Woods Wanders the World

Life Between Two Worlds: An Expat Experience

Something was tapping my foot, waking me up. I pulled off my sleeping mask, blinked my eyes open and saw the fuzzy outline of the flight attendant, offering me breakfast. “No thank you” I mumbled, somewhat coherent, more unclear and sleepy than anything else due to the miraculous empty flight where I had a whole row of three seats to myself. I was on my return flight from Miami to Casablanca, returning to the place I currently call home after a week at an educational technology conference for teachers.

“What made you interested in coming so far for this conference?” was a common, and completely valid, question I received from many educators and presenters throughout the week. In my head I thought, “well honestly I didn’t want to come, this was the worst timing after being back in school for only a week after December break and having continual jet lag,” but out loud I said, as professionally as possible, “my principal asked me to come and I was eager to learn about coding in the classroom and other tools to support my students.” It really was the worst timing and I really was not excited to travel to Miami at first, but when I arrived I instantly realized my mistake.

To me, growing up in Upstate New York, Miami was always a place where people went for spring break, not for conferences to learn. Other teachers were traveling to Hong Kong and London for conferences and I was sent to Miami? I was more than a little irritated. What I discovered on my first day in Miami was a beautiful beach, delicious food, all the essentials of life at Target, and overall a joy to be back in the states again.

I learned that I had underestimated the conference as well, learning about meaningful tools and applicable strategies for my classroom. Each day was packed with interesting sessions led by teachers who were experts in their field. True, there was the occasional session that was purely a pitch for their book or a sales pitch for a curriculum program but overall, it was hard not to learn. In fact, I think the hardest part was keeping track of all that I was learning, and planning out how to implement it into my classroom. I have also realized that, however hard it was to leave rhythm and routine in Casablanca, it has been equally difficult to readjust to life here in Morocco again.

After my fantastically empty flight landed at noon, it hit me more than ever before just how different my life is here in Morocco. Sometimes, this time especially, I feel like I have traveled to a different planet, landing somewhere similar to Tatooine in Star Wars. With the drastic change in dress, culture and language, that description is really not that far off base, pun intended. It is a strange feeling, to be somewhere you live, having learned how to navigate a few key phrases in the multiple languages spoken, and yet to still feel like an invader hoping to blend in but being indiscreetly unsuccessful in all ways.

To be thrown back and forth between worlds has left me feeling jarred, unbalanced and out of rhythm, both physically with jet lag and mentally with missing the comforts of both homes. Casablanca is my home, but so is the United States. It is a moment when I stop and think “what am I doing with my life?” or rather, wonder what it is I am doing here in Casablanca. America is just a plane ride away, what keeps me here?

Casablanca is an enigma of Morocco, different from other cities due to its metropolitan and transient commuter characteristics. People who have lived here longer than myself often describe Morocco as “magical” and impossible to leave once you find the wonder that defines this vastly diverse country. I see the wonder in the sunrise and sunsets, in the sounds of nature and in the beauty of the architecture. Right now, I am here to teach and at the same time to learn. To train both my heart and my head to see the joy in the world, in the small moments that weave together to create a beautiful tapestry of life.

Could I have learned this skill in the States? Absolutely. It was my choice to move to Morocco and I think that is the most empowering lesson I have learned so far, that it is my choices that define my life. Mine and mine alone. I choose to be happy. I choose to be here, in my grand adventure. I choose this life, my life, to be my best life and I will work through the challenges of reacclimating in order to experience the best of life. Of life as an expat, living here in Morocco. Inshallah.

The Realities of My Life: My Grandma, My teacher

If I were to ask you to describe a teacher that changed your life, what qualities would you include? For me, it is having high expectations, humor and unconditional love. Those qualities describe one of my ultimate teachers, my Grandma. I have been blessed with many teachers in my family, literally; my Father taught college courses long ago and my Mom currently works as a school librarian. My Grandma though, taught me about life by living her own in a way that continually inspires me.

My Grandma has a million stories about her children and her late husband, in which her adventurous mindset made every problem an opportunity to laugh and every mistake a chance to learn. When a student says something so unexpectedly hilarious, I feel the spirit of my Grandma in my classroom as I throw my head back and laugh. Sometimes laughing with my students is the best relationship builder possible and sometimes, I have to be a professional and laugh later on. It is humor that makes the hardships easier, the confusion less intense, the sadness less daunting.

No student is perfect, no school is perfect and I’m learning, slowly but surely, that this might just be the point after all. No matter what, it is my own perspective that defines my day, at the end of each day. As a teacher, I have a choice, to believe in myself the way my Grandma does, or to doubt my own abilities. I can choose to hold my students to high expectations they way my Grandma has unfailing done, or I can accept mediocre behavior and academic work. There is something deeply ingrained in me now, a work ethic and an unshakeable mindset that says, “If you do anything, do it to the best of your ability” and I live by that in both my personal and professional life.

One night before I left for Morocco, as victims of inertia sitting together on the end of my Grandma’s bed, I told her that I wanted to be just like her when I grew up. The thing is, sometimes I am bold enough to believe that I already am. That my family has inspired elements of teaching because of the way I was raised and the people that have defined my life. When I am tough on my students, I am because I believe in their abilities to grow and become the best versions of themselves. The same way that my Grandma can sometimes be tough, it’s good for you and in the end it is done as an act of love.

I still miss my family everyday; my Grandma, my parents, my sister, my brothers, my aunts and uncles along with all my cousins. It is the love from my family that motivates me to keep going, to keep trying and to always work hard. One of my favorite Grandma sayings is “rough it” and I know that even if it feels rough right now, it will get better. I know that they expect the best from me and I work hard to make them and myself proud. So that when I visit for Christmas I have my own hilarious stories to share about my own adventures. Maybe even one day be lucky enough to share them with my own grandchildren.

The Realities of Living Abroad Part Three: The Saving Grace of Surfing

It was 2:00am Moroccan time when I called my good friend in the States, sobbing in the fetal position. I was done, had enough of everything and once again, like so many other times in my life, he knew exactly what to say in order to empower me. Culture shock is real, and I’m learning to give myself grace and to accept that there are challenging elements to life here in Morocco.

There were crickets in the background and soothing sounds of the deep south as he gave me invaluable advice and what he called “cultural homework.” First, find 10 things that I truly love about Morocco. With actual experience living as an expat in several different countries throughout his life, his advice was not only practical and relevant, but also inspirational. Yes, he told me I could come home if I wanted to; he also said “I know you can do this and you’ll be a stronger person if you choose to, I believe in you.” Tears streaming down my face, I started to believe in myself again. Hilarious side note, he also mentioned that he will be so intimidated by the strong force of a human that I will be when I return in two years, which really made me laugh.

Okay, ten things that I love about Morocco, I was on a mission. I also had plans to go to the beach with friends that next morning. So despite the fact that I was still busy feeling sorry for myself, I pulled myself together, bought a chocolate croissant and went to the beach. Let me pause there to talk about two things that I already love deeply in order for you to comprehend how important today’s epiphany was for me.

Water. Water is one of the reasons I left Denver and a major motivation to move to Morocco. I grew up on water, have always felt safe and happy with water and love to be in, near and apparently, on top of water. As a child, I would move my hands through the water and immediately gain a sense of peace. Every summer for as long as I can remember my Dad’s side of the family would have a weeklong family reunion on a lake. Joy and family have been symbiotic with water all my life. Paradise, to me, is lapping water and the sound of seagulls, the smell of all things growing and the indescribable smell of water.

Now allow me to describe another activity that I passionately love: yoga. I am one of those weirdos who say that “yoga saved my life” and I mean it. Yoga came into my life when I was 22 and it has threaded mindfulness, growth and self-realization into my existence since. In 2018 I even became a certified yoga instructor through a program designed specifically for teachers.

Water and yoga, two of the things I love most in the world. Some of you might know where this is going; to the beach, to the waves and to my saving grace here in Morocco, surfing. Today, I was so brave and took my first surf lesson that left me feeling elated, euphoric.

Everytime someone greets me in the French manner with the two kisses on each cheek, I secretly feel so fancy. My experience started with these two kisses and an introduction to a very handsome young french man fluent in English who would be my instructor. For an hour with a personal instructor, a wetsuit and a surfboard it would convert into a whopping total of $15. Sign me up! The lovely French man gave me my wetsuit and away we ran.

Literally, we warmed up by running up and down the beach for about 5 minutes and already I knew it would be something I loved. As we ran we looked down to see fish swimming around our feet as the wave receded. The instructor gave me a quick demonstration on the sand then had me repeat. “It is chaturanga to warrior one” I thought to myself while watching him and repeating the movements for him to observe. He showed us how to carry the tail of the board into the water and so we began.

The sexy instructor helped me gain confidence standing on my board, and pushed me off to catch my first wave. I pushed up, found my balance on my feet below me and felt like I was floating, gliding, flying free all at once. I had stood up and caught my first wave on my first wave. Not entirely sure what to do at the end, I sort of just fell off very ungracefully after making it to shore. Every single moment I was in the water I had the biggest smile on my face and was so happy, so truly happy to be there.

The hardest part of surfing is fighting the current to make it past the waves to catch the waves, as confusing as that might sound. It also looks hilarious to essentially run in place in the water and after laughing at me in a good natured manner, my helpful instructor would come over and say, “I take the board for you, come on Woods lets go.” Then I would climb onto the board, assume the position (sometimes my instructor would have to move me feet to the end of the board but I did get much better at this towards the end), and get ready to fly. I even paddled to catch a few of my first waves today and every single time I fell or caught a wave I immediately couldn’t wait to do it again.

Surfing is the first sport I have ever felt so confident in, so immediately excited. It became harder as we went on because of how tired my arms and legs became, from both fighting the waves but also from standing up on the board. One of my favorite parts is jumping with the whitecapped waves, you float weightless in the water and try to gracefully resist the current. Sometimes, you would dive under the waves and go below the water. Seawater in my mouth, hair and occasionally my eyes, I couldn’t have cared less, I was in paradise.

It has been a month since I’ve smiled with joy the way I did today. The friend I went surfing with told me that I was a natural and my instructor told me “next time we use a different board, you are ready, great first time.” My friends have said they would go again with my this week but I don’t know if I can wait that long. I am so excited to have something to look forward to again, to really fill my soul. After a month in Morocco, I finally feel like I am having fun.

The reality of living Abroad Part Two: Culture Shock Will Surprise You

I have lived in a foreign country for one month. For one month I have given up the luxury of feeling comfortable physically and mentally. It has been roughly 30 days since I could communicate with ease, express myself confidently or understand what someone else is trying to say to me. Culture shock comes in waves, my international school explained to me and my cohort of new teachers on one of the first few days. This is the story of my experience living in Casablanca, Morocco for the first month.

They told me that personal space would be different. They warned me that sometimes the loss of independence could be overwhelming. They were right when they said that men would stare at me on the street. They, being my new international school here, have really done their best to prepare me for the realities of living in a foreign nation. What they failed to mentioned though, was how it begins to weigh on you, how each stare from every man and strange utterance towards you starts to seep in and get under your skin, itchy and crawling through your blood. When all you want to do is buy groceries but you get laughed at and money thrown at you because you can’t give them exact change. When you try your new french phrases at a restaurant and the waiter laughs at you and says, “I can speak English.” They forget to mention how that starts to take a toll on your emotional state of being.

I try to stay focused on being grateful for the opportunities here, and how lucky I am to be here in the first place. I tell myself that I am becoming a stronger person for being here and that it will be worth it. Practically chanting this message to myself in my head, I try to make myself believe that it will get easier.

It is a lot harder than I ever could have expected, in ways I never could have predicted. Recently, I was so done with the intense stares that when some random man started talking to me, “madam, madam!” so, naturally, in response I blew bubbles at him the way a baby learns to talk. Yes, in lieu of any language capable of telling everyone exactly how I felt, I resorted to making the sounds of a horse when they are tired or angry, however you choose to look at it. How absolutely ridiculous.

Now, you might be thinking “well morocco is a conservative country you should be dressing appropriately.” To which I respond, yes, in fact whenever I leave the bubble of my apartment I indeed am covered from wrist to ankle. Sometimes I do wear a skirt that has a slit along the side which has really rocked the world around me but holy guacamole, it’s actually quite hot here you know. Hate to scandalize the neighborhood with the occasional side view of my lower calf but there you have it folks, my most extreme outfit doesn’t even show my knees.

Other women have not described the same intense feelings as I have and some have even expressed jealousy over the amount of attention I receive. This is ironically hilarious and sad at the same time. For me, I wish I could just curl up and be invisible. I dream about being home, capable to express myself and to be understood. I wonder if it really will ever get easier or if it really is worth it.

Before I left, my sister had me promise her (and myself) that if I ever felt unsafe I would come home. Truth be told, I don’t feel unsafe, I just haven’t felt comfortable in days, weeks now, approximately one month. There are other cultural elements unique to Casablanca that I haven’t begun to describe; the sheer amount of litter and pollution everywhere that makes me shower everyday, the suicidal method of crossing the street, the entitlement of taxi drivers and the concept that time is not real therefore things will be done, well whenever. I am tired now, I am exhausted, and I once promised myself I would not push myself past my limits again.

“It’s okay to feel all the feels” is how my sister put it. It is a choice to breathe through the hard emotions and to learn to let them go. Or rather, to let them flow. To let them flow like water on the sand. I have friends that can relate to these feelings and systems of support to rely on.There are adventures waiting to be had here, I just hope I have the courage to enjoy them.

The Unexpected Realities of Living Abroad Part One: Homesick

When I was planning, preparing and moving my life abroad I forgot about one critical element, feeling homesick. No tears at the airport, no sobbing goodbyes, not for this traveler who is always working towards checking off one more box on my eternal to do list. And yet, right now, roughly two weeks after my move, I miss my family in the deep marrow of my bones. I feel a paralyzing sadness and a voice in my head that says, “you will always be alone.”

As the typical teacher planner-type-person with a plan A through Z, this feeling caught me completely off guard. Looking back, I was too excited to move on to a new adventure to even consider what it would feel like to live so far from my family. The true reality is that I miss my sister and my brothers, being able to text my Dad and to call my Mom. Bittersweet are my memories of my life in Denver; my roommates, my friends and my ability to hike outside my back door. I long to watch a movie with my Grandma or to travel with my cousins. I did not realize how much a five hour time difference would impact communication. Now, I do.

My current goal is to give myself grace and time to process. I am still excited to teach and to work at my new school. Honestly, I wake up much happier than I ever have, but that doesn’t mean I don’t cry myself to sleep some nights too. Life is about balance and if I am going to document living abroad, I have to include both the joy and the sorrow. My soul is full when standing in the ocean, waves crashing against me and salt in my hair; not so much when wondering how in the world am I going to survive this solitude.

Years of therapy and hard work on my own self love has taught me to channel this energy in a constructive and creative manner. If I have learned anything from my past experiences with depression and anxiety, it is to use these emotions in a productive way. For me, yoga, knitting and listening to audiobooks has been incredibly helpful during this transitional period.

If there is anyone else out there considering moving abroad, teaching abroad or traveling for extended periods of time, I do not have the answers. I have, however, gained the realization that nothing can every truly prepare you for everything, no matter how many plans you may lay. Expect the unexpected and be ready for your own emotional journey.

When I left, my Grandma told me to “have fun” and that is what I intend to do. If you intend to embark on your own adventure, my only advice is to be ready with tools in your own emotional toolkit, make time to do things that bring you joy and above all, be kind to yourself.

Photo by Sebastian Voortman on Pexels.com

Don’t Hate the Crying Baby on the Plane: How Moving Abroad Made Me Appreciate Parents Who Travel

When I was 12, my Dad was offered the opportunity to work in Europe. Sounds like an amazing experience, right? I vividly remember the day my parents told us we were moving abroad and how deeply upset I was. It probably sounded something along the lines of, “But Dad, next year is middle school and this is so not fair!” with an exaggerated whine on every single word, or “I’m not leaving my friends!” followed by a dramatic door slam. To my credit, I was at the most egotistical age of my whole being, but still, feel free to laugh at my ridiculousness at any point; I certainly do.

16 years have now passed and I have chosen to move abroad again on my own solo adventure. The first moment I became deeply aware of the lack of appreciation I had for my parents was standing in line at customs. I remember, as a child, waiting in line at customs to then wait in line at baggage to then wait in line to leave the airport. It. Was. Absolute. Torture. My role as an adolescent probably included me asking my father, “how much longer?” a million times or “where is the chocolate?” or anything else I could do to entertain myself. Allow me to paint the full picture of this scene; there was myself, a sassy adolescent, my older sister, a super cool teenager, my two younger brothers exploding in energy and with a gift of getting, albeit accidentally, into mischief. I remember my Dad telling my brothers to “stop swinging on the poles” and “get back here!” as my Mother filled out a thousand forms while my annoyance shadowed everything because no one noticed how fabulous my recently-stolen-from-my-sister’s eyeshadow looked plastered onto my eyelids.

How selfish I was to never notice their efforts, all that they did to allow us the incredible opportunity to live in Europe. Then again, I was just a kid, what did I know?

I know now how tedious the customs process can be, and how much harder traveling can be with a large family. All six of us moved abroad and came home at least once a year. Even typing that I think to myself, “mother of dragons, that must have been so much work for my parents.” I appreciate everything they did for us on a much deeper level, and I’ve only described the customs line let alone renting a house, finding food their picky eating kids would eat in a foreign county, trying to balance embracing a new culture while giving us space to let go of some American tendencies.

The next time there’s a crying baby on a plane or a large family traveling together- maybe cut them some slack. They’re doing the best they can, and I can speak from my own personal experience that the kids are just as frustrating to their parents. So if you are an angry airplane traveler, believe it or not your eyeball rolls with your huffs and puffs do nothing to help the situation. Take a deep breath and appreciate the fact that you’re not responsible for attending to the needs of other, smaller, humans. Give the parents a little credit, because trust me, their children won’t until maybe, they become a little bit older and a little bit wiser.

Type in the words “is travel good for kids” in any search engine and multiple resources appear supporting the idea behind traveling developing kid’s brain development in a multifaceted way. If you choose not to have children, I support your individual choice 100%. However, I am of the mindset that if we want to create a better world, it starts with our youth and it begins with introducing our children to different ways of thinking.

Thank you Mom and Dad for all that you did for me then, and all that you do for all of us now. I love you.

Introducing Woods, The Top Hat Traveling Teacher

Hello, I’m Woods, the top hat traveling teacher. An American public school teacher moving abroad to teach at an international school in Casablanca, Morocco. Why read my blog? Here are a few reasons I chose to write and publish this blog and why you might be interested in any of my posts:

To learn about leaving American Public Education (and my personal reasons why)
What it feels like uprooting life in the USA to move to a foreign country.
Insights on life as a human because, contrary to common belief, teachers actually are humans too.
Life as an international teacher- the pros, the cons and the realities of working at an international school.
Traveling in Europe, Africa and around the world as a female.
How awesome it is to wear hats around the world, especially, top hats!

My Reason Why- Part One

What made me decide to uproot my life in Denver, Colorado to move across the Atlantic Ocean to live and teach in Morocco for two years? If you’ve read this far, maybe you are a teacher interested in moving abroad as well, maybe just another human hoping to connect through the power of story.

Maybe if I write this blog it will also help me understand my own journey as a teacher and, ultimately, as a human. Today, I choose to believe in the maybes.

In order to understand my choice and the reasons behind it we need to rewind, turn back a few pages to a year ago, when I was no longer sure if I even wanted to be a teacher anymore. This period of teaching and in my life was distinctly dark, and worthy of it’s own entire post so I’ll just gently skim over it here. It was time for mid year conversations about my performance with my coach, my evaluator, my amazing Assistant Principal and my friend. This conversation was a major turning point.

Brene Brown describes in her Netflix Special: A Call Courage one of the defining characteristic of effective leaders. She says, “brave leaders are never silent around hard things.” When I look at the page in my life, the words from my coach “I’m not sure if being a public school teacher is the career for you,” still hurt my pride but resonate with my turmoil in my soul. At the time I was, in fact , depressed, suffering from second hand trauma and was quite frankly, a broken teacher. I share this part of my journey through a lens of gratitude because I really did need someone to shake me awake, to realize how my passion for teaching had turned into a routine of suffering and survival.

“Brave leaders are never silent about hard things”
Brene Brown, A Call to Courage

This is the part where I add the disclaimer that this is only my own experience, my perspective on events in a uniquely impacted Title I school. My therapist and my coach guided me to opportunities I never realized existed. The point I hope to come across in this introduction is that I was in such deep pain, wallowing in my own pity that I didn’t realize I was drowning on my own Titanic. Instead, I allowed it dragged me under until someone threw me a life jacket.

This next chapter of my life can be called, “Woods learns how to carve her own life boat.” I have now left the U.S. S. Public Education and am, both literally and metaphorically, paddling across the ocean. My epiphany that the choices I made did, in fact, determine the direction of my life, made me pick up my own oar, put it in the water and finally began to steer towards clearer waters. As my sister says, “steering your life and the direction you want to go one stroke at a time.” I would still be at the bottom of the ocean without the courageous people in my life; my coach, my therapist, my sister, my family, my co-teachers.

I finally feel as if I can see the beauty in each moment again. I no longer wonder if I want to teach, if I feel happy, I feel confident in myself and my choices again. If you are a teacher, or anyone inhabiting planet earth looking for their oar, I hope this provides something, anything on the journey down your own river.

I have been on the Titanic of American public education with some of the most amazing humans imaginable. Time has made me realize that the best educators were also humans who chose to build their own lifeboats. There is no amount of gratitude that I can ever express to those who I worked alongside, that paddled and struggled with me, that showed me what effective teaching can be. To those incredible educators in public, private or any other entity of education, I salute and stand with you.