Seasons

There is a time for everything,

    and a season for every activity under the heavens:

    a time to be born and a time to die,

    a time to plant and a time to uproot,     a time to kill and a time to heal,    a time to tear down and a time to build,     a time to weep and a time to laugh,    a time to mourn and a time to dance,     a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,    a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,     a time to search and a time to give up,    a time to keep and a time to throw away,     a time to tear and a time to mend,    a time to be silent and a time to speak,     a time to love and a time to hate,    a time for war and a time for peace.  

(Ecclesiastes 3 :1 - 8) 

The past four weeks have been marked by that all too familiar post Christmas-lull and resumption of routine that leaves you anticipating the longer days and warmer weather that signal a change in season and pace with the onset of spring. The once festive snow has been replaced by hazardous ice and a bitter wind, and the novelty of wrapping up for the cold is replaced by a desire to hibernate like other more sensible species until this period of darkness passes. Voilà January. Since my return to what seems to be more Antarctica than Alsace, I have settled into what can only be described as a season of calm. This is not to say I have suddenly become all inner-stillness and Zen, but that in contrast to the pre-Christmas flurry of activity this month has been a time of plodding on with daily routine, and waiting for the changes (both weather and otherwise…) to reveal themselves in the spring.

The departure after Christmas at home was softened by having my brother as travelling companion and room-mate for a few days, spoiling me with both company and his cooking, and providing a welcome distraction from the return to the world of teaching that (quel surprise) had not got any easier in the 3 months of my time in the profession.  Aside from some encouraging developments, most notably a student voluntarily producing a piece of written English (miracles do happen), I am continuing in the struggle to remain a positive presence in the classroom whilst perhaps considering other possibilities for my future vocation.  Outside promoting my language and culture to French students, my non-professional activity currently consists of braving the year-abroad project (which in truth satisfies my geekish need to do some form of work on during a season sans etudes) and trying to take pleasure in a period of calm that at least means I can take my time on perilous icy paths. Such stillness is challenging for someone a little too fond of being occupied, but alas there is a season for everything.  As January moves into February I am anticipating marking my 21years from abroad, a slightly ironic school trip to London, and following that adventure a welcome continuation of my plod through the winter months into the season to follow.

There is a time for being busy, and a time for assuming a slower pace. There is a time for being surrounded by people, and a time for enjoying your own company. There is a time for familiarity and a time for living a little differently.

The seasons that I miss will come around again, and no doubt be followed by seasons of an altogether different character.  Today is my Nan’s birthday – Happy Birthday if you are reading this! (…ruined the reflective prose with a shout out but I feel it necessary). It is not without some sadness that I think on the family celebrations, or indeed each time I speak to familiar faces from home and learn of the very English lives continuing in my absence. However, there will be again a time for being together, and the resumption of all things past. As we slip into the tendency to long for seasons past and future, we neglect to savour that of the present. There is a time for everything, and each time has something you will miss. As winter gives way to spring, but my season remains decidedly French, heres to finding the joy in the present. Even if its still cold outside.