How to Measure A Year.

How do you measure a year? In daylight, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee? In inches, in miles in laughter and strife?
– Rent the Musical, Seasons of Love

My contract teaching English in Toulouse is for exactly a year. I arrived early last July and was welcomed to a muggy and hot Toulouse. As the days of June fly by this year, I am realizing that my time here is almost over and thinking about what this year has meant to me.

I spent my first night in France sleeping on the kitchen floor of the apartment sobbing. I had arrived the same morning after a 23-hour flight from Sacramento, visited the semiconductor production site where I now work, and walked the streets of Toulouse. Nothing was as I had expected it. I already missed people back at home. I was certain it had been a mistake to come.

The apartment I had already signed a lease on was the most apparent problem – on arrival I realized it had no windows and the balcony I had expected did not exist. The only shower was in my bedroom – and I would be sharing it with an as yet unknown roommate. Toulouse, perhaps already deserted for the summer, seemed gray, drab and unfriendly –I saw only shuttered windows and empty streets.

On the first day I was shown my new office which I would later call “my dungeon.” It is separated from all other employees, has walls built in cinder block and also has no windows. In addition to this isolation, the work site is located in gloomy urban sprawl that is at best uninspiring and at worst depressing to walk through in the heat, rain or otherwise. Between the dungeon, the site location and the cold industrial feeling of the building, I was convinced that I would be spending my workdays secluded, lonely and uninspired.

On arrival, my French was awkward and clunky after two years of disuse. I had brought The New Yorker with me and read it on my way to work the first week. The difference between the beautifully crafted English in the magazine and my childlike phrases in French almost brought tears to my eyes. I wanted to crawl into my dungeon and never speak French again.

Seen from the kitchen floor that first night, a year in Toulouse seemed an eternity – I would start the job search again and find something else.

I didn’t and two weeks later I was ready to face the thought of a year in Toulouse. After getting some sleep and finding a new apartment, the proposition of living and working in Toulouse seemed much more fruitful than the week before. It might even be fun.

During that week, I stumbled upon the song Seasons of Love from the musical Rent which gave me some insights on how to think about how long a year was – according to the song a year is exactly 525,6000 minutes. When broken down into minutes a year seemed more manageable; anyone can handle a minute of something even if it is bad. I also saw 525,600 opportunities for finding new adventures, meeting new friends and having new experiences.

I am now walking to work counting down how many more days I have left and sadly realizing they are coming to a close. In the end, I have loved my year here and I am glad to have resisted the impulse to run away from the unknown. Despite my initial hesitation, most everything has worked out well. I found a great apartment in the middle of town and I will miss the color, charm and liveliness of Toulouse. My job has turned out to be satisfying and has given me the opportunity to speak with people of many different ages and opinions. What I feared would be an unfriendly work experience has in fact offered many opportunities for socializing: a large cafeteria where everyone eats together, dance classes, oenology courses, ski trips, and sports facilities (all subsidized by the company so not too expensive).

I now have eight days left of teaching. Having such definite bookends as “arrival” and “departure” helps me realize how determinedly time runs forward, and how important it is to jump in before it runs its course. The year’s speedy passing reminds me that I have but a short moment to grab on, try, connect, experience and learn - before the chance is gone.

I recently decided to go to New York to get a Masters degree in Journalism and I am now, again, waking up at 5:30 trying in anticipation of what a year in New York will bring. A year ago I was in exactly the same state of uncertainty and expectation regarding France. One thought that quiets my emotions is the realization that after the unknown becomes known, it is usually difficult to leave it behind. The pain becomes lessons learned, the joy memories to hold onto, and the new rhythm comforting.

The song from Rent says we can measure time in love. I would say my year can be measured in lessons learned, ideas challenged and friends made. But what is perhaps more essential than finding a measure is the realization that time is slippery and will quickly leave us - and to take advantage of opportunities accordingly.