Shaping Up (or they will ship me out!)

This morning I was rather calm for someone who was running fifteen minutes late to meet a new student. ''Karen'' happens to work in the IT department at my language school, so when I arrived at the office, everyone was aware that I was late. The problem is, I didn't really care. I go to the office very rarely, but when I do go there, I exchange pleasantries as quickly as possible before leaving again. I see most of my students at my university or at their offices in La Défense, the business district.

This morning I had emailed and called ahead, so instead of being worried about my lateness, I was annoyed about having to ''faire un déplacement'' (to travel) for one student. Usually I refuse one-off students, and cancel lessons when I am travelling for only one person. I'd rather make no money than divide my hourly salary in three to account for travel time. This behavior is somewhere between unprofessional and simply Johanna-esque (the latter can be dangerous, as I'm learning). Since I am paid per lesson taught, however, there are financial repercussions to these decisions.

I enjoy the freedom of being an independent contractor, of building my own business, of saying who, when, and how much (though there's much less wiggle room when it comes to how much). But is it really a life of freedom if I'm in a constant tug-of-war with my long-term financial security and monthly budget?

When I lived in a shared apartment and had a very affordable rent, this inconsistent work ethic was tenable. Now that I live on my own (and my expenses doubled), the consequences are greater. And, since I chose to dip into my savings rather than work for most of April, May, June, July, August, and, yes, September, too, I'm running out of patience with myself. Yet I'm still refusing work. In early September I was hired to teach at a university within walking distance of my apartment. I turned it down, for reasons I still can't enumerate. Yesterday I was asked to take on a full day of lessons in a nearby suburb; I declined. In part, I'm hoping something better will come along (although I struggle to define ''better''); in part I've been spoiled into thinking that the money I need will arrive without my having to actually do anything (this happened this summer when my old bank sent me fifteen hundred euros to compensate for an administrative error on their part -- the money was mine; I'd just assumed I'd already spent it).

The truth is, yes, the money will arrive, but I have to EARN it. And there's nothing special about me for doing just that.

But back to my new student, who I accepted after panicking, à nouveau, about my declining savings: within minutes of sitting down, Karen spoke easily and openly. She mentioned a six-week backpacking trip to Mali and Burkina Faso. I was full of curiosity and questions. She talked about the late ethnographer, Amadou Hampâté Bâ, who inspired her trip. I made a note to look up his work (once I'm finished with The Epic of Gilgamesh, which I heartily recommend: super powers and sexual shenanigans galore, in a very appealing journey back to the land of the Tigris and Euphrates!).

Upon arriving in Mali, Karen found a local guide and began her journey, traveling from village to village on an old, rickety, window-less bus, changing guides almost as often as the bus broke down. The village men kept her separate from their women as much as possible (being told the women didn't speak French), although she later realized she was kept away from them for fear the women would talk too much about the inequalities they suffered. She described her open-air mud-hut shower stalls, and how when one local dish made her sick, she had to buy rice for the locals, since the villagers couldn't afford to buy it themselves. When I thought about the bountiful jars of rice, quinoa, and soba noodles sitting in my cupboard, I began to feel guilty.

Karen and I briefly compared the advantages of that lifestyle with the métro, boulot, dodo routine (commute, work, sleep) here. They had no money, and they had no electricity, but she countered that with ''no one is alone or lonely there. Ever!'' She added that they enjoyed the sense of community  and solidarity that arises out of necessity in bush country -- in comparison, both are lacking in our more ''civilized societies.''

After talking with Karen, I see that I'm being very self-indulgent and lazy. I have chosen to live in a world that is ruled by money; as such, I've got to play by the rules of that world, even if I pride myself on doing things my way. As I type, my hand is reaching for the telephone to call my boss and accept the full day of lessons. I can't expect those new students will make me smile as much as Karen did today, but at least I will know they are helping me ensure my continued life here in France -- a life I've been proud to create, refine, and share -- and when I'm wise and centered, it is also a life that makes me smile.