Out Of Office

I have been in Chile for roughly one week, a feat deserving of the highest accolade or at least some frozen yogurt with as many overpriced toppings as I want considering I was dramatically sobbing in the DFW terminal D security line only a few days ago. I contemplated ditching my flight and ghosting my program altogether because, at that very moment, I deemed my decision to teach abroad a grave mistake. A whimsical decision I had made on a bad day and abruptly deserted for future Emily to deal with. Well, the future is now. I’ve come to realize my participation in this teaching program is a bandaid for a much larger existential crisis my avoidant self is not willing to address at the moment. Fleeing to Chile will suffice for now. 

Me running from my problems.

For months I sat in my cubicle daydreaming about living in South America—educating young, malleable minds and hiking jagged mountains in my new Merrell boots I've yet to break in. I longed to do something meaningful and extraordinary, as all coddled Millennials are encouraged to do. I also felt compelled to spruce up my Instagram account with pretentious pictures from exotic lands in a desperate attempt to show my peers how deceptively fascinating my life has become. In all seriousness, I relished in the idea of escaping tedious, futile work in exchange for making the world a bit better than how I found it—a pretentious and egotistical gesture in and of itself. In theory, this all sounded swell. In practice, I was scared of leaving the comforts home in exchange for the unknown. As I boarded my flight, I would have given anything to be sitting in my sciatica-inducing office chair, staring mindlessly at the festering soup stains I had never gotten around to cleaning under my desk. 

How I feel at work after writing hundreds of tweets with only a slight variation in verbiage.

The aforementioned ambivalence is now water under the bridge. Solely based on the realization I hadn't purchased flight insurance, I popped a (prescribed) Xanax and anxiously chugged red wine to the point my teeth turned purple until I landed in Santiago some ten hours of turbulence later. The proceeding week felt like the Chilean version of the 1998 Disney Channel show Bug Juice: sleeping in hostel bunk beds with strangers who would quickly become friends and participating in meticulously scheduled daily activities planned by overly enthusiastic coordinators. Although we did replace archery with heavy drinking and water skiing with sweaty late night dancing at a local salsa club that may or may not have actually been a money laundering operation.

For context or nostalgia.

The volunteers in my program all have amazing stories and come from different corners of the world. Some have been traveling for months prior to the program’s start date. Others will traverse the continent until there’s not a dime to their name. They're engineers. Sandwich makers. Accountants. Fresh graduates. Sociopaths. Many are lost souls, much like myself. Questioning the path they’ve taken thus far in their lives. Defying expectations. Choosing adventure over a mortgage and stroller.

The unknown is scary. That’s why I'm partaking in this endeavor. Plus, remaining stagnant is even more terrifying. In a rare moment of clarity, it occurred to me that I do not want my parting thoughts on my death bed to be, "I'm so glad I convinced all those Hispanic families in low income communities to switch to AT&T High Speed Internet!" or "Thank God I took those Instagram shots of Jordan Spieth at the 2016 Byron Nelson! That was some groundbreaking caption work!" Hell no.

I need to get out of my comfort zone. To grow as a human. To see new places. To attempt to make a difference to someone—anyone really. And if my fluency in the English language can be utilized to help others succeed, it would be a travesty to walk away from such an opportunity.

So, here I am, shouting “Hello, class!! Today we are going to learn about the weather. Can you say weather? W-E-A-T-H-E-R. Gooooood job!!” as I enthusiastically prepare for my first lesson as a high school English teacher with unmitigated fear during our peer critiques.

I have no idea what I’ve gotten myself into, but surely I’m about to find out. Stay tuned.