It's been the kind of summer that I only thought existed in well written nostalgia novels and that blog my friend Olivia keeps.
The kind of summer where I was constantly marveling at the things I was doing - had the chance to do, to experience.

There has just been something special about this summer.

It was the summer of being completely without obligation except to the present moment, and to personal happiness.

The spontaneity of rooftop sunset wine tasting sessions, to shirking chores to haul upstate for some good early trail runs. A weekly (daily?) meeting of the musicians in my life led to great friendships, great music, and more than a few deceivingly fun, great soundin' all-nighters. And the dancing never stopped: waltzes written just for my pleasure, and blues dancing in the middle of a street in Bushwick, to impromptu dance gatherings in Central Park, and modern classes with some of the best companies and independent dance artists around. Summer Friday was everyday, apparent in the presence of watermelon, sun drenched naps in the park, and good books finished over the past few months. Brunch became the most important day of the week, because with it entailed laughter, copious amounts of food, trips to the farmer's market just for local flowers and a very hipster bike ride to the water, just to feel the breeze, see the sun glimmer on the water. The backyard became a fixture in my life again, with new roommates and housemates gathered around a party light lit community table, with a genius outdoor movie screen for movie marathon nights with the boys upstairs who happen to be CofC alumni as well, and reminiscing over candles and Star Wars felt good. I was introduced to real cocktails and the art of hailing a cab at 5am, to making it work on 3 hours of sleep.

It was a summer worthy of documentation, of snapping pictures and creating keepsake boxes and filling up page after page in notebooks.

It was the summer of being completely in the moment.

And now the thick, long days are shortening, the sun lingers less and less. Meanwhile my sleeves and hemlines lengthen out and watermelon is replaced by warm soup and sun drenched naps by afternoons browsing in bookshops. The evenings are content again, windows glow while bodies wind down, and a schedule is settling in. Fulfillment can be found at the library, where I have discovered a whole new world, where I have been spending a good deal of time lately.
 
I have been given the opportunity to share my love of knowledge and people.
And I'm thrilled it found me.

I am teaching reading and writing to adult immigrants twice a week, the most humbling of experiences full of struggle and triumph, of laughter and constant confusion. Misunderstandings lead to frustration, but perseverance produces the most beautiful smiles and dreams of possibility.

The daughter of a middle-class, well educated family, full of journalists and writers, teachers and thinkers, of explorers and scientists, sharing my love and knowledge of the English language and knowledge - this is what I have to share.

The stories I've heard are amazing. Inspiring, committed, brave individuals. There are goals of citizenship, helping with homework, writing letters to sons in Afghanistan. Mostly though, of employment and independence, confidence and a sense of accomplishment.

And there are so many times I don't understand. I am far removed from that life, a life with a loss for words, a compromised life. It's a new adventure, and we all know all I want is one good adventure after another, and I just hope that I can open their eyes and provide as much for these awe-inspiring human beings as they do for me.

I hope they look forward to Monday's and Wednesdays as much as I do - these intelligent, capable individuals willing to do what it takes to make it work. It's amazing the thought of spending 4 hours a week with them - the thought of what might be accomplished is daunting, and full of unrelenting respect. It demands discipline from all us and this is my responsibility I have taken on.

I'm scared.
I'm so scared of Mondays and Wednesdays.
I'm constantly scared of not being prepared, or focused, or relate-able.
And I'm scared that they will walk out, feeling like they have wasted their time, their efforts futile.

But in a few months we will have a series of celebrations - celebrating reading, writing, knowledge, and learning. And I'm already looking forward to it. Because everyone has a story to tell, one word at a time.

And I'm privileged to hear these stories unfold.


And here is a song, because sometimes when things (anythings) get rough (frustrating, humiliating, tiresome, etc. etc. right?) sometimes you just have to learn to shake it out.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7azjmmd3YyI

Shake it out, shake it off.