This is really a Motivate Me post, but I'm not feeling very motivated, and
it's my own dang fault. Or is it? I was supposed to go to the gym
today and do 30 minutes of cardio, 100 squats, and 100 crunches...or something
like that. Well. I didn't even make it out of the house. I
failed. I did do 50 squats while I waited for my popcorn to pop.
And I did 50 more after I ate a piece of our anniversary cake. So, I
guess I only partially failed. Is partial failure really a failure?
Or is it a partial success? This is a matter of paradox and perspective,
isn't it? The fact that I did relatively nothing that I view meaningful
today may be seen as lack of ambition--complete laziness. Or, it may be
seen as a rare opportunity to relax. Just because I seem to have more
opportunities to "relax" than many others shouldn't necessarily mean
I'm a slacker. Or am I providing myself with yet another justification
for a wasted day? I did a load of laundry! I made my husband
dinner! Ha! Though I suspect nobody would actually think I ate my
husband, let me rephrase that: I made dinner for my husband! I
walked ten feet to the mailbox! I caught up with two girlfriends on the
phone! I wrote a lengthy email and now am writing this! I'm
contemplating some push-ups but canceling my crunches due to all the
over-eating that occurred today. There have been less productive days,
just as there have been more productive days, in the history of days. So
why am I beating myself up? Why do I feel as if I've failed?
As a teacher, I came to know many students who truly saw themselves as
failures. They believed they could not write poetry or understand
difficult reading or get an essay started or even come up with an idea for a
paper. They believed they could not, would not, succeed, not matter what
they did--never mind what they did was often sit there comatose or paralyzed or
both, utterly convinced that no movement on their part could ever make an iota
of a difference.
I often wondered what had happened in such kids' lives that rendered them so
adamant about that with which they were so inexperienced. How did they
know they couldn't read Thoreau? Had they ever tried--really
tried? Did someone one day see them sitting on a park bench holding an
open volume of Walden and swoop up, undetected, snatch the book from
their hands and yell, "You can't read that! It's
impossible!"? And if such a person had done that, why on earth would
this kid, this young, curious, mind, ever believe this person?
After many years of hearing students say they couldn't do something I was
convinced they could do, I began to get a little nosy. Instead of
reiterating the importance of trying or showing my frustration with some
obvious gestures of impatience, such as a sigh, or a caught breath followed by
a turn of my head to the next student who was, evidently, trying, I began to
get a little personal. Instead of letting the impotent student carry on
in what was clearly (to me at the time) a ploy to avoid having to work, a technique
to try to get me to do their work for them, I began to get a little
honest.
One student repeatedly told me he couldn't write--that he was a bad
writer and never had anything to say. Every time students were supposed
to be eagerly, frantically journaling at the beginning of class, or writing a
timed essay (this was a student in my AP Language and Composition class!), or
brainstorming, for goodness sake, he just sat there, twiddling his pen between
two fingers.
I finally went right up to him and said, "Let me guess.
You're a bad writer?"
He said, "Yep."
When journal time was up, I spoke to the class, using this particular
student as an example. I realized immediately that he might not
appreciate what I was about to do, but his future depended on the next few
minutes. I reminded the class that the purpose of journaling was to
develop fluidity and voice. What they said wasn't as important as
the fact that they said something--anything at all, and that they wrote
continuously for five minutes, with an attempt to be on topic.
"But some of you," I lied; it was actually only this one student
in this particular class that day, "are sitting there trying to think
about what to write. I looked around the room. They all looked
around the room, as if connecting glances would tell them who defied the most
important rule of journaling. And then I said his name--We'll call him
Jim. "For example, Jim, here, is just sitting there. He has to
produce a page of writing in five minutes, and he has only written the quote
and prompt from the board. How is that going to help him accomplish his
goal?" Students shook their heads. Jim bowed his in
shame. "Why is he just sitting there? He thinks he's a bad
writer. Don't you?" I looked right at him. He nodded his head, yes.
"Well, how would you know? How do you know what a bad writer
looks like? Somebody along the line told you that you were a bad writer,
and you believed them, and you've been paralyzed ever since." He had
steel in his eyes. "Right?" I said. He nodded his head, yes,
again. "Well, guess what? You're actually a very good
writer."
A smile began to form on his lips. "Really?" he
said.
"Yes, and I should know, because I've been reading your work. And
anyway, everybody in here is going to get better. But not by doing
nothing. Writing improvement happens with practice, so stop telling
yourself you're a bad writer. Has telling yourself that helped
you?"
He shook his head.
"So what about trying to tell yourself you are a good writer?
Better yet, tell yourself you are going to do what it takes to be better.
Can you do that? Believe in yourself, and work to be better. That
is all anyone can ask."
By now, many were nodding their heads. Jim was smiling. I could
tell, that just in those few moments, whatever faith he'd lost somewhere long before he stepped foot in my classroom had been restored.
The truth was, I couldn't remember any significant details from what he had
written up to that point for my class. What I did know was that his
writing was stifled, truncated, and suffering at the pen of an uninspired
writer. But it had potential, and I certainly wasn't going to stand for
his blatant lack of faith that had propelled him into writing paralysis.
And he shouldn't have been satisfied with it either. Anyway, the point
wasn't so much whether his writing was "bad" or "good"; so
much writing is subjective anyhow. What mattered is that he once again saw
that it was important to believe in himself, and that whoever it was that had
effectively oppressed his curious spirit no longer did matter.
Whew, was I glad that worked; I knew there was a chance he could hate me for
"putting him on blast," but the risk was well worth the reward.
From that moment on, Jim wrote like a madman, and he became a curious,
thoughtful writer. His essays honestly became some of the best in the
class. He earned a 5 on the AP exam, and he gained a renewed sense of
self-worth. I was so proud of what he accomplished, sure, but the fact
that he was so proud of what he had accomplished should be a reminder to us
all. Sometimes, just believing
in yourself is all you need to get where you're going, and it is
certainly hard to believe in yourself when people you trust don't
believe in you first. As parents and teachers, it is not our job to kill dreams.
It's pragmatic, perhaps to offer a dose of reality, and to guide students
toward their strengths. However, may we tread lightly, for our assessment
of another's strengths and weaknesses reveals more about us than it does about
them. It is our job not to falsely build up our youth but to
provide opportunities for growth and learning.
When we think about success and failure, we often allow others' definitions
or standards to determine our progress. We are driven by praise and
affirmation of the good; likewise, we are derailed by criticism and comparisons.
I'm trying to give myself credit for what I am accomplishing. It's still
hard to think of a day "wasted." Perhaps it's all in the language
I use. Instead of "wasted," maybe the day was "redirected."
I've stopped being so hard on myself when it comes to "redirecting"
my workouts. I realize I am not as motivated to be fit as I was when I
played basketball in college, or even as motivated as I was in my early 30s
when I played competitive volleyball regularly. Once I injured my knees,
things seemed to go downhill in the fitness department. Perhaps this is
just my dose of reality. Every day is about reassessing the
destination--and the determination. The good thing is I sure as hell know
there's nobody holding me back but myself.
A blog about life, love, and inspiration.
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Motivate Me #2
Well, here it is Monday night--almost midnight. Did I work out today? No. But I did follow through with Friday's workout schedule. Tomorrow's schedule will be the same for me. 30 minutes of cardio followed by 100 squats and 100+ crunches, with some good stretching to cool down. I thought of you, whoever you are, you invisible, quasi-existent workout partner, when I sucked air through my 100 squats. I could only do a rep of 20 before stopping to catch my breath and walk out the burn. A couple of times, I tried to be cool as I wobbled over to the equipment rack so I could grab it for balance to stop myself from passing out.
Being almost forty brings a different kind of confidence than I had when I was younger. I'm not sure there's a word to describe the transformation. Some might call it security; others--denial, and others still--apathy. I'd like to think I'm growing older gracefully, and while it is disheartening to swear I woke up today with one more gray hair than I had yesterday, and a few more wrinkles, ultimately, I find a sense of comfort in getting older. However, going to the gym can test this contentedness. Yes, there are people of all shapes and sizes, and true beauty lies deeper than one's skin, etc., etc. But I'm at the gym, admittedly to get healthier, ok, but also to feel better about how I look. When I was a younger, vainer version of myself, I used to find some pride in the thought that guys at the gym were looking at me because I was attractive--until one time I passed a handsome, sweaty, stationary bicyclist who was really staring. I mean, he thought I was gorgeous! I stood up a little straighter and walked a little taller, all the way into the locker room, past the benches, past the bathroom stalls, and into the mirrored area, where I could see myself in all my glory, only to discover that my mascara had transferred from my lashes to my brow bones in greasy, black streaks. I looked like I was wearing black striped eye-shadow. Nobody can pull that off. I looked freakish. It was quite a humbling experience. Now, I check myself out frequently on the workout floor so I can prevent the potential all-day make-up horror show that so quickly becomes me when I'm not looking. Is that confidence?! Temporary embarrassment aside, at the end of the day, figuratively speaking, I really don't care whether I'm put together perfectly. Make-up smears, hair falls, and there's nobody looking at me but myself. And age catches us no matter how fast we are, no matter how determined we are to outrun it. We are zebras in the wild, striped eyeshadow or not, and age is the king of the Serengeti. All we can do is graze the plains gracefully until our time is up. And that is why I must squat!
So, tomorrow, my fellow zebras, let us run like the wind and may a quest for grace be our song, for the lion will sooner catch us if we rest too long.
Being almost forty brings a different kind of confidence than I had when I was younger. I'm not sure there's a word to describe the transformation. Some might call it security; others--denial, and others still--apathy. I'd like to think I'm growing older gracefully, and while it is disheartening to swear I woke up today with one more gray hair than I had yesterday, and a few more wrinkles, ultimately, I find a sense of comfort in getting older. However, going to the gym can test this contentedness. Yes, there are people of all shapes and sizes, and true beauty lies deeper than one's skin, etc., etc. But I'm at the gym, admittedly to get healthier, ok, but also to feel better about how I look. When I was a younger, vainer version of myself, I used to find some pride in the thought that guys at the gym were looking at me because I was attractive--until one time I passed a handsome, sweaty, stationary bicyclist who was really staring. I mean, he thought I was gorgeous! I stood up a little straighter and walked a little taller, all the way into the locker room, past the benches, past the bathroom stalls, and into the mirrored area, where I could see myself in all my glory, only to discover that my mascara had transferred from my lashes to my brow bones in greasy, black streaks. I looked like I was wearing black striped eye-shadow. Nobody can pull that off. I looked freakish. It was quite a humbling experience. Now, I check myself out frequently on the workout floor so I can prevent the potential all-day make-up horror show that so quickly becomes me when I'm not looking. Is that confidence?! Temporary embarrassment aside, at the end of the day, figuratively speaking, I really don't care whether I'm put together perfectly. Make-up smears, hair falls, and there's nobody looking at me but myself. And age catches us no matter how fast we are, no matter how determined we are to outrun it. We are zebras in the wild, striped eyeshadow or not, and age is the king of the Serengeti. All we can do is graze the plains gracefully until our time is up. And that is why I must squat!
So, tomorrow, my fellow zebras, let us run like the wind and may a quest for grace be our song, for the lion will sooner catch us if we rest too long.
Friday, August 9, 2013
Motivate Me #1
Lately, I've been struggling with finding the motivation to exercise,
whether it be getting off my bum to go for a walk or driving to the gym
for a more varied (and more vigorous) workout. I just got this idea that you could help me. Whoever you are, wherever you are, just by existing, you can hold me accountable. And if you leave me a comment, I'll have a reason to believe in you even more, and you will motivate me even more. I will post my intended workout schedule and check in when I'm finished.
So, today, what's it gonna be? Let's start simple. I'm going to the gym. I will spend 30 minutes on the treadmill or the elliptical machine (my knees will decide), and then I will do 100 squats. If you think 100 squats sound crazy, just give it a try. I've been doing them every other day since the beginning of the month, and I'm already noticing tighter, firmer thighs and buttocks. You don't have to do them all at once. Do ten sets of ten. Or five of twenty. I like to get them over with, so as long as I am breathing, I try to get them done in three sets: 30, 40, 30. I've posted a quick link here that shows proper technique.
Proper Squat Technique
After the squats, I'm going to finish with some crunches. I'll probably do about 100 in various positions--on the ab bench, on the floor, legs raised, legs down, and obliques target. With crunches, just be sure you are activating your core muscles and contracting them for maximum benefit. Also, don't pull forward on your head with your hands, for this can put undue stress on your neck.
Proper Crunch Technique
After the crunches, I'll stretch, and be on my way.
Did you know that doing crunches won't give you flatter abs? Crunches strengthen the abdominal muscles, but other core training exercises, like squats, actually work to flatten your stomach!
Have a good work out!
So, today, what's it gonna be? Let's start simple. I'm going to the gym. I will spend 30 minutes on the treadmill or the elliptical machine (my knees will decide), and then I will do 100 squats. If you think 100 squats sound crazy, just give it a try. I've been doing them every other day since the beginning of the month, and I'm already noticing tighter, firmer thighs and buttocks. You don't have to do them all at once. Do ten sets of ten. Or five of twenty. I like to get them over with, so as long as I am breathing, I try to get them done in three sets: 30, 40, 30. I've posted a quick link here that shows proper technique.
Proper Squat Technique
After the squats, I'm going to finish with some crunches. I'll probably do about 100 in various positions--on the ab bench, on the floor, legs raised, legs down, and obliques target. With crunches, just be sure you are activating your core muscles and contracting them for maximum benefit. Also, don't pull forward on your head with your hands, for this can put undue stress on your neck.
Proper Crunch Technique
After the crunches, I'll stretch, and be on my way.
Did you know that doing crunches won't give you flatter abs? Crunches strengthen the abdominal muscles, but other core training exercises, like squats, actually work to flatten your stomach!
Have a good work out!
Teachers are the Future
"To the ends of the earth would you follow me
There's a world that was meant for our eyes to see"
Lord Huron
Here's a little song for you:
Ends of the Earth, by Lord Huron
Many of my friends are teachers, and today they return to work. This year is different for them because they are returning two weeks earlier than usual. People who do not teach cannot seem to understand what the big deal is since they, along with the rest of the working population, don't get "three months off" every summer. Let me clear things up a bit. School often ends around mid-June, and teachers return at the end of August, so their "time off" is 2 1/2 months, not 3. Yes, this is amazing and wonderful, and a force not to be reckoned with. You will not hear a teacher complain that she only gets 10 months off! There are on average, 22 working days per month, so this averages out to about 56 days off. Wow! That's really incredible. But when you consider that this is not paid leave, it seems less impressive. In the United States, on average, workers receive fewer paid annual leave days (12) than those in other countries. In Sweden, for example, workers on average, receive 33 paid vacation days per year. Now that's incredible. To the ill-informed American, a job that gives 56 days off in the summer does seem like quite the gig to have.
What people don't seem to realize is that most teachers (the dedicated ones, and sometimes the not so dedicated ones) work during the summer. For example, a friend of mine recently attended a four-day conference from 8 a.m. to 4:30 p.m., and she did not get paid to do this. The workshop was forty miles away from her home, and driving there and back each day would have put her in the middle of some of L.A.'s worst traffic, increasing the drive time from about 45 minutes to almost two hours each way. And they would not put her in a hotel. She was more than willing to do this to become a better teacher, but she did not get paid. Nor did she receive pay for the two-hours + of work she did each night on her computer preparing for the school year, creating new programs, and meeting the demands of a principal who was calling her twice a week with assignments for her to complete. This was the work I observed my friend doing while she was staying at my house to avoid the nasty drive. She works during the summer! Her days are not filled with thoughts of, "Well, what shall I do today since I am free and on vacation!?" There is some of that, sure, but she has many responsibilities in her teaching job, and the summer provides student-free time to get some things done, to improve the system, and to get ready, always, for yet another school year. And this is what I hear from many of my friends who are teachers. There are those who choose not to work because they are not getting paid. But mostly, I think teachers are hard-working, conscientious beings who want to do a good job. This was the category I fell into. I went to workshops, wrote curriculum, met with fellow teachers to align curriculum with state standards, sought out better activities and methods, read articles and books about how to improve classroom instruction and time management. Teaching is not just a "job;" it is a career. Most teachers will tell you that being a teacher is who they are, and it does not stop just because June 15 hit the air.
And for those who are adamant about the fact that teachers have it easy because they get to show up at 7:30 and leave at 3:00? They do not know what they are talking about. I can count on one hand the number of times I was able to do that in sixteen years of teaching. While I may have been able to literally walk away from the campus at 3:00 to go to a doctor's appointment, the work day was far from over. Teachers get to make their own after-school hours, which is one of the benefits of working in a career that provides much autonomy. But the work is never done. A teacher's work is like laundry. There's always something piling up while something else is currently in the wash. A teacher's work is never done. And let's not forget about the psychological work it takes to be a teacher. I might not have piled my students up in the trunk of my car, but I did take them home with me everyday. I worried about the student whose sister had just been beaten by her boyfriend, the one who had a miscarriage at 3 months, the one whose lung collapsed the week before the AP exam, the one who missed school often because he had to take care of his younger siblings. And I carried the weight of how I could be a better teacher for them--a better, positive force in their lives--on my shoulders. That kind of weight seeps into your bones and does not fall away from you even as you rest your head on an 800-thread count pillowcase.
It was my job to be the best I could be because I knew, at the very least, those kids were counting on me. So when it came time to work into the night to perfect a lesson, I thought of them. When it came time to write meaningful comments on 200 essays, I thought of them. When it came time to do the hard thing because it was the right thing, and it would have just been so easy to give up, I thought of them. My students were the reason I did everything I did as a teacher. (I'm sure my Type-A personality might have had just a little bit to do with it!), but even then, my students were the ones I thought about. And what I came to realize was that the entire time I was trying to make them better, something surprising happened: They made me better. And there's not any amount of money, nor is there any number of vacation days in the world (paid or not) that I would rather have.
This is a nod to all my friends who teach. Keep fighting the good fight. Keeping filling your world with the passion that makes you great. Your students will appreciate you for it, and society is better because of it. Keep on keeping on, even when your job seems so frustrating and difficult that you think you just can't do another thing beyond what you've already done. Keep striving for greatness, and expect greatness from your students. They need you. We all do. Have a great year, and thank you for being you.
There's a world that was meant for our eyes to see"
Lord Huron
Here's a little song for you:
Ends of the Earth, by Lord Huron
Many of my friends are teachers, and today they return to work. This year is different for them because they are returning two weeks earlier than usual. People who do not teach cannot seem to understand what the big deal is since they, along with the rest of the working population, don't get "three months off" every summer. Let me clear things up a bit. School often ends around mid-June, and teachers return at the end of August, so their "time off" is 2 1/2 months, not 3. Yes, this is amazing and wonderful, and a force not to be reckoned with. You will not hear a teacher complain that she only gets 10 months off! There are on average, 22 working days per month, so this averages out to about 56 days off. Wow! That's really incredible. But when you consider that this is not paid leave, it seems less impressive. In the United States, on average, workers receive fewer paid annual leave days (12) than those in other countries. In Sweden, for example, workers on average, receive 33 paid vacation days per year. Now that's incredible. To the ill-informed American, a job that gives 56 days off in the summer does seem like quite the gig to have.
What people don't seem to realize is that most teachers (the dedicated ones, and sometimes the not so dedicated ones) work during the summer. For example, a friend of mine recently attended a four-day conference from 8 a.m. to 4:30 p.m., and she did not get paid to do this. The workshop was forty miles away from her home, and driving there and back each day would have put her in the middle of some of L.A.'s worst traffic, increasing the drive time from about 45 minutes to almost two hours each way. And they would not put her in a hotel. She was more than willing to do this to become a better teacher, but she did not get paid. Nor did she receive pay for the two-hours + of work she did each night on her computer preparing for the school year, creating new programs, and meeting the demands of a principal who was calling her twice a week with assignments for her to complete. This was the work I observed my friend doing while she was staying at my house to avoid the nasty drive. She works during the summer! Her days are not filled with thoughts of, "Well, what shall I do today since I am free and on vacation!?" There is some of that, sure, but she has many responsibilities in her teaching job, and the summer provides student-free time to get some things done, to improve the system, and to get ready, always, for yet another school year. And this is what I hear from many of my friends who are teachers. There are those who choose not to work because they are not getting paid. But mostly, I think teachers are hard-working, conscientious beings who want to do a good job. This was the category I fell into. I went to workshops, wrote curriculum, met with fellow teachers to align curriculum with state standards, sought out better activities and methods, read articles and books about how to improve classroom instruction and time management. Teaching is not just a "job;" it is a career. Most teachers will tell you that being a teacher is who they are, and it does not stop just because June 15 hit the air.
And for those who are adamant about the fact that teachers have it easy because they get to show up at 7:30 and leave at 3:00? They do not know what they are talking about. I can count on one hand the number of times I was able to do that in sixteen years of teaching. While I may have been able to literally walk away from the campus at 3:00 to go to a doctor's appointment, the work day was far from over. Teachers get to make their own after-school hours, which is one of the benefits of working in a career that provides much autonomy. But the work is never done. A teacher's work is like laundry. There's always something piling up while something else is currently in the wash. A teacher's work is never done. And let's not forget about the psychological work it takes to be a teacher. I might not have piled my students up in the trunk of my car, but I did take them home with me everyday. I worried about the student whose sister had just been beaten by her boyfriend, the one who had a miscarriage at 3 months, the one whose lung collapsed the week before the AP exam, the one who missed school often because he had to take care of his younger siblings. And I carried the weight of how I could be a better teacher for them--a better, positive force in their lives--on my shoulders. That kind of weight seeps into your bones and does not fall away from you even as you rest your head on an 800-thread count pillowcase.
It was my job to be the best I could be because I knew, at the very least, those kids were counting on me. So when it came time to work into the night to perfect a lesson, I thought of them. When it came time to write meaningful comments on 200 essays, I thought of them. When it came time to do the hard thing because it was the right thing, and it would have just been so easy to give up, I thought of them. My students were the reason I did everything I did as a teacher. (I'm sure my Type-A personality might have had just a little bit to do with it!), but even then, my students were the ones I thought about. And what I came to realize was that the entire time I was trying to make them better, something surprising happened: They made me better. And there's not any amount of money, nor is there any number of vacation days in the world (paid or not) that I would rather have.
This is a nod to all my friends who teach. Keep fighting the good fight. Keeping filling your world with the passion that makes you great. Your students will appreciate you for it, and society is better because of it. Keep on keeping on, even when your job seems so frustrating and difficult that you think you just can't do another thing beyond what you've already done. Keep striving for greatness, and expect greatness from your students. They need you. We all do. Have a great year, and thank you for being you.
Thursday, August 8, 2013
Where Shall I Begin?
When I first thought I should start blogging, I became at once exhilarated and paralyzed. I felt excited to think I could have sole control over something creative that could easily be displayed online, even if I was the only one who ever looked at it or cared. At the same time, I was overwhelmed by how to go about doing this thing. It's what writers should do, and if I'm a writer, I should do it. I had to think about all these fascinating, intellectual things to write about. I obsessed over how I would ever get anything down perfectly enough to feel it worthy enough to be viewed by others. God forbid I be boring. Or shallow. Or grammatically incorrect. Or politically incorrect. Or whatever. So here it goes. This is where I will begin--at the beginning.
It seems fitting that I share one of my favorite poems, "Wild Geese," by Mary Oliver.
Wild Geese
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
This poem is so brilliant and beautiful and wise. And I see purple when I read it. This poem flows so sweetly, reminding me that I am human and I must pursue this path of dreams. I cry when I read this poem aloud. A spike of love and tenderness catches in my throat when I read it silently. There is something about the conflation of despair and majestic nature that brings solace. This poem just speaks to me. No matter what state I'm in or where I am in my life, this poem gives me perspective. I can be hard on myself, and Oliver's recognition that "the world offers itself to [my] imagination" reminds me that my life is what I make it. This is true for all of us. So often, I hear people complain about their situation in life. They cry, "Why is this happening to me?" and "What did I ever do to deserve this?" Instead of choosing to face the world with a sense of empowerment and truth, which is that people have control over how they view a situation, these people allow themselves to be victimized by pessimism. Instead of seeing life as a series of forces that act upon us, why not see ourselves as powerful beings who can choose to respond in ways that invite positivity, goodness, gratitude, and grace. Negative words and ugly thoughts only beget more negativity. It stands to reason then, that positive words and thoughts of goodness beget more positivity.
My life has taken a turn. I taught high school English for 16 years. And then I went on sabbatical. And when my year of unpaid leave was up, I resigned from my job--a stable career with benefits and retirement and 8 weeks off in the summer. I didn't know what was next--where I was going or what it would look like when, or if, I got there. "Arriving" is such a precarious thing. "Departing" is so certain, so final, so marked by the unknown that it often resembles death. I knew this, and I leapt anyway. I jumped right off that precipice as if I had the wings to support such a foolish flourish into flight. And now I'm here. I can't say for certain that I never would have started a blog if I'd stayed in the classroom. But I do know that as a teacher, I was constantly frazzled, sleep-deprived, spirit-drained, and I found it impossible to look beyond the stress of the moment. I often found myself saying (aloud and to myself), "My job is interfering with my life!"
So, did a year off answer my prayers? Yes. And No. I sit before my computer today writing my first blog post. !!! I feel perhaps a little too proud of this. But you have to understand that it took me about 6 hours to decide on my blog name. I wanted it to be something I really loved. And as it turns out, I'm not always as original as I'd like to think. I discovered this again and again as I Googled potential names and watched them pop up as names of those who have come before me. I continued to think that I've got to become a whole lot more clever if I'm going to muster up the courage and confidence to keep this writing thing going. But the important thing is I am keeping this writing thing going. I'm familiar with the wise words that offer "If you keep waiting for just the right time, you will never begin." Beginning is the first step.
This year I've also made great strides in my writing. My memoir is almost finished. Also, I'm preparing a poetry manuscript for publication. I've read more books than any other year except when I was in graduate school (I don't remind myself often enough that if I made it through grad school while teaching full-time, I can do more than I think). I've also had much time (too much, perhaps) to think about...stuff. I've had time to realize that I might not be the best person to dictate my daily schedule. Maybe I need a bell after all? I understand that having all the time in the world does not mean I will return to my former gym rat status. Oh, when I was younger and had knees that actually worked properly, I lived for my workouts! I've come to fully grasp the truth--that we make time for that which is most important to us. I have spent numerous hours watching television, contemplating going to the gym, running errands, getting started on the day by doing something other than drinking my morning (afternoon) coffee and wondering how productive I'll actually be today.
So, other than recuperating from 16 years of stress and workaholism, what have I really accomplished this year? I've come to realize that I miss working. That might sound crazy. It sounds crazy to me every time I say it. I miss feeling like I'm a useful, productive member of society. I was good at my job. I had invested so much time, sweat, tears, and heart into my students and teaching. My career was my life. And that, I see now, was a blessing and a curse. Ultimately, I'm glad I quit. I needed a break before I broke. But now, I'm wondering if I might need something more than nothing to keep me at my best. Certainly, the grass is always greener on the other side. This proverb proves to be a true paradox. Once you make it to the other side, the other side is no longer the other side. This year of reflection has given me a chance to be "on the fence," so to speak, and I can honestly say, that the grass is green on both sides as long as you water it. Watering the grass means having balance. You cannot run on empty.
I do not intend to return to the high school classroom, but I left teaching on a good note, and I will look back on my career with fondness, love, and respect. If I had stayed, I would never know this feeling--the feeling of gratitude for my teaching job that was growing so oppressive. I had to know that to get to where I am. Now, I am pursuing my writing dream, and I'm learning more about myself. I no longer feel like a hamster in a wheel or a chicken with my head cut off or a rebel without a cause whose job is interfering with her life. This time off has been invaluable. I am proud of myself for taking the leap, even when I knew I might need wings I did not have. I am happier than ever as I consider jobs, hobbies, and volunteer work I might pursue. I might learn how to sew or how to make silver jewelry or how to play the guitar. I recommend this to all of you--to those of you who feel frantic in your day-to-day lives. Take a step back. Give yourself a chance to hear "the world...announcing your place in the family of things." Take a year, if you can afford it. Can you really afford not to?
It seems fitting that I share one of my favorite poems, "Wild Geese," by Mary Oliver.
Wild Geese
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
This poem is so brilliant and beautiful and wise. And I see purple when I read it. This poem flows so sweetly, reminding me that I am human and I must pursue this path of dreams. I cry when I read this poem aloud. A spike of love and tenderness catches in my throat when I read it silently. There is something about the conflation of despair and majestic nature that brings solace. This poem just speaks to me. No matter what state I'm in or where I am in my life, this poem gives me perspective. I can be hard on myself, and Oliver's recognition that "the world offers itself to [my] imagination" reminds me that my life is what I make it. This is true for all of us. So often, I hear people complain about their situation in life. They cry, "Why is this happening to me?" and "What did I ever do to deserve this?" Instead of choosing to face the world with a sense of empowerment and truth, which is that people have control over how they view a situation, these people allow themselves to be victimized by pessimism. Instead of seeing life as a series of forces that act upon us, why not see ourselves as powerful beings who can choose to respond in ways that invite positivity, goodness, gratitude, and grace. Negative words and ugly thoughts only beget more negativity. It stands to reason then, that positive words and thoughts of goodness beget more positivity.
My life has taken a turn. I taught high school English for 16 years. And then I went on sabbatical. And when my year of unpaid leave was up, I resigned from my job--a stable career with benefits and retirement and 8 weeks off in the summer. I didn't know what was next--where I was going or what it would look like when, or if, I got there. "Arriving" is such a precarious thing. "Departing" is so certain, so final, so marked by the unknown that it often resembles death. I knew this, and I leapt anyway. I jumped right off that precipice as if I had the wings to support such a foolish flourish into flight. And now I'm here. I can't say for certain that I never would have started a blog if I'd stayed in the classroom. But I do know that as a teacher, I was constantly frazzled, sleep-deprived, spirit-drained, and I found it impossible to look beyond the stress of the moment. I often found myself saying (aloud and to myself), "My job is interfering with my life!"
So, did a year off answer my prayers? Yes. And No. I sit before my computer today writing my first blog post. !!! I feel perhaps a little too proud of this. But you have to understand that it took me about 6 hours to decide on my blog name. I wanted it to be something I really loved. And as it turns out, I'm not always as original as I'd like to think. I discovered this again and again as I Googled potential names and watched them pop up as names of those who have come before me. I continued to think that I've got to become a whole lot more clever if I'm going to muster up the courage and confidence to keep this writing thing going. But the important thing is I am keeping this writing thing going. I'm familiar with the wise words that offer "If you keep waiting for just the right time, you will never begin." Beginning is the first step.
This year I've also made great strides in my writing. My memoir is almost finished. Also, I'm preparing a poetry manuscript for publication. I've read more books than any other year except when I was in graduate school (I don't remind myself often enough that if I made it through grad school while teaching full-time, I can do more than I think). I've also had much time (too much, perhaps) to think about...stuff. I've had time to realize that I might not be the best person to dictate my daily schedule. Maybe I need a bell after all? I understand that having all the time in the world does not mean I will return to my former gym rat status. Oh, when I was younger and had knees that actually worked properly, I lived for my workouts! I've come to fully grasp the truth--that we make time for that which is most important to us. I have spent numerous hours watching television, contemplating going to the gym, running errands, getting started on the day by doing something other than drinking my morning (afternoon) coffee and wondering how productive I'll actually be today.
So, other than recuperating from 16 years of stress and workaholism, what have I really accomplished this year? I've come to realize that I miss working. That might sound crazy. It sounds crazy to me every time I say it. I miss feeling like I'm a useful, productive member of society. I was good at my job. I had invested so much time, sweat, tears, and heart into my students and teaching. My career was my life. And that, I see now, was a blessing and a curse. Ultimately, I'm glad I quit. I needed a break before I broke. But now, I'm wondering if I might need something more than nothing to keep me at my best. Certainly, the grass is always greener on the other side. This proverb proves to be a true paradox. Once you make it to the other side, the other side is no longer the other side. This year of reflection has given me a chance to be "on the fence," so to speak, and I can honestly say, that the grass is green on both sides as long as you water it. Watering the grass means having balance. You cannot run on empty.
I do not intend to return to the high school classroom, but I left teaching on a good note, and I will look back on my career with fondness, love, and respect. If I had stayed, I would never know this feeling--the feeling of gratitude for my teaching job that was growing so oppressive. I had to know that to get to where I am. Now, I am pursuing my writing dream, and I'm learning more about myself. I no longer feel like a hamster in a wheel or a chicken with my head cut off or a rebel without a cause whose job is interfering with her life. This time off has been invaluable. I am proud of myself for taking the leap, even when I knew I might need wings I did not have. I am happier than ever as I consider jobs, hobbies, and volunteer work I might pursue. I might learn how to sew or how to make silver jewelry or how to play the guitar. I recommend this to all of you--to those of you who feel frantic in your day-to-day lives. Take a step back. Give yourself a chance to hear "the world...announcing your place in the family of things." Take a year, if you can afford it. Can you really afford not to?
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