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Disclaimers
This post features my observations of Uruguayan people and culture as a guest, foreigner, and outsider. I am sharing only one individual's limited perspective of Uruguay and Uruguayans. It should not be received as a generalization of culture or people. (This blog, this post, and all related accounts are not an official Department of State publication, and the views and information presented are the Grantee’s and do not represent the Fulbright Program, ECA, the Post, Fulbright Commission, or the host country’s government or institutions.) In Montevideo, Uruguayans live for the weekdays.
At Monday night swing-dance classes, they animatedly arrive between 7:20 and 8:00 p.m., slickly sliding into the jazz choreography in their work or athleisure clothes. After the class ends, they quickly walk or Uber to a bar down the road for elongated dinner and drinks. If you were to stroll La Rambla on a random sunny Tuesday or Wednesday afternoon, you would have to plot your path through the maze of strollers, couples holding hands, and groups of teenagers who nonchalantly traverse the bike path. Everyone has the same idea to picnic at sunset on the coastline grass with their materas, the steam softly billowing from their termo as they pour their next serving of mate. On Thursdays, they depart their homes in the darkness to their weekly book clubs; at 10:00 p.m., they arrive just in time for dinner. And on Fridays, Uruguayans truly come out to play. Restaurants are packed from 6:00 p.m. until 1:00 a.m., from merienda to post-dinner cocktails and desserts. They are experts at indulgence, nurturing their sweet tooth with the same tenderness with which they cradle their mate and termo over unpredictably bumpy bus rides. They live a philosophy of antes muerta que sencilla: dead before simple. I have observed that Uruguayans perceive days as their own 24-hour entities. A weekday is divided into diligent contract hours and mellow afternoons that transition into boisterous evenings at the dinner table with family. Sleep is often sacrificed to foster precious connections. Mondays and Saturdays are weighted equally in opportunity. Instead of idly waiting for a reservation to revive on the weekend, Uruguayans live each day to the fullest. And so, in June, I accepted that magnetic invitation of vitality. June is the coda: the concluding section of the final movement of my story in Montevideo. Therefore, my weekdays at school sites vibrated with emotion, grand performances, and cumulative presentations. I fought with myself to pause, reset, and process through the deafening whirlwind of opportunities. Me sobrecargaba. I overworked myself. But unlike the allegro orchestral pieces I grappled with in high school, I could not practice resetting my bow on my rosin-stained cello strings. I just had to push through and pray my hands would remain steady. Most of my most momentous memories materialized on Mondays—well, and on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays. The sections below feature various euphoric career milestones and associated reflections that I now have the privilege of time to write.
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Disclaimer
(This blog, this post, and all related accounts are not an official Department of State publication, and that the views and information presented are the Grantee’s and do not represent the Fulbright Program, ECA, the Post, Fulbright Commission, or the host country’s government or institutions.) I played Dixit for the first time at the Fulbright two-month check-in meeting. This open-ended card game features a collection of stunningly nuanced paintings or drawings on each face. In this version of the game, our coordinator prompted each of us to choose two cards: one that represented a moment of pride or joy and another for a challenge we faced in April or May.
My prideful card depicted a child walking through a forest green hilly landscape under a sunset sky. The child blows bubbles in the shapes of planets into the sky, which rise above the sunset’s borders into the borderless night sky littered with stars. In my card of challenge, a white daisy threatens to crack through the floor of concrete it grows through. The daisy’s stem yanks at the petals; a few are already missing. Two petals float off into the distant, dark cloudy background. What do you think they mean? I’ll give you a moment. . . Just checking in, are you ready? It’s ok. Take your time. I’m not in any rush. Alright, let’s continue. The prideful card signifies blowing out my ideas into existence. Each of the planets represent one project or idea I brought to life in the past two months: a video exchange system with a Spanish immersion school in Duluth, Minnesota, a children’s book guide, swing dance classes, and writing original songs to share with my students. Now, they float out in the universe among the stars. My ideas are strung together, constructing a constellation: a visual synopsis of my contributions and lessons. I hope the impact of this bubble solar system, this constellation, lingers after I depart Montevideo. The card of challenge is a visual representation of the first month settling into a new life in Uruguay. I scoured websites for volunteer opportunities, optimistically messaged contacts about course hours, and leapt out of my comfort zone to visit unfamiliar parts of the city. When I arrived in Montevideo, I was handed a white daisy of possibilities. Each event and bus trip to Ciudad Vieja was a petal. And when those fell through, or I realized the possibility could not blossom into reality, the petal was yanked away by the stem. Yank! Yank! Yank! Yank! One after the other, possibilities stripped away until I was left almost hopeless. Despite my routine misfortune, I kept going out, manifesting new possibilities. My gifted flower displayed layers of petals—it was nowhere near bare. And with time, the stem relinquished its tension on a few petals. The flower of possibility is not in full bloom anymore, but it is still standing strong because now, it is planted in soft soil of trust and relationships, not the crumbling concrete of uncertainty. Dixit was the prelude to a four-hour meeting of reflection and looking forward. As the calendar creeps closer to June, the sun inches closer to the precipice of setting on my time in Montevideo. Time is an illusion, it’s true. The second month passed in a flash. It is taxing to recall everything that occurred in a day. I championed reluctance every evening when I snuggled into my comfortable bed with four layered blankets for warmth. My journal was heavy in my hands, and sometimes picking it up and confronting the next empty page was too much of a chore. I am grateful for the chilly nights when I found the strength to write a bullet-point list of events that transpired. It is a resource I leaned on when crafting this post. And I know I will regret not filling in the spaces of two, three days in between entries when I backtrack back home. That being said, this post is my best attempt at recollection. My journal, “Favorites” photo album, and emotions serve as my comforting guides. So without further ado, here’s a reflection on month two. 
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(This blog, this post, and all related accounts are not an official Department of State publication, and that the views and information presented are the Grantee’s and do not represent the Fulbright Program, ECA, the Post, Fulbright Commission, or the host country’s government or institutions.)
On Tuesday, one of the other grantees texted our group chat with the thought provoking prompt: “How was day 2 (with a song?)”. Usually, I struggle to connect my reflections to obscure references, but this time, a song immediately jumped through my head. The chipper, encouraging Cheers TV show theme, “You wanna go where everybody knows your name” seamlessly floated into my train of thought. Let me explain.
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Whenever I travel, I intentionally avoid tourist traps. And I am not just talking about the tacky souvenir shops overflowing with snow globes and other plastic knick knacks with the bold “Made in China” label lazily plastered on the bottom.
Most of the items purchased in these exhibitionist stores will either be thrown away, gather dust on a shelf next to a family photo, or be packed up in a box for the holidays. (The only really worthwhile items to purchase at tourist traps are postcards –a category of the lost art of letter writing, or free art to nail above a bedroom mirror– or a magnet, which will lay on your fridge until the end of time.) As I roam the cobblestone or concrete streets of a new city, I filter out inauthenticity or a strategic sales pitch – anything that aims at settling rose-colored glasses on the bridge of my freckled nose. Tour guides, brochures, or a shimmering paper weight that shove something beautiful in your face to distract you from the complex, dark, and haunting reality of an advertised “historical” city. Travel is a privilege, just as access to diverse perspectives, storytelling, and historical sources is a privilege (although, thanks to social media, intersectional voices are more readily available within a simple swipe). It is an action of intentional displacement, of exploration. Travel is a choice; how, where, when, and what of the itinerary is also a choice. Specifically, how you travel matters. 
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Happy New Year!
This post serves as my reflections on 2023 and wishes for the upcoming year. I hope 2024 brings you opportunities, challenges, self-discoveries, adventures, and revelations! 
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The Substitute Chronicles
This series features the reflections after each of my shifts as a substitute teacher. I candidly disclose my complex emotions, reactions, and experiences in a job that changes every day. Follow along as I process the absence of routine and the ups and downs of working as a guest teacher! It is hard to believe the dramatic change in weather and the foreshadowing of snowflakes that fell at sunrise. As the maple trees commenced their yearly metamorphosis to produce luscious maroons, clementine orange, and daffodil yellow leaves, I floated among schools, grade levels, and districts. In one month, I traversed through preschool, kindergarten, and third grade, assisting as a paraprofessional and leading as a teacher. I returned to my former second-grade classroom, bridging connections with a different generation. In the hours dedicated to facilitation and on-the-fly simultaneous decisions, I spun through routines and around unfamiliar rooms, like a lost leaf in the wind.
After each shift, each milestone, I sat on my soft leather couch and wrote everything down. Every story, every frustration, every question, every lesson. So that ten years from now, when I stand in my own classroom with established rules and community, I can reflect on these few months of disorder and enlightenment. Substitute teaching presents the challenge of overcoming insecurity and foraging confidence when I am the most out of place. This job is a provider of second chances and a platform to practice, strategize, and most importantly, learn. 
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While on vacation in Maine, my family and I invented a game: “North Shore or coastal Maine”?
We spent four days in Bar Harbor, Maine, a town snuggled in next to Acadia National Park. The town center is down the road of clusters of motels and colonial-era inns, advertising “Acadia in our backyard.” There must be at least three on every block, each commanding its own space with impressive columns or idyllic masonry fit for a postcard. About a fifteen-minute drive down the road rests the center of Bar Harbor: a cluster of streets packed tight with restaurants boasting the best locally caught lobster in the state, lobster ice cream, and redundantly branded apparel. 
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With the school year only a week away, it’s time to announce my plans as a transitioning teacher (as much as I would like to ignore the “Back to School” ads and classroom set-up videos).
I will be working part-time as a substitute teacher!! You read that right. I will not participate in classroom set-up and professional development meetings. However, I will still gain valuable experiences in classrooms around my city. This fall, I will take my first solo flight as a teacher, managing students across grade levels, environments, and demographics. And as we stay in teacher lingo, my bucket of teaching strategies will fill with each day. 
Photo by my lovely and talented classmate, Grace Magill. Check out her photography website!
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Graduation is right around the corner. Start the countdown, folks! Only two days to go!
In the pivotal moment of moving the tassel across my cap and walking across the grand stage, I will conclude a four-year-long chapter. Soon, I will no longer be a “future teacher” but a fully licensed teacher! So with that, farewell everyone. It’s been a good run. No way! You didn’t really believe that this would be the end, did you? No, no, no, this is just the beginning. Follow Journal of a Future Teacher on social media!
I’m done. . .and wait what I’m graduating?! I need to repeat that again to make it feel more real. I’m done student teaching, and in two weeks, I’m graduating college.
The next time I enter a classroom, it will be my own. After (at least) 600 hours in the classroom, the universe has determined that I am ready to be a teacher. Soon, I will receive my licenses and officially become Miss Hesterman to a group of curious, goofy agents of change. Throughout the past year, I have jumped from one end of my licensure to another. (For those of you who are new –hello!– I will earn a license in both general and special early childhood education.) In those 24 weeks of early mornings and endless adventures. . . |
AuthorMeghan Hesterman (she/her) is an aspiring educator, storyteller, and traveler. Through regular posts and commentary, she candidly reflects on her evolution as an educator and young adult. Categories
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