Night Owl

Dream by day, evade by night. It's a defense mechanism that works - flip the natural sleep cycle upside down when you don't want to deal with reality. At least, not when everybody else is awake.

This was a summer of nights. Nights spent applying for the few stable teaching positions coveted by every other teacher in Los Angeles and trying to figure life out. Nights spent mindlessly avoiding those two goals with books, journals, old dvd collections. I did most of that work between the hours of midnight and 5am.

This is my last week of being a night owl! Even though I slept at around 3am and should still be curled up in bed, I'm wide awake and blogging? I feel jet lagged. My eyes feel agitated. The to-do list is already starting to form in my head.

Four women I know became mothers this summer. How awesome and wonderful is that? They must be night owls too with a to-do list that will last forever. I'm going to brew myself some coffee and make breakfast.

macchiato

This macchiato









is too strong.

I love coffee but I don't know if its supposed to be like this. Bitter? Yes. Am I awake now? Yes. But I wanted this cup of espresso to be gentler. To softly coax me out of bed rather than kick me out of it.









In July, I remember having a macchiato in San Francisco that made me pause. It was from Blue Bottle Coffee at the beautiful Ferry Building. It made me want to drive back and tell them, "I'm sorry I asked for this to go, in a paper cup." It was exquisite. I drank it slowly. I wanted to wake up to that every morning.

My birthday wish this year?

I want everything to make me pause. I want many reasons to say - this life is exquisite.

Mystic Mocha

She was looking for inspiration, for just the right place, for just the right feeling. But it wasn't here.

It wasn't this wooden park bench, awash with a hint of purple. The table's surface weathered by the sun or by another writer perhaps, whose pen excavated the beginnings of a story. It wasn't here. This would not be the place for any of her memories to begin, especially when she was hungry and breakfast wasn't served after three.

But the cafe knew to play Fleetwood Mac, long enough for her to enjoy a scone and two shots of espresso.

"If it's too strong, you can water it down" the young barista explained.

It was too strong, she remembered, the words he wrote.

In those letters he sent her from Hawaii to Los Angeles. He raced across the island to listen to the songs that she said, kept him alive in her heart over the summer. And so their love began, with Fleetwood Mac, the Pacific Ocean and the rest of August between them.

Sitting there on the purple park bench, she stared at the paths before her. Mission. Alabama. Monroe. Signs stood everywhere, each adding to the cacophony of unwelcome signs. This too convinced her that it wasn't here.

The sun a warm blanket, the soft breeze a welcome chill.
The color, her favorite hybrid of red and blue.
The quiet, despite the voice in everything beside her.

This would not be the place, the temperature, or the muse.

So she left the sun and the music. She left the scone half finished, the coffee, strong. She loved this place, but she decided to go. She was hungry for more even though she didn't know what more meant.

Back to the Beginning

I love Koreatown and Cafe Americano. Kiss of life is playing - Sade's song in Hangul - and I love that too.

Being here is comforting. This is the part of town where I started my teaching life, so it feels very appropriate that I'm here today preparing for the second half of the school year. I'm finalizing my lesson plans for my English and History classes and continuing work on my master's inquiry.

Lately, before I start work I always have to take a moment, collect my thoughts and write to myself first. It takes effort for me to be optimistic instead of falling prey to my inner critic (she's brutal). So I'll do here, what I usually do in my personal journal: positive affirmations.

I believe that I am not only passionate about teaching and serving young people, but that I have the tenacity and will to do it.

Teaching is my calling and I have the courage to continue, no matter how many mistakes I make.

Ok. I'm ready. Taking a deep breath, and moving forward!

Writing at Cafe Americano

After doing absolutely nothing productive at home for three hours, I'm here now. At Cafe Americano. I have my decaf, my ham panini, my wi-fi and three pages worth of ideas to gather into a cohesive whole for class.

Love this place. This place usually does the trick - I should be sleeping tonight instead of staring blankly at my computer all morning long =)