sometimes

i make up conversations in my head. it's quietly cathartic, like one of those greek plays in which the audience experiences the emotions vicariously so as to purge them of the need to act out such tragedies in life.
whatever.
it is at times difficult for me not to compare myself to the tfa goddess across the hall. she is a second year tfa teacher like me. but, unlike me, she is organized and goal-driven. she also teaches in ways other than lecture and does so well, manages her classroom with aplomb, tracks her students' progress, creates lesson plans with what seems to be minimal stress, teaches engagement strategies to other teachers in the school, manages the twice weekly teacher meetings in our small learning community, is coordinator of the tfa school-site meetings, and is constantly reaching out to other teachers in her content area as well as the first year corp members at our school.
and she reaches out to me. in fact, she's one of my best friends in houston.
what does she eat for breakfast?
i read on her blog that she thinks that the first year tfa science teachers are looking up to her, and that it is nice. and i had this stab of there-is-no-way-that-a-first-year-can-look-up-to-me-because-i-am-still-planning-day-to-day pain. and i wanted to know, "Why? Why can i never get my act together?" this is not so i can feel the "i'm this amazing person" rush (after all, it's usually not all that true; plus i don't care who you are, if you feel this way no one wants to play with you) or because i'm jealous of the lady across the hall (i'm not), it's because i'd like to do more for people than i am. and her life reminds me of what mine is not.

but then again ... it doesn't really matter.
the play in my head went something like this:
(scene: i am sitting in a classroom with the tfa goddess. she, as the meeting's coordinator, is about to begin. two first year corp members troop in.)
me: hi, how has your first week been?
first year girl: ok. tough, but ok.
me: (laughing) sounds better than i did last year.
first year girl: oh, i'm sure it's about the same
(goddes and i exchange a look and we both laugh)
goddess: no, joy was seriously falling apart for the entire year last year.
first year girl: well, this year is better, right?
goddess: (winking at me) well, we'll see
me: (smiling) it's an acknowledged fact of my life.
goddess: she gets flustered.
clueless first year boy: (jumping in) then how did you get into tfa? i mean, you must do something right.
(awkward silence)
me: (then, looking straight at him) a little creativity and strength of will go a long way.
and it does, guys. i'm still here, aren't i?
the point of this is not the "i'm ok/you're ok/we're all ok/i'm doing the best i can and that's enough" rhetoric, though it may seem so. the point is more like i'm shrugging my shoulders. who really cares? i kinda like what i learned last year and this past summer. i do like how far i've come. i kinda like my classes, and i like what i'm doing in class. and i know it's not enough, but when is it ever enough? exactly. never. so, there is this often unacknowledged space between obsession and i-just-don't-care. i don't know what that place is called, but i'm saying it's a pretty good space. i think i'm gonna like it here.
thank you greek theatre. maybe i'll re-read the odyssey after all.