Prague 7/23

I know that this is being posted on the 28th, but I wrote it the 23rd, thus the title.

I know that at 22 years old as a white American girl who’s been financially supported her whole life and has an astoundingly large support system, I am the last person eligible to expound on the nature of life, love, and all the silliness that comes in between. What I’m really saying here is that I have as many qualifications to run a blog as a banana does to work at the Ritz Carlton. Even if you put the banana in suit. But, as you may or may have not noticed, the glaring lack of credentials has yet to stop me from jumping on my (occasionally amusing) soap box. I’m also aware my last couple of posts have been rather melancholy, and I can’t necessarily promise a change in the scheduled programming. But today, at least, I think I can give you a small snap shot of what life is like without getting too bogged down in my own ennui.

The last, oh, three-ish months (July, June, May) have been intermittently plagued with fear in one form or another. Fear of not finding a place I fit, mostly. I’ve made a conscious decision to be nomadic, devoid of any roots to a physical place, in the face of a constant longing to belong. Am I looking for a place whose roots will swallow me, anchor me in place? Or am I attaching to nothing because of a nebulous fear that I might latch onto the wrong something? Perhaps I swallowed the Hegelian declaration “Something is nothing,” an existential crisis of nihilism I’ve logicked myself into, and cannot follow Hegel out. That bit right there about Hegel I actually wrote in my Marxim class in May, and it’s basically been truer this last month than it was when I wrote it.

Perhaps I should backtrack. I’m currently taking a TEFL course at The Language House, and it’s… intense and a little cult-like. I mean, it makes sense, logically. We spend eleven to twelve hours together in some capacity or another, we’re all going through THE EXACT SAME THING, we’re supporting each other while simultaneously competing, there’s a very strict methodology we have to imbed in our brains, we’ve been instilled with a terror of failure, we’re never quite certain what’s going on, and the two people in charge are charming as all get out. The owner and the director, who are best friends and charming men in their own right, are at the head of all this, and (shockingly) have become something like supreme leaders. That’s not to say it’s not an excellent program – because it is. The progress everyone has made in a month is nothing short of miraculous, and while I’m loud, comfortable in front of crowds, and full of enough bullshit I could have feasibly gotten a job teaching without this certificate, I’m so glad I did this. By now, this teaching thing is old hat. The first week was rather discouraging, as I sucked in comparison to another girl in my group and was having such a hard time keeping all the balls in the air (don’t be filthy). The second week, though, it really clicked when I had a group of advanced students who were incredibly forgiving and a great observer. This week – the last week of teaching – I’m with a group that “does not have the fantasy.” This is one of those weird in-jokes that any small, tight group comes up with, or in our case, one of the clever things our supreme leader says and everyone latches onto because it’s so damn right. The methodology we’re learning, we try to end classes with a role-playing game. Not like Dungeons and Dragons (which I’ve recently started playing!), but the students have to be willing to play along with roles or silly scenarios you give them. Last week I had my advanced students pretending to be hobos, complete with crumpled up (paper) beer cans. This group, though, they do not have the fantasy. They won’t play. Had I had them the first week, I think I would have cried. This week, fuck it. I’ve also found that applying the survival mechanism I used at Chili’s (feign stupidity compensated for by overenthusiasm) is an excellent way to be less intimidating to a group of skittish students.

If you look at the last two entries, you’ll also notice that my own self doubt isn’t being assuaged by being back in Prague. It feels terribly clichéd to be disillusioned in Prague of all places – stalking around the Old Town, weaving in and out of tourists who have the balls to be enchanted here – but as I have pointed out to more than one person already, it’s not like personal crises exist only inside the borders of one’s native land. In short, because we’ve covered the topic enough already, I don’t know what I’m doing here, but I wouldn’t know what I was doing in Denver, either. As a very goal oriented person, I have no goal beyond “pay rent,” which is not a goal that helps me sleep at night. The goal being repeatedly suggested to me is that I make traveling as many places as possible my goal, but that’s not exactly a life plan I can see myself being absorbed with for more than a couple months. I suppose the easiest solution is “find a man, start a family, choke your inner monologue with a substance abuse habit.” Which also isn’t something I’m interested in.

There have been, though, some nice moments. Having this whole teaching nonsense click was a one. This time around I’m intentionally staying single, and being independent in a foreign city, challenging though it may be, is a short and excellent path to empowerment. And when people say “intentionally single,” most often they actually mean that there are no options worthy of their romantic affections. Or, even more than that, I think, there are simply no options to be had, and “intentionally single” is one of those little fictions we tell ourselves to make the empty side of the bed seem less cold. I promise you, though, that’s not the case. I realize this is sort of bragging, but it’s a big step for me, as a person, to intentionally choose “single” over “taken.” They aren’t exactly beating down my door (maybe because they don’t know where my door is), but there is already a small smattering of gentleman who if given a half an opportunity, would try their damnedest. Which is all you can really ask when English is their second language. So that’s a nice confidence boost, as well. Though how much of it comes from who I am as a person and how much of it is me being a pretty American paying the least bit of attention to them is a matter of debate. On the flip side of that, all the relationships I had here the first time around are comfortably concluded. It’s nice to not have any open doors letting a draft into this new chapter, as I cannot fathom having the energy right now to definitively close or open them.

So, if you’d like, I present to you this small snapshot of what my life is like. I live in the Lucerna building, which is basically a small mall on the main street, and puts me in the middle of everything. During the week, I walk about ten minutes to the school, where we take our classes until 1, at which point we have free time to plan until class at 5. I’ve made a smattering of friends, and for the most part everyone gets along and it’s not an unpleasant place to be – even in the face of all the stress. I spend most of my time with Ian and Casey, a couple with plans to move to China in September, and Helen, the British girl who’d lost her luggage and has an excellent sense of humor. Fridays we go out with the program, and Saturdays I work as a club promoter/bar crawl tour guide, which has given me ample opportunity to be charming and/or embarrass the hell out of myself (sometimes simultaneously). Sundays we try to play D&D, then Monday the whole damn thing starts over. Of course, the program finishes Friday, so god knows what happens on Monday.

And fyi – I still have no idea what I’m doing.