Female White American on Steinbeck, life in your mid-30’s, and young motherhood

I hope I can write something worth reading. I hope I stand out in some way.

The weird thing is, I am a Christian. Yep, not one of those one-way, won’t listen, don’t care about other perspectives, right-wing bent, 100% conservative-type of Christians, but one who wants to drink deep of antique style culture, history, the curiosity that drives me forward is a God who created beauty-beauty in all styles-and I aim to take it in, and see where it leads me.

My career took a turn back in 2012-young, newly married high school Spanish teacher, turned almost thirty, elementary general education teacher now young mother. I moved to Florida, I experienced baptism by fire in the world that is elementary education, and I patiently waited for the Zen that is meant to befall all Montessori teachers–some sort of understanding and connection to the world where I see all children as beautiful creatures waiting for my “Zen-ish touch,” meant to bring peace, wholeness, and a whole array of other saintly qualities left behind by Maria herself.

As I sit and type, I have now moved up in the child development ranks-to middle school-where all your memories of teenage angst go to remember, smile, and silently stew over back talking and sarcasm. It is glorious.

As a transitioned middle school English teacher, I have begun reading authors like Jack London (Call of the Wild), William Faulkner (As I Lay Dying), and John Steinbeck (East of Eden.) These authors remind you of the power of words, the power of penning philosophy, and the power of processing the world through writing.

That’s what I want to do. This middle-class, female white American wants to grasp tightly the luxury that is to process, flatten, and plaster with all emotions and thoughts, and hope to God that someone wants to read it. Not just to praise, but to relate, to connect with someone else, who may feel the same way as I do in life.

In two months time I will turn the corner that is 35 years of age. My parents continue to affect me in ways I did not think possible, my marriage sends me crying to the hills of despair and repair repeatedly, and my children challenge my commitment, my capacity to love, and my understanding of joy.

Welp, so here goes trying. For all the attempts past, present, and future, I want to write these moments into the world. Writing in the pursuit of beauty, love, and God.



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