One Step at a Time: Living on the Line

Training for teaching and living in Georgia was boring and intense. On our last day, we were all adopted by our new families and whisked away to a village or city to start our adventures. Collette, a middle-aged hot mama, was the chosen one who would spend the next 4.5 hours riding from Tbilisi to Guria with me. We were picked up by our principals and a random dude, and rode in style in a BMW. Our comrades for the ride spoke not one word of English. Our driver was the random dude, whose name I didn’t catch. I also have no idea who he was, but he was uncle. Who’s? I have no idea, but he was definitely an uncle to someone. Packing our luggage into the trunk was a China sized ordeal, and literally took 44574985 hours of various puzzle style luggage arrangements until they finally realized all of our crap wasn’t going to fit. I guess its Georgia’s version of the old how many clowns can you fit into a Beetle scenario. Finally, they decided that our luggage would be brought to us by a marshukta (van), which meant that it could probably be lost. Spoiler alert: against all odds, it actually made it to us in one piece. I was crammed in the middle for the ride, next to Collette’s principal who kept winking at me and tried to hook me up with random driver man, since we both weren’t married, which I guess translates to single and ready to mingle. I didn’t know how to say “No way sistah” in Georgian so I made a face of disgust in the politest way possible and said “ara, ara, ara” (no) over and over again while shaking my head in a seizure-esque fashion. On a completely unrelated note, the female principal would do the Catholic cross thing-a-ma-jiggy every time we passed a church. Back to the car ride…the feast of a ride served up Khatchapuri and various fruits, like watermelon, plums, etc., which we bought at fruit stands along the way. Apparently, buying fruit takes approximately 20 minutes. Paying for a watermelon became a group decision, complete with bickering, pausing, contemplating, and then more bickering till finally the damn thing was purchased. Purchasing fruit Georgian style manages to be both hilarious and frustrating simultaneously. Fruit stands weren’t the only delightful attractions along the way. There was multiple stands for clay pots, baskets, and hammocks; you just don’t get all these roadside attractions in America…you’d have to take an exit. Georgians make buying shit so convenient. 

Random Fruit Stand

Georgians are winning, in a major way, when it comes to driving like they want to commit suicide. NASCAR doesn’t have shit on your average driver while out on the road. I really think Britney Spears should move here, because it ain’t no thang to drive with an infant sitting on your lap. You could probably drink and drive with said baby on lap too. I do, however, admire a few things about Georgian drivers that I would love to do back in the States. In fact, I’ve often fantasized about doing such things but then images of the po po’s flashed before me and I thought more wisely. Damn the consequences. What are such things I speak of? Allow me to elaborate. First, Georgians drive on the shoulder of the road to pass up stiffs or slow moving traffic. Awesome. Secondly, Georgians follow police vehicles with their sirens on to pass as well. Equally awesome. Why can’t this be legit? It really speeds things up. As an adrenaline junkie, I have to say I find it kind of thrilling that Georgian drivers pass up vehicles, including 18 wheelers, with mere milliseconds to complete this deathtifying feat. It’s like Frogger, but in real life.

I know and understand that drivers get total control of the radio, but it was a bit miserable to have to listen to Enrique Inglesias for 2 hours. He’s much loved here, as is Rap and Techno. Our magical BMW ride smelled a lot like B.O., and Enrique Inglesias didn’t help with increasing enjoyment. What did help was the various going ons occurring on the side of the road: marshutka wrecks, little old ladies sweeping with dwarf sized brooms (yes, they had giant humps on their back); and an insane amount of cows, chickens, pigs, and other edible animals wandering along the streets with no concern for mankanas (cars). Livestock lives it up in Georgia when compared to the factory farms in the US of A. Other animals, however, don’t have it so well. Let’s just say PETA would have a shit fit here. Dogs in particular are treated pretty poorly. There’s tons wandering the streets, half starved, mangy, and mad. I actually managed to save a kitty cat in Tbilisi from his final destination by picking him up and swooning him off to safety from a car backing up at full speed. I don’t mind screwing around with survival of the fittest.

After our mystical journey, we arrived at my principal’s house for an impromptu dinner. Sounds normal right? Only you have to remember that in Georgia, things are never as they appear. Halfway through our meal, the Bebia (grandma) starts shouting in Georgia and everyone got up to see what the fuss was about. I peered into the kitchen where all the commotion was occurring, only to find a cow standing there, chilling just being a cow. I’m not making this stuff up people. Collette loves cows, she likes to “moo at them and shit. I’m jealous that she got to pet the cows that hung out in the back of our hotel, who I affectionately name Paco and Taco. Georgian cows actually let you touch them, unlike the bovine assholes back home. This kitchen cow was simply shooed off, and we resumed dinner like nothing had happened. After about an hour, my host family arrived, minus Deda (mother) to take me to my new abode. Mama (father) is a large guy, and Nino and Nana are 12 year old twins who are the sweetest little cutesicles ever. They look at me adoringly every day, genuinely happy to have an unrelated older sister living with them, even if it’s only for an unspecified amount of time. They’re absolutely fabulous.

My host family has a Little Miss Sunshine van, and by that I mean a van you have to push to start. Our house is the typical Georgian archetype of a home: we have chickens, cows, goats, and a ton of miscellaneous fruits and vegetables. All meals are 100% homemade from produce and animal products all coming from the farming and livestock tending skills of host mother and father. Whole Foods can suck it: were wayyyyyy more organic here, without the pretentiousness and hefty prices you find at this elite supermarket. On the second day, Georgia laid down my first truly WTF moment---the kind of WTF moment that’s so sad you have to laugh or you’ll go crazy. Our host nephew, Giorgi, who’s only 2, was staying with us. We ventured to the neighbors house to go see their chicks, who were just running around the house. Giorgi got hold of one of them, and squeezed the life of the darling little creature, who let out this horrible squawking noise. The adults began yelling at him and nabbed the poor animal from his death grip. Unfortunately, it was too late for this little guy, and he was placed on the floor, alive and kicking…kind of. Apparently, Giorgi broke his spine or neck (or both), and he couldn’t walk or lift his head up. He just lay there on the floor chirping and moving his body with his head on the floor. If you’d like a visual, YouTube “Timmy’s Thanksgiving turkey” on South Park to get an image of what I’m talking about it. I don’t know why they just didn’t end the chicks misery, maybe they thought it would heal?!

There are so many events that happen every day in Georgia that are strange, shocking, hilarious, and wonderful. You literally never know what’s going to happen. Every day is kind of like a hot mess, and I kind of like it.

The lowdown. A.K.A. the dirty dirty

FYI: TLG stands for Teach and Learn in Georgia-it’s the government program run by the Ministry of Education and the department which employs us

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After 5 days of intense training (we’re talking approximately 10 hours a day people), I think it’s safe to say that myself and fellow TLG’ers are bonded; we’re kind of like a band of brothers (and sistas) now. I’d like to share a little bit of info on this motley crew.

• Simon- Saucy Simon is a British BAMF from York who loves toast, hates my jokes, is unsure about his parent’s eye color, and is emphatically polite (kind of sounds like a pitch for a dating show). The archetypal British gentleman, Simon is the ultimate master of politeness and all things good; indeed, I very much doubt that he could ever tell a lie. Glad he never wanted to be a lawyer.

• Caitlin- Hailing from Montana, cutie cupcake pie Caitlin loves horses and singing. She also thinks, that Australians, among other things, are dangerous (if you’re reading this my down under friends, I want to give a shout out and hope that you’re keeping it real). That’s all I got.

•   Mark- Marky Mark is a rascal and Orlandian, and most would say he’s pretty fly for a white guy. On the weekends, you can catch him kicking it old G style with his bros and hos in southern Florida. He likes to shop at Banana Republic and loves Kerouac and hipster girls.

• The sassy Aussie Adam talks a big game. But can he back it up?! He also likes to rag on America… a lot. Here’s a beautiful picture he drew:

USA represented on the left (yep, that says NRA), New Zealand in the middle, and Australia on the right

•  Jacob- This naughty New Zealand native also hates my jokes (as does Adam AND Simon-they just don’t get it), and looks a little bit like Michael Fassbender (in person). When asked how he feels about Americans, Jacob said, “they’re so funny in their spontaneity and are always doing silly things in the media!” Note-statement was influenced by the Antoine Dodson video.

• Radical Rob- Mr. Rob flew to the mystical Georgia from Colorado. He rips guitar better than Hendrix and enjoys folk music, vegetarian cuisine, and mountaineering.

•  Ashley- Disappointingly, classy Ashley has no Canadian accent. Kind of a bummer, eh? She always dresses cute and wears scarves or other delightful accessories. Girl gonna be my main competition when he have our TLG awards in the ‘best dressed’ category.

• Greg: A Texas/California hybrid, gregarious Gregory loves big states. Watch out Alaska. He also enjoys snapping photos and being there for his pals. Previous teaching experience? Check. Old Greg taught in South Korea, which he LOVED like OMGGGG!

• The Beast- This will take a while. More later…stay tuned!

So there you have it! Some dirt on my home dawgs. We’ll all be leaving tomorrow to go to our prospective host families so our bond will be tested. I have unwavering faith in my crazy comrades. I’ll be in a village-Dvanzbu-in the region of Guria-in the town/city of Ozurgeti, along with 4 other TLG’ers. We're going to do so many activities!!!

Sailin' away on the crest of a wave, it's like magic. Oh, rolling and riding, slipping and sliding: it’s magic. Making believe this is what you’ve conceived. I feel like Kid Cudi-
Imma tell you how in a minute,
Imma show you how I be livin' Second chances given out for some
All you gotta do is take advantage. Imma tell you how in a minute,
Imma show you how I be livin' Now I'm zonin, seein' things so vivid,
I'm a soul, nah homie, not even,
Imma zone out till I lose feeling,
Remember Imma be gone way past November,
Even stay up there, up there,
Floatin, floatin, hopin
I could find peace somewhere.

Time to Peace Out

I’m leaving, on a jet plane, not sure when I’ll be back again, to live and teach English in a relatively unknown and developing country: Georgia. I’m sure the vast majority of people don’t know the meaning of the word “conation,” unless of course you’re like me, and spent time memorizing an unknown number of obscure words for the GRE. Obtaining a secure grasp on that mystical subject of geography is a rare feat for many of us Americans, so the term “Caucasus” may be just as alien as the concept of conation. I’ll clarify both, with some insight by long deceased philosophers.

According to Scottish philosopher Sir William Hamilton, "If we take the Mental to the exclusion of material phenomena, that is, phenomena manifested through the medium of Self-Consciousness or Reflection, they naturally divide themselves into the three categories or primary genera; the phenomena of Knowledge or Cognition, the phenomena of Feeling or of Pleasure and Pain [affective], and the phenomena of Conation or Will and Desire." Conation is the instigation and regulation of behavior; it is what impels action, whereas the cognitive compels.

Conation is a basic endeavor-the source of all striving, longing, ambition and self-expression. It is the tendency for a person to persist against obstacles, the very essence of the person, for it is through conation that one perseveres in one's own being. Conation is the obtaining of means and making effective use of such means.

Ultimately, conation is ones concept of coming to terms with the world: it is self-actualization, the matrix of all motivation. Only through living productively, with constant vigilance, activity, and effort can we avoid failure and the one task that matters most-the full development of our talents without the limitations set by the laws of our existence…to be yourself and achieve happiness by the full realization of those faculties which are particularly inherent, disparate from others and unique to the individual.

In short, conation is action derived from instinct- a purposeful mode of striving, volition. Volition (will) is an act of the mind leading to action and the power to produce it. Turning ones thoughts inward on what passes in the mind allows one to see that volition is conversant upon that particular determination of the mind whereby the mind endeavors to give rise, continuation or stop to any action which it takes to be in its power. No other of man’s activities reaches so far in its consequences, both to the individual and to society, as does that of his will. History is a record of mans strivings and failures-the social and ethical sciences are founded on it. Culture and civilization depend on the regulated volitions, repressions, and inhibitions of individuals and nations.

As for the next term, a succinct explanation will suffice. The Caucasus is a mountain system in Eurasia spread out through the countries of Russia, Georgia, Turkey, Armenia, and Azerbaijan. Mount Elbrus, at 18,510 feet, is the highest peak of the mountain system.

Basically, like many young adults in their early 20’s, who have recently graduated, I have no idea what the hell I want to do with my life. One thing’s for sure: I do not want to be stuck in some office, with fluorescent lights, cubicles, robot like co-workers on autopilot, and an asshole boss (think Office Space) for the rest of my life. The mundane aspect and inevitable boredom would kill me. Remember the scene with the receptionist who says “Just a moment” repeatedly in the same exact high-pitched voice/tone over and over again? To me, that’s a prescription for Prozac. Unfortunately, I’m one those people who constantly crave (and almost live for) new, novel experiences, spontaneity, and stimulation. I constantly long for the different, random, and foreign aspects of life. Without such change, I feel listless, bored, unchallenged, and ultimately unfulfilled.

I’ve always wanted to live and work abroad, as well as travel extensively. That has been my will (with volition and conation intertwined). Since I lack a well defined career goal, I figured the best way to develop one would be moving thousands of miles away to a developing country. I promise though, there’s a method to my madness, and I’ve got some good vibrations about this little trip. Of course I’ll miss my friends, family, dog, and chick ‘fil a (who wouldn’t miss this culinary sensation and gustatory delight?) Thankfully, someone invented Skye, probably Al Gore, and keeping in touch is as simple as getting car insurance with Geiko. MGMT said it best: “I’m feelin rough, I’m feelin raw I’m in the prime of my life…This is our decision to live fast and die young. We’ve got the vision, now let’s have some fun. Yeah it’s overwhelming, but what else can we do, get jobs in offices and wake up for the morning commute? I’ll miss the comfort of my mother and the weight of the world. I’ll miss my [brother], miss my father, miss my dog and my home. Yeah, I’ll miss the boredom and the freedom and the time spent alone. Love must be forgotten, life can always start up anew.”

Ladies and gentleman, Elvis has left the building.