To "fling" implies a sense of acceptance, a willingness to embrace suspension, an intentional movement beyond the secure present. At this juncture in life, I fling myself into the unknown once again. I propel myself into to the void of subjectivity and hope to fall on soft ground.
The realm of international education is a strange one. My friends in the U.S. maintain stability through long-term jobs, perhaps considering promotions or divergent tracks within reasonably contained spaces. Meanwhile, my friends who are international educators reconsider the gut-wrenching question of "where do I want to be in life?" annually as contracts are renewed and benefits revised.
Sometimes international educators chose to stay another year, two years, in the communities they have acclimated to. They learn a new language, refine curriculum, relish friendships, or explore community offerings. However, equally often, international educators eject themselves into the black hole of job fairs, resumes, and Skype interviews. They uproot themselves and restart their lives on new continents, in new cities, amidst new people. They transition towards familiar. Towards foreign. Towards challenging. Towards ease. Towards unknown.
All international educators know the dizziness of dropping, the uncertainty of parachutes as the world sprawls before you. I am now in the midst of that terrifying free fall stage: I have relinquished a position I love at The International School of Uganda and have released applications for doctoral programs to the whims of admission boards. No degree of grasping at air will reverse my trajectory or maintain my job vacancy until March. Instead, I can simply hope that one of the programs I have applied to will embrace me with my academic interests (the intersection of human rights and education).
When I went skydiving a few years ago I nearly fainted as we flew up to the 12,000 ft drop point. As I watched the trees below me shrink to miniscule dots, dozens of scenarios (many less than desirable) bombarded my mind. Fear clenched my hand tightly. However, when my tandem buddy shouted "Now!" and we propelled ourselves from the plane, a surprising sense of peace transcended. I can't honestly say that I have that degree of serenity yet. But I am eager to see which metaphorical pasture I land on. I have flung myself towards new opportunities and my free fall will be over before I know it.
The realm of international education is a strange one. My friends in the U.S. maintain stability through long-term jobs, perhaps considering promotions or divergent tracks within reasonably contained spaces. Meanwhile, my friends who are international educators reconsider the gut-wrenching question of "where do I want to be in life?" annually as contracts are renewed and benefits revised.
Sometimes international educators chose to stay another year, two years, in the communities they have acclimated to. They learn a new language, refine curriculum, relish friendships, or explore community offerings. However, equally often, international educators eject themselves into the black hole of job fairs, resumes, and Skype interviews. They uproot themselves and restart their lives on new continents, in new cities, amidst new people. They transition towards familiar. Towards foreign. Towards challenging. Towards ease. Towards unknown.
All international educators know the dizziness of dropping, the uncertainty of parachutes as the world sprawls before you. I am now in the midst of that terrifying free fall stage: I have relinquished a position I love at The International School of Uganda and have released applications for doctoral programs to the whims of admission boards. No degree of grasping at air will reverse my trajectory or maintain my job vacancy until March. Instead, I can simply hope that one of the programs I have applied to will embrace me with my academic interests (the intersection of human rights and education).
When I went skydiving a few years ago I nearly fainted as we flew up to the 12,000 ft drop point. As I watched the trees below me shrink to miniscule dots, dozens of scenarios (many less than desirable) bombarded my mind. Fear clenched my hand tightly. However, when my tandem buddy shouted "Now!" and we propelled ourselves from the plane, a surprising sense of peace transcended. I can't honestly say that I have that degree of serenity yet. But I am eager to see which metaphorical pasture I land on. I have flung myself towards new opportunities and my free fall will be over before I know it.
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