After 7 years, I moved. You're invited. (schmoments.blogspot.com)

building stairs @ deep ellum

Well, I guess this is goodbye.  And hello.

I began this blog in 2004 as a way to track my fitness.  You guys surprised the shit out of me by becoming, instead, one of the most important tools in my spiritual development.  We became for reals friends.  We rode out illnesses, marriages, divorces, babies, deaths and spiritual awakenings.  We became friends outside of the blogging world.  We sent each other real live mail.  Texts.  Calls.  Facebook messages.  I wrote for you sometimes.  And I know that sometimes, you wrote for me.

I was like a hungry caterpillar who didn't know she was hungry, and you spiritually fed me.  I ate.  I grew.  You fed me.  I grew.  I fully believed I was on my way to become the best caterpillar I could be.

In something like 2009, though if I really consider it, probably years earlier, a cocoon began to form around me.  Instead of comforting and safe, it felt terrifying and bleak.

I became very ill for about two years.  From lab work and MRI's, dr's could see some stuff was really wrong, but no one seemed to know why or how to make it better.  Most of the details so took over my existence that I never want to discuss them again; the worst of it was that for awhile, I I couldn't even take my students on field trips, drive or stay alone.   B was my rock.  He took care of me when I could not take care of myself, which was most of the time.  I was so dependent on him that I would have nightmares of something happening to him.

When I happened to be at my worst physically, his sweet mom called us to say she had non-Hodgkin's lymphoma.  And it was Stage 4.  It was time for B to take care of someone else.

When he went to KC to care for his mom during her first treatment, we flew my own mom in to help take care of me.  She complained of abdominal pains.

About six weeks later, she appears to be 7 months pregnant.  A cancerous tumor has rapidly grown on her ovary, they tell us.  Turns out, it is also non-Hodgkin's lymphoma.  Two moms in two months. They feel it is inoperable.

I email my truly amazing therapist of seven years to draw support.  So much of my life had been changed because of her, but like my relationship to B, I suspected I was probably overly dependent.  In fact, when I moved to Dallas, I panicked about my inability to leave her.  I begged her to continue our sessions via Skype, which we did. This time,  return correspondence includes that she has been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and will no longer be seeing patients.  "I'm sorry that you are being hit with three cancers," she said.  "I want you to know that you're very special to me."  

I always thought there was something secretly spiritual lingering beneath the professional relationship between a therapist and client.  

She later died.

My caterpillar body, life as I knew it, seemed to be dissolving.

Desperate, I bought an 800 dollar juicer and began pretty religiously following Gerson Therapy.  I began to finally gain strength physically as I watched other parts of my life slip away.

Reaching for any access to inner strength, I paid what felt like a gazillion dollars to learn Transcendental Meditation.  B went as well.

Many amazing things happened after this.  Both of our moms went into remission.  I got better, physically, little by little.  I even lost about sixty pounds.  I seemed to find my body's recipe for happiness; most importantly, I learned that what she says goes, no questions.  Oddly, for Bruce and I, meditating was the beginning of the end.  Maybe the old us' didn't have the sense of infinity to let go of what needed to be released?

The relationship was easy to release at first; the unbearable parts came later, when I realized how long he had been miserable, waiting for me to push the Eject button.  B and I had been like two friends who picked one another from the Catalog Of Intellectually Defendable Decisions to be life partners.  We realized that as far as love goes, that catalog sucks.

Another version of me, shed.  Am I the same person, I wondered?  Am I who I planned to be at all?  Am I the same chick who had a soon-to-be doctor husband and a baby plan? 

broken open @ deep ellum

I have no plan.

I'm a chick who busted out of a cocoon. I don't know what's next, but I know it will be perfect for whatever it is.  I'll be here: schmoments.blogspot.com

Namaste,
Faye

3/30: Playing it small?

morning coffee spot two: ghettoasis trash waterfall ambience + coffee + books

"There is no passion to be found playing small- in settling for a life that is less than the one you are capable of living...And as we let our light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same."         -Nelson Mandela, '93 Nobel Peace Prize Speech

Something I can thank Alanon for is the filling in of many of the gaps in my spirituality so that I have the faith to wait for answers to appear spontaneously, unfolding in perfect time.  Earlier today, an answer revealed itself regarding a relationship in my life which has changed.   It occurred to me at once how I often played it small in an attempt to keep the boat steady.  And isn't it usually about fear?  I read a quote recently about change being scary because we know what we're giving up, but we don't know what we're getting.  

A catalyst for my mini-realization seemed to be reading a truly beautiful, inspirational blog entry of a friend of mine:

"Hear ye, hear ye, I’ve resigned my sovereign reign over tiny kingdoms, no longer bound by my own self-imprisonment. With nothing left to numb me, got me  thinking/wondering – Am I even still the same me? I know this is true: I feel full and I fully feel."

I've denied the magnificence of the universe, the collective, infinite, source, God, many times to impose the will of my tiniest self, of my tiny kingdom.  Our smallest selves will take what we can get, because we have a sense of poverty.  Our infinite selves know that poverty is an illusion, and so is net loss.  Our infinite selves have permission to shine brightly and unapologetically, and to be the first one in the room to light up, if need be; isn't it true that that high vibration consciousness is contagious anyways?  "We give others permission to do the same."

Today, I am grateful for feeling full and fully feeling.

good morning, neighbor.

(periphery)

It is finally growing warm enough to spend my mornings outside, as I love to do. Well I wouldn't call it warm, but with a giant sweatshirt and a cup of chamomile tea, it's doable for someone even as wimpy as me. Preston digs his nose into my legs, hiding himself under the table from the rambunctiousness of Fool 1 and Fool 2, who sprint in constant combat across the bricks. We are full on ghettoasis this morning; the bird songs, towering trees and sounds from the waterfall below could almost fool me into believing that the waterfall isn't made of urban litter (which I am not moving- love my trash waterfall!), that there aren't a couple of no-tell motels within walking distance. I love the contrasts. I love it here.

B loves the Cliff, too; but he doesn't love this particular neighborhood as I do. With no interest in the house, he is moving to another Cliffborhood. It is frightening, yes, the fact that he is finally leaving. I can feel one foot out of my comfort zone, and I feel quite naked. We have known this was coming for much longer than we have outed ourselves, and we kind of knew for much longer than even that. We are both peaceful and compassionate towards one another in this, and in that peace, we find our confidence that this is our best next step.

It is hard to explain to others why getting divorced is a step forward, mostly because it seems an unconventional line of thought to many. People who know us well know that we love to spend time together and that we rarely fight. They know that Bruce was wonderful to me when I was very sick, and that for a long time woke up an hour early every morning to make massive amounts of green juice to help me get better. They know I helped him through his mom's lymphoma last spring; they know he then helped me through my mom's lymphoma later that spring. They know we practice transcendental meditation together and go to one another for spiritual advice.

In spite of all of this, we feel like we have outgrown our time with one another as a married couple, that keeping our relationship in this capacity isn't best for us. Of course, there is always more; yet, even the unspoken "mores" don't really warrant being typed into words, because the point is we aren't thriving like this, and it is no one's fault. Does that make it a mistake? Not for me; I would do it exactly like this again. It has been a wonderful seven years of safety and stability, which I know I needed and will always be grateful for. Do I think I'll get married again? Well, I've learned to try not to say never, but I don't think so. I have questioned whether marriage was the right path for me for years, and I do think I needed to get married in order to have those intuitions confirmed. I may be with someone again; but, a forever promise just doesn't feel right. If forever happens, that would probably be lovely; but then, after the dust settles, most everything seems lovely anyways.

I remember learning about the Buddhist concept of impermanence from Lori when she was working brilliantly through reorganizing her life post-cancer. I recall reflecting on how special B was too me- How could it be that we are transient bubbles on a stream, no more connected to one another for eternity than any other two particular bubbles? How could it be that we could pop out of existence as individuals who felt so much compassion and connection for eachother, and just be water, sameness, perhaps even other bubbles down the stream? I still don't have an answer, but I've developed a haunch that our path is to follow our bliss, to float down stream; and maybe that the love and connections we find on that path are a reflection of the sameness and compassion that is core to the relationship that we all share...That the love we feel between two people is one of the greatest hints of all time, an analogy.

it's noonish

Preston is sprawled out, half asleep in front of the door, probably in case B comes home. Sam is looking especially disheveled today, sleeping heavily on the couch as usua,l with all four legs straight out as if in casts. B is playing tennis and then reading at Starbucks. I'm drinking tea. And writing you.

Second day of juice fasting. I woke up and did a mini yoga/breathing thing, and then poured a pot of tea from fancy pants dechlorinated hot water thingy (pictured above). I have one in my classroom, too, so I can be a tea nerd all day long. B and I originally were originally doing a 1 day juice fast, something we had studied in ayurveda that's supposed to kind of reset your digestion and hunger cycles. During the fast, we both found ourselves pretty intrigued and decided to do it today, too. Most, I am intrigued with fasting as a way to "sit with" various thoughts and emotions. Anyone who knows me well knows I am truly passionate about food. Surely, I always will be, but I'd like to use it (and other things, like the internet, for example) less as a distraction from whatever thoughts are bouncing around in my head. Then, I know I'm passionate about the cheesecake and not just what the cheesecake is helping me not to think about (which is usually something benign like work, anyways).

Other than occassional grumpies, the only problem I've had so far is headaches. Especially sinus headaches. Oh. My. God. I am talking about sinus headaches, here. The way it comes and goes is the weird part. Is this movement? Is this a good thing? I finally took 4 ibprofin last night because I just could not believe it, although I was a little worried about taking medicine on a fast. Any underlying hypochondriac tendencies were in full swing, let me tell ya, and I thought maybe I should break the fast to avert certain (painful, slow) death. In the end, it passed. And returned. And passed. I wonder if this is my body getting rid of a sinus infection, and that the movement just causes pain...

For like 8 months on and off, I've had this very frustrating health mini-crisis of having a low fever on and off and inflamed glands/nodes...some sinus symptoms, but really the issue has just been the discomfort of all of that inflammation and just the aches of having a low fever....went through 3 rounds of antibiotics earlier this year which did nothing, so the (minimally to moderately trusted) dr said it must be some kind of viral thing, maybe mono or something like it that likes to last forever...Bah. Western medicine. Or, maybe it's not the medicine, but the hurried system under which some doctors have to operate...I feel like going to the doctor is pointless, because there is so little discourse, or cognition whatsoever for that matter. Especially after watching B bust his ever lovin' moneymaker through medical school, I can't imagine him turning to a thoughtless repetitive cycle of prescribing antibiotics after antibiotics...but, either because of complacency or just pressure under a system, I know we've all been through that with doctors.

Enter integrative medicine. Saturday, baby. My appointment with western trained dr, also trained in ayurveda, also a cranial-sacral osteopath. Let the "ness" quest begin.

In other news, B and I are looking at condos/houses. I know. I think my whining was evidence of a critical mass that ended up with me realizing that it's not about where we are as much as who we are. That doesn't mean that we'll always be here, but we are now and it's okay to put down some roots. If you know me well, you may know that roots freak me out a little, but not for any good reasons. Anyways, we can't afford a lot, especially since a bank will not recognize B's student loan income (which then cuts our annual income in half), but we are having so much fun looking and imagining. If you want to bring a house warming gift, you can find us in the ghetto. We haven't decided whether we want to be bloods or crips. Suggestions?

sedation 101

Haven't been blue or anything; I have, however, been feeling generally uninspired, which is why I haven't been around here much. I've poked my head around my regular reads, and it seems I'm not the only one who hasn't been feeling the updating vibe. I wish I would sign up for more of those artistic prompt websites like Self Portrait Challenge, Inspire Me Thursday, etc. I guess what I'm saying is I'm in need of some inspiration.

Costa Rica inspires me; that's why I posted this rainforest picture I captured on my honeymoom. Aren't these beautiful? If you've been to CR, you know this plant is no anomaly. I think it's some sort of bromeliad (pineapple cousin)...which, if you are a secret life sciences nerd like me, you know that bromeliads are the plant in the rainforest in which poison dart frogs lay their eggs. The rainforest is like a caricature for life; deep, humbling contrasts such as the shimmery reds and yellows of a tropical flower to the deadly tadpole that lies within its leaves...The great kapok tree to the tiny, insignificant people who stand in its wonder.

Speaking of insignificant in the scheme of things...Long story short, my "great new job" didn't work out. Don't worry, no one was fired by anyone, I left them, everyone's on good terms with everybody and nobody's mad at anybody. Nothing I should be sharing on even a mostly anonymous blog, so the short story is that I'm in a well-planned job search...meaning I'm financially prepared to wait several months in order to find the place where I really need to be. I don't regret going to the job where I was, and I don't regret leaving either. I followed my bliss, and now I just need to hold on. What is hard now is that I am in a waiting place...You remember the waiting place from Dr. Suess (Oh the Places You'll Go)...

"...for people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go
or the mail to come, or the rain to go
or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
or waiting around for a Yes or a No
or waiting for their hair to grow.
Everyone is just waiting.

Waiting for the fish to bite
or waiting for wind to fly a kite
or waiting around for Friday night
or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake
or a pot to boil, or a Better Break
or a sting of pearls, or a pair of pants
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.
Everyone is just waiting."

Pretty surprising that my life (all of our lives, really) seems to be following a Dr. Suess story, bc I believe it hasn't been long since I referred to myself as being in Dr. Suess's "slump," or something like that. I've read ahead in this book, and it gets good in the end, so I guess it's all okay.

My point is that waiting is hard for me...bc it is vulnerability. I just want to 'fish or cut bait' with everything. Everything. I guess everyone is that way a little, at least. I've grown a little concerned about my issues with vulnerability, though, b/c I've realized it's more ubiquitous than I thought...


So, I tried to entertain the thought of, well, sharing my life in that way (not that this would matter for YEARS anyways), and I felt freaked.the.youknowwhat.out. One of the first thoughts that scared the youknowwhat out of me was that if I did have kids, I should have at least four, bc then the handicapped one would get taken care of by the others. WHY am I assuming I'd have a handicapped kid, like my brother? How shameful is it that I would almost not have kids just bc I would be so afraid of having one like him? You know what's interesting...My dad (who has been through WAY more than me) totally did this. He went through the humility, heart break and heart warming roller coaster that is caring for Tyler, and he went on to have two other kids, knowing either or both of them could have ended up just like Tyler. The thought makes my heart beat in my throat, and then there's the guilt from thinking it in the first place. There's a good chance that I was dead on the whole time with the kid thing, but I feel I owe it to myself to be more alive, to scrutinize my intentions.
No special ending, really....the thought is really as incomplete as it seems.

*****
Cross your fingers for me that the teaching job will come along again, though...I miss it desperately. Ironically, it is the humility, the right conditions for spiritual growith, that I love so much about teaching. I don't know if I mentioned this, but I decided not to do the social work master's and went for literacy specialist instead, which I am loving. As it turns out, and as I believe it is for many educators, teaching IS my social work. Teaching.has.my.soul. I think other jobs will probably have my soul someday, but now I know teaching is where I need to be. I truly miss it right now, in an " I could cry" sort of way. More than anything, i'm just feeling blessed to know that there is something out there that I truly love to do and that pays my bills AND leaves me feeling incredibly blessed (sometimes through clouds of stress) at the same time.

your name + ness

+light+impermanence+being present (the fountain from another angle)

Several weeks ago, I found myself browsing through old keepsakes and photos; I found something that I didn't expect. In the photos, letters, etc., from six or seven years ago I was a different person than I am today, in a way I couldn't identify....and I don't mean different in a better way, but lacking something somehow. I'm smarter now. I feel more spiritually developed now. My career is going better, my friendships are deeper, my romantic relationship is going better...but something is totally missing, and I haven't been able to figure out what it is...

My husband helped me put a name to my mystery. "You've lost your ness," he said. From You, Me & Dupree....you know, your name + ness...what makes you the essense of you.

"You're right. The heck. I've lost my ness."

So, like Peter Pan and his elusive shadow, I sat out to find my ness. Like 'shadow,' it's right here, I know it, but I can't quite seem to pin it down.

I talked to my journal about it. I talked to my dog. Then, I talked to my friend, L, who was a good enough friend to nervously say, "Do you think it could be the weight? That you're not as healthy, as fit as you were?" This may seem crazy, but I hadn't thought of that. Even my dog is more happy and energetic when he sheds extra pounds. I am careful to regard the spirit's effect on the body, I said to L...but I seldom think of the body's effect upon the spirit...My body is my spirit's medium in this lifetime. If I do not care for it, that is all the less it may express itself in the beauty of the human spirit. Chalk one up for L. She moved up a notch in my book for being real, for the quality of her heart, her intent. That is a piece of the puzzle, for sure. I think I still have some sleuthing to do, though.

Among the nostalgic evidence four paragraphs up were lots of pictures, of a thinner me, of course...about 40 lb thinner, but I was more vain too, and what a lot of people didn't know is that my fake nails and 8 different colors of highlights and fancy make up were adding up to credit card debt I wasn't prepared to pay for on a student income...So, yes, I was prettier (to the point that when people see my old id, they say, "that IS NOT you!" (Thanks), but inside I knew I was living a lie, sort of...

Also among my findings were the reminders of one of the strangest experiences I've had....a series of letters and a song/poem written to me by a man who fell in love with me, sort of from afar, when I was about 20. He was much older, probably between 30 and 35. I didn't know he was in love with me for a very long time, but I knew that for weeks roses and short poems were being anonymously left on my car, and once at work I received anonymous flowers with the message, "You are cared for." He did not act creepy, never pressured me in any way, and did not mention his romantic feelings for me except in a packet he once gave me with a letter and a song for me as well as a song he had written for his young daughter. Honestly, his feeling freaked me out, and I started avoiding him some. I just wasn't mature enough to handle it well.

Steve (that's his name) was in chemotherapy at the time. He had just gone through a divorce, and was working at Applebee's for some unknown reason, even though he had previously taught junior college music courses. His daughter had been recently whisked away to another state, and here he was alone, no more career, living with cancer...He felt like he had fallen off the top of the world, that he had lost his creativity, his life force, his essence, his smile. Among other things, you might say his "ness."

What so attracted him to me, he said, was all of the life I had in me. And I did. I shined with life back then. With hope for the future, great idealistic hope...with poetry and nature and health and vitality. I thrived.

The rest of the Steve story is almost unbelievable. Steve finished chemo, no evidence of cancer. Shortly after, he was driving home from visiting his little girl, and a semi-truck swirved into his lane.

Paralyzed, they said. But luck, or what you want to call it, had it's way with Steve again. He would be able to walk, but with pain and extensive rehabilitation. Standing would be like having a knife in his spine. Walking would be as a newly born foal.

In the mean time, he comes back to Applebee's to cook quesadillas and Tequila lime chicken as soon as he is barely able, although he can scarcely walk and should be considered disabled...something about red tape, beauracracy.

One day, Steve passes me a quesadilla or salad or something for my table, and he says he has good news, for once. "I won my law suit (from the trucking co). 4 million dollars (or something like it). I'm quitting."

Shortly after, I moved to finish my degree. I lost touch with Steve. Several months later a mutual friend of ours tracked me down to say that Steve had taken him and others to concerts all over the country, that he had shared his millions with compassion and lightness. That he was full of life. And that his cancer had come back fast and strong. He was gone.

I wonder what Steve would say about the irony; he had a unique life perception. I wonder if his daughter has a copy of the poem her dad wrote for her, which is sitting in my room. My dad, who is usually reserved, once wrote me a special poem, tucked away secretly behind a framed picture he had given me...I found it years later, a secret testament of his love for HIS daughter.

It's hard to get back to discussing "my ness" now that I've gone off into these trails of seriousness, but that is where I'm hopefully headed on my life's path. balance. creating. light. love. peace. compassion. ness.

This silly blog has helped some already, believe it or not. It's a place for me to create again, to muster a little bit of creativity that I might not otherwise take the time for, to synthesize the universe's lessons to me and put it out there for few people who are my blogging world, adding that spice of vulnerability that is medicine for my soul.

+balance+beauty+ (crane at creek, hunting for fish)

Yes, it's a doggie water fountain.

I never noticed this dog water fountain by the creek, probably b/c my dog jumps right in, ingesting copius amounts of urban creek pollution as he has his fun. I didn't take him to the creek as much this summer as I wish I would have; but, it's still warm, and we'll still get to go!

Tomorrow is my last day of summer vacation. I wasn't supposed to start for two weeks, but I have a new position, so I have to go back early. Still teaching, but special education now, and less than 2 miles from my front door! Two miles, people. I'm so excited. I loved (after learning to love!) my last job, but I really wanted to be in my community. So, now I am! I think I might end up with a lot less take-home, since I won't be planning lessons or taking my own grades (it's like a resource position)...so, this is good since I'm working on my master's and trying like hell to actually be able to communicate in Spanish.

B and I are still married (tongue in cheek), by the way; medical school is keeping him very busy, but not above and beyond what we anticipated. We just have to be sure to plan in the time and hold to it. I'm a person who loves tons of alone time, finding my balance in the solitude, so I'm doing pretty well (some people say it's actually harder on the spouse, bc they are the one waiting around for someone else), b/c to me it has just cut down on our non-quality time together and intensified our actual quality time. It's a fun challenge. We spend time studying together, too. We go to Panera (they just built one by our house!), and I practice the Rosetta Stone Spanish while he learns about cell biology: both VERY useful!

I'm going to miss my dog when I go back to work. We've spent so much time together this summer, mostly cuddling, honestly; he is a spooner. Good news is, my new job is so close that I can drop Preston off at doggie daycare across the street in the morning so that he gets some playing and some time off from being tortured by the cat.

Sometimes when I look over ramblings like these, I think my life seems so boring: spooning with the dog, sitting at Panera, the untold pleasures of the dog water fountain at the creek, etc. And, I'm so thankful for all of these simple pleasures.

are you ready for cheesy?

I read today that if you were to open a cocoon, you would pretty much just find ugly mush inside; isn't that weird? I like it, though. I feel kind of like mush now, not mush as in despondent or hopeless, just as in some things are more fuzzy, less clearly-defined, which is okay...but, I really believe the outcome will be better than- oh God the annoyingness of this metaphor- being a caterpillar. Change is always a little scary, but tell me it isn't better to fly than to be a catterpillar? And, here's a picture of a moth I made friends with at the creek.

karma.

I used to cut friendships off left and right, dismissing current friends and looking for new, more perfect friends for me. I'm one of those people who took the "Toxic Relationships" episode of Oprah WAY too seriously. Let's just say that I think karma may have found me....My picture album includes a lot of people who I thought of as a near best friend at once, who I eventually cut off, at least to some degree....The book could be titled, "My half-a## Attempts." More on that later.

Page one: The Needy-A## Takers

Everyone has met a needy-a## taker. Maybe you are on. Historically, I am a needy-a##-taker magnet. Now, if you think that says something about me, you're probably right. Needy-a## takers are frequently photographed next to "I-need-to-help-others-to-feel-worthy-ers." Needy-a##-takers, be aware, I will no longer enable yo' needy a##. Anyways, what usually happened here is that I ended up in some therapist-esque role in which things weren't at all reciprocal. A lot of talk about them and their ruminations, and very little talk about me and mine. Enter late night phone calls. Enter a new crisis. Enter another new crisis. And another...and I gave...and gave...and gave..and then I was absolutely exausted, and I mean beat, and I would disappear.

Page two: "No connection." (Translation: usually morally or politically inferior in some way)

I ran into a lot of "no connection" friends after I started avoiding needy-a##-takers like the plague. I have a lot of pictures with these friends, because it often seemed like we did have a connection, sometimes even for a long time. Soon, it was easy to find others morally and politically unsatisifying. I didn't see myself as judgemental; I just saw myself as not wanting to be around people who did not have similar values. I remember sharing 300 sq foot with a person and two animals, buying all my clothes at thrift stores...judging my friends for their weaknesses (the ones I didn't share), for their materialism, for their microderm abrasion when I knew they couldn't afford it, for caring too much about makeup, for not being into buying thrift store clothes, not recycling, not voting. I thought of myself as all-supporting, all-loving because of my minimalism and my politics, but I was hiding behind some sort of self-righteousness, I think. Why?

I believe that we are ALL connected, and that we need to see these connections, even in those who seem different. Do I still know needy-a##-takers? Yes. But, now I know boundaries, too, and there are people who I have rewarding friendships with now that I could not have managed being friends with before. Not that I would spend lots of time with people who I don't have fun with or who don't want to talk about what I want to talk about. And, I'm sure there are times when cutting off truly is necessary.

So, I'd like to ceremoniously shut the cover of my photo album of "Half A## Attempts," and start a new book, the book of "Namaste," maybe..."The divine in me acknowledges the divine that is in you."

summer in the city

Good morning to day two of my official summer haitus from the world of working people. This thing lasts until late August. August, people (or person, as the case may be!). The heck? It just almost seems crazy, long! The silliEST thing is that over the year, I've come to almost feel that it is owed to me. I think this year, I almost needed it, so I don't hate myself too much....but, it's not like most jobs come with a 3 month break worked into it....and, in some states you can say that teachers are paid so poorly that they deserve a break, but let's be real. In TX, if you are starting out in social services, this is as good as it gets. AND you get the summer off. I agree that teaching is hard, but perspective is the secret key to success (as with anything, it seems), and b/c of perspective I was able to evolve to see my job as an amazing opportunity, every day. And, it was. I will never be the same...just thinking about my gratitude brings tears to my eyes every time, like a big blubbery loser. Holding out for the summer, for the weekends, now seems silly. There were gifts in every moment, but I had to adjust the lighting to see them. Have you heard the quote, "Treat your friends like your art work, and view them in their best light?" I guess that's what this year has taught me to think about life in general. It is what it is. The various challenges, etc., will be what they will be; I have a tiny amount to no control over that. I can control the way I look at it, though. The beauty or lack of beauty seem limitless in either direction, all depending on the lighting. May I illuminate.

This school year was quite the emotional challenge, but more than anything, it was an opportunity. Here is the quotation that the teacher who had my classroom prior to me left stuffed in her sub folder (maybe I should have taken this as an omen early on!):

"We are all faced with a series of great opportunities brilliantly disguised as unsolvable problems." - John W. Gardner

You have no idea how many times I repeated this to myself over the past nine months. It was on my computer, and I read it at least a few times a day. And, it did not say DIFFICULT problem, but UNSOLVABLE. I love that, b/c you have no idea how many times I almost turned the car around on my way to work early on. The first time I thought I would actually THROW UP from anxiety. I had never hated anything more, ever. It was intolerable. How I thought things like, "How long will it take to recover from breaking a contract?" And, in the end, I loved it. Loved it! The news here is that my situation didn't change at all; I did. That's why I love it now. My husband was shocked by my change of heart, b/c it was overnight, like an epiphany. As someone who steers clear of drama, fights, etc, it was unbelievably draining at first to deal with the adolescent persona, much less in a high needs school. Without being too divulgent, let me just say, imagine the prototype adolescent who has no one at home that cares what he does anyways (or, more likely, has 3 jobs and doesn't have the time)...Imagine quite a few of those to start out your morning every day, wanting to fight. Ready to THROW DOWN over anything. It was a major ego schock to me, b/c this was not like what I had seen on tv, where they would love me and all their lives would instantly change and then I'd get to play an extra in the movie.

It took me a long time to even see, "Freedom Writers," b/c it kind of angered me...I didn't know what to do with these kids, and people kept saying stuff like, "but did you hear about that teacher in that movie." I wanted to punch those people, and tell them to live in my shoes for one day. I came home and went to bed. Every night. On the way to work, I actually talked to myself the whole time just so I could keep myself distracted enough not to think about the students I was dreading seeing.

Eventually, this became intolerable. And I mean, intolerable, so something had to change. I had tried to change them, but I didn't know how. The only person I could really change was me. I began to focus on seeing the beautiful inner nature of each of my students and dealing with them with compassion (firm compassion!). When I enjoyed them, when my eyes began to light up when they walked in, they decided to love me back...It really opened up a beautiful world to me. I went to my first Quinceanera, which brought tears to my eyes. I let them teach me Spanish sometimes, to teach me about their culture, and they loved that. I even began to wonder if they had some things figured out that I didn't...Each young adult, each "unsolvable problem," was simply brilliantly disguised as a great opportunity...A sheep in wolf's clothing.

The greatest "problem" of all turned out to be in letting them go. I held it together like a trooper after school, even when my 8th graders hugged me, crying, going out fearfully into a whole different world. I had to be strong for them, though I know the statistics are against them...But, they go out into the world, in a world that was much easier for me, in small town USA, than it will most likely be for them.

I went back to my room after school, my poor empty room that lives off of learning, off of students, as it's life line. I thought about many of my students individually. Will I ever hear from them again? I mourned all the times I didn't appreciate the opportunities I had been given, the times that I didn't engage in their lives the way I expected them to engage in learning...the times I reacted in anger, the times I didn't want to be there...the times I was indifferent to this most amazing gift I had been given. I thought about the achievement gap, I thought about the ones without strong families, about the ones in gangs...As their writing teacher, I got to read something of their dreams, from each and every one of them...and, believe me, they all have dreams, beautiful ones. Did you know that the teenagers you see on the street, with sagging pants and bling and enough anger inside for all our lifetimes have dreams? Dreams of helping people, of being successful, of buying houses for their families, so that they aren't evicted anymore, so they no longer have to suffer...

Travel safely, my friends.

In other news, I'm focusing on getting this #*@#*& 5 pg. essay finished for this MSW program I'm starting soon (probably fall, if something falls through, then Spring- no big deal.). After this is all behind me, I'll hopefully jump back on the volunteerism bandwagon. I always used to volunteer somewhere, but this year I just haven't had the energy. I'm between hospice and a community kitchen downtown. I might also volunteer in the children's hospital; I've done that before and really loved it.

My husband just got into med school, so we are definitely NOT going on a trip we've already been putting off since last year, with Global Exchange...A "Reality Tour" to Nicaragua. I guess they can keep our deposit, now. There are worse places for our money to go... Instead, we will procure an efficient little car. We're basically looking for our old car reincarnate: little, pretty only to us, gas efficient, never dies. We'll still travel a little, though not internationally. I'll go visit my friend C in New Jersey. And B and I are having a big tour d' Kansas right before he starts school. I have to admit that I miss Kansas, specificaly Manhattan. Manhattan is so simple, yet alive. It was hard for us to live there, b/c it mostly has families and then 20 year olds...not much in the middle. But, I miss the nature & more. The largest untouched tall grass prairie in the world...political activism that definitely rivals that of the giant city we now live in...More respect and gratitude for the environment...long conversations about life in coffee shops, the kind of situations you want to go back and recreate, even though you know such thoughts are futile.

I guess the key is to keep the lighting well adjusted in my new life, having faith that new opportunities are always around me, if I should choose to see them.

the sky was always there.

In Buddhist writings, they use the analogy of the sky and the clouds. On some days clouds cover all the sky in our field of vision...and we may say, "Today, it is grey outside," or "Today, it is cloudy."

Yet, today is actually blue, like yesterday. Like tomorrow. Like every day. They are all blue, because the sky is blue and the sky is always there.

The sky, our true mind. The clouds, the innumerous life-destractions, which are, of course, illusions. May I let go of all of the silly illusions I ruminate over, all of the precious time wasted by failing to acknowledge the unchangeable, the good. ..the choices I've made to perceive the sky as grey instead of altering my perception towards truth.

May I recognize the truth in others...I am no better or worse than any other transient being. No one is not worth knowing. No one is too good to know.

May I access the ocean of compassion that is available to all of us to give the gift of compassion when I say things like, "I have nothing left to give." May there always be something to give.



...Am I teaching next year?

yes.


...Do I enjoy every day these days?

yes.

...Really, EVERY day??

no, I lied a little. but, almost.


I perceived the sky instead of the clouds, and things just changed.

on teaching middle school, or not.

Long & emotional. Sorry.

So, I'm finally a teacher. I majored in it. Decided it wasn't for me. Did other stuff. Loved it but made no money. And I mean NO money. Then, realized when teaching at a zoo (and making NO money) that I DO love teaching! My husband is a breath away from medical school, and we decided (based on finances/shedules/my love for kids and education) this would be the perfect job for me during this time. I'm definitely not in the area I always planned, though. Although I majored in sp. education (with the intention of working with moderately to severely disabled kids), there were no special education positions left in the program that I entered...

So, I would be a generalist with ESL certification. Why not? Ironic, yes, b/c all through college I secretly complained about having to do "regular education" projects when I would surely only ever teach special education. But I guess if I have learned anything by now, it is that life is ironic.

Then I was offered a job in middle school, teaching reading and ESL writing (I know I use poor grammar on here all the time!). Take it? Or not? Hold out for an elementary position and let this position go by, or snatch it up and see if it is all that I feared it would be? Middle school, people. This would be the time of my life that I most want to forget....

***update (9/07/08): A WHOLE bunch of stuff I deleted which ended up with me not living at home anymore***

I hardly remember any of my teachers, although one did plant a lovely seed and I will always have gratitude for her...but that is another story. (although she happened to teach reading and writing, which is what I teach, too) I guess my real question is, can I be peaceful while working to cultivate peace in such an unpeaceful environment?

All I can tell you about the answer (if you've read this far!) is that it is elusive.

when ure hero falls

Posted in dedication to two boys who I teach (middle school English/Reading). Names changed & details altered...you know, just in case.

Juan has a sibling who was shot and killed several years ago in a gang related incident. He works a night job to help his mother with the bills. Half-awake, he sits in my class scribbling precocious lines of poetry onto my assignments (which he sometimes finishes). Clearly an old soul, murky from the hazy confusion of adolesence along with the oppression of poverty and it's angry mirror of violence. He wants nothing to do with gangs or violence, he tells me on one of the mornings that he has wondered into my classroom before school. It has hurt his family enough. He just got off of work. He says he's tired, he will try to pay attention.

The other boy, Miguel (a gang member; a kid who has been in a lot of trouble), tells me with heavy eyes that his father has begun drinking again after two years of sobriety. It is my planning period. I don't know where he is supposed to be, but he is not there. His mind is at home anyways. His eye is on the bottle that has stolen his dad away. His body is in my classroom, looking for an answer that I've been looking for for years. I share an anecdote about my own trip down this road, and I think back to my grade school counselor, Mrs. Johnson. When I was young, she shared with me a version a piece of her life story that was similar to mine; in a breath she handed to me my discarded, crumpled potential -wrapped carefully in a tiny box, tied with strings of hope. She was my proof that it was possible to make it through something through which I didn't feel I had the strength to withstand. By virtue of existence, she was the hope that remained in my Pandora's box. "God must be preparing you to help another child through this," she said.

I grasped the box of my fragile potential with knuckles whiter than winter; I tucked it deep in my soul. Sometimes I forgot it was there. And, sometimes I forget it is there. And sometimes it sings the songs it knew all along. The songs that all of our souls have always known. I believe life is about clearing a way to our souls, which have always known "the answers"...Clearing the distractions of life...the crippling oppression of poverty, the paralyzing oppression of wealth.

I do not know if I will make a difference as a teacher, but I know that the difference is already in me. At times, I am blinded by the endless distraction of beauracracy and expectations I do not know how to meet. Overall, it gives me clarity...Not clarity in my own life, but a clearer picture of the world as it really is. At night, I drive home to my comfortable, if not fancy neighborhood where most people pretend that poverty does not exist. It would be comforting to believe that, but in the morning I go back to the school that is 95% poor and minority, tucked away between used car lots and gang signs painted on overpasses. This is reality.

As for middle school...I never thought I would teach middle school; it was the worst time of my life. Adolesence in itself is pandora's box. By definition, it is a time of trauma. Add poverty. Add violence. May my kids recognize the elusive hope that hides in the corner; some never find it. Pandora found it. Mrs. Johnson found it, and she showed it to me.

I believe that Tupac found it, be it with slippery fingers. He wrote about it time and again.

Tupac wrote this poem after his seemingly untouchable mother became addicted to cocaine. She was/is an activist for social justice, a vigilante. A liver of life who gave up on living for a while.

When Ure Hero Falls
4 My Hero (My Mother)
by Tupac Shakur

When your hero falls from grace
all fairy tales R uncovered
myths exposed and pain magnified
the greatest pain discovered
u taught me 2 be strong
but I'm confused 2 c u so weak
u said never 2 give up
and it hurts 2 c u welcome defeat
when ure Hero falls so do the stars
and so does the perception of tomorrow
without my Hero there is only
me alone 2 deal with my sorrow.
your Heart ceases 2 work
and your soul is not happy at all
what R u expected 2 do
when ure only Hero falls

of mandalas & men. (tibetan monks, that is)

A Series of Awkward Moments: "BlogThis"

hello little blogger friends...I'm back! You know me, falling off of the face of the earth every now and then...but, I always come back. I could never leave you, oh no. The world of three jobs has been treating me a little roughly, so I've not been in an updating place. Of course, I'm also taking classes-- not sure if I'll ever be able to shake that little addiction.

I've just quit my job in the ed. dept. of the zoo, though...I will miss doing community presentations and teaching rug rats how to recycle, but it as it turns out, I'm not really into animals in cages. Or really, I'm just not sure how I feel about it. Zoos really might be our best conservation hope; I might (probably) will change my mind. For now, I think I'm a little more PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals...I know, Don't judge me!) than AZA (American Zoological & Aquarium Assoc.). So, I'm a less busy lady, which is nice...because I've been doing some extra reading up on Buddhism, and I'd like to do some more-- I have been interested in Buddhism as a way of life (not so much as a religion) for awhile, but I recently had the opportunity to see Tibetan monks create a mandala installation (which I think may end up being the inspiration for my first ever tattoo!)...watching them meditate and chant was moving in a way that I don't think I can put words to...You know, maybe it was my expected perception, but it seemed that the spirit of mindfulness and meditation actually gave the room this energy you could almost touch.

I'm now reading a book written by a Buddhist monk: "Working With Anger." A supervisor at my Peace and Justice job gave it to me when I found myself perplexed over what I perceive to be a spirit of anger within today's peace movement...The ironic thing is that in reading this book, I've found so much anger and discontent in myself that I would never have guessed is there...I think people might be surprised where they'll find anger and discontent in their psyche...for me, I think there is a fear of being judged, and a need to be well-thought of. love me! love me! :)

Speaking of being well thought-of, wish me luck, because I have some interviews coming up in a couple of weeks...Unfortunately, there aren't a ton of progressive political organizing positions in the brightest of bright red Dallas, but there are a couple. I'm looking at an environmental campaign and a national organization called ACORN. I'm hoping it will bode well for me that I do organizing for a peace & justice group now (albeit part-time...grassroots, dang-it!). How I wish that I could live near Mia and work for my all time favorite organization (well, right now), Global Exchange!!

I've surely mentioned that I'm hoping to go on a trip w/ Global Exchange this summer, to Nicaragua. This is why I serve up big slabs of meat and fries on the weekends these days. On these trips, you visit sweatshops, the infamous free trade zones, non-fair trade coffee plantations and then fair trade coffee plantations...I'm excited to put some faces to the sweatshop/fair trade campaigns I've been involved in. I've worked on some fair wage stuff here, and I'm currently working on a pretty big (for me) undertaking in promoting fair trade and environtmentally conscious consumerism here, which is the height of fun. Okay, not the height....but, it is fun....

This brings me back to Buddhism, because I think I'm attached to my identity as "helper"...of course, that's consistent with my values, but what if no one ever knew that I did any of this stuff? Would I feel as good about myself, or do I secretly need the stamp of approval? I remember when a person who I ended up becoming close with first met me and made some assumptions about me...I was so offended by her judgement of me, because i think I'm attached to my identity as a survivor, and for her not to perceive me in that way was threatening to me...attachments...attachments...attachment to ego is an interesting idea, isn't?

Sorry for the incomplete thought, but it's super late. I've been putting off going to bed b/c my husband's 24-7 MCAT studies have put him WAY under the weather...and I don't want what he's got.

Quote for today:

"There is more to life than increasing its speed."
-Mahatma Gandhi

awwww.

my beautiful dog.

So, I'm moving. I guess my blog friends won't miss me, since I'll be taking you along. I like my little college town on the prairie, but I'm going to go be blue in a whole other red state now. My little brother (who has cerebral palsy, who I've mentioned here before) and my dad, his wife and my two younger siblings all live in Dallas. I tried it for awhile for my first college semester, but it was a little too rat-race-ish for me to stay afloat. I was -and continue to be- sort of a baby...people like me are why you should give annoyingly slow drivers a break. I actually get my feelings hurt when I get honked at or flipped off. I am entirely too sensitive and nerdy to survive on Dallas freeways...I'm like this annoying perpetual victim. Instead of flipping someone off back, I want to cry, "WHY, WHY would you WANT to hurt my feelings?!" I don't really think I am meant to be on the road anyways. I try to live in areas where I don't have to drive. Driving makes me crave xanax, which I don't think you're supposed to take when you drive anyways. The last time I lived in Dallas, it was unique for being one of the biggest cities in the US to have crap for public transportation. They just cannot get enough pollution down there; apparently, the word is out that Jesus will return before the air turns completely black. Things have changed a little, though, and you can now get to where you need to go via bus lines and trains. AND, we're going to live in the downtown area...so we can walk to where we want to eat. .

Speaking of eating, my new life in WW is going all right. I like the idea that I'm paying closer attention to what I'm bringing into my body. Before my knees were jacked up and I ran quite a bit, I think I ate about the same amount, and I was basically skinny. Now that I don't get that great exercise and am...ahem...getting a little older (turned 26 in September and am to the point where it behooves me to apply eye cream before bed), my butt is getting pretty droopy. And, I think one of the fatal mistakes of people who used to be skinny is that can exist in this state of reverse anorexia, in which they feel skinnier than they are...enter disturbing realistic photograph...*gasp*

Anyways, we're moving in June, most likely. I think I'll go ahead and teach special ed. down there, although it may take me a semester to get my certification in TX. I actually ended up with a degree in psych, although I have far more coursework in education.

Funny, I had decided that I could not teach, that I didn't fit in with the profession somehow...but, I think it had something to do with being in smallville. The idea became more and more stifling for me. Something about being in a bigger place makes teaching sound fun again. Maybe it takes some pressure off? I don't know. I can't really place the reasoning behind my randomness. One thing that I think contributed to my very early feeling of burn-out was that I only wanted to teach special ed--that's it. It never even occurred to me to teach in a traditional classroom...but sp. ed. training at my university really was just a cherry on top of lottttttts and lottttts of reg. ed. training. I enjoyed many parts of it, but it was difficult to stay passionate, because it just was not what I went to school for. --I was writing curriculum after curriculum, doing practicums, creating projects...and, all of it was stuff I knew I would never take into my classroom, because it was all to be for reg. ed. kids. If I had it to do over again, I would go to school in a state other than KS where there is an actual entire major just for special ed. At any rate, I'm going to start applying soon for some moderate MR classrooms, or something along the lines of life skills--that's what I'm interested in. I'm looking forward to it.

ramble number three.

Didn’t ramble yesterday...Well, not on a blog, at least. I sat most of the day out sick. I actually think I caught it online, as all of you whose blogs I’m reading seem to be sick as well.

Feeling sort of crabby and behind on some responsibilities...how trying. It’s amazing how much being behind on one thing can cause distress...which, then causes me to fall behind on something else...when then brings about shoddier feelings...which then cause me to fall behind on yet something else. And then what is there to do but eat some cake? Cycle schmycle.

I’m planning a wedding. My wedding. It’s not until July, but in the freaky and messed up world of Brides to Be, this isn’t long at all. First, let me say that I am the least “bride” of all brides...Marriage, I'm for, especially marriage to B. I’m just not an "all eyes on me" person; however I folded at the sound of motherly pleas ...So, the good news is that I’m finally ironing out some of the details...which makes me feel that I have things under control much more...which makes me happy. I have to admit that some of it is actually fun...like the fact that we’re getting married outside...We don’t know who’s going to officiate, however. He was raised Jewish and I was raised Christian, but neither of us see a lot of use for any major organized religion in our lives. —Also, for us, that would be an individual rather than a couple decision. So, it’s a secular ceremony...Spiritual, yes...Religious, not so much...Short and to the point, ABSOLUTELY!

In an unrelated story, I volunteer for the organization Big Brothers, Big Sisters. For about two and a half years, I’ve had the same “little.” She’s 13 now—I’m pretty honest with her that middle school is a pretty big dip in the road of life...I think she agrees....but, I’m not so sure she totally believes me that it does get better. I would absolutely freak out if I had to go back to that time period in my life. How miserable. Anyways, I mention my little to say that, all of a sudden, her mom has decided to move the family really far away...More than a day’s drive! I’m so sad! The worst part is I am in such a busy time for the next month or so, and so I just don’t have any time to do a lot of extra special things with her before she leaves. I hope she will be ok there.—We are planning on keeping in touch, and, hopefully, she’ll be able to spend a little time with me over the summer.