, No Rock". Essentially a multiple choice quiz, this game had the potential to be a great learning experience with sensible, supply-response (i.e. not multiple choice) questions. Instead she asked the students to pick a question about "nature" or "nurture" and then gave them a multiple choice question she made up with approximately zero-validity. Dr. Grant would be cringing if she knew what I witnessed.

Highlight:

(Talking to a six-year old mind you) "Do caterpillars turn into: Butterflies or... jelly-flies?"

(Then to her twin sister) "Why do some people have brown-eyes and some people have blue eyes?"

HAHAHAHAHA. Oh my god, I almost died. Going from a question that would be too easy for a three year old to a seventh-grade genetics question. OH MY GOD. I could not get over it. I mean, what the fuck is a jelly-fly? YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE TO KNOW THAT CATERPILLARS TURN INTO BUTTERFLIES BECAUSE YOU'VE NEVER HEARD OF A FUCKING JELLY-FLY AND THEN SHE EXPECTS HER SISTER TO TELL DISCUSS MENDELIAN GENETICS. FUCKING GENETICS. OHMYGOD. I'M LOL'ING IN BARNES AND NOBLE JUST THINKING ABOUT IT.

*takes a break to collect myself*

So anyway, I knew it wouldn't work out. But was stuck with her for the rest of the day... which actually ended up being a good thing because I met this amazing young woman named Mia. Mia has been a Nanny since college and said she would hook me up with her nannying agency. We discussed how she moved to the city when she was my age with as much of a plan as I have, and far less money. She told me all about nannying, and took me to the home of her most recent employer for lunch. She wasn't nannying for them anymore, but she had just sold her apartment so she was staying there while the mother was out of town. The mother I might add was the former CEO of some branch of Yahoo! and the inventor of micro-loans or something ridiculous like that, so just take the time to imagine the house I walked into at noon. We ate lunch on the roof deck of this undoubtedly multi-million dollar Pacific Heights home, and had the most beautiful views of the bay. I have pictures from the roof, but won't post them for fear of the woman finding them and freaking out like "Why are pictures from my roof on the internet?".

Sitting on the roof, watching boats pass on the bay, talking about the amount of money a really good nanny can make suddenly everything felt peaceful, hopeful, and I remembered why I came out here.

Clearly, I need to make a fuck-ton of money and get a good roof-deck. Sure thing, I'll get right on that.

Job Hunt Desert

Isn't there a story in the Bible where Satan tempts Christ with food and water after 40 days in the desert (thank you Pillars of the Earth mini-series for that piece of info)? I feel like that just happened to me. Not that my boss is anything like Satan, it's just... here I am, completely unable to catch anyone's attention out in California or Colorado, and the Director of the preschool I'm working at this summer comes up to me at lunch and goes, "You know I'm starting interviews next week, and I was wondering if you are interested."

"..."

To begin with, I was certain she didn't like me. No real reason, I just didn't get a great vibe off of her... oh, and she pulled her son out of my class earlier this week. After the confusion wore off, however, I politely turned her down, explaining I was moving west, and she told me to let her know if I changed my mind.

If I changed my mind.

At lunch it seemed ludicrous. Now, four hours later, it seems possible. In this job-hunt-desert, I am being tempted with opportunity. An opportunity that is biking distance from my parents house... wouldn't that make my mother happy: one child off to college, one moving back home.

But seriously, I'm starting to twist my thoughts around to make myself think this is an okay idea: "it'll just be for a year or so", "it'll give you experience you need to be more marketable", "you know it's a good working environment", "you can live at home and pay no rent/groceries/utilities".

I'm just so desperate for a job, that it seems silly to throw away an opportunity. But what good's a job on the wrong side of the country?