ME.

ME.

As the blogging rules go, in my first few posts I’m supposed to tell you all about me and my life. Admittedly, one of my biggest obstacles to starting this blog was…how can I introduce somebody I don’t know too well to others?

The truth is, at the tender age of 27 years and eight months, I am finally nearly completely comfortable in my skin. I know who I am and I know who I am not. I have a more clear set of defined values and goals. I am finally, after years to ups and downs in terms of my self esteem, comfortable in my own skin.

This does not mean I am perfect, NO, not even close. But, it does mean that I am confident enough in myself to know my shortcomings and not to panic that they make me a bad person or an incomplete person. I am more patient with myself and more kind to myself. I know that not everyone in the world is a member of my fan club and quite honestly…after a lifetime of being made to feel like I exist to please people…I don’t give a fuck.

SO. How does a wordy and nerdy English major sum up her existence in a meaningful yet concise way? I’m still not sure…that was rhetorical…but I’ll try my best.

Connected. All the time. Whether I want to be or not. I have an immense love of stories and innately high level of emotional intelligence. Therefore, my interests (broadly teaching, reading, writing, and travel/culture) makes sense. When I visit a monument, I truly love the history and facts about it, but more often, I want to hear the story behind it. Who built it? Who visits it? What is the family like of these people? Why did they decide to visit or build this monument? Did they ever feel self doubt? Were they involved in a love triangle? Have they lived in one place their whole life? What is their home country like? WHAT DO THEY EAT?!

Several years ago, I made my 10th grade sophomores write a narrative essay detailing a time that their parents or guardians overcame an obstacle. So many of my students are children of immigrants, and the stories they brought to school on the assigned due date did not disappoint. In all honesty, I did not return their papers graded for several months (which is highly frowned upon in my school.) I was so enthralled in the stories, some of which I wish continued on for another 300 pages, that I couldn’t bring myself to rush through them only to soon part with them.

As much as I like to know everyone’s story, I’m the true hallmark of an introverted extrovert. I love being around others, in fact, I live for it. Meeting new people, visiting new places, debating, arguing, socializing, bar hopping, dancing-all-nighting gives me LIFE. However, much like a drinking glass has a limited and specific capacity, so do I. When I’ve hit my social capacity, I’m done. I need to be home alone, reading a book, researching, or writing in quiet solitude speaking to NO ONE.

I’m a type A personality, assuming that A stands for ANXIOUS. I’ve made significant strides to combat my anxiety…huge…the best (ha-ha-ha.) But, I know it is something I will struggle with for my lifetime. I’m always on the go, always mapping, always thinking ahead, always anticipating and over anticipating, planning and over planning. I distinctly remember the following. When I was a child, and the children around me were given crayons and paper, they would do what little ones do…draw. ME? I never drew. I don’t think one drawing created from my own hands exists from my childhood. I made lists. Always lists. Tons of lists. I still make lists. What should I read? What should I prepare for Thanksgiving? What do I hope to see while in Paris?

I’m a teacher in New York City. It’s a job I like 70% of the time, love 20% of the time, and loathe 10% of the time. That’s pretty freaking good considering that’s what you should allegedly strive for in a job (more liking/tolerating than hating is the goal.) Is it the kids? No. I love teaching and working with high school students. I love teaching writing and literature and furthermore I enjoy working with students with special needs. That 10% of loathing, however, is very real. Don’t worry. I plan on incorporating tirades every now and then into my blog to explain that number further.

I live in Brooklyn, grew up on Long Island. I’m a New Yorker. I’m loud, pushy, opinionated, sometimes overly confident. I’m charming, but in a “Wow! I didn’t know they made salty, female, sailors from the 50’s!” type of way. I’m often told that I’m witty. I guess so. I think it means I’m fairly funny, quick thinking, and bright. There’s a decent chance it doesn’t mean those things. Either way…it’s an accurate assessment. Judging from my photo below, you can see that I am recently married to an AMAZING human and Armenian. So, anyone who was hoping to have a chance with a newbie blogger who it at least a 7…you might still have a chance, but it can’t be me as per the reason I just listed.

I’m a traveler. I’ve been to 24 countries in three years and God knows how many states and cities. To me, there are two types of people. Travelers and non-travelers. Surely, one cannot have traveled and not eventually have become a traveler, right? Getting bitten by the travel bugs ensues in a life long fervor of needing to explore more, learn more, see more, eat more, and do more. It becomes an addiction. It is the most sincere and deeply felt love, a thrilling and obscene obsession, and a cure for nearly everything. Begin at your own risk.

Last. I’m a writer. I’ve struggled to call myself such as I’ve never actually published anything. However, as I tell my students. One does not have to be clad in fame and titles to be considered a writer, one only need to do one thing…write. I’m in the throngs of a desperate love affair with a novel I am writing which I, at times, avoid for weeks and other times obsess over and work tirelessly on and think about all. damn. day.

So that’s me. To quote Absalom, from one of my favorite novels:

“Who, may I ask, are you?”

– Lewis Carrolwedding2

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