If a window falls…

It doesn’t feel like a week has passed. It’s surprising how much can happen, and how little changes because of it. Last weekend I was heading to the city on the bus when someone dropped a window on my head. It’s not as bad as it sounds. I sat down and he tried to open the window over my head. One of the benefits of being too big for the bus seats here is that I was facing away from the window instead of toward the front of the bus. I spent the rest of the day trying to get all the shards of glass off my skin. It itched for days.

The best thing about that, the day really couldn’t have gone downhill from there. Whatever else happened, at least it wasn’t another window falling on my head. It was a good day though. Found a Don Quixote and Sancho Panza statue at a street fair nearby. It’s very simple, but it suits my style. I couldn’t find the Asian lady with the shopping cart of egg rolls and fried rice like I did a couple years ago. That was some of the best Chinese food I’ve ever had. It was fresh, warm, and perfect. I always laugh at the look people give me when they find out that I ate there.

I think the city tore down the street market I went to back in April. I only vaguely remember where it was, but there is a construction site in that area about half the size of a football field. The construction closed off several streets, and it looks like the city just built a temporary drainage system under plywood and let people open shops there. It’s strange, but the food is still really good and amazingly cheap.

I’m pretty sure the dried fruit and bread were made in a factory somewhere, but they were still delicious. The tacos were hit and miss. The meat tacos were great, but the potato and cheese ones missed the mark. They needed to be much hotter.

One of the benefits of teaching is talking to the students. I’ve found two Korean restaurants in the city, and one of them looks promising. I may have to try and find the Indian place over the weekend also.

Teaching is a lot easier than I thought it would be. The school is the immersive program that I was in a couple years ago. All the students are paying to be there, so they tend to be focused and well behaved. I hear that the public schools can be a nightmare, but fortunately I’m big and scary enough to keep people in line for long enough to take control of the room. It’s a nice benefit of looking angry all the time.

I think I’ll be fine, once I get into it. There is always that voice, the one who fears, whispering to me, clenching tight to my innards. Always. He’s my closest friend, always trying to keep me safe from the windmills. I just worry that one day he’ll be right, and I won’t listen.

I’ve been reading a book by Gavin de Becker called “the Gift of Fear.” It’s a mix of an analysis of fear and the people who cause it, and a guide to feeling fear only when it’s real. It talks about listening to the nagging fear our intuition gives us, and how that intuition has kept us alive as a species for hundreds of thousands of years. That fear that most people ignore, because they don’t want to be rude, or don’t know how to say no, and they wind up hurt or dead. The statistics on the murder rate in America are terrifying, but not as much as seeing the pattern that causes it is so easy to detect. People just never want to believe what their intuition already knows.

I sent a copy to my sister, and honestly, everyone should read that book. As always, don’t believe anything it says, but take the advice and try it for yourself. You may find a bit of truth.

We lost one person from our TEFL class. I’m not particularly surprised, she was a bit too inflexible for the job and was having trouble learning at the accelerated pace. Maybe she can take the 10 month version of the course, maybe she was never meant for this line of work. I wish her well, even if I found her a bit annoying.

I’m still working out the problems of living in the mountains. I almost passed out again during sprints, and almost pulled something in my leg. The lack of air makes it harder to heal the injuries too. I should be fine in a couple days, but I’m thankful for Advil. The Tai Chi and Chi Gung classes don’t start until the eighteenth of the month, and I can’t wait. I still practice my forms several times a week, but I know I won’t keep going unless I have something new to work with. I wish I could keep taking the martial arts I was while still traveling the world.

I was talking to Alan, the man responsible for handling job assistance, and he said that with my resume I could probably get a job in China now. I am so tempted to go, just abandon my plans and head into the world. I wanted to learn Spanish first, get my degree, and stay close enough that I could go home for Christmas. I find that what I really want is to go further, much further. Maybe I’ll only stay here six months, or a year. Maybe I’ll go to South America next. Maybe I’ll just disappear. Not yet though. I never make decisions on a whim. I don’t trust the feeling not to abandon me when it gets tired of it’s latest dream.

It’s really good to know what is available to me already, and to imagine what will be available as time goes on. Everything in my life is coming together, almost exactly as I wanted it to be for so long.

Don Quixote and Sancho Panza

Don Quixote and Sancho Panza

A light storm one night.

A light storm one night.

Facing south.

Facing south.

A closeup on the ground.

A closeup on the ground.

The rain in a puddle lit by a streetlight.

The rain in a puddle lit by a streetlight.

The rain in a puddle lit by a streetlight.

The rain in a puddle lit by a streetlight.

The rain in a puddle lit by a streetlight.

The rain in a puddle lit by a streetlight.

The rain in a puddle lit by a streetlight.

The rain in a puddle lit by a streetlight.

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