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| I am keeping my thoughts someplace else. If you would like to know where, message me and I would be happy to tell you.
Always with love, or a trying-to.
k |
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| For old time's sake...[a lot of little nothings to remember these days by]
Steak fries, pickle juice perfume, Coke slightly too sweet. The bathroom matched my shirt. A mix CD made for the ride home, inspired by a single song, a gift from one friend to another. If he were rich, you know, disgustingly rich and not just wealthy, he would cover this street with dirt and horse-drawn buggies. He would propose here, on this canopied street, and I laughed and laughed because I can never predict him,
what a rare quality in a human being.
Brunch was a scoop of ice cream - he maintained that Americans do this all the time. I pointed out that even the employees at TCBY commented that it was a mite early for ice cream. He shrugged and laughed. His eyes smiled so tightly they disappeared. We played a game of mutual affirmation, and he told me that he liked my glow-in-the-dark flying monkey sticker, that I am always singing without really seeming to notice, and the way I describe my home
[full of impulsive artwork, color schemes, a brand new-to-us table that we bought at the San Diego Rescue Mission Thrift Store for only sixty-nine fifty-three, brightly colored letter magnets, and easel and an art mess in the front room by the bay window].
We stood together for the longest time discussing what it means to be present in a bad situation. Is a sewage drain lovely? Maybe not, but we can appreciate this here, now, with North Hollywood hills on the horizon, and cars driving past, and water stains and weather stains and crushed glass and coins.
There was understanding in the midst of a lost pumpkin patch, and pumpkin pie in its stead, and conversations we meandered towards at incredibly slow, snail-like speeds. Her shoulder was comfortable, and welcoming, and I lay my head on it, and muttered comments about the soundtrack, which she assured me was the best part of the whole movie.
And kids dive-rolling to snatch pieces of paper from the inner circle, proof of the resilience of human beings and children, especially. I loved them for a brief moment. Felt glad that I was here, and not anywhere else. The best gift is love, he said, with candy stains around his lips, and he chased Owen around the room with five-years of built-up energy for such things.
Press pause on this life, just for a moment.
Driving down the freeway, casting glances upwards towards clouds and shapes. A starfish. A shark? A dolphin, perhaps. A chicken leaning forwards towards a sky-full of clouds like chicken feed. The wind tossed them around so quickly I could barely see a thing, but I knew that I was surrounded.
The first few notes of my mix tape, played loudly, windows rolled down. I waved frantically goodbye and he blew me a kiss, and he's right that things used to not be simpler, but certainly they were more clear.
The air felt crisp like October. My boots cast long sound shadows down the hallway. There will be no pressing pause. You cannot take everything in with your memory, with your words so carefully selected to represent these priceless moments. You cannot, because life will not stop. Before we're finished remembering, we're beginning something new.
The sunlight cast rays on the San Miguel Mountains - my favorite mountains I think in all the world, right now. The bird flew westwards. I walked downstairs to my classroom with copies of this-and-that in hand. I felt alive. |
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| In practically a whisper,
good morning, world.
I ought not write to you -- I ought to file expense reports and write in big, purple words on my writeboard, instead, but right now...
in the still of this good morning,
I feel like I might have something to say.
Something about the newness of now -- every day feels new! Like the poets say, so crazily, all of the time.
Emerson said it best, I think. Or Kierkegaard. Or maybe the Bible, in Ecclesiastes. Or maybe Yazmin said it best in her speech last Friday.
"The song I chose as my favorite song is Gone by Switchfoot. I really like this song because it's so true. One of the lines is, 'Gone, like yesterday is gone, like history is gone, the world keeps spinning on, we're going going gone.' That line says so much to me because life seems to be passing me by. I feel like I need to live life to its fullest. Whenever I hear this song, I want to go and do something I would never do, like paintball, go into a no-gravity chamber, or just do something nice for someone. I want to live like I only had 30 days to live. I don't want to be old and look back on my life and not see anything good."
When her song played, I sang along and grinned at her, so she'd know, I'm on the same page.
She's a darling, darling creature.
Now into the third week of school -- we have tables, names, and common experiences.
I am growing larger into this oversized suit I put on this time last year. Yesterday Andres and I talked about how out-of-control that feels, when you are living something you've never quite lived before. And of course, that's every moment, if you're present to the difference.
I have been growing in love with someone for now almost a year -- and I set my heart up on a shelf for him, in case he wanted it, and I'm figuring now that he doesn't maybe want it after all. Yesterday, driving home with a somber stare and darkened eyes, I imagined myself taking my heart off the shelf and setting it back inside my ribcage where it belongs.
And then I imagined reaching in again, and handing off my heart to Someone Larger, who might take better care of it than either he or I could.
That's the kind of difference that begins this
good morning. |
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| I am not the same person I was one year ago.
Not really, not at all.
For starters, I am more myself than I think I have ever been.
1. This time, this year, I am a gymnast.
Many of you may have not known that I was an all-star competitive gymnast growing up. I identified myself as an athlete, as a gymnast, and spent the better part of my waking hours at the gym. I could turn flips and somersaults like nobody's business.
In 1996, my family decided we could no longer justify the expense of gymnastics, so my brother and I quit and we bought a dog. Thus begins my "lost-years" (wherein I rode my bike 3 miles to the library weekly and read every single book in the children's section, and then some). After this, I joined debate and forgot that I ever was an athlete.
That brings us to this time, last year.
My job required that I lead an "x-block" -- a short time of organized sports or exercise -- twice a week. I protested. I am not athletic! This is not in my fabric! Eventually, in February, I remembered that I used to do gymnastics, and I figured that I could probably teach somersaults or cartwheels, or something. Some kids signed up, and so it began.
One student constantly pried into my personal gymnastics history, and when she learned of my former mad skills, she kept insisting that I try to do moves for them. Be it known that I am a sucker for peer pressure, so I caved. I became obsessed with getting my aerial back.
One random day, maybe in March, I did it. When my legs were up in the air, and I was flying, I suddenly remembered everything. I remembered that I was an athlete, that I could tell my body to do things and it would respond. And now I go to the gymnastics center about once a week. It is the only kind of work out that feels natural to me.
Everytime I get a trick back, I feel like more of myself. Last night, for the first time in 12 years, I did a round-off backhandspring backtuck. And so today, I am more me than I have been in quite some time.
2. This time, this year, I am a sometimes intrapersonal learner.
I have always had a hard time with cooperative learning. Hell, in debate, I remember special parent-partner-coaches meetings being called because one or the other of us wouldn't bend. I hated study groups and group projects in college. It always felt like such a waste of time -- really, time for other people to leech off of my personal knowledge.
This time, last year, I found out that I would have to go to credential classes in Point Loma every single Tuesday. I remember feeling so overwhelmed, and how I went home and cried that night. I didn't know how I would ever manage, on top of everything else I was expected to do.
Well, I managed, and finished all my coursework for my credential, and so am no longer required to do weekly meetings.
Yesterday, I learned that I may be required to do second-year intern meetings this year... and instead of panicking, I actually thought it was a good idea. I realized that I really value the community that evolves from the classroom. It is an important part of my week, and sometimes it's a drag, but other times it's a highlight. I had an opportunity to make connections with other new teachers, swap mix tapes, have hilarious conversations, and grab a bite to eat or a beer afterwards. I would rather spend 60 hours doing work all-together with the joy of that community than 30 hours doing the same work alone in a coffee shop.
At this realization, I was like, woh dang. Who am I?
Apparently, someone a little different than I have ever been.
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Monday begins another schoolyear. I panicked all weekend. On Monday, after the HTH Village Day, I went to Happy Hour and chatted with a few teachers and received some very important words from one of my colleagues. I told him that I was panicked, and he told me, very frankly, that he was older than me and he had wasted so many years of his life worrying about things that were of absolutely no consequence. He said, You're going to have it good, and things are going to go your way. And you're going to have it bad, and things will not go your way. It's no use worrying about it because you can't do anything about that.
And I realized that he was incredibly right, and I opened up my hands to release my worries and God took them away.
Now.
That being said.
It is now 2:56AM and I cannot fall asleep. I prayed. I read. I planned my projects for the first semester of class. I created grading scales and reading lists. I did a stretching routine. I wrote a whole other journal entry besides this one.
But this isn't the same as panicking, right?
There's just too much on my mind. It's not like a plague.. it's more like a crowd. Harmless stories and conversations, faces, names, assignments floating around up there. I can't sleep with the array of them bustling back and forth like a busy London street.
I keep wondering if there's something else I need to do tonight before I am able to at last finish this day. Sometimes you can't do the things you want to do until you do the things you need to do.
Maybe I needed to post a Xanga entry?
Here's to hoping & a good night's sleep. |
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| Are we cool or are we foolish? I asked Lisa as we trudged down the long, uneven, gravel path towards the hope-filled vehicle. She glanced up at the mountain, one of many we had ascended in the past 50 hours.
You are only foolish if you try and don't succeed. If you succeed, then you are cool.
My aching body wasn't so sure. I remembered walking up that same gravel path at the beginning of all this. Before we'd even gotten onto the trail, my body protested underneath the weight of my 35 lb pack, and I thought, What have I gotten us into?
But we kept going. "The shortest, steepest route," we'd often say.
If we'd known what lied ahead of us, I'm sure that we never would have tried. If we'd forseen the hours of rocky paths, blistering sun, biting cold, and the weight -- oh, the weight -- which we tirelessly bore.. I don't think it would have seemed like a good idea, or even a possible idea.
You know I do this all the time, I told her. Not climb mountains, exactly, but commit to undertaking huge things before I exactly know how huge they are. Last year, I singlehandedly put on a debate tournament for 26 teams. I didn't even know how to run tab! And I certainly didn't have at least 13 judges for each round. But I didn't even realize what an enormous task it was until two or three days before -- maybe it was when I was rushing around buying timers, or making copies of ballots, or I don't know. But I do remember calling Jaymie in a panic.
I don't know what to do! I cried.
What do you need? she asked.
Judges!
She said she'd be happy to oblige.
The debate tournament was, incidentally, a huge success. Every team won at least one round, something that I couldn't have planned if I tried. Through conniving and convincing, I had just enough judges per round. Never one more or one less. Many lessons from this anecdote, but the point is, I never realize what I'm doing until after or just before I've already done it.
Climbing the mountain was like that. We were in the thick of it, that's for sure, and there was no going back really. So we went forwards, stopping for Power Bar breaks and occasionally to relish in the majesty of our surroundings. We summited at 11:00AM yesterday, and then came all the way back down the mountain.
Lisa wondered if maybe they'd purposefully designed the trail to make the upcoming paths invisible to the hikers. It can be discouraging if you can see how far you have to go, but if you don't know, then well, you just keep walking where you can see. There's no chance to get anxious about what lies ahead.
I figure that that's a lot like life. Living is such a mystery! You never know what comes next, and I just hate that, mostly. I hate not knowing where this is going, what this is for, why certain people fell into my life or fell out of it. But if I knew what lay before me, would I take the same risks? I think that I'd be too terrified by the details to ever do it, and I bet God, in his great wisdom, knows this.
Hence, the suspense.
And so we go forward, step after heavy, heavy step. And insodoing, scale mountains larger than these lives, larger than anything we thought possible before. |
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