Curiosity

I’ve gotten really curious about all kinds of things in the last week or two—about teacher training, about leadership development, about the New Zealand educational system. The thing I’m most curious about today, though, is why I haven’t been curious about these things in the past. Since last week, I’ve been reading books and articles on NZ education—some of which were published in the US and are thus hard to find here. This begs the question, why didn’t I do this before? It’s not like I haven’t known that I was coming to live in New Zealand. And it isn’t like I’ve been so flat out busy that I haven’t had the time. True, the couple of months before we left the US were among the most busy in my whole life, and I hardly had time to breathe. But these weeks since I’ve been here, I’ve had oodles of time. I never even thought about looking up things about New Zealand education (or, actually, reading a book about leadership). This is curious.

I had the most wonderful day at work yesterday. I met with the director, Robyn, and I got a project to do—a set of things to analyze and write a paper about. And then we had a meeting about the Teachers of Promise study (TOPS) . We sat and talked about potential research designs, research questions, methodologies. And I felt like I actually knew something about this, felt like there was something I might be able to contribute to this beautiful country, that maybe parts of me translated.

In the two weeks that I’ve been at work, I’ve felt parts of me come back to life, parts that have been sleeping in these last months. I find myself increasingly curious about so many things right now—how does this system work or that one? My screen at work is filled with a dozen open explorer windows as I puzzle my way through state curricula and international education sites. And I’m learning again—about all sorts of things. But why wasn’t I learning before? What happened to all my curiosity since I’ve been here? And what does it mean that it’s back now? What’s next? (Note all the questions…)

I feel almost as if I’ve been hibernating, locked inside a still, growing place. I don’t laugh so much here, don’t open my mouth without careful consideration. I’m contained, this careful American-self never quite sure about what happens next, always a little tentative. I stand around waiting for the kids to get out of school, smiling awkwardly at the other waiting parents who all chat casually in crisp Kiwi tones. I hold back in meetings, wondering what my place is here, how I can add to what’s going on. I’m more quiet, more slow. This isn’t unpleasant, but it is a kind of out-of body experience.

I’m curious about how the children seem to have escaped this fate. They tumble headlong into school, burst out of the classroom at the end of the day. Naomi is constantly bringing over first one girl and then another. I’m curious about what happens when I stop watching my life and start participating again, start experiencing life here as my own life rather than one I’m watching.

An update on the moving saga. You remember—all our belongings on a container? At first it was supposed to be here at the end of January, then it was on a ship moving from Spain to Singapore and supposed to be here at the beginning of March, and then—poof—it was back on the ship from Baltimore to Wellington which arrived on January 29^th. So we’ve been waiting for it to clear customs, craning our necks for a glimpse of the ugly red container as we passed the shipyard. Yesterday we called to find out when we might expect the customs process to be complete and, er, the container seemed not to have arrived after all. It seemed to be, er, transferring from a ship from Spain in Singapore. It’s expected to arrive the first week in March, sit in customs then, and finally arrive here mid-March. You can’t imagine the letter we wrote to the moving company. I’m curious about how they stay in business.

So, that’s life here, with me still wet from an evening swim in a rough sea with a fiercely grey sky warning of the coming southerly (southerlies = cold because they bring air from Antarctica). Yesterday we went down at sunset to a glassy sea, and I watched the sunset gleam on the water as I floated on my back and looked out over my purple toes. Yes, I know that for most of you it’s winter and you don’t need to hear beach stories. And I know that when you’re feeling really toasty, we’ll be lashed with wind and rain and mourn the fact that New Zealanders don’t heat their houses (when a picture flashed of Aidan in his room at Belmont rd, the other day, I thought, “oh, how dearly I miss radiators..”). But right now, it feels like a good place to begin to come alive again. I can ride the waves, wonder why the big ones form and which one is just right to boogy board into the shore. I can theorize about the winds and the wave currents and watch my theories unfold as I get pushed northward up the beach. I can wonder about which shells will be there tomorrow, and why the paua was waiting for me like a gift on the lowest stairs to the beach yesterday morning. There’s lots to be curious about if you live on a beach in New Zealand.