So after I left 7-11, I headed over to class, a Seminar on Teaching English. I have had mostly good experiences so far in my teaching this semester, and am excited and surprised when things go my way. So, I have tried to share my excitement with friends, fellow English Education majors who I felt would share my sentiments. However, it seems when I tell of my good observations or good lessons or things that just make me think that maybe, just maybe, I decided on the right career path, I am met with criticism. People saying I am full of myself just because of my ambition and diligence, traits I would like to think I have embodied my entire life. Is it conceited to want to be the best teacher I can be? To be the best worker I can be? To be the best me I can be? I don't want others to think I'm full of myself; I want them to support me in my pursuit of happiness, in my possession of self. Is that too much to ask?
After the drabness of class, I walked back outside into the dreariness of this Tuesday/Monday, trudging to my car. After ignition, I was greeted once again by the mellifluous tunes of the Flecktones, drifting by my ears as my car and I drifted along Park Place. I stopped at the supermarket to pick up some milk and cold cuts (which reminds me of the lunch I have to make for tomorrow, better get to my point), and I got to thinking about all the people I observe in my life who I know by name or face, but probably have no clue who I am. For instance, Zeke, the supermarket attendent who, with his blonde post-bowl-cut, post-grunge rock/surfer hairstyle and obviously noticeable mole on his Adam's apple, seems to be at the supermarket each and every time I go there. Then there was Allie, the beautifully pale-skinned redhead whom my cousins mentioned rung them up that great weekend back in November when they visited. These people go through my life, and surely the lives of others around them, unknowing that they are being noticed on an everyday basis. And I wonder if I, too, am unknowing of someone who notices me, knows more about me than meets the eye. And I wonder why I can't strike up a conversation with Zeke or Allie, let them know that they're not unnoticed, just as maybe I would welcome the same kind of conversation.
As I was driving back, pondering these thoughts, I turned onto Thorn Lane and pulled into a parking spot, and as I did so, the beautiful chords ending the "Reprise" on Outbound put a beautiful cap on my day, trying not to succomb to Fortune as I went through life as it is here in Delaware.
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