Date Taken: 7/12/12
Setting: Summerbridge and Shannon's House
Thoughts: This mask...will forever haunt my dreams...
Shannon invited us over to her parent's house to enjoy a meal and some relaxation time. Her house...is the most amazing house, ever. This fire pit is just one of the amazing features. After we ate burgers cooked on the built in out door grill, and met her parents in their full bar and whiskey lined basement (they publish a whiskey magazine), we ate ice cream and made smores around this campfire. It. was. awesome.
A lot of times, when I am at a friend's parents' house, I find myself wondering how they got from where I am now, to what they are. I have this urge to be at that place already - family, home, career. Yet, I know that to skip everything that comes in between, the struggles, the successes big and small, the actual building of a life I want, would be wholly unfulfilling. When I asked Shannon's dad about this idea, he said that we need to pursue what makes us happy. He gave us advice we have heard our entire lives - do what makes you happy. When he said it, I actually believed it could be possible. As I stood in this beautiful home, nestled into the woods, I felt like there could be a way to carve out a unique life path that includes the pursuit of a career that makes me happy and one that also enables a comfortable lifestyle that I could pass on to my own children one day.
Date Taken: 7/10/12
Setting: Summerbridge, my desk
Thoughts: I found this on my desk this morning. Really, it is amazing I can find anything on my desk. It is perpetually messy despite my constant attempts to clean it up. All I can ever seem to do is re-stack papers in a different place or throw away post it notes. I never seem to put things in any kind of coherent order. The chaos that is my desk often reflects the status of my life. I am so frequently concerned with accomplishing multiple tasks at once that my life because messy and muddled despite my best attempts to clean it up, to organize, to attend to one item at a time.
It was nice to find this note amid my pile of papers. Anonymous. Cheerful. Supportive. Everything a good pick-me-up should be. I think the reason why I like this gesture so much is that it reminds me of something I might do for someone. I am a proponent of sending texts or emails to friends at random to tell them how much I appreciate them or how much a memory with them means to me now. I don't think we share those thoughts enough. We don't go out of our ways to compliment people, to help them, to offer them a smile, a nod, a hug. This note wasn't just a kind gesture, it was a reminder that I have the ability to accomplish my goals and that I have the capacity, as this person did, to affect peoples' lives in positive ways.
Lately, I have been doing a terrible job of blogging. When I work at Summerbridge, every last bit of my energy is zapped by the end of the school day. There is so much that needs to be done, so much that I need to do for others, that there is barely any room in my day to do anything for me. I have wanted this blog to be a place where I can take time to reflect on the day and the adventures it entails. I wanted to carve out this little space that is just for me to process and think and wonder about life. Yet, I wasn't using this space to decompress and to make sure that my days included time for myself. I wasn't blogging very much at all, and instead, found myself sleeping or watching television. What a waste.
As I move closer to the beginning of my third year as a doctorate student, I can see quite clearly the necessity of this space and recognize my need to work harder at coming to this space each day to record my thoughts and to allow myself room to process the day in silence.
Before I went back to school on Wednesday to work, Brian noted that I seem to have a sense of purpose when I am on campus. Today, I felt that sense of purpose as I walked from the train to work. At work, I was able to get so much done. It felt good, and it motivated me to do work at the apartment and to blog right now. It is amazing how doing things makes me want to do more things, whatever they are, and being static, unproductive, useless, makes me feel like doing nothing. I much prefer the first over the latter.
I just started my workout today when a group of high schoolers who are (I assume) attending Governer's school at Lehigh came up to me and asked if I i knew of a building with a half number on it. They were doing a scavenger hunt. I had no idea what they were talking about. I said no. The guy who asked responded "actually?" in a tone that I found less than polite.
I continued on my way toward the first set of stairs where the hardcore workout begins and a group walked down the stairs, completely in my way, and one girl said something to the effect of "she's the one who wouldn't help us right?" Um, hello, I can hear you, and what is this King's Cross Station? How the hell am I supposed to know where the building with fractions for an address is? I responded "I didn't help you, because I didn't know what the hell you were talking about."
They went on there way, and I continued my workout. As I ran, I could feel my anger getting the better of me. I just hate when people are rude like that. Plus, all day I was being interrupted by people at work who had questions they could have answered for themselves. As I ran, I prayed and I wondered if perhaps I was being too critical of others and not critical enough of myself. Perhaps what I needed to be today, was patient.
I was reminded of the clip in Evan Almighty, where Morgan Freeman, playing God, tells Lauren Graham, Evan's wife, that when a person prays for courage...you know what, I won't do it justice...here's the clip.
The bottom line is, life is all about opportunities. Here I am, praying for the ability to be more patient, and at the same time, I am ignoring the opportunities to exercise patience. I let the actions of others dictate my mood, and worse than that, I allowed my actions and reactions to be filled with anger and with annoyance instead of with compassion and kindness.
Am I preaching? I like to think not. I think sometimes I find it difficult to know where the line between patient and annoyed should be. When does it stop becoming patience and start becoming self deprecating? When do I stop giving others unlimited chances and start recognizing the value of my own time and standards and start standing up for those values? These questions plagued me as I ran up stairs, walked hills, and just generally took in the coolness of the evening.
I guess my gut tells me that kindness is always the better way, I just don't always know how to exercise kindness, particularly in the face of ignorance, disrespect, and incompetence.
As I walked and thought of these things, I hoped I would run into some more students so I could practice the patience I lacked previously. A group did find me. They came up to the top of the stairs and a girl and I stared at each other from afar for a bit. Turns out, she was mesmerized by some dear that were close at hand, and I thought she might be someone I knew. She flagged me down and politely asked for help finding a building with a half number on it. I gave her group the best advice I could and moved on.
Later, Court, Britt and I walked down to the cup, where apparently all the governer's school kids who think they are cool go to hang out. I saw the people who were rude to me, and although at first we stared at each other awkwardly as we passed through the doorway, I stopped the first guy and asked if they found what they were looking for. He said they didn't but the person behind him did. That guy stepped forward and I asked where it was. He explained it and then said he took a picture, took out his phone, and showed us. It was actually a pleasant interaction.
I felt like, perhaps for the first time all day, I had finally seized an opportunity to be more patient and to put good out into the world instead of staining it with my lack of compassion.
Date Taken: 6/26/12
Setting: Iron Pigs Game
Thoughts: I played soccer, field hockey, and softball in high school. I was a DI field hockey goalie. I also played softball for about 15 years including 4 in college at the DI level, and I generally can't stand watching sports. I have always had the mentality that I would much rather be playing sports than watching them. I do make exceptions for my friends - I was a Lehigh women's soccer and basketball superfan for many years. I knew people on the team, so it was exciting to see them do their thing. Other than that though, I am bored to tears by any and all sporting events on television or otherwise. Despite my lack of interest in watching sporting events, I actually do rather enjoy athletic plays. A good sports center top 10 is always compelling.
Although I don't care for watching sports, in particular sports with innings, I do rather enjoy a trip to a pro or minor league baseball game. It is the atmosphere I crave - the smell of hot dogs and funnel cake, ice cream filled miniature baseball helmets, cold beers, collective groans and cheers, the flashing of the scoreboard. Usually, when I attend a sporting event of this nature, I am in complete sensory overload mode. I find I can barely focus on any one thing long enough to make sense of it. I see a play here, a play there. I cheer when everyone else does. I wander around the stadium looking left to right and back again as I pass countless vendors with so many delicious treats. It is a frenetic environment, but one that I enjoy losing myself in from time to time.
We were able to go to an Iron Pigs game for Summerbridge, and it reminded me of one reason I enjoy going to evening games - watching the sky change. I love that in a baseball stadium, I get to watch the sky change colors and shapes. I get to see the shadows stretch across the green outfield and slowly fade into the shining of stadium lights in the dark. There is something endlessly enjoyable about this part of the game. Perhaps it is because at Philly's stadium in particular, the fading sky against the far side of the stadium reminds me how big the physical structure is and how small I am by comparison. It also reminds me of the community I am a part of in that moment. Although I am often overwhelmed by the sights and sounds and smells, I am appreciative of the sense of unity I feel when I step into a large stadium to take in a late afternoon ball game.
Date Taken: 6/25/12
Setting: Bethlehem
Thoughts: It is a blessing to be able to see this sight everyday when I go to work during the summer...
And this sight when I get back to my temporary apartment at Lehigh at night.
When I look at the kids we teach during the summer, these kids who have so little, who share in their family's daily adult responsibilities, these kids who find ways to be positive even when their home lives are in disarray, I wonder how it is that I came to live my life.
Now, as a teacher, I realize that education is often a random accident of birth geography. Children have no say in where they will go to school as 6 year olds, and so often what they learn or do not learn in those early grades determines the kind of success they will have in their later school years and in their lives. I also now realize that it is impossible for a single teacher to help every single student that comes through his or her room in a day. As a student teacher, I could barely talk to each student directly let alone sit down with each one, particularly those struggling to read and write as 8th graders, to help them work on individual skills and knowledge acquisition.
As an adult, and as a Summerbridge teacher, I now appreciate my education in an entirely new light. From preschool to ph.d, I have had an excellent education with countless opportunities in music, sports, art, physical fitness, foreign language, honors and AP level courses, prep courses for exams, and individualized instruction. I rode a bus to school and when I was old enough, I drove myself in my car. I had all of the appropriate equipment for 3 different sports, and I had a saxophone and a clarinet of my own. I didn't want for anything, yet at the same time, my parents, who grew up poor and in decidedly negative environments, taught me the value of money and hard work. They taught me lessons in self control and tact. They taught me that not everything in life is about money, although it sure helps to be able to pay the bills on time.
I have been so fortunate, and in the past few years, I have come to understand my purpose in this world. I am an educator. I know that I have the power to share knowledge and I want to pay forward the kind of education and opportunities that I had growing up.
The amazing thing about teaching is not only that I get to share my knowledge with others, but that I get to learn from my students as well. I was sitting in the cafeteria the other day chatting with a rising 7th grade student. I know that she has a difficult home life where she takes on many adult responsibilities out of necessity. This student smiles all day long. She is polite and enthusiastic. She enjoys holding conversations and sharing her thoughts and ideas.
She told me that she likes to meditate and has been trying to practice yoga recently. She enjoys the quiet contemplation her room offers her and if she gets lonely, she simply walks to her mom's house and plays with the dog and her siblings. She has such a remarkable spirit, such an old soul. Somehow, this 12 year old has every adult I know beat. She understands the importance of deep, personal, silent contemplation. She sees only the simple solution to loneliness - just walk somewhere and find someone. She reads, she writes, she thinks. She is the kind of human being I aspire to be.
So, I guess what I am saying is that education is powerful and it is special. Not everyone has the same opportunities to attend school or a school in which they have access to the kinds of resources that will help them to achieve a more educated and financially stable future. I think that perhaps the most important thing I have learned from this student is that life isn't necessarily about the haves and the have nots. It isn't about the items we possess or don't. It isn't about longing for what we don't have or blaming others for what we wish we had. Life is about finding ways to appreciate our ability to think and learn and talk with others. Life is about creating opportunities to enjoy quiet contemplation. It is about using those moments to create a self that appreciates life and a self that is fully content in even the most difficult situations.
A 12 year old taught me these lessons in a short conversation. I hope that I can channel her spirit whenever I find myself complaining or wishing for something I don't have. I hope that I can summon her aura and project it as my own.
Date Taken: 6/19/12
Setting: The Trem
Thoughts: The great thing about life is that it doesn't take a whole lot of time or effort to make someone smile and feel good. There are small things we can do every day to help others to feel less alone in the world, to help others feel appreciated and loved. Sometimes it feels like we work so hard at making other people's lives more difficult that we forget how easy and gratifying it is to help someone to have a good day. Brian does this kind of thing for me all the time. He sees the value in letting me know that he loves me. He does it in a hundred different little ways. A note, an email, a text, a heytell - he leaves little reminders for me all the time that make my day more positive and make me more hopeful. The great thing about these reminders is that they also remind me to pay forward his kindness to others.
This past year, I decided that I needed to open myself up more to the possibility of engaging in the lives of people all around me. I started to strike up conversations with strangers, I began to pick up trash in public, I tried to make eye contact with people more and smile as they passed by. I tried to be more conscious of giving my leftovers to hungry people living on the streets and tried to give what money I could when I had it to give. On the whole, I had many more positive encounters with people than negative.
One experience in particular comes to mind. As I got off the train one day, I noticed that a young blind man who usually walked up to class with a friend was alone. I walked up to him and introduced myself. I asked if he would like me to walk up to class with him, and he accepted my offer. I was oddly nervous prior to walking up to him, but as we talked, my fears were assuaged, and I realized how wonderful it felt to connect with another human being in this way. This moment was one I would never have created in years past. I would have felt awkward or weird. I would have let passersby dissuade me from approaching him because I would have been too concerned about what they may or may not think. I like to think that when I take these kinds of chances, I am not simply opening myself up to the possibilities that come with creating new connections with other human beings, but that I may inspire other people to share kindness with others, particularly in situations that they otherwise might not.
Anyway, the bottom line is, I am thankful to have a partner who wants to make me feel good and who takes the time to fold my clothes and leave me a note telling me he loves me.
Date Taken: 6/11/12
Setting: a beautiful park in Northampton County...possibly
Thoughts: Court was playing ultimate, so I went along to watch her play. Before I sat down, I took a walk through this beautiful and extensive park. It was lush and green and bustling with people of all ages engaged in activities of all varieties. I found myself on a path not far from the fields where Court was playing. This particular concrete path ran parallel to a line of houses, bordering the back yards of several in a row.
As I walked past one house, I noticed this cute little pup. He wasn't wandering too far from the trail, but I got nervous. I wasn't sure if he was far from home or just a few feet away, so I stopped to pet him and check his collar. I called the number but got no answer.
An older woman was mowing the lawn on a riding mower, so I approached her and the pup followed, prancing just behind me. I flagged this woman down and she confirmed that it was her dog. We ended up chatting for a good twenty minutes. I don't know what it is, but I get into a lot of conversations with strangers. This past year, I have made it a priority to talk to strangers more frequently, particularly when interacting with them in stores and whatnot. I think though, I just have the personality that attracts people to me and makes them want to tell me their life stories. My dad is very much like this. He is constantly drawn into conversations with people who just want to pour their hearts out to him without really knowing why.
I like to think I project an aura like a sunset, and that this particular aura is soothing and inviting. Whether it is my personality or simply pure coincidence, I generally enjoy talking to strangers and found my conversation with this woman engaging.
She told me about her family, her grand-kids and the colleges they attend. She told me about what the area used to look like when she and her husband first moved in. She traveled back into her own little world and invited me into it as she recalled the vast green expanses that used to mark her neighborhood - back then just a few houses with nothing but grass connecting them. And before I walked away, she casually mentioned the passing of her husband this past winter.
As she said it, I realized that perhaps I was drawn to this woman because of her loss, because of mine. I wondered if we had stumbled upon one another, a small dog as our guide, in order to feel this random and remarkable connection. This woman seemed lonely but not despairing. Her eyes betrayed a kind of sadness that perhaps only comes with age, with watching children grow up and leave, with seeing loved ones slowly depart this earth. Yet, despite sadness, there was also a striking confidence that kept her poised in her riding mower seat. She does things on her own, she takes care of herself, she is her own boss.
Perhaps I needed to see that. Maybe I just needed to know that there are other people out there who have experienced loss, and that those people are surviving.
For the past several months, I have been quite transient, moving here and there, going back and forth between Brian's apartment, my dad's house, friends' houses, school. It has been exhausting. My room has become a place where I store things I don't know what to do with. It has become an odd catchall where pieces of my childhood and adolescence are interwoven with my adult self. The result is a curious mishmash of all manner of things - burned CDs,, pogs, Garfield paraphernalia, a random guitar, binders and bags and drawers full of an assortment of crap. The thought of actually going through all of these things is overwhelming.
As I prepare myself for an important move into a new apartment, an apartment that will also serve as Brian and my first new home together, I find myself evaluating my lifestyle and shopping habits. The overwhelming verdict - I have too much stuff. I want to downsize my belongings in a major way, yet I am struggling to make choices about what stays and what goes. I'm not even getting rid of stuff yet, I am just packing to go up to Summerbridge for a month before Brian and I move.
One of the things I am really looking forward to in terms of this move is that I get to start fresh. I get to determine from the very beginning what I bring with me and how I organize it. I hope I can make it a liberating experience rather than a stressful one by relinquishing a good chunk of my possessions and being more content with less.
Date Taken: 5/30/12
Setting: Conshohocken
Thoughts: Brian and I were headed to somewhere, or from somewhere...we were on the road again. We pulled into this familiar shopping center and grabbed a bite to eat. I realized I hadn't taken any pictures the whole day and was hoping to see something interesting. After a few silly pictures, I noticed some flapping and squawking. When I looked up, I discovered a flock of birds perched in and on this sign and happened to catch one mid-flight.
I find flocks of perched birds both utterly beautiful and utterly alarming. Once, I was walking in the neighborhood behind my dad's house when I heard a similar, if not more distinct and audible, rustling. I glanced up into a giant tree and to my abject horror noted that at least 10 large buzzards were settling into the branches. The thing that scared me was that they were settling down in that way that birds do when they are about to be angry because you stepped too close to their nest. They were half raised up on their legs, flapping. There was a bit of a scuffle in the tree among the birds and a few flew into some nearby branches.
As I walked beneath them, I stared up at them and as I usually do with deer, I sent them some good vibes and tried to convey my desire to simple pass by without bothering them. Looking up at these shockingly large birds reminded me how powerless I really am in the scheme of things. If they had wanted to, those birds could have done some serious damage, like most wild animals could have.
So when I see birds perched in odd places, I wonder what they are waiting for. Perhaps I should be more concerned with where they are coming from or where they are going. I suppose they aren't really any different than us in that regard.
Despite my unease around this kind of grouping, I generally have a profound reverence for birds. After my mom died, I saw more (or maybe just noticed more) hawks. I was walking through campus the semester after she died and found myself reaching for my phone to call her, as I sometimes did during the day. I stopped in my tracks as the realization that she would not answer, could not answer, would never answer again hit me. I could feel myself losing control when a large hawk flew directly across my path. I watched it for several minutes as it drifted in sweeping arcs around the lawn in front of me. I was transfixed and felt a pang of sadness as it winged away over the tops of school buildings, yet I felt more capable of facing the rest of the day. I believe it was my mom, that hawk, that bird that so gracefully edged into my horizon and deftly beat the air with its powerful wings, alternating between long sweeping strokes and gliding.
This is the way we communicate now. A powerful bird in flight is the only way my mom can ever be adequately described. She had been through hell and kept flying. She was strong, so damn strong. Although a lifetime of verbal and sometimes physical abuse at the hands of her mother had scarred her deeply, she broke that cycle and became the mother she never had. She not only raised me, but respected me. She taught me that love, genuine love for someone should always be shared. She taught me to stand up to injustice, to get feisty, to make my voice heard. There was a power and grace to the way she conducted herself.
During life, she was a bird whose wings had been clipped, and in death, she is finally free of the restrictions that tied her down as a child, the restrictions that put limits on what she could do and who she could become. She never put those limits on me, I only wish she could be here so that she could see me achieve what she was never given the chance to.
It isn't just birds that remind me of her, but nature itself and the sky in particular. In the past years, I have taken a particular interest in the colors and shapes in the sky. I feel small when I look up and take in the magnificent streaks of colors, simultaneously fierce and soft, contained and unruly. I feel connected to something greater, I feel connected to her. I just think there has to be something more than this earth when that kind of beauty can spontaneously exist, lasting only long enough to give a taste of the incomprehensible magnitude and beauty of the sun's palette, just long enough to feel the emptiness that is left when those colors slip into the dark night sky.
|
RSS Feed