Weekly Update: 8-25-15 Don't Panic

I made a huge mistake.

The email in my inbox informed me that I needed to complete an online seminar in order to teach at Placentia Yorba Linda Unified School District. But at the time I read it, my mind was on my upcoming Author's Talk at the Brea Library. So I shoved it aside, reasoning that the deadline wasn't until long after my event.

Today I sat down to begin the seminar, and as I gazed at the deadline again, I realized I was supposed to get the certificate of completion to personnel by August 24th--yesterday. At this point my heart constricted and manic energy coursed through my veins as I imagined losing half a year's income because I misread one deadline.

Fortunately, I followed the advice of the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy and immediately sent an email to Erica (the one in charge of personnel), explaining the situation and asking if I could make it up somehow. Fortunately, Erica had mercy on my soul and told me to send it to her today, which I promptly did, as soon as I had a spare minute.
 
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This panic attack, however, was minor compared to the one I experienced at precisely 6:30 AM  on Saturday, August 22nd, when the sheer anxiety of my upcoming Author's Event forced me out of bed. I felt flushed and my stomach churned, but I knew I wasn't sick. I felt too buzzed, too energetic.

On the surface, this Author's Talk shouldn't have inspired such fear. I'd already done my launch party, which had far more logistics to juggle, and I don't usually have a public speaking phobia. But this felt different. This wasn't a simple celebration of my accomplishments. This was a combination of hosting a party, selling my book, and talking about a deeply personal story. That trifecta danced on my nerves for the past two week, and time was closing in. It was do or die.

Fortunately, at around 7:30 AM, I managed to compose myself, and by the time I got to the library, I was feeling fine. Only once did my nerves show, when I had to read from my book, and my hand shook. But I kept my voice steady throughout the event. I even managed to joke from time to time. How about that!

(By the way, Jean Badoud-Riddell, a fellow writer, recorded the Author Talk for me and Michelle and plans to edit it for us in the coming months. As soon as I get hold of it, I'll post it.)

Afterwards, my family took me out to celebrate at Oasis Mediterranean Cafe on Brea Boulevard. Actually, we randomly stumbled upon it, but it turned out to be a good find. I ate the best baklava I'd ever tasted--just the right amount of sweet, and the floral mulberry mango tea and tender lamb gyros were excellent. To top it off, we made a run to my favorite place in the world--Barnes and Noble--and I came home touting two new fantasy books.

So a good day, all told.

The Anxiety of the Substitute

This fall, I took work as a substitute teacher, and just last week, I started getting called in.  Although I've only subbed for two days now, teaching isn't all that new to me.  For three years I worked as a teacher's aid in Japan, forced to perform English sentences to unknown audiences at the beck and call of the real teacher.   Sometimes I'd go in with no plan, no script, and I'd have to create a lesson off the top of my head.  Working improv is nothing new to me.

That doesn't lessen my stage fright.

Somewhere between 5:30-7:30 in the morning, the dance of dread begins.  Will I get called in?  My ears tense for the sound of my phone's generic ring tone, knowing only entity would call me so early. Will I get an assignment?  Do I want to go to work today?  I know if I get called in, I will work, I must work, not just for the immediate paycheck the day brings, but to build my reputation for the future.  Yet another part of me just hopes that the school will leave me alone, so that I can spend my free time writing.

Three times the phone did ring.  The first time, I hesitated, fumbled with the buttons in the dark, and completely missed the assignment.  The second time, I heard the assignment, wanted it repeated, but accidently hit the button for accept.  The third time, I was ready, but right before I hit that button, a surge of panic filled my soul.  It became a struggle to press 1.

The next three minutes, I ran around the house hyperventalating.  While the sensible part of my mind told me to arrange a ride with my aunt, pack my lunch, and find out the specifics of my assignment online, the emotional side of me was busy whipping myself into a frenzy.  Oddly, I couldn't tell you over what.  I was afraid.  Not of teaching, I'd done that before.  Not of high school students, I'd worked with them and didn't find them to be monsters.  What I was afraid of was nothing.  The big, black wall of nothing pressing up against my eyes.

The unknown.

I think if I were in one bad scenario, I could solve it or endure it.  But my mind wasn't spitting out one, it was spitting out 20 and demanding I solve them all at once and think of new ones and solve those as well.  Now!  Hence the panic.  But the funny thing was, once I got to school, once I saw the physical buildings, the panic left.  There was no more time to prepare.  There was only action.  Moreover, there was something familiar about the campus.  I had never been to this school, but I'd been in others, taught in them, too.  My experience hardened over my chest like a breastplate and I walked inside the office calm and alert.

Parts of the day were tough.  Sometimes I was frustrated.  Sometimes I was uncertain.  But I wasn't afraid.  The situation, good or bad, had become solid, and once solid, I could adapt to it.  I trusted myself again.

The phone call was the worst of it.