Disappearing Road

Gloomy day, feeling a bit bluesy, decided to color a picture and write a poem. Creativity should help, right?

The balancing act continues

Between getting things done and self-care.

Last night I dreamt of former students

Saw faces and some talked to me

I woke and for the first time I said

I miss teaching

But I mostly miss the relationships

And watching them grow

And accepting all they had to give.

This picture of the winding road through the trees

Feels appropriate for me right now

I can only see a few days ahead

My mood fluctuates, my grief changes

Cathartic moments erupt and waylay my plans

I know it’s okay

It’s going over the edge where the road disappears.

Off in the distance there are mountains

Something solid and real

For now, I rest on the road of trees

Take with gratitude all I do have

Shelter. Food. Friends. Faith.

A Sudden Calm

I’ve been feeling a bit more off balance than I’d like, and doing everything I can to get a grip. It comes and goes and I’m wishing I felt more solid.

Taking time to be with friends these last few days has been good, but I’m still feeling some anxiety.

After I wrote my blog yesterday, I was reading other things and it all started to get to me.

Then I read Matthew Dicks’ blog which is emailed to me every day. You may recognize the name—he’s the storyteller who created Homework for Life, a practice I continue.

Anyway, his blog was about meeting a friend in despair over the state of our world, and he talked to his friend, sharing the difficulties of the past—concentration camps in Germany, the draft during the Vietnam War, the economic issues of the 1970s — and he assured his friend that we all come out of these things by taking small steps. He ended the blog saying “In every small way, find a way,” and with this image:

I felt an immediate calm.

I’ve never seen this image before, but yesterday I never needed something as much as it. All I could do was stare at it. I didn’t even want to think about the meaning.

But today I did write about it in my journal:

I look at this truncated tree, and the instrument that did the damage. I feel it is my life that got cut down—my teaching life and my married life. And I’ve always known and felt there would be new directions for me, things I can’t imagine right now. So I see this so perfectly rendered and it moves me deeply. It removes anxiety. It’s factual.

This happened. 

And is still happening

In every small way, find a way.

What Might Go Right

I had written in my journal and was thinking about what I might want to write about here today when I saw this on my Facebook feed:

It seems every day I have some level of anxiety about the things I need to do. I pretty much hate that.

But when I look back over these past weeks and months, I realize a lot of things went right. I made decisions that worked well for the most part. I’m still trying to figure out the terrain of my life with a spouse who is no longer here, and I have plenty of people to help me.

Yesterday when in one of these moments of feeling my weakness, I remembered my promise to Jim. On October 4th I told him it was okay to let go, that I would be alright. I see that as a promise I made to him. So falling into anxiety or seeing myself as incapable of handling this life is dissing that promise. 

I have everything I need, as Adam Grant has illustrated above. I need to turn my attention to the things that will go right. It’s a promise I made to Jim, and now one I make to myself.

There is every reason to believe I will be fine. I want to allow an opening for a new life and unexpected adventures. But I can’t do it if I focus on the wrong things.

Laundry

I’m sitting here trying to figure out just what the big deal was.

Back around 1984 when Jim and I first started living together, we alternated weekly who did laundry. We also did the grocery shopping together every Sunday morning.

One day Jim informed me that he hated grocery shopping, and he didn’t really like how I did laundry. We made a deal then—I would shop, he would be the laundry man.

And that is how it has been all these years.

In the past year, despite his health issues, Jim has kept up with the laundry pretty well. He tends to let it accumulate for a long time, and then spends a whole weekend getting it all done. Pure drudgery, in my opinion.

Jim is the king of getting spots out. For years, my sister would call him for advice on various issues. I suppose now she is the queen of spot removal, having learned from the best.

But now he is not here, and I find myself on my own to get this done. We had purchased new washer and dryer in 2020 when things were sinfully cheap, and now I’m starting to learn the ins and outs of how to use these machines.

The first load I did, I failed to realize I had never washed a pair of burgundy yoga pants before. Some of my underwear came out delightfully tie-dyed in lovely pink and purple tones.

Twice I forgot the softener. Then when I remembered it, I put it in the detergent cup. 

I don’t wait for the basket to be bursting at the seams. When I see a load, I wash it. 

For years I wondered if I could ever do laundry again without resentment. Now I find it’s no big deal. What was I so concerned about?

Given that life keeps changing, I’m hoping that other things I tend to let gnaw on my brain turn out to be no big deal. 

And now that I’m finishing this essay after folding the clothes, I’m starting to wonder if I remembered to put in the detergent pod on this last load. Hmmm…

Do they look clean to you?

4 Lines

 

Here are 4 lines I wrote in my journal today:

Things can turn and change

It ain’t over ‘til it’s over

I can be positive and strong

I can accept things exactly as they are

Gratitude for Journals

In cleaning up my classroom, I dug several journals out of my large drawer where I keep my purse. I brought two of them home to read.

The first one I read was from the 2021-22 school year, and it was a horror story. That was the year I started teaching Read 180 and the kids were a mess. Daily I felt abused by their constant use of the F word and their attempts to gaslight and insult me. I came close to quitting. It was horrible.

There were some hopeful things as the year went on, but when I was done reading I knew I didn't want this around me anymore. I tossed that toxin in the trash.

Then I found this notebook that Annmarie had given me. I used it as a gratitude journal starting with the 2017-18 school year.

 

After reading the other journal, this one was pure delight. I kept up with it pretty well throughout the school year, and it continues into 2018-19 and then picks up in January 2021 until the end of that school year.

I have ways of remembering these years, and this book confirmed much of what I recall. I was teaching things I believed in, including creative writing and speech & debate. I was reaching the kids with great activities, and I was keeping myself balanced in many ways. I had some successes that were noted, and I was working with my teacher friends to present at ASCD in the summer of 2019. I had a decent planning period I often was grateful for, as it allowed me to really dig in and create great lessons.

The 2021 part was a bit different, as that was the year I was hybrid teaching. I was experimenting with the Modern Classrooms method -- so different than anything I’d done in previous years -- and discovering the ups and downs with it. I didn't care for how that year sidetracked things, but at the same time, it was a tremendous learning experience.

I couldn't help comparing to this last school year, where my planning was reduced and not at the best time of day for me, and many of my plannings were spent covering other classes. I have already trained myself to NOT count of my planning. How sad is that?

Even worse, this coming year I will have another teacher in my room during planning. I will no longer have that time as a sanctuary from kids and noise. I am trying so hard not to fret about that, but I still am. Going to another room is not the answer.

I know I have to think differently about this and not make predetermination. But what I do know -- and this gratitude journal confirmed -- is that there are things that feed me as a teacher, and little by little they have been chipped away. I want to be able to see this as adventure, to tell myself a new story, to allow myself to piece it together. All I can do is promise myself to do my best.

But I am also aware, like I found with the first journal I read, that some things are just poison and may have a negative affect. I am keeping my options open. Stay tuned.

Written in the Cosmos

Today I am listening to Sheryl Crow’s new album Evolution.

It feels just right. It’s nice to have a voice that express so much of what I’m feeling. 

Yesterday in particular I started to feel a shift inside. Nothing I can vocalize yet, but it’s there. 

So today I will just introduce a song from her album that I love a lot. These words in particular: 

There is a story being written in the cosmos
A tale of love that shines so bright
Well, you're just a child until the moment you remember
Only you can write the story of your life

Here is the lyric video for your own discovery

On Saying Yes, Part 3 (Finding Refuge)

On Monday I read Mary Oliver's essay called "Some Thoughts on Whitman." This is the one that brought everything together for me.

Mary focuses heavily on Leaves of Grass, spotlighting "Song of Myself," which is his most notable poem. Most people recognize these words:

I celebrate myself

And what I assume you shall assume

For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

 

For years, I've looked at this poem as a celebration of the individual. And isn't that the way it is always promoted?

 

But I saw it reflective of Thich Nhat Hanh:

 

I take refuge in the Buddha.

The Buddha takes refuge in me.

 

These words Mary offered on Whitman's writing resonated for me:

 

Out-circling, interest, sympathy, empathy, transference of focus from self to all else; the merging of the lonely single self with the wondrous, never-lonely entirety.

 

Noting all these things in my journal, I came to a much needed revelation:

The practice of staying connected to everything has been calming.

I do not feel alone. That is huge.

Just a few days earlier I expressed how alone I felt. But I'm not feeling that now.

*

Yesterday I spent a few hours with Jim at the cancer center while he got his chemo. Last time I was there, I felt stressed and alien. I looked at other people there, listened to them, and felt I was in a strange lonely world. 

But yesterday was totally different. I felt the healing environment. I felt connected to the people there, not separated. The people we communicated with were positive and alive and present. 

 

And it didn't feel lonely.

I've let this experience in, which is what I needed to do.

*

Mary concludes her comments about Whitman with this:

Brawn and spirit, we are built of light and God is within us.

If I have to say anything about the moment I am living in, it is that. 

 

Unifying the light and dark is the best way I can describe it. 

 

Scared and lonely has no place in the refuge of God.

Without judgment or avoidance, I say a clear and resounding YES to this calling, this emergence, this never-lonely entirety.

Let it Matter

 The word that sticks with me from yesterday is

INDEFINITELY.

I heard it from Dr. Shah (the oncologist). He said even after these rounds of chemo, Jim will be on chemo/immunotherapy…

INDEFINITELY.

The thing is—I expected to hear that kind of thing last week. But he said at that time this chemo would be followed by “2 years of immunotherapy.”

Pardon me if I’m confused here, because I truly am. 

I tried to hold it in, but finally broke open to Jim about it last night and cried. He is confused as well.

The bottom line, of course, is what matters — and that is accepting. A huge part of this reality is what acceptance really means.

A lot of times we say we are accepting, but in reality we aren’t really.

We resist.

**

I watched the final 45 minutes of American Symphony, and in it Suleika hears from her doctor that after the bone marrow transplant she will be on chemo…

INDEFINITELY.

They cry. I cry with them.

We all know what that really means.

I’m finding this part of the journey hard to accept. And I tend to tell myself it doesn’t matter, or I’m just looking at things wrong.

But it does matter, and I’m not wrong to feel what I feel.

This is when I come back to call on the angels surrounding us and tap into my deeper soul knowledge, and not let outer influences change what I know to be true.

Tap into that and stay there.

**

Today I decided to listen to Johnnyswim’s album Georgica Pond and I knew there was a song waiting there for me.  I finally found this one that had the words, and it was a necessary reminder that what I’m feeling DOES matter.

If it matters, let it matter

If your heart’s breaking, let it ache

Catch those pieces as they scatter

Know your hurt is not in vain

Don’t hide yourself from the heart

Hurt today, here tomorrow

If it’s fragile and it shatters

Let it matter, let it matter

Oh, it matters

Swirling

Today I’m contemplating Jon Batiste’s words about brutal reality and unwavering faith co-existing.

Jim started his chemo. We’re entering a whole new routine. 

It’s easier to have faith when reality doesn’t intrude! 

Never mind I’m still trying to figure out what this means for my work life.

I’m in this weird spot. I honestly cannot even think about what I’m thinking.

Doing the next right thing—in this case, getting his lunch together to take to the chemo pod.

Sitting with it all again, as reality and faith swirl around and around.

This is Not My Final Destination

 (Inspired by Nick Flynn’s poem “ If This is Your Final Destination.)

This is not my final destination.

I’m called to a time of miracles and introspection, 

my ordinary “no news is good news” life 

turned upside down.

Words cause fear & hugs & pitying looks.

A student hands me a gift bag full of smelly lotions and 

body wash, Girl Scout cookies.

Some of my students even seem to 

appreciate me more —

 asking my favorites in music, 

looking happy to see me.

But this is not my final destination.

It will change again.

Human beings can get used to anything.

Today, I’ll have lunch with a friend, 

pick up chapter 2 on a novel, 

visit a new Publix store.

I will contemplate how life 

changes and moves on into

 new routines. 

Honestly, I’m better for it.

Always so much to learn.

Still so far to go.

Fierce

Two influences today for this essay: Rumi's poem "Fierce Courtesy" and Day 340 in Marianne Williamson's book A Year of Miracles: "For Reflection: On Finding Your Calling."

FIERCE! A word I need now.

To EMERGE (my word this year) takes a certain amount of FIERCENESS. Yes, I've been working on gentleness and finding joy and remembering to love. But some fierceness is required as well.

The balance is tough -- it's a constant guessing game, like a roulette wheel of chance ever changing around me. Will my approach be the right one? Will I make the right choice? Will I feel like I won or lost?

I've learned I cannot rely on anything except my own focus and fierceness to get any job done.

This past week was tough. The kids were loud and crazy and we were all struggling with them. Too much time away from school, I suppose. This week at least we can get back into a more regular routine, which we all need.

Because truthfully, I was a bit off my game as well. I put off planning things that needed to be done, causing me unnecessary stress.

AND I KNOW BETTER.

So today, despite being Sunday, I'm putting some plans in place, and I will not be sorry.

I know what I need to do will present itself, and I know that will be a win for us all. As Marianne Williamson wrote:

Your highest function is simply to be the person you are capable of being, and from that effort -- the development of your kindness and positivity, your vulnerability and availability to life, your calling will emerge.

It is not a gamble, now that I think about it. It is purposeful choice. It is fiercely living what I am called to do. And as I so often say to myself: Just remember to do the next right thing!

18 Months

 I’ve long known it takes 18 months to really get the hang of a job. I have witnessed this in my own life over and over ever since Jim told me this fact. It is what he witnessed when he was in charge of salespeople. It was never wise to let them go too soon if they didn’t “perform.”

I am now looking at that number in reverse. 18 months is what I have left as a teacher in public schools. 

And I still feel like I’m trying to get it right.

Today I begin a new adventure. Okay, maybe not entirely new, but a new approach. I am storyboarding what we are doing, I’m making chapters, and I’m crystal clear on what needs to be accomplished. In other words, why we do the things we do.

Has this always been built in to my teaching in some way? I suppose. But this new process is making it clearer to me, and that matters the most. I know the strongest influence of the classroom environment is the teacher. 

It reminds me so much of reading Bob Dylan’s memoir, where he talks about how something broke open in his brain and he suddenly could see how he could approach his music in an entirely new way. This was at the end of the 1980s, and as I write this I’m listening to the album that came out of this timeframe, and I’m loving it. It is setting a tone for me that connects across time and space. 

For the next 18 months I commit again to getting it right. To ditch my cynicism and sarcasm and anger and frustration and replace with light and laughter and love and joy and remember the age and needs of my learners. I still believe I have the best job in the world, and I know that if I don’t at least try, what good am I?

Finisterre: That’s Not You

 

The road beating you down is not the only road.

The moon is over your home while the

sun shines here on a spring Sunday.

The future is now in a new question

and that comes with a willingness to

be open to the messages of the universe,

the butterfly and sunflowers drew the

voice to your awareness and that is

all good: miracles are at hand.

Those from the past are very present.

Leave your shoes, your books, and

walk to a new beginning when the

time is ripe. You truly were giving up

too soon. And we know that is not you.

Become part of all that is and

stand in the trees, stand on the shore,

then walk on, no matter what.

(Inspired by people I know who just finished walking the Camino in Spain, David Whyte’s poem “Finesterre,” and Paul Simon’s Seven Psalms.)

“And the seasons, they go ‘round and round…”

 

Today I pulled out an album I haven’t heard in decades: Joni Mitchell’s Miles of Aisles. I was prompted to do so in a couple ways. I knew I wanted to do “art and vinyl” this afternoon; earlier I had seen an interview with Brandi Carlisle about a concert planned for next June with Joni live—first concert in over 20 years. It got me curious about this album sitting in my collection, and it certainly didn’t disappoint. “Circle Game” opened side three, and was one of my favorites today.

Somehow the Halloween season is on my mind, and not in the usual can’t-we-just-get-this-over-with way. This is super weird since I don’t care one lick for Halloween. But somehow, maybe it’s the hurricane or other things swirling around me, this year I feel slightly different. I find myself letting it in little by little.  I ran Halloween-themed coloring sheets for my students, and some had time to color. I began to decorate my room with them.

This is so not me! 

Here is the coloring page I did while enjoying every single minute of Joni live from nearly fifty years ago. 

The seasons do indeed go round and round. We are captive in the carousel of time. My wish is to make it colorful and joyful and uplifting in every way I can. This is what art and vinyl is about—getting in touch with those little pieces inside ourself that we might be overlooking. That and a craft beer equals a perfect afternoon in my mind.

Tomorrow I will tape my Zentangle pumpkin to my classroom wall. I will think of seasons changing, cooler weather, the coming of other holidays, and how my only “job” in life is to make the most of each day and be the best version of me I can be. And mostly, that I’m not too old to change my mind about things I already thought were settled! 

 

Our Changing Community

 I teach a subject called Global Perspectives to a collection of 7th and 8th graders. The course is designed by Cambridge University as part of their AICE program.

This year I am teaching the second middle school level, and have been a bit frustrated getting started. The first topic we were to dig into was "Changing Communities." The suggestions for how to approach the project (called "challenge" in AICE lingo) confounded me. I could not figure out how to make it relevant to my 12 and 13-year-olds. I didn't even know what change there was to research.  Every time I tried to figure it out, I fell into a deep hole of despair -- basically, getting nowhere.

Then Hurricane Ian happened. Talk about changing communities! 

Honestly, I didn't need something this extreme to hit me upside the head. But it has given much more meaning to the challenge before us.

We got a start Friday. I had the learners form small groups and start brainstorming all the changes they have already witnessed. I am piecing together where we will go from here. But for right now I found myself feeling like I can actually make something of this. And that is huge!