I had a discussion with someone recently in which I was told that I am rare. Not like. . . undercooked meat or precious ruby rare. Rare in the thinly veiled euphemistic and slightly nicer than saying weird kind of rare.
It kind of ticked me off.
Under context of this conversation, it was being suggested to me that teenagers want nothing more from life than to have fun and be loved. And while I don't doubt that these things are part of a true teenager (or human) experience, I tried to explain that as a teenager, and particularly as a student, teachers who spend their time wanting me to feel good about myself just pissed me off and teachers who only wanted to have fun were even worse because I wanted to not waste my time.
"Well, that's rare."
Is it?
Maybe I'm just delusional. I would never claim to be exactly normal. I have particular tastes and strange quirks that don't really make sense to some people. Sometimes I'm super social and sometimes I want to book a trip to the middle of no where for a week just to escape everything (which I nearly did last week, by the way). Sometimes I'm hard to read. I'm super confident and open about some things, but private about weird things that people wouldn't expect me to be private about. I get that.
And I'm also not saying that I liked teachers who didn't have fun with me. But the kind of fun we had wasn't stupid games or trite things that didn't matter - fun came from a really great debate or talking about a book that had changed my life. It came from a teacher I knew I could trust enough to share opinions with and have them be respected. A teacher who respected me and trusted me to excel. Fun and learning were interdependent, not the antithesis of each other.
I don't think that I was unique as a student. I think I was unique, perhaps, in how aware I was as a student of wanting to learn and not wanting my time to be wasted. But in the time I've spent with teenagers over the last three plus school years, I've not had too much experience with teenagers who appreciate adults treating them like incapable, lecherous liars that just want to have fun all the time. To be honest, I find that kind of insulting. And I think they do too. It's why I do my best to tell my students how capable they are. It's why I dare them to come up with a better assignment than I do. And you know what? Every time I've had a student come up with a different assessment tool than the one I give them - theirs is better. Every. Time.
Hugh Nibley tells a story of a man who inherits a mansion and spends his time holed up in broom cupboards. Sometimes I think modern education gives guided tours of the broom cupboard. As soon as a student gets interested in any other room in the educated mansion, we drug them or punish them or force them into classes they don't want to take and force them into assignments that waste their life. (Let's be serious. Did you ever fill out a worksheet that changed your life?)
Oh, and in case you think I'm crazy, I had to stop writing this for a moment because a student came in to vent to me about a silly assignment they were given that will legitimately waste their time. She's a cultured, brilliant, capable individual that will one day give me someone to brag about knowing, I'm sure of it. And I can remember a conversation I had with another student lately that was frustrated with a teacher using a classroom management tool that would be decently successful in an elementary school but is somewhat juvenile and insulting for a junior in high school. And I'll remember the friends I had in high school and college who would pride ourselves on taking stupid assignments from our teachers and doing them twice: once the way we wanted to, and once the way they wanted us to. And then gloat over the way the teacher would praise our ability to grasp a concept that everyone else had failed to master, when we knew that in reality it had only taken us about five minutes.
13 September 2012
02 September 2012
Life as a Sycamore
Growing up, I related very much to the transcendentalists. Men like Emerson and Thoreau and Alcott - men who were constantly searching for meaning in their life and never quite satisfied with where they were. They felt, and were for all intents and purposes, out of place in their world.
I love this world. I love the purpose my life gains from making meaning out of what comes my way, even when I don't understand it completely. I love the ability I have to step outside of myself and try and gain the larger picture. I love the way my brain and soul are challenged together so that I am not satisfied with learning for the sake of learning, but long to connect the eternities with the now.
This world also stresses the hell out of me.
It's a world of constant dissatisfaction with who you are. A world of impatience as you try to get better but just can't do it fast enough. It means that when you are given critique on how to improve you cannot let an ounce of needed improvement go even in a gallon of praise. It's a world of pressure and stress when taken out of balance.
So when I was cast as Alice Sycamore in You Can't Take it With You, I laughed a little. I relate to Alice more than any other character I have played before.
For those of you uninitiated to the You Can't Take it With You world, it is the story of a family at the tail end of the depression. Headed by patriarch Martin Vanderhoff (known simply as Grandpa), the house is full of people who do what they love. They're able to do this because Grandpa, a former businessman, encourages the house to do what makes them the most happy and helps fund their efforts. His daughter, Penny Sycamore, writes plays and paints (though you get the feeling that she'd do just about anything if the tools were cool enough and the costume fun enough. She is married to Paul Sycamore, who spends his life designing fireworks (often sans pants) in the cellar of the house. (He sets them off in the cellar too. No worries.) Paul and Penny have two daughters. Essie is an aspiring ballet dancer (who isn't all that great, but don't tell her that) married to Ed who is a man with many "talents" (including printing, xylophone playing and mask making). Their other daughter is Alice - we'll get back to her.
The house has several other acquirements - Rheba the maid and her boyfriend Donald. Kohlenkov is Essie's very outspoken Russian ballet teacher, and his friend Olga Katrina comes around for a visit. There's also Mr. DePinna, Paul's fireworks making friend.
The house itself is full of life. None of the Sycamores (other than Alice) have a job outside of the home, so everything is constantly moving and full of excitement. It's a joy to watch - a family that loves each other and enjoys each other's company, and has the luxury of pursuing what they want to do with no judgment placed on them. In the Sycamore house, your quirks are encouraged and wanted and in some ways expected. They want you to be you.
Then there's Alice. Alice is, for all intents and purposes, the most "normal" of the Sycamore club. She has a "real" job. She interacts with people outside of the home and is decently self conscious of the way her family looks to those who don't get them. She loves them - but she's nervous about other people loving them, especially when she gets engaged to the son of a Wall Street business mogul.
Near the end of the play after a rather unfortunate scene where the families of Alice and her fiance, Tony, meet - Alice breaks off the engagement and sends the whole family into a depressive funk. In a debate with Tony's father over the best way to live your life, Grandpa states rather boldly that Tony is too nice a boy to end up in a life obsessed with stocks and bonds - that he deserves better than to be "mixed up and unhappy".
It was that last phrase that struck me. As I think about the last few years in my life, I realize exactly how like Alice I am. I am driven and determined to succeed. I am comfortable pursuing what makes me happy. But I am conscious of wanting to please those around me. I don't like feeling judged - it stresses me out. So I sometimes spend far too much time worrying about what other people think. It left me feeling mixed up and terribly unhappy.
I started to realize that I was spending far too much time worrying about what other people thought and not nearly enough time worrying about what He thought.
I'm not letting go of my transcendentalist routes. I think it's good to have a healthy desire to push forward and to become better. I don't ever want to feel so settled in my opinions that I can't change and adapt. But I also don't want to put so much pressure on myself to be perfect rightthisverysecond. I want to learn to accept myself a bit more. I want to accept the Sycamore parts of my personality and not be ashamed of them, but enjoy them. Grandpa is right - life is kind of beautiful if you take the time to notice when spring comes around. And it's hard to notice that when you spend your life constantly stressed about pleasing others, or making a deadline, or on trying to accomplish a world of tasks all at once.
I love this world. I love the purpose my life gains from making meaning out of what comes my way, even when I don't understand it completely. I love the ability I have to step outside of myself and try and gain the larger picture. I love the way my brain and soul are challenged together so that I am not satisfied with learning for the sake of learning, but long to connect the eternities with the now.
This world also stresses the hell out of me.
It's a world of constant dissatisfaction with who you are. A world of impatience as you try to get better but just can't do it fast enough. It means that when you are given critique on how to improve you cannot let an ounce of needed improvement go even in a gallon of praise. It's a world of pressure and stress when taken out of balance.
So when I was cast as Alice Sycamore in You Can't Take it With You, I laughed a little. I relate to Alice more than any other character I have played before.
For those of you uninitiated to the You Can't Take it With You world, it is the story of a family at the tail end of the depression. Headed by patriarch Martin Vanderhoff (known simply as Grandpa), the house is full of people who do what they love. They're able to do this because Grandpa, a former businessman, encourages the house to do what makes them the most happy and helps fund their efforts. His daughter, Penny Sycamore, writes plays and paints (though you get the feeling that she'd do just about anything if the tools were cool enough and the costume fun enough. She is married to Paul Sycamore, who spends his life designing fireworks (often sans pants) in the cellar of the house. (He sets them off in the cellar too. No worries.) Paul and Penny have two daughters. Essie is an aspiring ballet dancer (who isn't all that great, but don't tell her that) married to Ed who is a man with many "talents" (including printing, xylophone playing and mask making). Their other daughter is Alice - we'll get back to her.
The house has several other acquirements - Rheba the maid and her boyfriend Donald. Kohlenkov is Essie's very outspoken Russian ballet teacher, and his friend Olga Katrina comes around for a visit. There's also Mr. DePinna, Paul's fireworks making friend.
The house itself is full of life. None of the Sycamores (other than Alice) have a job outside of the home, so everything is constantly moving and full of excitement. It's a joy to watch - a family that loves each other and enjoys each other's company, and has the luxury of pursuing what they want to do with no judgment placed on them. In the Sycamore house, your quirks are encouraged and wanted and in some ways expected. They want you to be you.
Then there's Alice. Alice is, for all intents and purposes, the most "normal" of the Sycamore club. She has a "real" job. She interacts with people outside of the home and is decently self conscious of the way her family looks to those who don't get them. She loves them - but she's nervous about other people loving them, especially when she gets engaged to the son of a Wall Street business mogul.
Near the end of the play after a rather unfortunate scene where the families of Alice and her fiance, Tony, meet - Alice breaks off the engagement and sends the whole family into a depressive funk. In a debate with Tony's father over the best way to live your life, Grandpa states rather boldly that Tony is too nice a boy to end up in a life obsessed with stocks and bonds - that he deserves better than to be "mixed up and unhappy".
It was that last phrase that struck me. As I think about the last few years in my life, I realize exactly how like Alice I am. I am driven and determined to succeed. I am comfortable pursuing what makes me happy. But I am conscious of wanting to please those around me. I don't like feeling judged - it stresses me out. So I sometimes spend far too much time worrying about what other people think. It left me feeling mixed up and terribly unhappy.
I started to realize that I was spending far too much time worrying about what other people thought and not nearly enough time worrying about what He thought.
I'm not letting go of my transcendentalist routes. I think it's good to have a healthy desire to push forward and to become better. I don't ever want to feel so settled in my opinions that I can't change and adapt. But I also don't want to put so much pressure on myself to be perfect rightthisverysecond. I want to learn to accept myself a bit more. I want to accept the Sycamore parts of my personality and not be ashamed of them, but enjoy them. Grandpa is right - life is kind of beautiful if you take the time to notice when spring comes around. And it's hard to notice that when you spend your life constantly stressed about pleasing others, or making a deadline, or on trying to accomplish a world of tasks all at once.
13 August 2012
It makes me want to go by school supplies. . .
August is a deceitful little wretch of a month. Most people still consider it summer vacation. But me. . . not me. Not any more at least. This week I return to life as a responsible working adult with an alarm clock and dress pants and teenagers to corral into intelligence. Come Friday, I will lose my first name again for a while and become "Newman".
(Side note: as a student I only ever called teachers by their last name when they had reached a particular state of coolness. I'm not sure if that's the culture around here or not, but every time a student ditches the "Miss" and goes straight for the kill, I get a little cocky.)
Last summer was horrible. This summer was by all accounts perfect. I didn't get sick. I got to sleep in. I got to travel to parts of the world I'd never been to and checked a part off of my theater bucket list. I have my classes more or less prepared and my business owner responsibilities under control as well. This summer I became the master of both fun and productivity. Glorious.
But even the best laid plans get thrown wrenches once in a while. When you seek out chances to be involved in as many things as I do (I blame my mom's dad, who is also obsessed with being involved in everything), then stress follows you and gives you stress whiplash at inopportune times. Like when you're on vacation and can't do anything about it except ride Space Mountain until you forget for thirty seconds at a time. And when you're a slight (more than slight) control freak like myself, the only cure for stress is to just do something about it. Generally I make a list.
This time I needed to make two. I needed to make a list of things I need to do to handle said new form of stress, and I needed to remind myself of why I like my job at all. So now I present to you a list of reasons both profound and ridiculous as to why I have the best job in the world. I do this to make you supremely jealous. They are in no organized order.
1. I get an excuse to look nice every day and wear all of my numerous pencil skirts. I love pencil skirts. And looking nice.
2. I am essentially paid to run a book club five days a week. This is fantastic. Because I love talking about books with people.
3. I get to buy school supplies. But no seriously. New notebooks and pencils and staplers and pretty whiteboard markers (!!) and paperclips and Post It Notes (!!) are my favorite things ever. And now I can excuse my purchases of new pens I don't need but really want as completely necessary for getting through a stack of essays.
4. I get to work with a large number of seriously cool people. I love the staff of my current school. They are funny and hard working and generous to one another. When someone is successful it is something that we cheer, not something we're jealous of (as often happens in professional settings). When one teacher does something innovative, other teachers try and find ways to adapt and grow their own classes as a result. This is unique and wonderful and I am grateful to be surrounded by people I like.
5. I have an awesome classroom. The walls are painted. There are couches. There are pictures of places I love on the walls and books and a large selection of Pixar movies and shorts I can draw from for fun examples of how not to suck.
6. I have awesomely creative students that are enthusiastic and interesting and funny. I love the life they bring to my room and the ideas they share. They take my rule about not being boring quite seriously, which I appreciate.
7. I have supportive parents who help organize things I don't have the time to organize and who trust me with the minds (and lives) of their kids. I value and appreciate that trust.
8. I get to, for the first time ever in four years, teach mostly classes that I have taught before. This. Is. Miraculous.
9. Our school lunches are actually really good. Which is awesome because lunch is the one meal of the day I would skip if I could. It's just boring and way too much work to be good most of the time. As evidenced by the fact that I have sometimes completely forgotten about it this summer.
10. I've had lots of great non-school opportunities as a result of working where I do. The most awesome of which is, of course, the theatrical opportunities I've had lately. Two shows in one summer. Haven't done that in about six years. And both parts are bucket list parts.
So, yeah. I'm a bit tired and overwhelmed at the moment. Not everything is perfect. But since when has everything been perfect? I just know that those not so perfect aspects of my life are, in many ways, out of my control, and therefore a waste of my time to stress about. What I can stress about is finding the coolest new pens on the market and restocking my whiteboard markers. And getting my sleep schedule back to "normal" (6:30 AM will never, ever be normal to me. Even when it's normal. It's just not right.) And making sure my lines are memorized. And picking out my first day of school outfit. Which is still a very important decision.
(Side note: as a student I only ever called teachers by their last name when they had reached a particular state of coolness. I'm not sure if that's the culture around here or not, but every time a student ditches the "Miss" and goes straight for the kill, I get a little cocky.)
Last summer was horrible. This summer was by all accounts perfect. I didn't get sick. I got to sleep in. I got to travel to parts of the world I'd never been to and checked a part off of my theater bucket list. I have my classes more or less prepared and my business owner responsibilities under control as well. This summer I became the master of both fun and productivity. Glorious.
But even the best laid plans get thrown wrenches once in a while. When you seek out chances to be involved in as many things as I do (I blame my mom's dad, who is also obsessed with being involved in everything), then stress follows you and gives you stress whiplash at inopportune times. Like when you're on vacation and can't do anything about it except ride Space Mountain until you forget for thirty seconds at a time. And when you're a slight (more than slight) control freak like myself, the only cure for stress is to just do something about it. Generally I make a list.
This time I needed to make two. I needed to make a list of things I need to do to handle said new form of stress, and I needed to remind myself of why I like my job at all. So now I present to you a list of reasons both profound and ridiculous as to why I have the best job in the world. I do this to make you supremely jealous. They are in no organized order.
1. I get an excuse to look nice every day and wear all of my numerous pencil skirts. I love pencil skirts. And looking nice.
2. I am essentially paid to run a book club five days a week. This is fantastic. Because I love talking about books with people.
3. I get to buy school supplies. But no seriously. New notebooks and pencils and staplers and pretty whiteboard markers (!!) and paperclips and Post It Notes (!!) are my favorite things ever. And now I can excuse my purchases of new pens I don't need but really want as completely necessary for getting through a stack of essays.
4. I get to work with a large number of seriously cool people. I love the staff of my current school. They are funny and hard working and generous to one another. When someone is successful it is something that we cheer, not something we're jealous of (as often happens in professional settings). When one teacher does something innovative, other teachers try and find ways to adapt and grow their own classes as a result. This is unique and wonderful and I am grateful to be surrounded by people I like.
5. I have an awesome classroom. The walls are painted. There are couches. There are pictures of places I love on the walls and books and a large selection of Pixar movies and shorts I can draw from for fun examples of how not to suck.
6. I have awesomely creative students that are enthusiastic and interesting and funny. I love the life they bring to my room and the ideas they share. They take my rule about not being boring quite seriously, which I appreciate.
7. I have supportive parents who help organize things I don't have the time to organize and who trust me with the minds (and lives) of their kids. I value and appreciate that trust.
8. I get to, for the first time ever in four years, teach mostly classes that I have taught before. This. Is. Miraculous.
9. Our school lunches are actually really good. Which is awesome because lunch is the one meal of the day I would skip if I could. It's just boring and way too much work to be good most of the time. As evidenced by the fact that I have sometimes completely forgotten about it this summer.
10. I've had lots of great non-school opportunities as a result of working where I do. The most awesome of which is, of course, the theatrical opportunities I've had lately. Two shows in one summer. Haven't done that in about six years. And both parts are bucket list parts.
So, yeah. I'm a bit tired and overwhelmed at the moment. Not everything is perfect. But since when has everything been perfect? I just know that those not so perfect aspects of my life are, in many ways, out of my control, and therefore a waste of my time to stress about. What I can stress about is finding the coolest new pens on the market and restocking my whiteboard markers. And getting my sleep schedule back to "normal" (6:30 AM will never, ever be normal to me. Even when it's normal. It's just not right.) And making sure my lines are memorized. And picking out my first day of school outfit. Which is still a very important decision.
24 July 2012
Majority Rules
It's been a while. What with performing one play, beginning rehearsals for another, planning my first real vacation in about three years and working more or less full time. . . I've been busy.
I've also been doing a lot of thinking. As is normal for me. Those thoughts are somewhat rambly and twisted. As is normal for me. Hopefully you can make sense of it all.
I've started reading To Kill a Mockingbird again. It is a book that, admittedly, I hated the first time I read it. I don't blame Atticus or my 9th Grade English teacher (whose name I can't remember, but I do remember liking her class) - I blame my Harry Potter induced, fantasy obsessed, 14 year old mind. I have since repented. I wish that I could get that decade or so of not liking Mockingbird back so that I could read it again and again and again. I always learn something new.
One of my favorite Atticus quotes is when he counsels his daughter, Scout, that "the one thing that doesn't abide my majority rule is a person's conscience." It's an important motto for Atticus, who spends the entirety of the book in the minority. He raises his daughter in a way that allows her to wear overalls instead of dresses and to experiment with swearing and disobeying her teacher. (Heck, he encourages the disobeying of the teacher, but that's because the teacher was trying to get Scout to stop reading, so that's pretty fair in context if you ask me.) People don't understand why he lets Scout experiment, but he's alright with that. He most notably goes to court on behalf of an innocent black man who stands no chance of winning his case, and though many people admire Atticus for doing what no one else will, it doesn't change the fact that no one else will.
I've also been thinking about the story of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden and the LDS view on what we call the Plan of Salvation - or, put more simply, God's plan for how we can return to live with Him. The way Mormons understand this story, Adam and Eve are sent to the Garden and given an impossible task: have children, and don't take any fruit from the tree of knowledge. The way we understand it, it's impossible because until they had knowledge, they wouldn't know how to . . . well, do it. They were like children themselves, ignorant of the impropriety of nakedness. So why set them up for failure? Well, because God knew that everything we do would have to be a choice. Eden is essentially an extension of heaven. We all had the choice to come or not to come. They had the choice to leave or not to leave. But it had to be a choice. If it wasn't a choice, it would throw off the whole plan.
And then we are, in some ways paradoxically, told that the path back to the Lord is "straight and narrow". Which is great and true and I believe that - except that phrase doesn't mean "straight, narrow, and identical for everyone." Which makes things relatively confusing if you start looking at someone else's life and go "Well, wait a second, that is a wrong decision the moron", or "What am I doing so wrong that my life isn't like that."
(Confession. I am guilty of both. Often.)
((Confession two: I have felt the burden of both. Often.))
Sometimes I think the greatest tool Satan has against me is doubt in my own instincts. To doubt that I am even anywhere near the straight and narrow path simply by comparing myself to others, or by doubting my ability to act on inspiration I receive. It's such a mess for such a little problem. I've been on this earth for a while now. Long enough to have a pretty good grasp of making more or less right decisions most of the time. Decisions that are right for me at any rate, even if they aren't right for everyone. And most of the time, even the majority of the time, my intentions and heart are in the right place. I want to do what the Lord wants me to do, so even when I mess up, He has a way of getting me back on track. My track.
But then I look at someone else's life and suddenly I'm not so sure. "What if staying home to grade papers tonight destroys the only chance I have of ever getting married!!!" I'll think rather irrationally, and then feel guilty the rest of the evening for not being more social. Or I'll talk to someone who doesn't seem to understand me or has led a life quite different to mine and I'm not sure again. Or I'll feel nervous telling friends or family members about something that's making me really happy for fear that it won't be good enough or appear "right" enough on the outside. Suddenly my prayers and questions and relationship to the Lord is called into doubt. The confidence I felt in quiet moments of study and prayer seem feeble in the light of day and safer in my head.
So thank goodness for the wisdom of Atticus in reminding me that, when it comes down to it, majority rule doesn't apply to my conscience. Now, this is not to completely discount the majority. Sometimes (most of the time) I need the perspective and wisdom of people on the outside to give me a different view on decisions I make, especially the big ones, so that I have a clear mind. Heck, this is why I read the scriptures and have my parents on speed dial. But when it comes down to it - it's me and Him. And that . . . that is liberating. Because He is certainly smarter than the majority. And me.
I've also been doing a lot of thinking. As is normal for me. Those thoughts are somewhat rambly and twisted. As is normal for me. Hopefully you can make sense of it all.
I've started reading To Kill a Mockingbird again. It is a book that, admittedly, I hated the first time I read it. I don't blame Atticus or my 9th Grade English teacher (whose name I can't remember, but I do remember liking her class) - I blame my Harry Potter induced, fantasy obsessed, 14 year old mind. I have since repented. I wish that I could get that decade or so of not liking Mockingbird back so that I could read it again and again and again. I always learn something new.
One of my favorite Atticus quotes is when he counsels his daughter, Scout, that "the one thing that doesn't abide my majority rule is a person's conscience." It's an important motto for Atticus, who spends the entirety of the book in the minority. He raises his daughter in a way that allows her to wear overalls instead of dresses and to experiment with swearing and disobeying her teacher. (Heck, he encourages the disobeying of the teacher, but that's because the teacher was trying to get Scout to stop reading, so that's pretty fair in context if you ask me.) People don't understand why he lets Scout experiment, but he's alright with that. He most notably goes to court on behalf of an innocent black man who stands no chance of winning his case, and though many people admire Atticus for doing what no one else will, it doesn't change the fact that no one else will.
I've also been thinking about the story of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden and the LDS view on what we call the Plan of Salvation - or, put more simply, God's plan for how we can return to live with Him. The way Mormons understand this story, Adam and Eve are sent to the Garden and given an impossible task: have children, and don't take any fruit from the tree of knowledge. The way we understand it, it's impossible because until they had knowledge, they wouldn't know how to . . . well, do it. They were like children themselves, ignorant of the impropriety of nakedness. So why set them up for failure? Well, because God knew that everything we do would have to be a choice. Eden is essentially an extension of heaven. We all had the choice to come or not to come. They had the choice to leave or not to leave. But it had to be a choice. If it wasn't a choice, it would throw off the whole plan.
And then we are, in some ways paradoxically, told that the path back to the Lord is "straight and narrow". Which is great and true and I believe that - except that phrase doesn't mean "straight, narrow, and identical for everyone." Which makes things relatively confusing if you start looking at someone else's life and go "Well, wait a second, that is a wrong decision the moron", or "What am I doing so wrong that my life isn't like that."
(Confession. I am guilty of both. Often.)
((Confession two: I have felt the burden of both. Often.))
Sometimes I think the greatest tool Satan has against me is doubt in my own instincts. To doubt that I am even anywhere near the straight and narrow path simply by comparing myself to others, or by doubting my ability to act on inspiration I receive. It's such a mess for such a little problem. I've been on this earth for a while now. Long enough to have a pretty good grasp of making more or less right decisions most of the time. Decisions that are right for me at any rate, even if they aren't right for everyone. And most of the time, even the majority of the time, my intentions and heart are in the right place. I want to do what the Lord wants me to do, so even when I mess up, He has a way of getting me back on track. My track.
But then I look at someone else's life and suddenly I'm not so sure. "What if staying home to grade papers tonight destroys the only chance I have of ever getting married!!!" I'll think rather irrationally, and then feel guilty the rest of the evening for not being more social. Or I'll talk to someone who doesn't seem to understand me or has led a life quite different to mine and I'm not sure again. Or I'll feel nervous telling friends or family members about something that's making me really happy for fear that it won't be good enough or appear "right" enough on the outside. Suddenly my prayers and questions and relationship to the Lord is called into doubt. The confidence I felt in quiet moments of study and prayer seem feeble in the light of day and safer in my head.
So thank goodness for the wisdom of Atticus in reminding me that, when it comes down to it, majority rule doesn't apply to my conscience. Now, this is not to completely discount the majority. Sometimes (most of the time) I need the perspective and wisdom of people on the outside to give me a different view on decisions I make, especially the big ones, so that I have a clear mind. Heck, this is why I read the scriptures and have my parents on speed dial. But when it comes down to it - it's me and Him. And that . . . that is liberating. Because He is certainly smarter than the majority. And me.
21 June 2012
The Introvert in Extroverted Clothing
Once upon a time there was a girl who loved to talk.
The legend said that she was never a happy child - cried all the time, in fact - until she learned to use words. Then she was happier.
This girl found that she could use her words to get attention. That adults found it entertaining when she used words far too big for her underdeveloped speaking skills to handle, and she liked to make people laugh. That children less verbal than herself were easy to rule over and convince to play the games she wanted to play in the manner to which she was accustomed. Words, she found, were a source of power.
Fortunately this young girl also learned that when you used words to control other people (such as your less than eager younger brother) you were deemed bossy, and that people did not like spending time with those who were bossy, particularly when they had no right to declare themselves in charge. Words had betrayed her.
She also learned (through various eavesdropping episodes) that when she said big words in an attempt to earn the respect and admiration of adults, she often earned giggles as well because big words coming from small mouths is entertaining. She liked to make others laugh. She did not like to be laughed at. Words had betrayed her a second time.
The girl found that she did not like being made fun of because of words or other things either. She became rather paranoid of people talking about her behind her back. She was afraid of being misunderstood or misrepresented. Of being annoying or rude. She longed for acceptance and refinement.
So the girl tried many ways in which to harness this tongue of many words into something that would not get her into trouble or make her frustrating to others. She tried once to join with the "popular" crowd at school but found that this was a place where her practical sense of fashion and love of learning got in the way. (She also learned that she didn't really care about having large groups of friends to keep track of, but instead preferred two or three close friends to rely on.) She tried to be shy by not talking at all in class or in the halls but found that her reputation as an extroverted talker hung over and people around her only wondered if she was upset or sick or annoyed. It was too late - she had earned the reputation of being confident and chatty and comfortable in groups.
This reputation came with a new set of challenges. You see, this particular girl had all of the outward trademarks of an extrovert but she really wasn't one. Not completely. She loved performing on stage and was comfortable pursuing a career that placed her in front of large groups of people. She felt no stress in being asked to present awards or speeches at the last minute in front of people and even thrived on the thrill that came from being called on to do so. But this was very much so a part of her professional presentation. In her personal life, this girl was very private. She was, she discovered, an introvert in extrovert clothing. For example, while she was very passionate about her beliefs and things she enjoyed, she hated conflict and would generally clam up when she felt attacked. She would often promise to go to a party thinking that it sounded fun, but, when the party time had actually arrived, want nothing more than to stay home and read a book (even if she had been feeling cabin fever all day.) And relationships. . . relationships were hard.
With friends, she often felt bad. She was (because often first excited and then not so excited about going out) a bit of a wild card in group settings - sometimes fun, and sometimes awkward and frustrating. She was often looked to for decision making in group settings and was fine making decisions but would internally panic that by doing so she would alienate others and find herself, once again, in a position of being the annoying one.
"Intimate" relationships were always a source of stress and never a chance for her to relax and feel comfortable. Not that external circumstances had ever really helped this.
For example, this girl received her first kiss late one night from a near total stranger who did not ask but just did and the girl told no one about how humiliating and horrible this experience had been for nearly half a year after the experience itself. She would listen to girls around her talk about boyfriends and fiances and kissing and how wonderful it was and smile and nod like she knew what they were talking about but really she never wanted to get close to a boy ever again if that's how things went.
Or several years after this when the girl finally managed to start overcoming some of her paranoid fears about dating she started spending time with a young man who was kind and generous and friendly and interesting and started thinking that maybe, just maybe, things would go well. And then without warning the young man disappeared completely and (somewhat pettily) removed the girl on Facebook of all places. This felt rather final, and not wanting to be pushy or needy, the girl quietly moved on. A note appeared on her bed several months later with a "you're wonderful and beautiful" but "now isn't a good time" message, and the girl put the note away and. . . tried to move on.
Why was it, she thought, that her friends seemed to feel so much more deeply than she did? This was, for all intents and purposes, the only "break up" she'd ever gone through in her many years of dating eligibility, and she felt nothing. No desire for a pint of ice cream. No tears. The relationship had moved on, so she would quietly walk away and start over. It was a familiar walk, after all. She felt bad for not feeling bad.
The people around her weren't quite sure what to do with her. To be fair, the girl often wasn't sure what to do with herself. She felt frustrated. She was gifted in public situations and usually liked them, but when it came to friends and relationships she was what many might call a failure. She preferred small groups of friends. When friends moved or married she hardly ever maintained contact with them, preferring not to force relationships. Although she often felt like she ought to date more, she really just didn't like it and had a hard time balancing what she wanted with what she was supposed to want. She often thought that she would date much more if she lived in the Arctic where the only creatures there to watch were the penguins - and they wouldn't talk. It was a complicated kind of existence.
She was learning to balance it. She always found that labels helped her to categorize her emotions a little better and feel less guilty over things that weren't really meant to be guilt inducing because they weren't sins so much as challenges. She found a few close friends that she trusted, and this helped too.
But what really helped was the story of Moses. Some people, she thought, had challenges that God would just take away. The Jaredites, for example, needed to be able to speak the same language. So God kept their language pure. But Moses - Moses had trouble speaking. Since he was a prophet, this was a problem. But God didn't make him any better at public speaking over the years as far as we can tell, but instead gave Moses someone who was good at speaking and Moses could pass on what needed to be said through him. It didn't take the problem away, but it did make it easier to cope. And this. . . this was where words could cease to be a curse for the girl but instead a very great blessing. Writing, she found, was where she could be honest and work out her complicated ideas and confusing existence in a way that was helpful to her and maybe, just maybe, also helpful to others.
The legend said that she was never a happy child - cried all the time, in fact - until she learned to use words. Then she was happier.
This girl found that she could use her words to get attention. That adults found it entertaining when she used words far too big for her underdeveloped speaking skills to handle, and she liked to make people laugh. That children less verbal than herself were easy to rule over and convince to play the games she wanted to play in the manner to which she was accustomed. Words, she found, were a source of power.
Fortunately this young girl also learned that when you used words to control other people (such as your less than eager younger brother) you were deemed bossy, and that people did not like spending time with those who were bossy, particularly when they had no right to declare themselves in charge. Words had betrayed her.
She also learned (through various eavesdropping episodes) that when she said big words in an attempt to earn the respect and admiration of adults, she often earned giggles as well because big words coming from small mouths is entertaining. She liked to make others laugh. She did not like to be laughed at. Words had betrayed her a second time.
The girl found that she did not like being made fun of because of words or other things either. She became rather paranoid of people talking about her behind her back. She was afraid of being misunderstood or misrepresented. Of being annoying or rude. She longed for acceptance and refinement.
So the girl tried many ways in which to harness this tongue of many words into something that would not get her into trouble or make her frustrating to others. She tried once to join with the "popular" crowd at school but found that this was a place where her practical sense of fashion and love of learning got in the way. (She also learned that she didn't really care about having large groups of friends to keep track of, but instead preferred two or three close friends to rely on.) She tried to be shy by not talking at all in class or in the halls but found that her reputation as an extroverted talker hung over and people around her only wondered if she was upset or sick or annoyed. It was too late - she had earned the reputation of being confident and chatty and comfortable in groups.
This reputation came with a new set of challenges. You see, this particular girl had all of the outward trademarks of an extrovert but she really wasn't one. Not completely. She loved performing on stage and was comfortable pursuing a career that placed her in front of large groups of people. She felt no stress in being asked to present awards or speeches at the last minute in front of people and even thrived on the thrill that came from being called on to do so. But this was very much so a part of her professional presentation. In her personal life, this girl was very private. She was, she discovered, an introvert in extrovert clothing. For example, while she was very passionate about her beliefs and things she enjoyed, she hated conflict and would generally clam up when she felt attacked. She would often promise to go to a party thinking that it sounded fun, but, when the party time had actually arrived, want nothing more than to stay home and read a book (even if she had been feeling cabin fever all day.) And relationships. . . relationships were hard.
With friends, she often felt bad. She was (because often first excited and then not so excited about going out) a bit of a wild card in group settings - sometimes fun, and sometimes awkward and frustrating. She was often looked to for decision making in group settings and was fine making decisions but would internally panic that by doing so she would alienate others and find herself, once again, in a position of being the annoying one.
"Intimate" relationships were always a source of stress and never a chance for her to relax and feel comfortable. Not that external circumstances had ever really helped this.
For example, this girl received her first kiss late one night from a near total stranger who did not ask but just did and the girl told no one about how humiliating and horrible this experience had been for nearly half a year after the experience itself. She would listen to girls around her talk about boyfriends and fiances and kissing and how wonderful it was and smile and nod like she knew what they were talking about but really she never wanted to get close to a boy ever again if that's how things went.
Or several years after this when the girl finally managed to start overcoming some of her paranoid fears about dating she started spending time with a young man who was kind and generous and friendly and interesting and started thinking that maybe, just maybe, things would go well. And then without warning the young man disappeared completely and (somewhat pettily) removed the girl on Facebook of all places. This felt rather final, and not wanting to be pushy or needy, the girl quietly moved on. A note appeared on her bed several months later with a "you're wonderful and beautiful" but "now isn't a good time" message, and the girl put the note away and. . . tried to move on.
Why was it, she thought, that her friends seemed to feel so much more deeply than she did? This was, for all intents and purposes, the only "break up" she'd ever gone through in her many years of dating eligibility, and she felt nothing. No desire for a pint of ice cream. No tears. The relationship had moved on, so she would quietly walk away and start over. It was a familiar walk, after all. She felt bad for not feeling bad.
The people around her weren't quite sure what to do with her. To be fair, the girl often wasn't sure what to do with herself. She felt frustrated. She was gifted in public situations and usually liked them, but when it came to friends and relationships she was what many might call a failure. She preferred small groups of friends. When friends moved or married she hardly ever maintained contact with them, preferring not to force relationships. Although she often felt like she ought to date more, she really just didn't like it and had a hard time balancing what she wanted with what she was supposed to want. She often thought that she would date much more if she lived in the Arctic where the only creatures there to watch were the penguins - and they wouldn't talk. It was a complicated kind of existence.
She was learning to balance it. She always found that labels helped her to categorize her emotions a little better and feel less guilty over things that weren't really meant to be guilt inducing because they weren't sins so much as challenges. She found a few close friends that she trusted, and this helped too.
But what really helped was the story of Moses. Some people, she thought, had challenges that God would just take away. The Jaredites, for example, needed to be able to speak the same language. So God kept their language pure. But Moses - Moses had trouble speaking. Since he was a prophet, this was a problem. But God didn't make him any better at public speaking over the years as far as we can tell, but instead gave Moses someone who was good at speaking and Moses could pass on what needed to be said through him. It didn't take the problem away, but it did make it easier to cope. And this. . . this was where words could cease to be a curse for the girl but instead a very great blessing. Writing, she found, was where she could be honest and work out her complicated ideas and confusing existence in a way that was helpful to her and maybe, just maybe, also helpful to others.
17 May 2012
Beyond Capability
My birthday this year was relatively uneventful. Honestly, it was almost boring. For the last seven years I've celebrated my birthday by hiking in England or cutting class and going out to lunch with friends. The last two years of my responsible adult life I've had a weekend birthday. This year I had to teach. The school year is in the process of ending and most of the people I would normally choose to celebrate the day with are so busy with grading and end of year concerts and such that I spent the majority of my birthday alone with my Facebook alerts and a depression funk I'd been fighting for several days before hand for company. Mazel tov.
(Don't feel too bad for me. I intend to extend my birthday for several more days until I can have a proper party with people I love. It will happen. And it will be delicious.)
Determined not to let my day be a complete depressive funk of work and usefulness, I spent my prep period (and the study hall I supervise) be devoted entirely to finishing I Am the Messenger by Markus Zusak again. (Incidentally, if you haven't read any of his books, do it. Now. They're gorgeous.)
There is a sentence at the end of the book that I had to read several times over again.
Maybe everyone can live beyond what they're capable of.
I thought about this for the rest of the day. As a teacher, I'm a huge advocate for my students. All of them. The nation spends their time fighting primarily for the failing students who need help because of learning disabilities or financial troubles or eating disorders or general disinterest. I spend my time reminding my students that no matter what their age or ability or socio-economic background, everyone struggles to get to the next level of awesome. It's just part of life. Something will (or should) always be hard.
I just wish sometimes I could take that advice myself.
Playing Beth in Little Women has been a bit of a rough experience in some ways. I can count dozens of times in my life when my verbal-ness has been the subject of sarcasm and laughter, and just as many where suddenly my love of language and gift with words felt more like a curse than a blessing. Times when I would try so desperately to be shy and quiet and void of opinions and the revolting urge I have to share them. Try to be the one that is easy to like and to understand. And now I spend my nights being the one that is easily adored and fawned over by everyone so that her eventual death is something worth mourning - not just because death is sad. In some ways, coming out of that mode and back into the reality of my own rather difficult personality isn't always pleasant.
A few days ago we were running a scene where Jo takes Beth to the seashore as a last ditch attempt to try and bring her back to full health. Sitting there in my wheelchair while my Jo flopped with joy over my lap I smiled and felt for the first time in a very honest way why Beth is so attached to her older sister. Jo's way of life is more dramatic - much more dramatic than Beth's simple existence - but Jo is so full of life. She is ambitious and excited about possibilities. That excitement occasionally blinds her to the simple joys her sister Meg seeks in a home and family, or the perhaps more trivial ones from Amy who loves beauty and luxury - but she does the best she can and always comes around.
So as much as I admire and love people like Beth, and as much of a joy as it is to play her, I also know that to become her would be to sacrifice much of what makes me feel alive. Like Jo, I sometimes learn the hard way and the long way and frustrate people before I realize what I've done. But, like Jo, I do what I can to make amends as soon as I can. I have ambition and drive and always do better when I make choices without feeling pressure from family or society. It can be a curse - but it can also be a blessing. I am learning to live beyond my current capabilities without feeling burdened by them.
You'll just have to forgive me if it takes longer for me to adjust myself than you would like it to. This "perfecting oneself" business is a pain. (I'll return the favor.)
(Don't feel too bad for me. I intend to extend my birthday for several more days until I can have a proper party with people I love. It will happen. And it will be delicious.)
Determined not to let my day be a complete depressive funk of work and usefulness, I spent my prep period (and the study hall I supervise) be devoted entirely to finishing I Am the Messenger by Markus Zusak again. (Incidentally, if you haven't read any of his books, do it. Now. They're gorgeous.)
There is a sentence at the end of the book that I had to read several times over again.
Maybe everyone can live beyond what they're capable of.
I thought about this for the rest of the day. As a teacher, I'm a huge advocate for my students. All of them. The nation spends their time fighting primarily for the failing students who need help because of learning disabilities or financial troubles or eating disorders or general disinterest. I spend my time reminding my students that no matter what their age or ability or socio-economic background, everyone struggles to get to the next level of awesome. It's just part of life. Something will (or should) always be hard.
I just wish sometimes I could take that advice myself.
Playing Beth in Little Women has been a bit of a rough experience in some ways. I can count dozens of times in my life when my verbal-ness has been the subject of sarcasm and laughter, and just as many where suddenly my love of language and gift with words felt more like a curse than a blessing. Times when I would try so desperately to be shy and quiet and void of opinions and the revolting urge I have to share them. Try to be the one that is easy to like and to understand. And now I spend my nights being the one that is easily adored and fawned over by everyone so that her eventual death is something worth mourning - not just because death is sad. In some ways, coming out of that mode and back into the reality of my own rather difficult personality isn't always pleasant.
A few days ago we were running a scene where Jo takes Beth to the seashore as a last ditch attempt to try and bring her back to full health. Sitting there in my wheelchair while my Jo flopped with joy over my lap I smiled and felt for the first time in a very honest way why Beth is so attached to her older sister. Jo's way of life is more dramatic - much more dramatic than Beth's simple existence - but Jo is so full of life. She is ambitious and excited about possibilities. That excitement occasionally blinds her to the simple joys her sister Meg seeks in a home and family, or the perhaps more trivial ones from Amy who loves beauty and luxury - but she does the best she can and always comes around.
So as much as I admire and love people like Beth, and as much of a joy as it is to play her, I also know that to become her would be to sacrifice much of what makes me feel alive. Like Jo, I sometimes learn the hard way and the long way and frustrate people before I realize what I've done. But, like Jo, I do what I can to make amends as soon as I can. I have ambition and drive and always do better when I make choices without feeling pressure from family or society. It can be a curse - but it can also be a blessing. I am learning to live beyond my current capabilities without feeling burdened by them.
You'll just have to forgive me if it takes longer for me to adjust myself than you would like it to. This "perfecting oneself" business is a pain. (I'll return the favor.)
08 May 2012
Holding on or Letting Go?
I came onto the Lost fan train a little late.
By a little late I mean, oh, ten years or so? I remember roommates watching it and friends talking about it but I never really took the time to figure out what all the hype was about. I wasn't anti-Lost, I just was too busy to be bothered with another show to follow. By the time I thought "well, maybe it would be worth my time", everyone said I'd be lost (literally) unless I started at the beginning and playing catch up didn't appeal enough to push me to action, so I stayed away.
Recently I've started watching. (So help me, if you spoil anything for me, I will hunt you down. I'm nearly done with season two. As soon as school is out I'm sure I'll bulldoze through them all in a few weeks.) It's a fascinating sort of show, isn't it? For those of you who aren't familiar, the basic premise is that a group of people get stranded on and island after a plane crash. The show uses flashbacks to the time before the island to help you get to know these people so you have a reference point to see if the island is a good thing for them or a danger to them. I love the way the set up of the show gives everyone a clean slate - and then puts them back into the same situation they were in before the crash of the plane (more or less) to see if they can grow or not. I love how ruthless the show is in terms of things being fair or unfair. I've enjoyed watching the show expand from a glorified Survivor episode into something much grander and more mythological.
One of the episodes I watched recently involved the backstory of a woman who found out she had cancer that had come out of remission. Her doctor gave her approximately a year to live. She accepted this, and was ready to move on and make the best of the life she had left. Her new husband didn't seem too keen on this idea of moving on, and more or less conned her into going to see a healer in Australia who was supposed to be a miracle worker.
Fast forward to this couple on the island, and the husband is still intent on doing things. He's not going to let himself be stuck on an island, so he decides to put together a large S.O.S rock signal on an empty beach. His wife doesn't agree - she thinks, after being stranded on the island for a few months, that this will give people false hope, and they should spend their time instead on living the life they have, not hoping for the life they don't.
Without going into too much detail about their story and how it all turns out - this contrast interested me, because 90% of the time, I'm a doer. When something needs to be done, I'd prefer to do it myself because I'm egotistical like that and I tend to believe that I prefer my way of doing things to the way someone else would come up with. It's not that I don't trust that other people are capable, it's more common that I just am a slight control freak and a schedule obsessor and taking on a task myself means I can control the schedule of when something gets done and predict my happiness with the outcome.
And for most of my life, the idea of letting go seemed synonymous with quitting for me. It meant failure and not being good enough. But life as a doer is stressful. Especially when life is uncontrollable and other people also have, you know, agency. I am determined that it's time for me to spend a little more time letting go. Letting go of social pressures that are, on the whole, more imaginary than real. Letting go of stresses I can't fix. Letting go of trying to control so much of my future that I can't enjoy the present. It's time to start living, as CS Lewis instructs in Screwtape Letters, in the present. Living in the past is fruitless, living in the future dangerous. But living in the present - that is where life touches the eternities most closely. That is where I want to be.
By a little late I mean, oh, ten years or so? I remember roommates watching it and friends talking about it but I never really took the time to figure out what all the hype was about. I wasn't anti-Lost, I just was too busy to be bothered with another show to follow. By the time I thought "well, maybe it would be worth my time", everyone said I'd be lost (literally) unless I started at the beginning and playing catch up didn't appeal enough to push me to action, so I stayed away.
Recently I've started watching. (So help me, if you spoil anything for me, I will hunt you down. I'm nearly done with season two. As soon as school is out I'm sure I'll bulldoze through them all in a few weeks.) It's a fascinating sort of show, isn't it? For those of you who aren't familiar, the basic premise is that a group of people get stranded on and island after a plane crash. The show uses flashbacks to the time before the island to help you get to know these people so you have a reference point to see if the island is a good thing for them or a danger to them. I love the way the set up of the show gives everyone a clean slate - and then puts them back into the same situation they were in before the crash of the plane (more or less) to see if they can grow or not. I love how ruthless the show is in terms of things being fair or unfair. I've enjoyed watching the show expand from a glorified Survivor episode into something much grander and more mythological.
One of the episodes I watched recently involved the backstory of a woman who found out she had cancer that had come out of remission. Her doctor gave her approximately a year to live. She accepted this, and was ready to move on and make the best of the life she had left. Her new husband didn't seem too keen on this idea of moving on, and more or less conned her into going to see a healer in Australia who was supposed to be a miracle worker.
Fast forward to this couple on the island, and the husband is still intent on doing things. He's not going to let himself be stuck on an island, so he decides to put together a large S.O.S rock signal on an empty beach. His wife doesn't agree - she thinks, after being stranded on the island for a few months, that this will give people false hope, and they should spend their time instead on living the life they have, not hoping for the life they don't.
Without going into too much detail about their story and how it all turns out - this contrast interested me, because 90% of the time, I'm a doer. When something needs to be done, I'd prefer to do it myself because I'm egotistical like that and I tend to believe that I prefer my way of doing things to the way someone else would come up with. It's not that I don't trust that other people are capable, it's more common that I just am a slight control freak and a schedule obsessor and taking on a task myself means I can control the schedule of when something gets done and predict my happiness with the outcome.
And for most of my life, the idea of letting go seemed synonymous with quitting for me. It meant failure and not being good enough. But life as a doer is stressful. Especially when life is uncontrollable and other people also have, you know, agency. I am determined that it's time for me to spend a little more time letting go. Letting go of social pressures that are, on the whole, more imaginary than real. Letting go of stresses I can't fix. Letting go of trying to control so much of my future that I can't enjoy the present. It's time to start living, as CS Lewis instructs in Screwtape Letters, in the present. Living in the past is fruitless, living in the future dangerous. But living in the present - that is where life touches the eternities most closely. That is where I want to be.
25 April 2012
Dear Mr./Mrs./Ms. ________
You'll have to forgive me for how long it has taken me to write this. But as a girl who has always been a little bit too "smart" for her own good, it wasn't until the last few years that I've realized something.
Teachers are . . . people.
Prone to being sick and frustrated and tired and overworked and annoyed just like the rest of us. And the truth is, most teachers would actually like to be, you know, liked. At least enough to be the kind of teacher students want to take classes from. That high school popularity contest is a pain in the butt.
And, remember those times when I thought you were stupid or annoying? Sometimes when I wasn't even in your class? You told off a friend of mine or treated me like I didn't know anything and I assumed in return that you didn't know anything? Or you said something curt to me and I thought you didn't like me but it was probably a problem with school bureaucracy or lack of sleep or something completely unrelated to anything I had done, but I still took it personally and didn't like you any more? I think I was probably wrong. In fact, I think most of you were probably smarter than I realized. Maybe you didn't present the information in the way I connected with. Or maybe you weren't as good at presenting as you could have been. But that didn't mean you weren't smarter than me. Even when I thought otherwise.
See, here's the thing. When I think back on most of my teachers, I remember them as being perpetually kind and healthy and helpful. I'm sure that wasn't always the case. But now that I'm a teacher myself I pray that will be the case for me. Especially after weeks of stress and frustration and tight schedules in which I constantly feel like my lessons are just thrown together and my emotions are running on the edge of sanity and all I can do is pray that my students leave feeling good about themselves and like I still believe in them and love them and want them to succeed. And hope that as I get better at this whole "inspiring" thing and "being a person" thing I'll learn to not feel so rattled when things are hard and schedules are tight and my nose is raw from an abundance of kleenex and I'm out of Diet Coke.
So, teachers that I probably didn't respect as much as I should have because this job is hard - thank you for putting up with my occasionally arrogant too-big-for-my-britches attitude. Karma is paying me back a little bit now, and I hope that I can handle it with the grace you seemed to use.
-Me
Teachers are . . . people.
Prone to being sick and frustrated and tired and overworked and annoyed just like the rest of us. And the truth is, most teachers would actually like to be, you know, liked. At least enough to be the kind of teacher students want to take classes from. That high school popularity contest is a pain in the butt.
And, remember those times when I thought you were stupid or annoying? Sometimes when I wasn't even in your class? You told off a friend of mine or treated me like I didn't know anything and I assumed in return that you didn't know anything? Or you said something curt to me and I thought you didn't like me but it was probably a problem with school bureaucracy or lack of sleep or something completely unrelated to anything I had done, but I still took it personally and didn't like you any more? I think I was probably wrong. In fact, I think most of you were probably smarter than I realized. Maybe you didn't present the information in the way I connected with. Or maybe you weren't as good at presenting as you could have been. But that didn't mean you weren't smarter than me. Even when I thought otherwise.
See, here's the thing. When I think back on most of my teachers, I remember them as being perpetually kind and healthy and helpful. I'm sure that wasn't always the case. But now that I'm a teacher myself I pray that will be the case for me. Especially after weeks of stress and frustration and tight schedules in which I constantly feel like my lessons are just thrown together and my emotions are running on the edge of sanity and all I can do is pray that my students leave feeling good about themselves and like I still believe in them and love them and want them to succeed. And hope that as I get better at this whole "inspiring" thing and "being a person" thing I'll learn to not feel so rattled when things are hard and schedules are tight and my nose is raw from an abundance of kleenex and I'm out of Diet Coke.
So, teachers that I probably didn't respect as much as I should have because this job is hard - thank you for putting up with my occasionally arrogant too-big-for-my-britches attitude. Karma is paying me back a little bit now, and I hope that I can handle it with the grace you seemed to use.
-Me
12 April 2012
Living the Dream
Theater dreams are never good.
They always involve dropped lines and missed props and mistakes that can't be covered and an audience full of people laughing at you, or worse, silence.
And then, of course, there's the dream where you are called to fill in a part at the last minute. For me, that part is always, always Belle from Beauty and the Beast. Not sure why. I haven't played the part (yet!) but I should legitimately have it memorized. I've known the movie since I was about four and the Broadway show for at least the last fifteen years. But no matter how well I know the words, in my dreams I always forget them. "Little town it's a . . . " . . . blank. Nothing.
Every actor I've ever talked to has dreams like this. No one is immune. Some people dream about forgetting locker combinations and getting late to class, I dream about costume malfunctions and missing broomsticks or eyelashes falling off.
I can now safely say with complete honesty that filling in for a part you haven't rehearsed for is just as terrifying as it is in dreams and twice as awkward.
Last week I had the opportunity to fill in for a part in the musical at the school where I teach. By virtue of the fact that I assistant directed the show and can still pass for fifteen, when an actress fell sick I was called upon called upon approximately four hours before showtime to learn the lines, choreography and music. Good thing I'd been to most of the rehearsals, right?
Oh, and did I mention that one of the costumes I had to wear involved a corset and bloomers (and, consequently, students wanting to take pictures of me in said costume?) And slapping another character?
Good thing I still have my job!
Several of the cast members asked me after the performance if I had fun. I think they were surprised (and a little confused) when I said that I hadn't. Filling in for a part you haven't rehearsed is stressful! It's why you rehearse to begin with - so when the performance comes you've memorized the lines and blocking so that you can think about character instead of where you need to be and when. It's easier to have fun when you aren't worried about the semantics of performance. The second night I performed it was much less stressful and more fun.
I can honestly say, though, that I hope never to have to do that again. I'd infinitely rather prepare.
19 March 2012
No Secret
It's no secret that math wasn't ever my best or favorite subject.
Well, if you didn't know, then it isn't any more.
My students all know this. How many times have I tried to quickly do even the most ridiculous problem at the front of the room (figuring out, for example, how many groups I need to divide students into fours) and done a horrible job of it. It's a bit of a running joke. I'm ok with it. Teacher quirks and failings are endearing if you make fun of them and recognize them and occasionally exaggerate them.
But here's the thing: even though math isn't my best subject, I still keep a good budget. I can still accurately measure fabric or furniture. I can make cookies that don't include way too much salt. I have the skills I need to do what is required of me. It works out. I learned and internalized what I needed to.
Here's another not secret: Standardized testing is a waste of money and time that doesn't accurately measure the success or failure of teachers and schools. What's more, standardized testing has actually negatively changed the way students learn and are prepared for the "real world".
Everyone knows this. Teachers know it. Students know it. Even, as far as I can tell, most politicians know it. Businessmen know it. We talk about it. We talk about not "teaching to the test" and how important it is to prepare the youth in our country for being creative in the fast moving Apple and Google world to which we belong, but will turn around in the same school year or month or week or hour and say: ". . .but they still have to pass the test."
The test. The big, scary, government mandated test that determines my future employment and the status of my school and absolutely nothing for my students. My students who, after so many years of hours spent each spring staring at a computer pushing buttons, have started to grow accustomed to the idea that becoming educated is not an active, engaging process, but a process of binge and purge. Information is shoved at you, and you vomit it back up, hoping the important chunks are present when you need them most.
Excuse the imagery. It grosses me out too, if it makes you feel any better.
What I don't understand is that it is no secret whatsoever that standardization and excellence do not exist in the same place. All standardized tests tell us is how many students who were failing last year are now passing, at least on that particular day. They don't tell us how many of those students are going to Harvard. They don't tell us how many of those students are genius in one area or another and are going to be hired by Pixar in the next couple of years.
There's no shame whatsoever in teaching students who struggle. That's what schools are made for. But, as a good friend of mine reminded me recently, every student struggles to get to the next level. Every student needs help and a mentor, not just the ones who are more obviously behind.
Thus, the problem of modern education. There are so many different kinds of students in my classroom that no matter how hard I try I won't be able to reach them all. Personality quirks get in the way. Teaching styles get in the way. Hours of the day or problems at home or how much a student had for lunch get in the way. There are hundreds of excuses and problems and I don't have the answers to all of them but I do know that one solution is simple: do away with standardized testing.
Want more proof? Read here.
Well, if you didn't know, then it isn't any more.
My students all know this. How many times have I tried to quickly do even the most ridiculous problem at the front of the room (figuring out, for example, how many groups I need to divide students into fours) and done a horrible job of it. It's a bit of a running joke. I'm ok with it. Teacher quirks and failings are endearing if you make fun of them and recognize them and occasionally exaggerate them.
But here's the thing: even though math isn't my best subject, I still keep a good budget. I can still accurately measure fabric or furniture. I can make cookies that don't include way too much salt. I have the skills I need to do what is required of me. It works out. I learned and internalized what I needed to.
Here's another not secret: Standardized testing is a waste of money and time that doesn't accurately measure the success or failure of teachers and schools. What's more, standardized testing has actually negatively changed the way students learn and are prepared for the "real world".
Everyone knows this. Teachers know it. Students know it. Even, as far as I can tell, most politicians know it. Businessmen know it. We talk about it. We talk about not "teaching to the test" and how important it is to prepare the youth in our country for being creative in the fast moving Apple and Google world to which we belong, but will turn around in the same school year or month or week or hour and say: ". . .but they still have to pass the test."
The test. The big, scary, government mandated test that determines my future employment and the status of my school and absolutely nothing for my students. My students who, after so many years of hours spent each spring staring at a computer pushing buttons, have started to grow accustomed to the idea that becoming educated is not an active, engaging process, but a process of binge and purge. Information is shoved at you, and you vomit it back up, hoping the important chunks are present when you need them most.
Excuse the imagery. It grosses me out too, if it makes you feel any better.
What I don't understand is that it is no secret whatsoever that standardization and excellence do not exist in the same place. All standardized tests tell us is how many students who were failing last year are now passing, at least on that particular day. They don't tell us how many of those students are going to Harvard. They don't tell us how many of those students are genius in one area or another and are going to be hired by Pixar in the next couple of years.
There's no shame whatsoever in teaching students who struggle. That's what schools are made for. But, as a good friend of mine reminded me recently, every student struggles to get to the next level. Every student needs help and a mentor, not just the ones who are more obviously behind.
Thus, the problem of modern education. There are so many different kinds of students in my classroom that no matter how hard I try I won't be able to reach them all. Personality quirks get in the way. Teaching styles get in the way. Hours of the day or problems at home or how much a student had for lunch get in the way. There are hundreds of excuses and problems and I don't have the answers to all of them but I do know that one solution is simple: do away with standardized testing.
Want more proof? Read here.
13 March 2012
Nothing
You no longer need a good book, which he really likes, to keep him from his prayers or his work or his sleep; a column of advertisements in yesterday's paper will do. You can make him waste his time not only in conversation he enjoys with people whom he likes, but in conversations with those he cares nothing about on subjects that bore him. You can make him do nothing at all for long periods. You can keep him up late at night, not roistering, but staring at a dead fire in a cold room. . . so that at least he may say, as one of my own patients said on his arrival down here, 'I now see that I spent most of my life in doing neither what I ought nor what I liked.'
C. S. Lewis, The Screwtape Letters
My first year of teaching I tried out for a play. I was expecting ensemble. I got lead. It was a dream part so I couldn't turn it down, but I wasn't entirely sure how I was going to survive the month and a half left of school and stay on top of rehearsals. It seemed like way too much. All year I'd been tired and worn out and never quite finished with grading. I wasn't sure how it was going to work out.
It was the most productive quarter I've ever had as a teacher.
Assignments were graded and entered on time. Lessons were planned and finished by no later than 4:00. I was able to go to rehearsal every night and give myself over as fully as I could to the show, and enjoy doing so without guilt.
I've thought a lot about that quarter recently. Thought about how often we get distracted from the long term goal by the immediate semi-gratification. I remember one student, for example, who was particularly talented in dance, but, due to a supreme amount of laziness and bad grades, was not allowed to share these talents in the after school dance team. The student let the immediate pleasures of sleeping in class or socializing in the halls interfere with the real love and joy associated with dance.
And then there's the documentary I saw recently about the people who spend hours upon hours on Facebook with their hundreds of "friends".
I think about all the time I spend in "nothing". The time I spend not doing anything bad, or anything good - just drifting through articles in the paper I'm not hugely interested in or watching reruns of television shows or looking through my email for messages to delete. How much of my time is that actually taking? I think some "nothing" time is good for you, but when does it cease to help and start to harm? Do I need a busy schedule to keep me on task or am I good enough to fill my time with good things when left to my own devices?
I'll be honest: that last sentence from Screwtape scares me. What a horrible thing to discover about yourself. To learn that your life has been filled with nothing that gave you real joy. Horrible.
It was the most productive quarter I've ever had as a teacher.
Assignments were graded and entered on time. Lessons were planned and finished by no later than 4:00. I was able to go to rehearsal every night and give myself over as fully as I could to the show, and enjoy doing so without guilt.
I've thought a lot about that quarter recently. Thought about how often we get distracted from the long term goal by the immediate semi-gratification. I remember one student, for example, who was particularly talented in dance, but, due to a supreme amount of laziness and bad grades, was not allowed to share these talents in the after school dance team. The student let the immediate pleasures of sleeping in class or socializing in the halls interfere with the real love and joy associated with dance.
And then there's the documentary I saw recently about the people who spend hours upon hours on Facebook with their hundreds of "friends".
I think about all the time I spend in "nothing". The time I spend not doing anything bad, or anything good - just drifting through articles in the paper I'm not hugely interested in or watching reruns of television shows or looking through my email for messages to delete. How much of my time is that actually taking? I think some "nothing" time is good for you, but when does it cease to help and start to harm? Do I need a busy schedule to keep me on task or am I good enough to fill my time with good things when left to my own devices?
I'll be honest: that last sentence from Screwtape scares me. What a horrible thing to discover about yourself. To learn that your life has been filled with nothing that gave you real joy. Horrible.
29 February 2012
Family Ties
“[...] I grew up out of that strange, dreamy childhood of mine and went into the world of reality. I met with experiences that bruised my spirit - but they never harmed my ideal world. That was always mine to retreat into at will. I learned that that world and the real world clashed hopelessly and irreconcilably; and I learned to keep them apart so that the former might remain for me unspoiled. I learned to meet other people on their own ground since there seemed to be no meeting place on mine. I learned to hide the thoughts and dreams and fancies that had no place in the strife and clash of the market place. I found that it was useless to look for kindred souls in the multitude; one might stumble on such here and there, but as a rule it seemed to me that the majority of people lived for the things of time and sense alone and could not understand my other life. So I piped and danced to other people's piping - and held fast to my own soul as best I could.”
Lucy Maud Montgomery
I remember when I was about three, maybe four, going to bed with Anne of Green Gables clutched in my hands. I would turn the pages endlessly, spotting words I recognized, pouring over the pictures, wishing more than anything in the world to be old enough and smart enough to read that book.
It's one of those fortunate books where every time I read it it's like the first time again. I get the same excitement. The same surprises and a few new ones. Every time I read it, it's like coming home.
Which is a mercy, because occasionally "home" for me is a place where I feel rather set apart. I don't think I really realized this for myself until I left home and had the chance to have the luxury of preference. I realized that many of the standard things we just "do" in my family weren't things I hated, but would never choose for myself. For example, most of my family would gladly choose a tropical vacation with hours spent on the beach sipping virgin strawberry daiquiris and wearing nothing but a swim suit for a week, but I would choose the rainy northwest with its green hills and many trees and beaches not made for swimming but for sitting. I'd go to art museums and theaters and used bookstores instead of bowling or game nights. My family loves a good chick flick or inspirational sports movie, but in the last few years I've realized that I'm a bit of a movie snob (much to the inconvenience of others) and prefer movies that are artistic and thought provoking over the popular "escapist" fare most people prefer. Many times I find myself feeling like I don't quite belong.
But, then, before I get too carried away down that path I have to remember that there are things I share. My grandfather's love of teaching and jazz music. My other grandfather's love of work. Love of travel and writing and the gospel from both sides of the family. My grandmother's love of dance. My mother's love of harmony and cleanliness. My dad's love of order and his determination. My great grandparents and their love of music and theater. Photography from my uncle.
My particular set of genes may be a bit peculiar and my ideal world perhaps a bit strange, but I am not, at least, a complete anomaly. I am still "a part of all that I have met."
It's one of those fortunate books where every time I read it it's like the first time again. I get the same excitement. The same surprises and a few new ones. Every time I read it, it's like coming home.
Which is a mercy, because occasionally "home" for me is a place where I feel rather set apart. I don't think I really realized this for myself until I left home and had the chance to have the luxury of preference. I realized that many of the standard things we just "do" in my family weren't things I hated, but would never choose for myself. For example, most of my family would gladly choose a tropical vacation with hours spent on the beach sipping virgin strawberry daiquiris and wearing nothing but a swim suit for a week, but I would choose the rainy northwest with its green hills and many trees and beaches not made for swimming but for sitting. I'd go to art museums and theaters and used bookstores instead of bowling or game nights. My family loves a good chick flick or inspirational sports movie, but in the last few years I've realized that I'm a bit of a movie snob (much to the inconvenience of others) and prefer movies that are artistic and thought provoking over the popular "escapist" fare most people prefer. Many times I find myself feeling like I don't quite belong.
But, then, before I get too carried away down that path I have to remember that there are things I share. My grandfather's love of teaching and jazz music. My other grandfather's love of work. Love of travel and writing and the gospel from both sides of the family. My grandmother's love of dance. My mother's love of harmony and cleanliness. My dad's love of order and his determination. My great grandparents and their love of music and theater. Photography from my uncle.
My particular set of genes may be a bit peculiar and my ideal world perhaps a bit strange, but I am not, at least, a complete anomaly. I am still "a part of all that I have met."
23 February 2012
No Room to Contain It
Last year was the year from Hades.
It was the year of non-stop work. It was the year of the illness of death. It was the year of no travel, no theater, no sunlight. It was a year for questioning everything I hold dear, wondering if the path I was taking really, truly was the right path (it was). It was a year of hard won recovery after some rather emotionally abusive relationships. It was a year. of. trial.
(There were some good things too. But, not going to lie, I wouldn't relive it.)
In the back of my mind, the storyteller part of my mind, I knew that if I survived the year with faith and hard work and determination, then sometime it would all pay off. The dearth of theater. The lack of travel. The frustration in feeling so lost with who I was and my place in the universe. So I kept going. Worked hard. Bit the bullet of endless responsibility. Fought for what I believed in and came to new understandings about myself and others. Overcame weaknesses. I left 2011 battle scarred and exhausted, but triumphant.
I knew it would pay off, I just didn't expect it to pay off quite this much.
I don't just have one potential show to be a part of this year - I have at least three. And I know for sure that two of them are going to work out.
I won't be going to England like I wanted to, but I will be going on a fantastic trip to the Southeast - Williamsburg, Charleston, Savannah, and Orlando. It's a part of the country I've always wanted to see but never had the chance. Now's my chance.
I am still busy with school and business running, but business running is paying off (literally and metaphorically) in fantastic ways. Plus, as an added bonus, I get to stay at the same school next year instead of moving schools (again), and I'm ecstatic. I love my school and my coworkers and (nearly all) of my students. And, what's also nice, is they seem to like me too.
I am not perfect, but I am learning to be more accepting of where I am in the world and the path I am on. I am striving to do the right thing. Even if my "right" seems strange compared to the "traditional" path people take, I am confident that the Lord knows what He's doing. I feel, for the first time in a long time, peace with myself.
And, best of all, I will be able to go to the temple. I have dreamed and prayed and begged for that chance for so long, and finally the Lord agreed that now is a good time. As a person who generally prides herself on her skills in hiding emotion, at least when it's of the sappy and personal variety, I am quite sure that every time I think of this particular blessing, my cup overflows again and I feel more gratitude than my eyes can contain. 50 days. 50 days and I will be there. With friends and family that I love.
Life is good, friends. I feel as though I understand just a little bit of what the Lord talks about when he says he will bless us and there will not be room enough to receive it. I find myself so full of gratitude that I almost feel guilty, knowing that there are so many other people in the world to bless who have overcome so much more than just working hard, or people who are still struggling with no end in sight - but I'll take it. I'll take it and enjoy it with every ounce of my soul I can spare so that when another 2011 comes around, I'll be ready to tackle it too.
09 February 2012
Green and Pleasant Land
"We call this land of ours Great Britain, and there may be those who believe this a somewhat immodest practice. Yet I would venture that the landscape of our country alone would justify the use of this lofty adjective.
And yet what precisely is this 'greatness'? Just where, or in what, does it lie? I am quite aware it would take a far wiser head than mine to answer such a question, but if I were forced to hazard a guess, I would say that it is the very lack of obvious drama or spectacle that sets the beauty of our land apart. What is pertinent is the calmness of that beauty, its sense of restraint. It is as though the land knows of its own beauty, of its own greatness, and feels no need to shout it."
The Remains of the Day, Kazuo Ishiguro
This is the most perfect description of England I have ever read in my life.
It has not helped cure my travel bug at. all.
(Also, I wish it were spring of 2007, so I could be doing this again:)
05 February 2012
30 January 2012
However Hard and Long the Road
It isn't often that I write publicly about something relating to my more personal trials, particularly when they are trials of faith. Mostly I find that that type of writing is best saved for journaling and not nearly as conducive to the healthy dose of snark and cheek I like to include in my public writing. (Does mentioning "snark and cheek" in and of itself count? I don't think so.)
But I'm standing on the edge of something that is making me nervous, and I'll never sleep tonight until I write. And since I so rarely share my feelings of faith - I figure now is as good a time as any to start.
From when I was very small, I was told - like many Latter-Day Saints before me, that going to the temple was an important goal. The temple is a very sacred place for members of my church. We believe that temples - there are more than 100 around the world - are the physical representation of God's home on earth. It is where we make covenants with God to live a righteous life and learn more about Him. It is where families are sealed together so that they can be families not just on this earth, but after death as well. It is where we perform sacred ordinances for those who have died so that they too can receive the blessings of covenants. It is a place of prayer and worship and service.
Because of the sacred nature of temples, members are not allowed to enter without first declaring their worthiness before local clergy members. What's more, there are age requirements. Youth can enter at 12 to do baptisms for the dead, but not to make their own covenants or do other work. The rest of the temple is reserved for older members.
As a child, I assumed that I would go to the temple before a mission (at 21) or when I was married (before I graduated from college like everyone else, obviously.) Well, 21 came and went. A mission didn't feel right for me. I watched boys go through at 19 in preparation for their own missions and swallowed a little bit of my frustration, but figured I wouldn't have to wait long.
But 21 came and went, followed by 22. . . 23. . . my fridge was littered with an assortment of wedding invitations that rotated in and out as (what feels like) all of my friends married and I remained home on the weekends more or less content with a me-date of reading and movies. It got harder to be denied a chance to go to the temple, something that I could do, at least, because I was worthy, not because I was waiting on the agency of someone else.
Girls aren't typically recommended to go through the entire temple until they are married, go on a mission or reach the ripe old age of 25 (which honestly, to me, always felt like a subtle euphemism from the church as a woman past hope of ever getting married, so they may as well be sent through.)
Not that this stopped me from asking my leaders to consider anyway. I'm stubborn like that, I suppose. I have always been active in my church. I have lived away from my immediate family for nearly a decade and have remained active on my own in all of that time. I believe that my church is true and good and has blessed my life. I honor the covenants I have made and strive my best to lead the life the Lord would have me lead. But each time I approached a leader I was told without much conversation at all that they wouldn't consider it until I was 25. No conversation about why, or time to think about my worthiness - just a no. So I have a hard time swallowing the pill of watching the circumstances of everyone else be a good enough reason for temple attendance, while my lack of circumstances but great desire has not been sufficient. It has hurt. Greatly.
I do feel a little guilty hurting, actually. You hear so many triumphant stories of starving families in third world countries selling everything they own to go to the temple just once in their lives while I, who know I will eventually get to go at little/no financial inconvenience hundreds of times in my life am only asked to wait until I'm "old". And I know that a good dose of my frustration is that part of my personality speaking that absolutely despises being left behind, particularly when it feels unjust. I also feel that feminist part of my soul just annoyed at the sheer number of immature boys who go through the temple simply because they are going on missions, and spend their whole life just expecting it to happen, so it does. (And then I feel guilty about that too, because missionaries do great things and ought to be blessed in that way no matter their age.) ((And then there are the 18-19 year old girls marrying the boys and that gets my gander up even more. But I digress.))
That quarter-century mark is just around the corner for me. I made my appeal again. This time I was (finally) put through to speak with the Stake President. He gave me about 600 pages of reading to do. Somehow in the middle of working what is essentially two full time jobs and assistant directing the school musical and, you know, trying to keep my sanity, I found time to read it all in about three weeks. This Sunday I will have the chance to speak with the Stake President again to determine my fate.
I'm nervous.
Nervous about getting my hopes up too high after years of disappointment. I'm scared to even hope. Hope is equivalent to joy and I don't dare even let myself think about flying on the wings of anticipation this time because the thud is unthinkable. Honestly, I'm actually praying mostly for the Lord to tell me if it is the wrong choice in advance so that I can have my privacy as I try to move on, instead of having to face someone else with that grief. I know that I am too strong and stubborn to let a "no" break my testimony of the church, but I'm terrified of what will happen if he asks me to wait longer after all the work I have done to prepare and all the prayers I've offered begging for answers, because deep down I know that it isn't my choice to make, or the Stake President's choice - it's His.
In the middle of all this I am hoping either way for a bit of understanding. I don't understand why it has been this way. I don't know why these blessings seem to come as easily as putting socks on in the morning for some people and feel like wandering in the desert with the Children of Israel for me. But with every last fingernail of faith I can find I am clinging to the belief that someday this will all make sense to me, and that I'll have the courage to accept whatever solution is reached on Sunday.
In the mean time: I'm watching this.
20 January 2012
Fill in the Blank
I'm starting a new writing assignment next week with my English classes. I've taught the project before which is wonderful - it means a little more security in knowing what I'm doing each day in class. The project is a research paper where they will research words. To get them excited, I wanted to get them playing around with language so that it didn't sound quite so boring. I found a worksheet I was given by another teacher a few years ago that she had used in her junior high classes in a project similar to this one. The paper involves sentences with blanks in them. Students are instructed to find the best word they can to fill in the blank - the most descriptive word is preferable.
Of course, I made the mistake of not reading over the page before I handed it out to my older students, who can sniff a euphemism from a mile away.
It started off normally enough. . .
"When his parachute failed to open, John (precipitated) to earth." (Like Voldemort at the end of the last Harry Potter movie?)
"Mary (flailed) over the cat which was in the middle of the hallway."
But then I started reading the sentences with the blanks and seeing that things just were not going to go anywhere good when you get sentences with awkwardly placed blanks such as. . .
"The class (molested) the teacher onto the bus." (Whoops.)
"The reporters (licked) the celebrity until she gave them a statement."
"The hunters (slapped) their prey until they could get a clear shot."
"The servant (fondled) the lady of the house; she seemed like a goddess to him."
They all left begging for more worksheets like this one. I left thinking that I would make sure to read over papers I used for junior high students a little more carefully before I used them on high school students again. Oh man.
Of course, I made the mistake of not reading over the page before I handed it out to my older students, who can sniff a euphemism from a mile away.
It started off normally enough. . .
"When his parachute failed to open, John (precipitated) to earth." (Like Voldemort at the end of the last Harry Potter movie?)
"Mary (flailed) over the cat which was in the middle of the hallway."
But then I started reading the sentences with the blanks and seeing that things just were not going to go anywhere good when you get sentences with awkwardly placed blanks such as. . .
"The class (molested) the teacher onto the bus." (Whoops.)
"The reporters (licked) the celebrity until she gave them a statement."
"The hunters (slapped) their prey until they could get a clear shot."
"The servant (fondled) the lady of the house; she seemed like a goddess to him."
They all left begging for more worksheets like this one. I left thinking that I would make sure to read over papers I used for junior high students a little more carefully before I used them on high school students again. Oh man.
10 January 2012
Do What I Know
I have recently decided that I am too talented for my own good.
(I'm mostly being sarcastic.)
((But seriously, though.))
Talented, I suppose, isn't quite the right word for the mess I've found myself in. Interested in far too many things and not trusting enough of other people to do the job the right way (re: my way) is probably a bit closer to the truth, at least some of the time. As a result, I've found myself teaching a full schedule in school (I have one official hour off a week. Most teachers have one of those a day.) I am assistant-director for the school musical. I am helping to set up a new "honors" program for my school and am responsible for looking after the academic requirements/support for said program. I was recently given a calling in church in which I was told by my supervisor "the last person who had this calling was so relieved to be released so that she can spend more time with her family. We're all so excited that you're single so you will have time to help us more!"
Oh, and did I mention that I am co-owner of a company that writes and grades curriculum for home-schooling families? And that I have two shows I intend to audition for before the school year is over? And that I am currently making my way through several books in the hopes of going to the temple this year (finally)?
(Oh, and that I want to keep my sanity?)
So yes. My life is legitimately busy.
Though, of course, I really shouldn't complain at all because a good number of the things listed above are things I volunteered for in the first place.
You'd think that in the middle of all that scheduling madness I wouldn't have time to think about goal setting or adding any more to what I'm already doing, but I did think about it. I thought about setting goals on getting more sleep, for example. On reading a book I want to read but don't have to teach once a month. But I know that putting myself on some kind of schedule for these things will just add stress instead of take it away, so instead I am doing what this woman suggests and am going to put my focus on doing what I know.
For instance, I know that when I make time for the Lord in my life, I find time I need for everything else.
I know that when I am stressed and I make a to-do list and a calendar, then the stress is more manageable and I function better than when I stew in my stress pot.
I know that I'm on the Lord's timing and shouldn't waste (too much) of my time stressing over things I can't control.
I know that I feel better when my day is filled with fruits and veggies and (probably too much) bread.
I know that things are hard for me right now, but that I can do hard things.
I know that no amount of grading and planning for and obsessing about my job will cover for time not spent with people. (Especially adult-like ones after a day of teenagers.)
I know lots of things. And this year (since it is the end of the world and all), I intend to dedicate myself to doing what I know.
31 December 2011
Year End Review
I remember reaching the end of 2010 and feeling completely overwhelmed with gratitude for the blessings I'd been given. 2010 was a good year. 2009 was as well, for that matter. I'd gone to England, started and finished my first year of teaching, got a new job and reached the half way point of my second year of teaching - I'd made some incredible, life-changing friendships and had the privilege of performing one of my dream parts on stage. I felt closer to the direction and guidance of the Lord than I ever had been in my life. Things were good.
This year. . .oh this year. My Christmas newsletter write up last year was way too long. This year it looked something like: "Joni worked. . . and worked some more. She hopes next year involves more theater and travel." Two sentences. That's it. I look at the end of 2011 and am quite tempted to spin the clock forward a few hours in an attempt to welcome a new year. 2011 was hard. It was emotionally and physically draining. A year of solid work with very few breaks, even during the summer. No theater. Only minimal travel. A seemingly endless battle with my own emotions and trying to conquer feelings of inadequacy and depression that were almost cruel at times. Not easy. Not fun.
But with all of this not fun-ness and depression comes the opportunity now for me to rest. To stop for a moment and look at how far I've come and realize the hard-won blessings and growth of the year.
For example, I'm learning for the first time in my life to love myself as I am. My talkative and confident public persona often hides a person completely unsure of herself. Combine that with a genetic born desire to please others and you have a recipe for a person easily confused and pressured into doing and feeling things to please others. I don't mean to say that this year has made me more selfish - but I do think I am leaving this year less easily swayed into trying to please everyone around me by being what I think everyone wants me to be. It's a valuable lesson. For the first time in a while, I feel peace with who I am now, not just focussing on who I want to be in the future.
For another, I'm learning to be happy with where I am in life. It is easy - so easy - in this part of the world to look around and feel behind. To feel as though where I am now is less important or valuable to me than if I were to be doing what everyone else around me seems to be doing. But I like what I do. I love teaching. (I love, heaven forbid, being single*.) And instead of seeing these things as temporary or unnecessary or of less worth to me than a life of changing diapers, I've seen the value in embracing the journey I am on, not the one Jane Doe across the street is on. I still have goals and dreams and desires for the future, but not having those things here, now, is no reason to feel guilty about being happy with things I have now that I really do like. I'm done feeling socially guilty.
So, 2011. . .you were a bit of a pain. One of those years that I'll look at years down the road and be really grateful for, I'm sure. But for now, I intend to blow an obnoxious celebratory horn quite loudly at midnight and drink a glass of Martinelli's in honor of your death. Then I'm going to cuddle with 2012 until it succumbs to giving me the theater time I am in desperate need of.
Happy New Year!
*Most of the time. On laundry/cleaning/shopping day, it would definitely be nice to have some help. Also when my bed is a little too cold.
13 December 2011
Ode to the Butterflies
Recently I was asked to Assistant Direct the school musical where I teach. (It's not the same as being on stage, and the show is one that I would do just about anything to be in, but it's a step warmer to the stage than I've been for the last year!) Auditions start today. This particular show will involve approximately 25 people - 1/3rd the number of the show from last year. You can feel the anticipation so thickly in the air you can cut through it.
I remember back when I auditioned for my first school play. I was a seventh grader, seasoned from years of pretending to be various characters in my living room and bedroom. I was sure that the director would cast me. Why shouldn't she? I was, quite obviously, the best choice. I remember watching the clock slug its way on all day, waiting for the cast list to be posted. A mere nine people in the entire school were going to be involved. I knew I was going to be one of them.
Except that I wasn't. My first (though certainly not last) great defeat. I was crushed.
The next year things went better. I managed to scrape by as villager number two and snagged myself three short lines by virtue of the fact that I went to every rehearsal whether I was scheduled or not.
Since then I've been involved in many shows and will, I'm assuming, add to that list. But I am very happy to say that my years of auditioning as a student in high school are behind me. Auditioning in community and regional theater is hard, but auditioning in school is worse. So, so much worse. You can't escape it. If you get the part you want, you're walking on air, but if you don't - and the odds are infinitely not in your favor towards getting what you want - then you watch another person do what you wanted to do, and, if you don't get cast, spend the next several months praying for the show to end so that you can move on. You're surrounded by it. Happiness you so wanted, but won't get. There's nothing worse.
So, dear auditioning students, know that I feel your pain. That I have been there. And that I do not envy you even a little. I too will be auditioning at least twice in the next few months. It's hard. It's embarrassing. (It's addicting.) But it is so, so worth it.
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