On Vulnerability/The Real Confessions

I have been thinking lately of what courage is, what it looks like. My 9th graders recently finished a book clubs unit with that as the guiding theme: "What does courage look like?" So many novels, so many different forms of courage.

I decided that--for me--courage is vulnerability. Being open, exposing even your fragility. We all have those tender spots. We all fear. We all hurt. But so much of our socialization rests on hiding that. Crying in public is poo-pooed. When we ask, "How are you?" we never mean it. All we want to hear is how "fine" everyone is doing. 

But that is weak. That is dishonest. That is the opposite of courage.

I'm terrified of my vulnerability. But I think I've finally found my resolution for 2013: to let my vulnerability manifest itself. To share it more. To be soft and fragile and to see what happens when I expose that. My goal is to trust, or at least trust more. Especially in those arenas of life that are my most vulnerable.

If I am hurt, I will learn something from it. But, honestly, I think there is more I'd miss out on if I don't pull down my defenses and expose myself for who I truly am.

I am a romantic at heart who has never fallen in love. That stings. I am sometimes lazy and sometimes over-worked. I am a stress monster. I haven't figured out how to balance my life the way I thought I might when I was younger. And that is okay. I like to swear and usually feel a bit guilty about it. My body curves as it wants to, but I can make it strong. I can love it even if it looks different than some. I am wild and disorganized and imperfect. Sometimes I am boring. But actually, I am beautiful and interesting and worth loving just as I am.

In which I whine as an excuse for my extended absence.

Yes, I still exist. I'm still here.

All I really wanted to drop by for is to let whoever is still reading know that there are days I'd rather stay at home all day and read and make collages and look around on pinterest and blog and go for a walk in the park and take naps and cook and do anything but work two jobs at once. I'd like to catch up on my overwhelming laundry. I'd like my house to look like I do something besides wrinkle the bed, diminish the toothpaste supply, leave dirty clothing piles in the bedroom and used tupperware in the kitchen sink. I'd like my life back.

But, as of this moment, I'm putting on my big girl panties and becoming a grown up who pays off her debt.

This will all be worth it one day, right? Right?

Rising Up

"The greatest waste

in the world is the

difference between

what we are and

what we could become."

~ Ben Herbster

This post, if I'm honest, feels incomplete even as I begin it. Because it sort of is. I'm not sure all of what I want to say or how I want to say it. I fear it will all come out wrong or that it will reveal too much or, well, who knows. It is deeply personal. It reveals my naivete, my-head-in-the-clouds, my weakness. So I want to be clear.

I’ve been thinking lately about potential. About our ability to rise up to that which is within us, but, more often, our tendency to fritter it away with notions that we cannot achieve much. I’m thinking about this for many reasons: the insanely good writer/student I have who, sadly, prefers the football field and friends to honing his talent on the page, for one. I sat him down today and talked to him about it. I thought he should know just how good he could be at this. But he has to want it; he has to do it.

And I think that is the part that is difficult. Reach your potential--this trite little phrase repeated often. But that whole reaching bit means engaging and working and striving and acting and believing. And that alone can be daunting. Life can delay and distract us from what we ultimately want. And then that whole believing bit comes into play. And...

And here is the truth of things: I am good at a few things and know it. And because of that knowledge, I apply myself to a point. I try to excel (in varying degrees of the word try). Everything else feels as though it were a possibility. And potential or no, it feels like too much.

But perhaps I am being too vague?

I am. I know.

So let me try and begin again. I feel as though I have the potential to be a really good teacher or a really good writer or a really good fill-in-the-blank, but I sometimes fall short. For whatever reason. And it is frustrating and sad to me that I want so very many things for myself that the desires seem to cancel each other out.

My biggest fear is living a life of mediocrity--survival in place of purpose and intent. Laziness or insecurity in place of confidence and dedication.

Fear it though I might, sometimes I drift into the mediocre. I get glimpses of that potential and wonder why I'm not always there, performing at that level in my own life. I wonder when it is that I will ease into the intended shape of myself, as bread rising up.

Image found here.

From the Desk of a Self-Admitted Worry Wart: A Gratuitously Narcissistic Post

Blogging should never be a hassle, but rather, a joy. Or something along those lines. Unfortunately, as with most things in my life, it has simply become another cause for anxiety. Yes, I need help. Possibly a xanax.

Irrational though it may be, lately my thoughts run along these lines while I'm checking your blog: "Oh no! I haven't blogged anything in a while and, and, and..."

And what? I mean, really? It isn't like the blog-mafia is going to rip my firstborn out of my hands the moment s/he is born.

Nothing. Will. Happen.

But the truth is, I am an anxious being. I've come to accept this fact about myself. I'm realizing that I've always worried. In first grade I stressed about poor Brandon What's-his-face in my class. I vividly recall having an emotional breakdown to my mother about the kid who liberally picked his nose for the world to see: "But Mom," I'd wailed, "I pick my nose too. I just don't do it in front of other people."

I should have known then.

I stress. A lot. Don't mind me. I'm the one in the corner breathing into a paper bag.

But, for the purpose of alleviating some stress and possibly so I can say I posted, I'm being self indulgent and fessing up to my anxious ways.

Here you have it. The "Lucky" 21 things I commonly stress about (in no particular order):

1. Work
2. Going to the gym
3. Skipping the gym
4. Driving behind grandma's that go 10 below but you can't seem to get past them (yep, not worth it, but I stress nonetheless)
5. Being late (which I usually am)
6. Blogging
7. Work
8. Not getting enough sleep
9. Mondays
10. Money
11. Work
12. Family
13. Friends
14. Students
15. Strangers (such as people broken down on the side of the road)
16. Work
17. Unwanted tasks on the to do list (that keep re-appearing because procrastination settles in)
18. Looming dates and appointments
19. Blood work
20. Car drama
21. The possibility of a catastrophic/maiming event striking anyone at any minute (blame my roommate for working the ER's trauma bays at our neighborhood hospital)

I'm a mess, people. I even worry a little bit that some of you aren't comfortable with my admission.

So be honest, what do you stress over? And how do you cope?

I Should

I have things I should be doing: grading the endless pile, exercising, lesson planning, writing a thank you note. I should read more. I should give up my beloved diet coke. Refined sugar. R-rated indie-flicks. Negative thinking. I should be more like that someone who always smiles. I should visit my grandparents more often. I should study and learn more. I should sew again. Go for a walk with my camera around my neck. I should wear more comfortable shoes to work. I should dress more professionally for work--even if it means less comfort. I should treat that student, friend, acquaintance with more kindness. I should be more strict with that student. I should set more boundaries. I should eat more vegetables. I should eat less candy. I should start singing again. I should do the dishes before bed each night. I should get a second job. I should write more often. I should spend less time on facebook. I should wake up earlier. I should try that. I really should.

Thanks to tweexcore for the image.

it's that time again

(I'd like to thank google for the image)

160 single-subject notebooks
80 magic markers
40 glue sticks
16 dry erase markers
6 mini white boards
a pack of perfect list-making post-its
white-out tape
multi-colored felt tip pen pack
and a recycled materials pencil pouch

Teaching has made me a woman out of control. All those bins of cheap school supplies and school starting in less than three weeks means that I'm already in possession of receipts far surpassing my legislative supply budget (during a lean funding year). I've always had a thing for school supplies, my profession has now given me a legitimate excuse for office product gluttony. My car's trunk is quickly filling. And I'm still hunting for the cheapest colored pencils and maybe a bulletin board design or two.

Sucking, Marrow and Other Musings

Henry David Thoreau, in his near-perfect (and sometimes dull and oftimes perceptive and idealistic and occasionally silly) Walden said:

I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.

I read these words from Walden at 22--an age fraught with idealistic dreams and fantastical notions. (OK, honesty forces me to admit that, like most English majors, I didn't exactly read all of Walden. Now that I've revealed myself for the fraud that I am, please do read on.) At that time in my life I licked every bit of it up. Transcendentalists were my collegiate mind's food. I wanted to suck marrow from life! I wanted to live deliberately! I recall that my primary goal for the entirety of my future was to, "live life authentically."

A college degree, countless hours of teaching, neverending student loan (and other) payments later and I sometimes ask myself this: am I living deliberately any more? Are those aspects of life which matter most to me actually a part of my daily life? And, teacher Rookie, being the assessment master that she is, currently doles out a big fat F for herself.

I am sucking it up. Big time. And I have no idea how to stop (or start) this life I'm living.

In my defense (excuse), every grown up person knows that reality and idealism do not make for good bed fellows. And while it may be fallacious in nature, it seems that either/or really is the only option here. So here I am, left wondering who do I kill off? The liberated idealist? The realistic responsible one? Slowly but surely, a bowl of Cheerios in the morning and a credit score over 750 win out. Is this what happens to everyone? Is this just the way it is-- a natural (albeit bumpy) transition into adulthood? Is it true that each day a little piece of idealism dies in the entirety of the adult human population? Because man does that just *suck!

*Dear reader, please forgive my propensity toward the word "suck" in this particular post.

And while I loved Thoreau in college, his words from a supposed simpler time nearly two centuries ago speak to me more now than they did then. After all, Henry David was in his 30's when he wrote Walden--not mere coincidence. Perhaps the late 20's-early 30's are a time for questioning ourselves, our motives, our lives. Perhaps it is not all bad to let the idealist get a dose of reality and wither into oblivion (or continue on, turning you into a perpetual bachelor (ermm...momma's boy) with a crush on your teacher's wife and nothing to your name but a stupid flute).

Perhaps I need to revisit my life's goals, redefine what an authentic life looks like.

So I'll begin again, John Lennon, in one of many perceptive musical masterpieces, is quoted as saying:

Life is what happens to you when you're making other plans.

And there's nothing inauthentic about that.

This image has very little to do with much of anything, other than it made me laugh and described how I feel most of the time whilst figuring out my life.

On Beauty and Identity

Today Dr. Oz is on Oprah.  The topic:  The Science of Beauty.  As I watch, I keep thinking about this human obsession with aesthetics.  I am no different.  My eye is drawn to beautiful things: colors I that make me feel, clean lines and simple patterns.  I also appreciate the beauty of the human face and body.  Today, in my layered blue collar shirt against a yellow sweater, I felt beautiful.  My clothing was beautiful, my muscles felt aware, stronger (and maybe a bit achey) from all that work I did at the gym yesterday and that makes me feel beautiful.  On the days I feel beautiful on the outside, I am more confident, even a bit happier.

But what if I lost those days altogether?  

It happens.  People's bodies are ravaged by terminal illness, they age, they get fat, their lives are forever altered by damaging accidents.  Tragedy, unfortunately, is a part of life.  And eventually, everyone's looks deteriorate.  

So what if I never had another day to feel beautiful on the outside?  Would I sink into misery and self-loathing?  Would my inner beauty pivot into the grotesque?  Would I lose my sense of self?  I ask this because I wonder how much our sense of our own beauty is intricately woven with our sense of who we are. 

Many of my female students have not made the separation between their innate value and their appearance.  In their minds, their worth is directly connected to how they look.  I've known many grown women caught in this thinking fallacy.  And while I admit that appearance matters, anyone can tell you that it doesn't matter forever and it doesn't matter in every situation.  

I think that, like most things, it comes down to balance.  Recognize and appreciate beauty, but don't worship it.  Don't allow it to infiltrate every opinion you have of yourself or the world around you.  Don't allow the pursuit of aesthetic perfection to block your appreciation of the beauties in imperfection.  Acknowledge that our notions of what is beautiful can be fickle.  Look at cultures the world over. Look at fashion.  Look at my hair circa 1992 (and then remember that I was 11 and have mercy on me).
 

Because beauty is important.  But it shouldn't be everything.

I Whine, Therefore I Am

What do you get when you mix a 27 year old teacher with a big ol' bucket-o-adolescents? What is, a woman who doesn't feel 27!

I'm tired, kids. Tired. And my inner most self wants to check blogs and possibly post her own blog post--in fact my brain has been cooking this perfect blog post for a couple of weeks. I miss my blogging friends. I glanced at a few of you here and there, but I don't have the brain power to post a comment...not a comment, you'd want, anyway (oh, now I know somebody out there is saying "any comment is a good comment" but I don't know if this would hold true of my current commenting capacity). But, alas, by this time of night my brain is zapped like a bug in a blue light and my bed is singing her gentle siren song.

Today was The First Day. There are so many names to learn. I can't pronounce all of them correctly. The grading...it is back...already, there is grading. My classroom is 3,987 degrees. My feet hurt, oh how they hurt. I sort of miss my old students. I really miss The Summer.

I promise in a couple of weeks my life will mellow out (I have to make and keep this promise or it will never happen). I will return to the blogging world a new woman. Just give me some breathing room.

And one other word of advice.

Don't let movies like this:

or this:

or this:

convince you that surely teaching is a perfectly rewarding career. Because most days, people won't call you "O Captain, My Captain." Or stand on desks for you. Or hoist you above their heads and carry you in celebration of their educational victories. Or sing "For She's the Jolly Good Fellow" in your honor.

Nope. Not even close. Most days you feel more like this:


And then, to make matters worse, one of them will inevitably raise their hand (Finally!, you'll think, Someone wants to participate in our class discussion! you'll think)
and, without skipping a single beat, this individual will ask you if they can go to the bathroom.

I'm done. Amen.

Farewell, Summer

aka Freedom, aka Sleep.



As of yesterday my dreaded school days have returned. My thoughts on this: I forgot how tiring (read: overwhelming) this all can be. Let us pray that, amidst the many scheduled meetings I am to participate in/attend this week, somewhere from the stars above a large quantity of time will reveal itself thereby allowing me the ability to prepare for the students' arrival next Tuesday. You, instead of harboring secret thoughts about the upcoming school year this summer, I savored my time to live my life and "waste" time on completely relaxing endeavors. In other words, when it comes to my well-laid teaching plans for this year...I got nuttin'.

Help!

My job is taking over my life. If I'm not teaching, I'm in a meeting. If I'm not at a meeting, I'm grading. If I'm not grading, I'm preparing lessons. And in the meantime it feels kind of like everything else in my life is slowly unraveling. And if I'm not working, I'm left feeling guilty for not doing work. I'm whining, I know. But I can't help but feel behind in every facet of my life.

Oh, and one other thing: may the cruel and sadistic inventors of NCLB suffer through hours upon hours of worthless district ESL Endorsement courses and homework assignments while there are a myriad of other pressing matters waiting for accomplishment.

42 more work days until summer. 42. Pray that I make it.