My mom is fond of discussing soybeans and wheat. Particularly, what
fields of soybean and wheat look like at different times of the year.
The smell of a feathered field, moments after the chaff flies. The
verdant rows of a crop that for so long sustained the people where I'm
from. Not in the form of hormone-laced tofurky, but as a commodity,
grown, harvested and purchased responsibly. Even today, with relative
freedom to live anywhere, she can not leave the Middle West, can not
leave a place with visible growing seasons, a place where the weather
reminds her of work ethic, where the pummel of rain is a respite; an
incantation, convincing you of God, for a moment.
My daughter
plays with a bell when she visits my mother, its worn, wodden handle
turned blonde from use. The brass clapper at the mouth dangles just
long enough to seem enticing and chewable. The bell is from the one
room school house where my grandmother taught, in Belvedere, IL, three
hours from the farm she grew up on. Three hours from the place where my
mother surely earned her stoicism, three hours from the place where my
mom remembers her own mother talking about being locked in the closet by
her brothers, tortured by her brothers, who my mother never met for
reasons unknown or perhaps totally obvious.
When my grandmother
was dying, she told my mom, "Everyone is terminal, Janey." And to this
day, that is how my mom lives, sure that life will end and grateful for
days of golden, amber, jade, moments of rest amid weeks of toil, looking
up at the sky to predict the days' work.
Monday, October 14, 2013
Thursday, October 10, 2013
Day 2: Undeniable
I read today about the nobel prize awarded to two physicists who, in
1964, discovered the likely existence (there was no physical proof of it
then) of a particle they believed responsible for conferring mass upon
other objects. Something about imagining it as a particle moving
through a molasses-like space, pulling things along with it, something
else about electroweak forces. One commentor in the NY Times article
suggested it could be helpful to
think of it as a bill attempting to pass through Congress, growing more
"ponderous" and "bloated" as it traveled. Ha! Bemoaning my own lack
of conceptual knowledge, or understanding, really, I read with wide-eyed
amazement. It was the infamous "God particle," the Higgs Boson. Over
the next 40 years or so 10,000 scientist attempted to prove the
existence of the boson. And they did, using the Hadron collidor. I
marvel at things like this: the effort, the belief, the math, the
imagination, the yearning to understand that it takes to accomplish such
a fundamental understanding of our universe, something that brings us
closer to knowing ourselves, to understanding the elegance of the
worlds' complexity.
I remember seeing Tom Stoppard's play, "Arcadia" for the first time in High School, becoming obsessed with it. Obsessed with the idea of entropy, and later, as an older student reading the play, obsessed with how the complexity and perfection of the writing mirrored the complexity and perfection of the young Thomasina, a mathematical genius in love with her tutor. I can't help, as I get older and more ponderous myself, see this blurring of science and emotions and explanations of beauty, or "symmetry", as we try to explain it all with math or with vocabulary, I can't help but see it as part of something else that needs explanation. Can we explain our need to know, our desire to create? This is the work of poets, but it is also the work of physicists. In the end, we need so many languages to explain our existence. And I am glad to be in awe today.
I remember seeing Tom Stoppard's play, "Arcadia" for the first time in High School, becoming obsessed with it. Obsessed with the idea of entropy, and later, as an older student reading the play, obsessed with how the complexity and perfection of the writing mirrored the complexity and perfection of the young Thomasina, a mathematical genius in love with her tutor. I can't help, as I get older and more ponderous myself, see this blurring of science and emotions and explanations of beauty, or "symmetry", as we try to explain it all with math or with vocabulary, I can't help but see it as part of something else that needs explanation. Can we explain our need to know, our desire to create? This is the work of poets, but it is also the work of physicists. In the end, we need so many languages to explain our existence. And I am glad to be in awe today.
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
Day 1: What he said was
** I should mention that the title of these posts are the prompts from my instructor
Everytime I sit down to write, two things come to mind: my father and my children. I would love for some fantastic character to embody my writing, to lift me out of some of these recurring obsessions and immersions. But, that character and her story doesn't exist yet. Some days I feel like I must not have a story to tell because there are few stories immediately around me, save the ones that already dominate Huffington Post and Mommy blogs ("42 reasons my toddler is crying," "Are Women Doing It All," "Why You Should Get In the Picture, Mom"). Enough of that. And some days, like today, when I'm smelling apples baking and the perfect album plays on my computer and I've finished some work, I believe I am just where I'm supposed to be.
The other day, I thought, "What does it matter what I'm doing or not doing, since life is so unknowable?" And, yet, there is a pang, at the center of my gut that, really, because life is short and so fragile, my job is to make it better for someone. And am I doing that? Perhaps, through the menial, daily toils of raising children. Perhaps.
I found a letter from my father the other day. He wrote it to me when I was 17, not knowing he would be dying in just 4 short years. I was out with my friends, he told me. It was my birthday, my golden birthday. 17 on the 17th. What he said was that he was proud of the person I had become, that I was a friend to many, and that he knew I would "positively impact the people and institutions with which I came in contact." What he meant was, you are a good person, Erin, and have something powerful to give out of your love of people and the world. I know this. And I thank whatever synchronistic power brought that letter out of hiding, almost exactly 17 years later to the day, to remind me that what he said was so very real to him, as a father, reflecting on his daughter and the effort he had put into raising her to be this person. A person he believed could change things. And, perhaps, just perhaps, these are the moments outside of more menial moments, that we find the most rewarding: the joy of believing we have done good work and that good work will continue to be done.
Everytime I sit down to write, two things come to mind: my father and my children. I would love for some fantastic character to embody my writing, to lift me out of some of these recurring obsessions and immersions. But, that character and her story doesn't exist yet. Some days I feel like I must not have a story to tell because there are few stories immediately around me, save the ones that already dominate Huffington Post and Mommy blogs ("42 reasons my toddler is crying," "Are Women Doing It All," "Why You Should Get In the Picture, Mom"). Enough of that. And some days, like today, when I'm smelling apples baking and the perfect album plays on my computer and I've finished some work, I believe I am just where I'm supposed to be.
The other day, I thought, "What does it matter what I'm doing or not doing, since life is so unknowable?" And, yet, there is a pang, at the center of my gut that, really, because life is short and so fragile, my job is to make it better for someone. And am I doing that? Perhaps, through the menial, daily toils of raising children. Perhaps.
I found a letter from my father the other day. He wrote it to me when I was 17, not knowing he would be dying in just 4 short years. I was out with my friends, he told me. It was my birthday, my golden birthday. 17 on the 17th. What he said was that he was proud of the person I had become, that I was a friend to many, and that he knew I would "positively impact the people and institutions with which I came in contact." What he meant was, you are a good person, Erin, and have something powerful to give out of your love of people and the world. I know this. And I thank whatever synchronistic power brought that letter out of hiding, almost exactly 17 years later to the day, to remind me that what he said was so very real to him, as a father, reflecting on his daughter and the effort he had put into raising her to be this person. A person he believed could change things. And, perhaps, just perhaps, these are the moments outside of more menial moments, that we find the most rewarding: the joy of believing we have done good work and that good work will continue to be done.
Writing again
I have rededicated myself to doing things that fulfill me. Writing absolutely makes me feel whole, connected and grateful. So, I signed up for another 9 week writing course. Daily writing, with a prompt. More than working on a specific project or idea, I'm looking to get back to the practice of writing, the working of the brain around a sentence, image, word, or, sometimes, an emptiness. Craft can come later, I'm not worried about how well crafted this writing is. I'm interested in my ability to just do it. So you can keep me accountable, I'll post my daily writes here. If you want to comment, please don't point out grammar mistakes or comment on craft. I have a partner who's reading these and working with me, and they're not focused on craft, either. Read them as my thoughts and read them gently, as you remember I am working toward a habit that is healing for me, and that reflects what I very often am unable to say about where I am, or the world that I am in. Thanks for coming along...
Everybody's Doing It
*** Interestingly, I never published this post. I'm doing it now, because I finally feel brave enough to do it, though much of this debate has already been had. In any case, I wrote it 6.21.12, right after the Atlantic article came out...
The media is at it again. The new Atlantic July/August issue is out and takes on why mother's can't have it all. Without getting too much into the debate again, mostly because it could be a ceaseless swamp of self-doubt and stagnation for me, I do wonder why these questions are coming to the forefront now? Is it the new generation of mothers trying to follow in baby boomer footsteps? Is it the changing (a little) norms around which gender does what at home? Why do you think this is so in our public conciousness right now?
A lot of the talk in the Atlantic, the NYTimes and other major media outlets comes from women in corporate america, who struggle with the culture's demands. I understand these demands only from my friends (I left corporate america asap in my early 20s), and I see that flexibility is an oft-used word that doesn't translate into a reality for them. I worry, too, that women can't have it "all" in the way the we define "all." What does that mean? Does it mean that we should expect to be CEOs, school leaders, change-makers and do the school drop-off, pick-up, conferences, after school activities, etc? Is that really an expectation? Why are women being made to feel like they have to do both at full capacity? I think that's what worries me most. In a culture the demands so much perfection from women, we aren't helping anyone by framing the debate around who achieves at the highest level and who doesn't.
And mostly, the voices that resound in this debate are from those women who do have some flexibility, some choice. Perhaps, like me, they find those choices incredibly hard to make. What do I value about my work today? What will I value in three years? in five? How will my family and others value me? What am I giving up by scaling back? What if I can't get it all back? What if I don't move forward? How unhappy do I have to be to change my life, knowing the risks? But, what does a single mom ask herself? What does a young widow ask herself? I wonder even more what we're doing for the woman who lacks resources when we make the debate about having it "all?"
Shouldn't we also be talking about what men are doing? Why is the focus always on how women fall short? Why is the culture a problem for women? I know it's a problem for men, too. Could we get some of our male counterparts to get in on this debate and talk about how much they'd like to have less pressure, more time at home, etc? I can't help but think that if more men accepted a different vision of their role, and spoke up about it, the culture would change. Maybe this is just not going to happen for my generation, but I wish it would.
I think I said I wouldn't get into the debate, and I have. I always end up in one unresolved place on this issue. What does it mean for women, particularly in this country (because this is a first-world problem), if more women change their vision of having it "all." Of all the things I worry about in my choice, this one plagues me the most. I want parity for women, I want to vote for a woman president some day, I want women to be running companies. But, I feel fiercely protective of women and how we're judged. And how we judge ourselves. I certainly have judged women in the past, without thinking through those judgements. For instance, I do wonder how I would feel if I had chosen something other than teaching, put in 60+ hours a week (like I did as a teacher), excelled and made quadruple my teacher's salary? Would it have been so easy for me to walk away? What if I had actually really liked that job? Would it be easy to accept being judged for scaling back in a job I loved?
No one's choices are easy. We just make our own and muddle through them. And, perhaps, then change our minds again. As I sit here, I'm looking out at a storm blow in from the west across a lake in the middle of nowhere. When you're on a body of water, you have the ability to literally see the rain coming, to take shelter, to batton down the hatches. I like to be prepared and be able to see ahead of me what will happen. I'm not in that position right now in my life and it's unsettling, but I'm not alone. I'm proud of what women in my generation are saying and doing, that they are making choices. My hope is that we support one another in those choices, knowing full well the fallacy of having it all is what's holding us down.
I guess I don't have a lot of answers.
The media is at it again. The new Atlantic July/August issue is out and takes on why mother's can't have it all. Without getting too much into the debate again, mostly because it could be a ceaseless swamp of self-doubt and stagnation for me, I do wonder why these questions are coming to the forefront now? Is it the new generation of mothers trying to follow in baby boomer footsteps? Is it the changing (a little) norms around which gender does what at home? Why do you think this is so in our public conciousness right now?
A lot of the talk in the Atlantic, the NYTimes and other major media outlets comes from women in corporate america, who struggle with the culture's demands. I understand these demands only from my friends (I left corporate america asap in my early 20s), and I see that flexibility is an oft-used word that doesn't translate into a reality for them. I worry, too, that women can't have it "all" in the way the we define "all." What does that mean? Does it mean that we should expect to be CEOs, school leaders, change-makers and do the school drop-off, pick-up, conferences, after school activities, etc? Is that really an expectation? Why are women being made to feel like they have to do both at full capacity? I think that's what worries me most. In a culture the demands so much perfection from women, we aren't helping anyone by framing the debate around who achieves at the highest level and who doesn't.
And mostly, the voices that resound in this debate are from those women who do have some flexibility, some choice. Perhaps, like me, they find those choices incredibly hard to make. What do I value about my work today? What will I value in three years? in five? How will my family and others value me? What am I giving up by scaling back? What if I can't get it all back? What if I don't move forward? How unhappy do I have to be to change my life, knowing the risks? But, what does a single mom ask herself? What does a young widow ask herself? I wonder even more what we're doing for the woman who lacks resources when we make the debate about having it "all?"
Shouldn't we also be talking about what men are doing? Why is the focus always on how women fall short? Why is the culture a problem for women? I know it's a problem for men, too. Could we get some of our male counterparts to get in on this debate and talk about how much they'd like to have less pressure, more time at home, etc? I can't help but think that if more men accepted a different vision of their role, and spoke up about it, the culture would change. Maybe this is just not going to happen for my generation, but I wish it would.
I think I said I wouldn't get into the debate, and I have. I always end up in one unresolved place on this issue. What does it mean for women, particularly in this country (because this is a first-world problem), if more women change their vision of having it "all." Of all the things I worry about in my choice, this one plagues me the most. I want parity for women, I want to vote for a woman president some day, I want women to be running companies. But, I feel fiercely protective of women and how we're judged. And how we judge ourselves. I certainly have judged women in the past, without thinking through those judgements. For instance, I do wonder how I would feel if I had chosen something other than teaching, put in 60+ hours a week (like I did as a teacher), excelled and made quadruple my teacher's salary? Would it have been so easy for me to walk away? What if I had actually really liked that job? Would it be easy to accept being judged for scaling back in a job I loved?
No one's choices are easy. We just make our own and muddle through them. And, perhaps, then change our minds again. As I sit here, I'm looking out at a storm blow in from the west across a lake in the middle of nowhere. When you're on a body of water, you have the ability to literally see the rain coming, to take shelter, to batton down the hatches. I like to be prepared and be able to see ahead of me what will happen. I'm not in that position right now in my life and it's unsettling, but I'm not alone. I'm proud of what women in my generation are saying and doing, that they are making choices. My hope is that we support one another in those choices, knowing full well the fallacy of having it all is what's holding us down.
I guess I don't have a lot of answers.
Monday, May 21, 2012
Who are you?
If there's a central question in my life, it's the one that Emily Dickinson asked: "I'm Nobody. Who are you? / Are you Nobody, too?" She goes on to tell her imagined, commiserating friend that they ought to keep their status quiet, that being Nobody is risky, that we risk "banishment". As she continues, she wonders what it means to be Somebody. What does it mean to be admired for being that somebody? Her conclusion: boring. It seems boring to live life that way. In her very private way, Dickinson seemed to sort out her own writing life in that poem. Her writing, her poetry was meant for her. She was not trying to be Somebody. She was simply trying to exist in a world where, frankly, women weren't meant to be much anyway. In her world, being Somebody was only compatible with men's work. But, her writing did make her exist. It bore out the reality that, in the end, all people want desperately both to be known and to not be alone. She wanted a partner and she wanted to put words on a page. She wanted communion, a shared experience of the world and a confirmation that our place in it isn't entirely meaningless, particularly if we extend ourselves. If we reach out and if we say something, whether it be privately or broadcast to the entire world, we instantly become something that we weren't. We become honest, and that honesty begs for validation. Is this true to you? Is this how you see the world? I think we don't want to be alone in our understanding of these things. But, still, I've struggled with the question of being Somebody my entire life. Often, I've found myself believing that my self-worth can only be defined by the measurable amount of impact I have on other people's lives. It turns out, this is very hard to measure and see. Dickinson's poem is terse, it has a sardonic twist, I think, that points it's finger in the face of society, asking them why a woman like her is Nobody. In the end, I don't think she believed that at all about herself. So, in her footsteps, I'm setting out believe similarly, no matter what I decide to do. For now, I'm wondering what it means to accept that friendship, love and a simpler giving of one's self is enough.
As I move through this last week of my "work," I return to the thought that this work has been primarily about friendship, love, reaching out and speaking up. Teaching is an inside-out profession. By that, I mean that you can't do it without great reflection and emotion. In fact, I think it's rooted in an essential belief about human beings: we are all Somebody. As I think back, as I anticipate the cleaning of shelves and cabinets, as I listen to end-of-year student reflections, and as I say goodbye, I find great solace in the idea that I've pursued something passionately and that I know what it means to feel that. Particularly, I know what it means to work in pursuit of something so hopeful. I think in teaching, we(teachers) hope that we (students, teachers, schools) are all Somebody, people capable of change and growth. By working with teenagers, I have learned so much, the greatest of which is that hope is inextricably linked with our ability to change. When we can't envision a different path or envision a different version of ourselves, we stay mired in whatever current misery we might be experiencing. For many of my students, that misery is a much more palpable version of anything I've ever experienced. And yet, so many of them have moved forward: college, graduate school, writing, performing, rebelling, becoming activists. They've taught me that it's brave to imagine something different, and it is also scary. I am incredibly grateful to have been taught that. I will remember them for that bravery, and for reasurring me that I will never be alone in feeling like a Nobody. Again, for many of my students, society has not expected great things of them, but they knew better. They knew to reach out, to speak up, to make friends and to love. The knew to carry on. They are incredible. And I know, somewhere out there, one of them thinks I'm a Somebody. That's enough.
As I move through this last week of my "work," I return to the thought that this work has been primarily about friendship, love, reaching out and speaking up. Teaching is an inside-out profession. By that, I mean that you can't do it without great reflection and emotion. In fact, I think it's rooted in an essential belief about human beings: we are all Somebody. As I think back, as I anticipate the cleaning of shelves and cabinets, as I listen to end-of-year student reflections, and as I say goodbye, I find great solace in the idea that I've pursued something passionately and that I know what it means to feel that. Particularly, I know what it means to work in pursuit of something so hopeful. I think in teaching, we(teachers) hope that we (students, teachers, schools) are all Somebody, people capable of change and growth. By working with teenagers, I have learned so much, the greatest of which is that hope is inextricably linked with our ability to change. When we can't envision a different path or envision a different version of ourselves, we stay mired in whatever current misery we might be experiencing. For many of my students, that misery is a much more palpable version of anything I've ever experienced. And yet, so many of them have moved forward: college, graduate school, writing, performing, rebelling, becoming activists. They've taught me that it's brave to imagine something different, and it is also scary. I am incredibly grateful to have been taught that. I will remember them for that bravery, and for reasurring me that I will never be alone in feeling like a Nobody. Again, for many of my students, society has not expected great things of them, but they knew better. They knew to reach out, to speak up, to make friends and to love. The knew to carry on. They are incredible. And I know, somewhere out there, one of them thinks I'm a Somebody. That's enough.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
The Options
I have to say, I was incredibly nervous to make my blog public, but I've gotten so much warm and loving feedback that I wonder what I was so scared of. I'm sure eventually I'll say something that will offend someone and I'll have to deal with it, but for now it's just comforting to know that I'm not alone in both my feelings and my desire to write about them.
On Saturday, I went to a party with my department, perhaps my last (though I hope not!). For many of us, it's a rare chance to actually have extended conversation with our colleagues and we like each other so it's nice to talk. But, I found myself in the uncomfortable position of having to answer the "So, what are you thinking about for next year?" question. And I just don't have a great answer. Sure, I've been thinking about a lot of things, but there's nothing solid, no viable lead or concrete idea. For the first time in my life, I just don't have it planned. I don't feel sure and I can't quite envision the thing that feels most fulfilling. Instead, I'm trying to wallow a bit in the ambiguity and embrace it, to really feel my way. But, that's a long answer to give to someone who's asking and I find myself trying to portray more confidence than I actually have or projecting commitment to one of the many ideas I've had. Really, I vacillate daily between excitement about one thing and complete disillusionment with it. I get caught up with these quite large questions about impact, authenticity, moral good and I lose faith that anything I want to do outside of teaching falls short of those. And then, the next day I wake up and think, "Jeee-zuz, Erin, give yourself a break. You can just be. You can just shut up with the service to others shit." For today... (Don't read this if you don't want to find yourself in the ambiguous space my mind gravitates to these days. Is equity a moral imperative? Are better schools a moral imperative? No, I forgot, it's having a two parent household that is imperative!)
So, while I try to figure it out, I'll keep updating here with my ideas, my "list" so to speak. Look below for the current list -- wacky, diverse, dreamy and brazen as it is (read:foolish gutsy hopeful). Help analyze this for me, people! Vote, comment, give me some tips, your insight, encouragement, whatever...or just laugh with me at how irreverently I will rank these. And if something looks like a "lifestyle business" (as Pete would simultaneously embrace & fear), be sure you remind me that I will not make any money and still work very hard.
The options? As far as I can figure, these are they (hey, mom are you proud of my grammar?):
1) A different teaching job with more wiggle room around how I teach, possibly a different population of students that don't seem to need quite so much from me emotionally. Can I survive school reform? Not right now, I don't think so. But, is there something about teaching that I adore? Absolutely! Maybe I can experience the joy of teaching more if I do it differently! or in a different place? But, this seems like the grass is greener fallacy and I'm pretty sure the grass will be just as needy. Are there teenagers anywhere who do not desperately need an adult they can trust and who need you to be emotionally available, able to make phone calls home, answer emails, turn around their work with helpful comments and plan detailed lessons? Um, nope! Pretty sure I've answered number 1.
2) Teach less = difficult to do. Tried it this last semester. I don't know how to be part-time teacher. I just felt like I was never there enough to do a good job, and not home with Clara enough to make it seem like a real balance. And then working a lot from home. And, of course, I want to be involved in lots at school, which didn't help. I've gotten better at saying no, but then my self-worth gets all tied up in people's perception of the job I'm doing. Ugh. The worst.
3) Be creative. My job began to feel distinctly uncreative to me this year. Maybe that''s my fault. Or, maybe I didn't think about it in the right way. Or, maybe when I don't have as many hours to put into it anymore, it can't feel as creative. It feels perfunctory. I'm bored with they way I've been teaching, because it involves so much teaching of the same thing (students need the practice, they do! Insert teachy words like: spiraling skills, guided instruction/reading, etc.) I've gotten a little bored and whiny about it all. Not super helpful to my situation. And, yes, a great teacher will make the teaching of skills seem exciting, to come alive with new materials and be creative every time she has to teach the same skill. I've just lost the verve to do it. I'm so tired and, frankly, wish I had seen different outcomes as a result of a lot of my work. Oh so tired. But, please, there are some amazing teacher, teacher-parents, sassy-keepin'-it-together-kinda people who are doin' it. I love them. Some day, I may need them to reinspire me and I hope they will.
So, what else:
2) Pediatric nurse; nutritionist; allergen-free cooking goddess for toddlers -- clearly fueled by Clara's own issues around food and my love of food. Oh, and the disgusting food that I know kids eat in schools. Super interested in food, learning, health & nutrition. But, seriously, doesn't this mean paying for school again?
3) Other school options -- child development. Do I want to teach preschool? We'll find out. I'm working in Clara's preschool once a week next year. That, I do know.
4) Start a business -- tutor; writing coach; blended online learning thingy (exciting or the ruin of books?)
5) Write a play, write a blog, take a Spanish class. Okay, at least two of these I'm doing -- yay, me!
6) Stay-at-home-mom. For being a pretty good multi-tasker in practice --while washing dishes, I envision my lesson plan for the next day and remember I'm supposed to bring in bagels; good thing I'm getting up early to grade, then I can make Clara's dairy-soy-gluten free smoothie (which takes 10 mins) and get out the door in time to grab the bagels-- it turns out that this mind-division actually very often does not help me. The constant whir of my brain means that I am never thinking about the thing right in front of me. Never. I'm blowing a stop sign because I'm remembering that I forgot to look up a parent phone number. I'm driving to our apartment instead of picking Clara up, because I'm thinking about what food is in the refrigerator. I'm parking in a tow-away zone, late for an appointment, because I'm still thinking about why I didn't mail my packages earlier instead of standing in line for an hour at lunchtime at the post office. Oh, and did I mention that then I'm taking a cab to the impound lot to pick up my car and pay $400 to get it? Yeah, I'm not here. And I hate that (and really miss my $400). The obvious thing to say to me is that it will not be different as a SAHM, but I'd like to believe that if I simplify a little bit, I might be able to enjoy my mind, my family, my life more.
7) Part-time work at an organization I'm passionate about like the Homeless Prenatal Program. If I could get paid a little, or even not get paid, but do something significant, I think I might be able to see another venue where my current skills are both helpful and needed. Work in a night-time GED program for new moms? Awesome. Help new families get books to read their kids? Double-awesome. Work with other former-teachers to create something only fantastic teachers can do? Undeniably vague, but also awesome. I wonder if there just isn't a way to fuse my intense desire to care for my family with my desire to care for others. Perhaps if they required more similar things from me, I might feel less frazzled. More than that, I wonder if doing something that values my skills but also allows me to think creatively about how to use them isn't the real challenge ahead of me?
These are just a few things my brain cooks up at 2 am these days when it snaps on. Around 4 when I stop sweating, I imagine myself drawing numbers on a blackboard, slowly and in large format, and I breath deeply to the imagined sound of chalk lilting down the cobalt. There are no faces staring at me while I do it so I am able to enjoy the quiet, the peace, seeing myself alone. I drift back to sleep, hoping that when I wake up, there will be the remnants of an epiphany.
I realize that even if things are seemingly staying the same, if there are no big changes in our lives, we are always working on the thing in front of us and it's just not easy to stay focused on it. I'm hoping that I can focus on this thing in front of me, thinking positively and proactively about the choices I can make to change my life and the life of my family. Since I operate in school years, I'd like to call it my New Year resolution: "Just this." I imagine more space to look at the things in front of me, "just this" one thing at a time. I like my imagination. I've missed it.
On Saturday, I went to a party with my department, perhaps my last (though I hope not!). For many of us, it's a rare chance to actually have extended conversation with our colleagues and we like each other so it's nice to talk. But, I found myself in the uncomfortable position of having to answer the "So, what are you thinking about for next year?" question. And I just don't have a great answer. Sure, I've been thinking about a lot of things, but there's nothing solid, no viable lead or concrete idea. For the first time in my life, I just don't have it planned. I don't feel sure and I can't quite envision the thing that feels most fulfilling. Instead, I'm trying to wallow a bit in the ambiguity and embrace it, to really feel my way. But, that's a long answer to give to someone who's asking and I find myself trying to portray more confidence than I actually have or projecting commitment to one of the many ideas I've had. Really, I vacillate daily between excitement about one thing and complete disillusionment with it. I get caught up with these quite large questions about impact, authenticity, moral good and I lose faith that anything I want to do outside of teaching falls short of those. And then, the next day I wake up and think, "Jeee-zuz, Erin, give yourself a break. You can just be. You can just shut up with the service to others shit." For today... (Don't read this if you don't want to find yourself in the ambiguous space my mind gravitates to these days. Is equity a moral imperative? Are better schools a moral imperative? No, I forgot, it's having a two parent household that is imperative!)
So, while I try to figure it out, I'll keep updating here with my ideas, my "list" so to speak. Look below for the current list -- wacky, diverse, dreamy and brazen as it is (read:
The options? As far as I can figure, these are they (hey, mom are you proud of my grammar?):
1) A different teaching job with more wiggle room around how I teach, possibly a different population of students that don't seem to need quite so much from me emotionally. Can I survive school reform? Not right now, I don't think so. But, is there something about teaching that I adore? Absolutely! Maybe I can experience the joy of teaching more if I do it differently! or in a different place? But, this seems like the grass is greener fallacy and I'm pretty sure the grass will be just as needy. Are there teenagers anywhere who do not desperately need an adult they can trust and who need you to be emotionally available, able to make phone calls home, answer emails, turn around their work with helpful comments and plan detailed lessons? Um, nope! Pretty sure I've answered number 1.
2) Teach less = difficult to do. Tried it this last semester. I don't know how to be part-time teacher. I just felt like I was never there enough to do a good job, and not home with Clara enough to make it seem like a real balance. And then working a lot from home. And, of course, I want to be involved in lots at school, which didn't help. I've gotten better at saying no, but then my self-worth gets all tied up in people's perception of the job I'm doing. Ugh. The worst.
3) Be creative. My job began to feel distinctly uncreative to me this year. Maybe that''s my fault. Or, maybe I didn't think about it in the right way. Or, maybe when I don't have as many hours to put into it anymore, it can't feel as creative. It feels perfunctory. I'm bored with they way I've been teaching, because it involves so much teaching of the same thing (students need the practice, they do! Insert teachy words like: spiraling skills, guided instruction/reading, etc.) I've gotten a little bored and whiny about it all. Not super helpful to my situation. And, yes, a great teacher will make the teaching of skills seem exciting, to come alive with new materials and be creative every time she has to teach the same skill. I've just lost the verve to do it. I'm so tired and, frankly, wish I had seen different outcomes as a result of a lot of my work. Oh so tired. But, please, there are some amazing teacher, teacher-parents, sassy-keepin'-it-together-kinda people who are doin' it. I love them. Some day, I may need them to reinspire me and I hope they will.
So, what else:
2) Pediatric nurse; nutritionist; allergen-free cooking goddess for toddlers -- clearly fueled by Clara's own issues around food and my love of food. Oh, and the disgusting food that I know kids eat in schools. Super interested in food, learning, health & nutrition. But, seriously, doesn't this mean paying for school again?
3) Other school options -- child development. Do I want to teach preschool? We'll find out. I'm working in Clara's preschool once a week next year. That, I do know.
4) Start a business -- tutor; writing coach; blended online learning thingy (exciting or the ruin of books?)
5) Write a play, write a blog, take a Spanish class. Okay, at least two of these I'm doing -- yay, me!
6) Stay-at-home-mom. For being a pretty good multi-tasker in practice --while washing dishes, I envision my lesson plan for the next day and remember I'm supposed to bring in bagels; good thing I'm getting up early to grade, then I can make Clara's dairy-soy-gluten free smoothie (which takes 10 mins) and get out the door in time to grab the bagels-- it turns out that this mind-division actually very often does not help me. The constant whir of my brain means that I am never thinking about the thing right in front of me. Never. I'm blowing a stop sign because I'm remembering that I forgot to look up a parent phone number. I'm driving to our apartment instead of picking Clara up, because I'm thinking about what food is in the refrigerator. I'm parking in a tow-away zone, late for an appointment, because I'm still thinking about why I didn't mail my packages earlier instead of standing in line for an hour at lunchtime at the post office. Oh, and did I mention that then I'm taking a cab to the impound lot to pick up my car and pay $400 to get it? Yeah, I'm not here. And I hate that (and really miss my $400). The obvious thing to say to me is that it will not be different as a SAHM, but I'd like to believe that if I simplify a little bit, I might be able to enjoy my mind, my family, my life more.
7) Part-time work at an organization I'm passionate about like the Homeless Prenatal Program. If I could get paid a little, or even not get paid, but do something significant, I think I might be able to see another venue where my current skills are both helpful and needed. Work in a night-time GED program for new moms? Awesome. Help new families get books to read their kids? Double-awesome. Work with other former-teachers to create something only fantastic teachers can do? Undeniably vague, but also awesome. I wonder if there just isn't a way to fuse my intense desire to care for my family with my desire to care for others. Perhaps if they required more similar things from me, I might feel less frazzled. More than that, I wonder if doing something that values my skills but also allows me to think creatively about how to use them isn't the real challenge ahead of me?
These are just a few things my brain cooks up at 2 am these days when it snaps on. Around 4 when I stop sweating, I imagine myself drawing numbers on a blackboard, slowly and in large format, and I breath deeply to the imagined sound of chalk lilting down the cobalt. There are no faces staring at me while I do it so I am able to enjoy the quiet, the peace, seeing myself alone. I drift back to sleep, hoping that when I wake up, there will be the remnants of an epiphany.
I realize that even if things are seemingly staying the same, if there are no big changes in our lives, we are always working on the thing in front of us and it's just not easy to stay focused on it. I'm hoping that I can focus on this thing in front of me, thinking positively and proactively about the choices I can make to change my life and the life of my family. Since I operate in school years, I'd like to call it my New Year resolution: "Just this." I imagine more space to look at the things in front of me, "just this" one thing at a time. I like my imagination. I've missed it.
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