What’s Your Story by Herminia Ibarra and Kent Lineback reinforced my suspicions that people do not understand nor accept my lifestyle — the traveling, the vagabond, the nomadic, the transient. My life is in a constant state of change — and I love it. The article adduced that people don’t like to open up because they will appear, “wayward, lost, and flailing,” (Ibarra & Lineback, 2005, p. 69). I find that to be true. I have seen how people react when I tell them my story. Usually I receive a response, “I couldn’t do that,” or “That sounds difficult,” or “What does your husband think?” There is a stigma with living in flux but it is living in flux that is my constant.

Impacts

My nomadic life started well before I began to travel. The first impressions were from listening to stories about my grandparents and how they were always on the move. My father’s side of the family were Mennonites who migrated around Europe and when they came to the United States, they migrated around there as well. My mother’s side were gypsies. They, too, traversed Europe and the States. The stories I heard about my families where how they were always transitioning. There was always a war, famine, religious persecution, or the desire for opportunities that pushed them to another place. Listening to the past helped me shape who I was mentally before I ever received the first stamp in my passport.

At a very young age my parents also took us — my brother and me — on road trips across the United States in November. Always the week of Thanksgiving, which happens to be my birthday week. My parents would take me of class and my homework assignment would be to journal on what I did. I spent almost every birthday on the road. Sometimes it was in cinder block motels in towns with no stoplights; sometimes it was in beautiful bed and breakfasts that survived the war. No matter where we were, my happiest memories were away from home. But I was home. I was with my older brother and my parents. I would sit in the back of the mammoth gray suburban looking out the windows at the world and watch as the vines gave way to snowy mountains and then to vast deserts. We would sing, play games, tell stories, or listen to my father give a history lesson on where we going. These were the lessons that I would chirp back at my classmates when I returned from our family adventures. This chirping would reveal my learning disorder.

Just like my mother, I was dyslexic.

Learning

My mother realized I was dyslexic when I would read a story to my family but I didn’t turn the pages along with the words. I would turn them at random and like a little mocking bird chirp what I heard my parents already read to me. I had complete books memorized. My mother had me tested and I was enrolled in a program. This was the first time that I realized I was different.

I don’t remember much about being dyslexic. My mother is and recognized the signs and had me put in a program. I went to a special eye doctor were I would do — what my kid brain thought of as games — tests and exercises. They were tools to help retrain my brain. In school I would go to the ESL class and learn how to read with the foreign students.

As I left my “normal” class to go to “special ed” I would get teased as I silently got up and left for the last hour of the day. It was such a release to leave class and go with the kids who were getting help with their learning needs. I felt at home in the classroom with about eight to twelve students. There were two teachers. We would all be assigned different activities. I usually had to work on phonetics. I listened to audiotapes as I followed along in a book.  I didn’t realized how much I needed this attention. The teachers were wonderful and I felt a connection with them.

Years later I was assuring a student of mine that she had the ability to learn English; it will just take some time. Her frustration took me to a memory from twenty years previously when I would cry while playing Hooked on Phonics with my mother. It is because of the struggle that I connect with language learners. I share the fact that I didn’t learn to read until I was about twelve years old with my students. This surprises almost all of them — especially the ones who learned to read at such a young age. But for the ones who are struggling in school, it gives them hope. We work together to help them not only with their schoolwork, but also with loving themselves where they are in their learning journey.

Self-Acceptance

Jai was the first person I met who understood my need and desire to travel. She was a Navy brat who was shuttled all around the world by the time I met her in sixth grade. Her mother is from Hong Kong and Jai and her family went back every summer to visit her grandparents. The summer after senior year in high school I got to go with her family. That trip introduced me to Asia. The food, the culture, the people, it was all marvelous. I was in my element. We ventured to Tokyo, Hong Kong, and Beijing. I learned so much about the world and myself in that summer.

I learned what I did and didn’t like. I learned about what kind of places I like to go to and which types of people I like to surround myself with. And I had a close friend who I could talk to the whole way through the experience. Jai and I have a wonderful nonjudgmental friendship. We can say anything to each other and we know the other will think about it logically and give an honest answer. This habit started in high school when we would write letters to each other every day rehashing what happened the day before. We didn’t have any classes together so every morning we would eagerly exchange our letters recounting the previous day. These letters included our personal struggles, family issues, school gossip, and poetry that we wrote or found in our fathers’ book collections. To this day we ring each other to catch up.

Values

Freshman year of college there was an opportunity to work in Mongolia teaching English over the summer. I didn’t know where Mongolia was but I jumped at the chance to get back to Asia. I gathered books on how to teach English, pack a duffle, and called my mother.

Teaching in Mongolia was an eye opener. It was my first job aside from working on the family farm. The first week was difficult, but I was hooked. Seeing students slowly learn to communicate in my language was the best feeling in the world. I was helping them. They were learning. Me, someone who struggled in school was able to help others learn. I found my calling in life.

I was very concerned about a couple of the students who were falling behind. My boss told to stay on track and keep moving — if the students want to learn, that is up to them. I couldn’t believe it. Give up on a student? I cannot imagine what my life would be like if I didn’t have teachers who believed in me. Young and naive, I did as my boss said and worked through. When I was given the opportunity to teach again, I decided to teach how I wanted to.

The next year my mother got a phone call from me telling her I was moving to Mexico so I could learn Spanish. I was struggling in school and decided to focus on my second major and to set aside my first major and the minor.

When I was studying Spanish a teacher at the school asked if I could tutor him. Of course! I tutored him and a couple other Spanish teachers. It was wonderful. We would talk about poetry, art, and music. We let our passions direct our learning. We would go to the movies and local art exhibits and discuss what we saw. By focusing on topics that excited us, our language skills improved drastically. I thought this is how we should learn.

A value I hold dear is the need for understanding the curious and allowing a student to learn. “Leadership principles are values translated into action,” (George, Sims, McLean & Mayer, 2007, p. 135). When teaching I like to create an environment for knowledge-sharing and understanding. With my students I let them know they can ask me any question without reprimand — that includes what some would consider bad language.

My students are exposed to images and language I cannot control, but I can help my students understand cultural appropriation and context. I also allow my students to ask me any personal questions. I am some students’ first contact with a foreigner and they are curious. I cannot be shut off to them. By asking me questions they are asking for the opportunity to learn, whether it is about English, my culture, or me. Once I was asked, “Teacher, why do you look the way you do? Why not like Thai people?” Some might be offended, but I understand my students are curious. I do look different — it’s a fact. With the help of my co-teacher the class discussed genetic traits, shared pictures of our families via Facebook, and talked about Thai’s views on people looking different versus the United States’ views on people who look different. That dialogue wouldn’t have opened if I decided to not answer the question. This trust between my students and myself is the foundation of my teaching.

Motivation

Intrinsic motivation is stronger than extrinsic when it comes to the desire to teach. The extrinsic motivation to quit teaching is stronger. Many people don’t understand why I love working overseas and the transient lifestyle. They don’t understand why I teach English as a foreign language. When I leave, there is someone giving me a reason to quit teaching. And until recently, I have been allowing them to convince me to come “home”.

I am fortunate enough to have met my husband who knows this is my passion and understands why I pursue teaching abroad. He is very supportive when we spend a year apart. He is also very logical about it: as a navy wife I am willing to wait while he deploys for work — why can’t he wait while I leave for work? This has been very hard for people to understand. Our marriage is a happy one — we respect each other’s career goals and we support each other no matter the distance between us. As Gandhi said, “Love is boundless like the ocean and, swelling within one, spreads itself out and, crossing all boundaries and frontiers, envelops the whole world.”

Who am I?

By meeting new people when I travel, I confirm who I am as a person — I am a teacher, traveler, and diarist. I love sharing knowledge, traveling with my life companion, and writing down my experiences. I am an empathizer and restorer. I appreciate individuals I encounter and adapt to my surroundings. I always have a backup plan. I am calm and steady. I am me.

Reference

George, B., Sims, P., Mclean, A. N., & Mayer, D. (2007). Discovering your authentic leadership. Harvard Business Review, (February), 129–138.

Ibarra, H. & Lineback, K. (2005). What’s your story? Harvard Business Review, (January), 65–71. http://doi.org/10.1163/9