I'll Get There Yet

Nearly a month into Southern Ontario, and amidst daily promises that “I’m going home” I have yet to get back into my car and start driving.
I don’t wanna go…maybe I wanna go…errrr…tomorrow…
Have you ever woken up, not sure who you are, where you are, realize that something has to change, but not sure what? You realize you aren’t happy, but you don’t know why – you can’t pinpoint that exact “thing” that is driving you to despair.
Rejection letters are becoming an abundantly regular occurrence. They strike the ego. My most recent rejection was bittersweet; my education was the problem…they wanted someone with a one or two year college diploma, as opposed to someone with eight years of university education. I am not naïve enough to believe that university is better than college. In fact, I think a college education is far better for practical applications and employability.

Unfortunately I went to university.

Do I want to go to college? No.

Why? Because I spent a long time kicking my butt in university, at considerable time and expense, and going back to college seems like defeat. I’m not ready to admit defeat.

As I attempt to adapt to this whole move (and let’s face it – if history has shown me anything, I tend to hit considerable homesickness around week five), I find myself pondering the future more and more. I didn’t think it would be easier if I left Thunder Bay – really I didn’t…but I did think it would mean something…if only I knew what…

It has taken me nearly the entire four weeks to reacquire my stride. Living in a new home has meant the absolute dissolution of healthy lifestyle habits.....

“Pass the donut, chug the beer *cough cough* I’m out of smokes…”

Oops.

It has been nearly a year since I was accepted into the London School of Economics for studies in International Relations. For six months, I held my breath as I fought for funding through the Ontario student loan program. Continued rejection was based on the fact that the London School of Economics’ External System (distance education) was not recognized as a legitimate school by Ontario standards. The LSE, one of the world’s prestigious schools, was not recognized by ONTARIO standards of education.

And here's why:
The LSE’s distance education office has a separate address than the LSE’s on-campus studies office, and the Ontario student loan program did not like that. Apparently Russell Square is inferior. Sneaky LSE!

Disheartened, I quit my fight with OSAP, but held firm to the idea that somehow I would find the funding to be able to take this program. Even if I could only take a course a year, I would somehow get there. The LSE also offers a summer school program, featuring on-campus special topics for six weeks each summer. And somehow I would get there (2010s topics are making me drool, and I’m desperate to return to London)

Last night, I decided to check the OSAP website to see if any changes had been made to their previous policies. And there it was…under the recognized institutions (with recognized addresses)…a glimmer of hope renewed, and a new fight begins…

Thunder Bay Stagnate

Guess where I am? HA! Ya, Starbucks. Guess what I should be doing? Yup…my thesis. I have this amazing mental block when it comes to my thesis. I see the end result, but I have trouble focussing on it. I know what needs to get done, but for some reason I look at it like a prison term. Or like the flu. You know when you are sick, and can’t leave the house? That is what my thesis makes me feel like; like I am sick and cannot leave house. It is some sort of punishment. The worst part about this punishment is that I inflicted myself with it.

I have started the inevitable job hunt. In typical fashion, I have remembered that I hate customer service. No – not customer service, per se; I hate having to deal with a**holes (Leanne has a fight or flight mentality and unfortunately fight is the usual response). When challenged by students, I tend not to care, and can slough it off. When confronted with b*tching customers (adults) it is another story. Yet, I like to work in adult worlds; unfortunately those worlds are within academia, and research – logical places, where I can deal with people in some logical fashion. In customer service the individuals who are the craziest have absolutely no logic. Or at least, no developed sense of rationalization.

When I came home I realized that I needed to remember what drove me into education. And little by little I am having those glimmers of insight. Aside from the financial and vacation incentives, there was something more that brought me into teaching. Ok, teaching still isn’t one of those long term aspirations. But here it is – I think the reason that I have trouble committing to teaching is because of the homework. University killed the desire to bring work home with me at the end of the day. And here is the thing – I push myself (believe me I do, even if the past few months haven’t been a reflection of that!). A job that should take an hour ends up taking three. I am also fearful of screwing up students. What if I teach the information wrong? What if I don’t have the answer? Yes and I realize that most teachers don’t really have the answers.

Every day, as I am confronted by the reality of being back here, I can’t wait to get back to England. I want to go back to teaching, and want to try different schools. And take a contract. Of my available career options, teaching is the best one going. And maybe that is how people arrive at their careers – they evaluate what they have open to them, and decide which option is the least of the perceived evils. Of my available options, teaching is the least of the evils.
Oh and as for the title of this blog – if you are wondering why it is still London Lost, when I’m not longer in London…I am still London Lost – and the day I change it is the day that I give up on going back. Right now, I am not giving up because when I do, I will be reaffirming my complacency.

London Education

Today came and it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. Or maybe it was. Prior to leaving for the UK, I debated the decision on a daily basis – should I, shouldn’t I? Again, I now find I’m debating myself daily – should I go home or shouldn’t I? And like then, I find I go in spurts throughout the day. At certain times I feel that I can deal with this; being here, continuing to make a go. It can’t be that bad, can it? Then enters that plaguing thought: can I afford to stay? (no) can I picture myself getting up everyday to confront classroom life? (sometimes yes, sometimes no).

After a lengthy meeting with my recruiting agency, I have discovered that I need to tap into my inner b*tch. I have no doubt in my mind that I can do that – I can be that person at the best of times. Heck – London does an excellent job of dragging that aspect of my personality out. When I get cut off the sidewalk now, I resist the temptation to tell the other individual to J off. Another week and I’ll be a full blown nutcase (along with many other dispondent Londoners). Because I am still new to London, I still look at other individuals, and often wonder why so many people look so sad. Even so, with all of the temptation to return home, I find that when I go for a my nightly stroll, I suddenly feel the overwhelming urge to try and make this work. Tonight I walked down to the Parliament buildings/Big Ben and Westminster Abby – and at that moment, I couldn’t help thinking – I have to make this work. And then my stomach started growling, and I can’t help remembering the financial situation I am currently in. Financial implying that I have money, whereas in reality I am so far broke that I don’t know how I will ever surface again. Then I start to think “well I’m this far invested, I need to make a go of it”. And so the arguments continue.

The hardest decision I faced today was the impending flat. I have opted not to rent, and continue to live out of a hotel. In the long run this is more expensive option, but right now, given that I really can’t afford to outfit a flat, the hotel seems like the cheaper option. It also provides me with an easy-out mind game: if things get too difficult, I won’t have to “get out” of having a flat. If I can make a go of teaching in the UK, and if I do opt to take a northern contract (which my agency guaranteed me they were looking for), living out of the hotel is really the best option. As I watch money going down the drain, I will just have to keep reminding myself of that.

Again I am caught in that moment where I need to figure out how to mesh London Leanne with Canada Leanne. I want to hang on to my old life – what happens when it no longer needs me? My friends, mom, dogs – what happens when I’m eliminated from all of that? Maybe that is the hardest part of being here – realizing that my life can go on without me. Part of me has been reluctant to find new friends here, or get involved in new activities. Yet I realize, if ever I want to achieve any of my goals, I need to let it go. Even my agency told me today: “You need to let your Canadian classroom experience go. Forget it. It doesn’t apply here.” And they are right. Shaping a new life isn’t as easy as it seems. UK Leanne needs to let go. I’ve never been good with letting go though.

Now for the bigger pain in my *ss. I spent well over $40,000 to go to school Actually…wait…my mom spent a good chunk of that – OSAP covered the rest (yes, I will pay it back! F*king student loans). My teacher education YEAR (single) was by far the most expensive of those years. Basically, all of those wonderful, idealized classes that I took while in teacher’s education, need to be forgotten. That would be $8, 000 out the window. Does that p*ss me off? Yup, you bet. Unbelievably so. We would joke in the program, that the program was useless. In truth, it really was. Everything you learn about teaching, you learn in the classroom. The curriculum classes deal almost exclusively with the Ontario curriculum. So really, when it comes to teaching in England, teacher’s college really was fairly unnecessary. Bitter, bitter, bitter.

While it might be my personal motto – I just don’t know anymore. Ultimately though, London is about my own education - not the education of the students.

More Coffee &[un] Employment

I have returned to the coffee shop setting to write my newest entry. I am comfortable in this setting…joined by other individuals, who, like myself, seem unconcerned that it is the middle of the afternoon on a weekday. When you are employed it never occurs to you just how many other individuals find themselves on the other side of the line. Now this isn’t to say that this overcrowded coffeehouse is filled with the unemployed – but seriously – it is the middle of the afternoon, and countless others have the same blank expression that I have taken to expressing.

When my coffeehouse sojourns began in Banbury, I never had to deal with the phenomenon of a packed establishment. Gloria Jeans’ was newly opened, and though it was drawing a crowd, it wasn’t drawing a Starbucks crowd. Leanne could blog, ponder and procrastinate in peace. Now that I’m back in TBay, I am relegated to Starbucks – larger than life and ultra-commercialistic. Can you explain to me why Starbucks is actually in my Microsoft Office spellchecker? But listen, I’m not here to complain about commercialism today. No…I can rant on that topic at another time.

Unemployed. I have gone through periods of unemployment – and yet never have been fully unemployed…I have always had the option of returning to my job at a local school – though limited in hours and scope, it was a highly coveted job. Yet after eight years, I am tired of returning – it is time to create the ultimate uncertainty, break away the safety net, and just stop. I enjoyed it while it lasted, but it is time to move on. Right….the safety net…Leanne likes having a safety net – safety nets generally pay real money. Apparently Leanne doesn’t need real money – Monopoly money will suffice.

Being unemployed isn’t the cakewalk that it seems. Sure, I can technically sleep in, stay up late, and live life according to my own schedule. Lord knows I love to live according to my own schedule! But I’m in debt…3rd-World-country-type debt. I have bills that rival the financial needs of a family that practices the rhythm-method of contraception (understand?!?!). Life isn’t great. Every 3 weeks I have heart palpitations wondering how I’m going to make it to the end of the year – or even to the next month. Daily I ponder moving to a South Pacific Island, changing my identity, and living out my days as an expat. Expats are generally rich, but you get the point.

So you think to yourself – just get a job! And I’m trying, really I am. But the problem with heading back to TBay, is that I have returned to a city that is sinking. Now, contrary to what local politicians and city officials will have you believe, the regional job situation is in dire straights. As luck would have it, these same individuals have decided that Call Centres are the best investment for continued job security. Oh yes, the call centre….home to the persistent and highly annoying telemarketer. I have nothing against telemarketers, and can empathize with them entirely. But it takes a special type of person to make a career out of that profession. I am not sure what the average job span is for someone in a call centre, but I lasted 3 weeks. Or was it two? Regardless…I refuse to return to a call centre.

TBay offers countless opportunities for part-time-minimum-wage employment. Basically it is like a hotbed for cr*p jobs. Two days ago I dropped off my resume to a local business. The manager jeered me…my education…my past work experiences…I don’t like being jeered. Unfortunately it is not the first time I have had my education put down – managers just don’t like to see degreed people working at their establishments, and I get that. But I still refuse to remove my degrees. But...It was the first time I had my work experience criticized. I have been on contract for six years, and naturally I have to change jobs when a contract ends. I have held some contracts multiple times, but apparently this does not matter. Needless to say the manager in question, wondered why so many people in this city “job jump”. I smiled at her, and shrugged my shoulders. I stifled the answer I could have given her: “Why do employers expect workers to be loyal to part-time minimum wage cr*p jobs, with no hope of improvement?” I realize that every individual who is employed should be grateful to their employment but…all it takes is an additional dollar an hour or 10 more hours a week…and bang…job jump!

Ok...I'll admit here that I like contracts because I have a short attention span...and if I hate the job, I know there is an end in sight. Enough said.

I have already ranted on education. I have one. It’s not helping me. And like I have already said, I am not removing it from my resume. I do not believe that having an education is a necessity, but I can’t change the fact that I have one. I spent far too much time earning that education to willingly remove it from my credentials. I will suffer unemployment to preserve my pride. Yes, I regret going to school, and now I will suffer the consequences of that decision. Think I am exaggerating? Talk to the majority of individuals graduating with university degrees – ask what they are doing with that degree. Ask your local checkout clerk at Walmart, bagger at Safeway, cashier at Zellers – ask about their credentials. You might be surprised. The solution to the basic degree is the Masters Degree. Now I am forced to take a financial gamble (but that’s a whole other blog).

So while I again ponder the feasibility of returning my university education, I am stuck in unemployment. I realize that I need to get over my ego, and accept that I might have to work at McDonald’s, but I will hold out as long as I possibly can. When all else fails I will return to England – maybe sooner than I had anticipated. Trust me, I am tempted to get back on a plane and head to Clapham Junction. But I know I am not alone. I look around Starbucks right now, and am still perplexed why so many people can be sitting here in the middle of the afternoon. It can’t just be me.