"Miss, Miss" and thoughts on foreignness

Life in the classroom continues to keep me on my toes. The classes have finally, FINALLY been split up into smaller sections based on language skills and there appears to be a inverse ratio between students per class and the ability to hear yourself think. Now the average class size hovers around 10 or so which is perfect. The kids are all eager to have a native speaker in the room and have with startling accuracy guessed my accent as "either Canadian or American," about as close as you can get to Maine. 

Something funny happens to vowels when native Greek speakers use English -- for instance i's become ee's and so when the students are trying to get my attention what I end up responding to is "Mees, Mees." No last name, I don't think they come across many Driscoll's in Athens. But generally they are very interested in the U.S. and many of them know a great deal more than I remember knowing about American politics. In a current events course one student expressed the idea that if the earth is a body, the U.S. is the pulse -- with this kind of perspective it's no wonder they're closely following the election, the falling market, and all the other weary stateside news. Overall the classroom has been great -- I've been able to teach small sections by myself (Dead Poets Society and "The Road Not Taken") and the kids seem pretty receptive. It is reassuring to have actual teachers in the room, though, as I'm not exactly one for disciplinarian measures. We'll see how long I can get away without them. 

I've been thinking a lot recently about why people choose to do things like this -- leave home, leave the country and separate themselves an ocean away from everyone they know. Consider the so-called "Lost Generation" and the expatriates who made Europe seem like the U.S.'s glamorous and free-spirited alter-ego. Isn't it strange that now when college grads pack up and move abroad they're oftentimes doing so under the pretenses of "finding themselves?" I think I have to reject the term. Wouldn't it be easiest to find yourself where your self has always been, safely in the context that you grew up in, nestled in among your roots? Maybe people do things like this not to find themselves, but to lose themselves, even if only for the duration of their stay. To not have the stability offered by hearth and home, to not know where they ought to be going and to literally not even know how to ask. Are we finding ourselves or are we hoping to wake up not knowing where we are or what we've gotten ourselves into? Of course, as any well-trained (think Pavlov) liberal arts graduate will tell you the answer is probably "both." In letting oneself be lost, eventually, inevitably you find your way. 

Or so I hope.