Adultolescent?

I know it's been a while since my last post, but I feel like with a recent article I came across, my retirement had to end. Granted, while I do hate to spew vitriol, but I need to get this off my chest.

Recently, there has been a great deal of research into the new phenomenon called "adultolescense" (as if it's a real thing). Obviously coming from a fusion of "adolescent" and "adult" implying that there are some people in my generation who while fit the biological criteria of adulthood, haven't matured and taken on adult-like lifestyles. The Wall Street Journal wrote of this as being something more popular among men then women in an article coyly title "Where have all the good men gone?"

Essentially, the typical "adultolescent" suffers from Peter Pan syndrome (as articulated from the Huffington Post) where they live outside of time and responsibility. It's as if they know they should grow up, but why? College life is fun, so why stop after college?

After doing some more reading, I became more and more bothered. Many would complain that these adults are overeducated and under-qualified for the jobs they take on and further, aren't using their time and resources effectively. Strange how someone with a PHD in Psychology could find the time to research a less popular demographic (as mentioned by the Huffington Posts initial article) who doesn't use their time wisely.

Perhaps more could be done by those with PHD's to serve the community of young adults rather than creating a straw-man caricature of "generation y."

In any case, I struggle with this silly title because the article is rather popular and the idea is frustratingly pervasive. Yes, I have a beard, so I appear to be a hipster. Yes, I am socially liberal, and prefer Pabst Blue Ribbon over some overly priced and equally over seasoned microbrew. However, when I drag myself out of bed each morning at 5 'o clock to get to my job each morning, I don't have any urge to succumb to my Peter Pan syndrome and fly instead of driving my car.

Frankly, I don't understand the sensationalism in such a minute demographic. Being labeled as unmotivated because of the year in which I was born is a bit too much for me to not be phased by.

Luckily, this sensationalism of the stereotypical stoner is surpassed by the incredible ability of my generation. We are entering the workplace with fresh ideas, humility for superiors, and a work-ethic which pulls us into our jobs even after St. Patty's Day because we knew better than partying the night before like we are free of obligation. More of the people I have met my age hold down jobs which merit their education, pay their bills (on time), and do work at home even after they leave the office (gasp!).

I don't wish to make this sound like I'm tooting my own horn. I still have the immature neuroses which I believe stifle my true potential as an adult. The purpose of the post is to praise those who are bringing our generation a good name.

So here's to you; young men and women who moved out simply to be on their own. Raise your glasses, which during the workweek contains the only beer you'll drink that night. Make merry, for you are celebrating adulthood, on the weekends because you have work on Monday and you need to bring your best stuff in with you. "Adultolescence" is an archetype of the older generations construction to rationalize a few unmotivated potential titans.

The good news is that while the paradigm is one of another's construction, we can be the ones to bring it crashing down with a quiet "ah, I was mistaken" on their part.

Keep doing work son (daughter).

One Semester Down

Checkpoints are very helpful in life. They help us take inventory of development which has been occurring over given intervals of time, and help us make goals for the next series of changes to be made.

I am currently nestled in a checkpoint now. My first semester as a paid teacher. After logging in long hours of work, and longer hours of solitude at home, I have finished my the first half of my first year of teaching. Not only is this the first 6 months in a new profession, but the first six months in a new city within a new stage in life.

At first, it all felt like a terrible vacation. I was a new kid in a new city with a new job, and while I have developed a recently appreciated degree of independence in my college years, it didn't feel sufficient enough to take on Richmond. I felt like I was thrown a degree, then I was thrown into a stage of life I was ill equipped to take on. I was prepared, but I wasn't ready, and as time went on, I felt more and more behind the 8-ball of the life I feel I have been called to lead.

However, this wasn't because I wasn't looking at the task at hand, but instead I viewed the task through a birds-eye and entirely too consequential view. I thought that I was the epicenter of my, and my student's, existence. As time went on, I discovered my own insignificance in the environment I laid claim to. Richmond's lights wouldn't go out because I didn't have a social life yet, and my students weren't really mathematicians who were being disenfranchised by my green-horned nature in the educational system.

A friend of mine wisely put it this way;

"For good kids, the teacher in the classroom makes no difference. A students are A students in solitary confinement and F students are F students in an environment of academic enlightenment."

He wasn't saying that a tiger can't change his stripes, but that it wasn't my job to change them. Similarly, this attitude pervaded my thinking in other outlets. People weren't leaving me in my apartment on friday nights, I simply didn't have a place to go yet and people to keep me company there.

After a long period of needless responsibility for circumstances, I became free from my own egotistical worldview. Instead of taking on the plight of my own life, I decided to opt out of ultimate responsibility and live as a man in a world.

A man. I still find this more as an adjective than a noun, and I grapple with finding my place in its meaning.

Side note aside, I can plainly see the direction of my own growth, and I am pleasantly excited about the future in its embrace. Granted, the embrace includes a tight grip. I have to be uncomfortable with certain area's of my life and I can't skirt away from certain areas of deficiency.

The most glaring one being that of a selfish person. I have been expecting people to reach out to me, give to me, and to provide me with relationship. I haven't been focused on giving, and I haven't been showing any inclination to serve others. While some points of life require us to be served, I haven't exactly been the catalyst in getting out of that place. If anything, I've been slowing the reaction down.

Which brings me to my goal; to give. My life isn't hampered with any deficiency outside of my own relational beggar entitlement. This requires maturity in breaking free from. I need to enter a room of people not thinking about who can be my next partner in crime, but rather what I can offer those within its walls.

One semester down.

The E for Effort

The theme for these few past postings (operative word being "few") have been centered around cutting off my obsessive relationship with my work. After doing some thinking on the actual expectation of the demands of teaching, I have really been seeing improvement.

The first conscientious step in the right direction began when I had a conversation with a different teacher from my department. He was telling me about the demand placed on teachers today by policy. First, with No Child Left Behind, teachers are charged with the difficulty of differentiating instruction to reach students with cognitive and emotional disabilities which a year prior would have been saddled in special education classes. Second, with Race to The Top, the numbers game needs to be played as well. Now, middle of the road and higher level students (holistically, the larger contingent) need to excel in order to ensure funds for your school in the future.

In short, teachers need to reach low-level students while at the same time demanding strong performances from the mid to high level students.

In shorter, teachers need to reach everyone.

This isn't possible. I typically compensate for my natural cynicism by approaching things with hopeful optimism, but this is too absurd to grant the grain of salt any validity.

Before my daunted helplessness took over, my step-mom's father (half-grandfather?) called me and we talked at length about education. He himself being a teacher for longer than my lifespan, and even teaching at just about every level of schooling I myself have been through. Our conversation at one point went thusly:

"Are you doing your best?"

"Yes," I replied. "I just fear that it's not good enough."

"At this point it won't be."

I was rocked by this, but didn't know how to put it to words. After reading an INCREDIBLE book about the importance of one's own story I came across a harsh realization which has since freed me from my bondage to my own sense of perfection:

I am a tree in a story about a forest.

I am just a twenty something in a much larger story than that of a new teacher in a new town. I am a straw of hay in the field of others' dreams. Most of which having nothing to do with my current profession of passion. I am a person who teaches, and not a teacher who sleeps.

Since this realization, I have been freed. I have stopped expecting God to make me feel good in the times I'm not frantically lesson planning (more on that in the next post). I have been calling people from home, and enjoying conversation.

This is what it feels like to accept the lack of control over one's own life. I have had this feeling often, yet it's typically in the moratorium's I take from trying to control my own life. My story isn't about the forest; it's about the one tree. Considering my age, a sapling no less!

Life is bigger than me, and not because life is huge. It's actually quite isolated to the individual scope of the living (more specifically, the individual). So in reality, life isn't as huge as I am small. I am an onlooker to a vast sky of stars with the ability to fry my body if I were to venture within a light year of it's luminescence. I am not the forest; I am a tree. And while names may get carved into me, my ultimate role is to serve as I was meant to serve, and the story will include me not as a protagonist, but as a contribution to the setting.

What could be more freeing than that?

Glimpses

Drive is something which is always misperceived. Some people claim to be "driven," as if it's a quality requiring no context, and this seems to be a revered virtue. While passion is something which can be nestled deep within one's persona, drive isn't associated with a kinetic term without reason.

How can one be driven without a direction? In the same way, how can one be determined without a task at hand requiring perseverance? It seems impossible, because by definition it is. Drive seems to be a vector quantity; requiring magnitude and direction. Magnitude in that the intensity of one's desire can be quantitatively measured, and direction in that there is a specific avenue for this desire. While the goals may not necessarily be specific, they are finite and at least partially tangible.

I myself am examining my own drive. While the magnitude of it seems engrossing, the direction could very well be misplaced. I find that my obsession with my work could very well be my muse of highest priority, yet I feel like my veering in the direction of educational accomplishment could very well be a misplacement of passion. Not to say it isn't important to me to do well; if I succeed, then by transitivity my 110 students will as well. However, by submerging myself headlong into my work, I may not have necessarily satisfied the drive my soul clearly seeks.

A very good friend of mine visited me recently and in typical southern fashion, we went out for BBQ. During our lunch, I mentioned to him how it seemed like a burden was off his shoulders; he seemed himself in truest form. He told me that he felt like I was in a good place as well, and I replied by saying that I felt like I was in an environment where I could most succeed.

He never glared at me, or even put his sandwich down for that matter, but I felt something prick inside of me. I felt like he was reaching across the table and grabbing me by the collar. In my mind he was asking me something of great importance.

"Do you belong here? Do you truly believe that you are where you're supposed to be?"

Even typing that question is tough, because it forces me to face the question I have been frantically grading papers and planning lessons to avoid. While my work demands more of me than I thought possible I have been using it as a ploy to skirt the the question of greater importance.

Yes, I feel driven. Yet I feel like I have been staring at the road in order to avoid the driver. My magnitude has usurped my direction, and my passion has boiled over singing my ability to find God in Richmond. The question now isn't whether or not I'm driven, but rather who's driving me. And who should.

Knowing and Being Known

Today's church service yielded an unexpected turn of events. In the middle of the sermon, a girl one row up from me ended up passing out and crashing to the floor. For a moment those who saw it hoped it was just an awkward slip and she was fine, but she stayed on the ground. This created alarm. Seats were pushed back and the fleet of doctors in the congregation went over to care for her. After some time she got up and made her way out of the church to the street where she recovered and went on her way.

When the congregation first realized her fall wasn't accidental, the pastor asked a question which would later strike me:

"Does anybody know who she is?"

Obviously this was asked so people knew what was going on. Strangely enough, when the fray had subsided, that question continued to strike me. I couldn't get it out of my head.

By the time I got back to my car, I came to a realization which startled me: that question took me so because I don't feel like anyone can answer that about me. All this time I thought the toughest part of being out in this new world was not knowing anyone; yet today I discovered the real difficulty is not being known by anyone.

Back in Delaware, I had a network of people who understood me. They knew what made me tick. They saw my series of epic collapses, and my few victories. The people I put in my life back in Newark saw me through a great deal of personal extremes, and out here, people begin as all do, in gauging my pleasantness or wit. Some have thrown in with me to a certain extent, but if I had fallen and needed people to know me, the room would fall silent.

That is a tough realization to come to. While I know that patience will ultimately bring true friendship to fruition I struggle the most with fearing that people will never know me. Granted, the fear, like many others is irrational and not weighed up against experience or logic. However, I won't for one minute pretend that my mathematical nature (which is more labored than it is natural anyway) has disabled my irrational tendencies.

I am beginning to feel that the toughest part of starting life over has little to do with the paradigm shift of popularity, but rather with the lack of connection. While I do wish to know others in the way I knew my friends of yore, I truly seek to be known at this stage in my life, and I realize that won't happen until the time is right.

As a note: if the girl who passed out today wasn't alright, I wouldn't have posted this because it would seem incredibly selfish. Since she was fine, I didn't see any problem with airing out my feelings on the matter of being known.

23

At one time in my life, a wise man told me that we are seldom prepared for our lives, yet we daily live them. I thought I understood the depth of the statement while I was in college. I saw myself in a time of struggle, and I was beginning to find myself surprised at my ability to make my ends meet as a deli-superstar while studying mathematics.

I now understand the statement a bit more now that I am standing on the precipice of a long pursuit towards a dream. I've always wanted to be an educator, and I don't doubt for one moment that I won't be happy as a teacher if I compromise for a minimum commitment. Not but a few days ago, I had an insatiable fear eating at me for the profession I have taken up. The voices of cynicism I heard during student teaching (my own included) rang through my head repeatedly. However, today, I came to realization that I am no longer crippled by fear.

I must admit, I feel unprepared. However, I don't feel unready. As time is elapsing my fear is diminishing, which is a first. I have a tendency to get into my own head when something bigger than me rears its head. Some could call it a performance anxiety, and I won't disagree with them.

Now, what will make this post different from a journal entry will be my sharing some insight which may assist the reader. At this stage, all five of you followers! The simple adage I used to open the post will be an adequate summary. But not before I mention something I learned about fear not too long ago.

Fear isn't a doorway. It can't truly shut off any opportunity. Rather, the response we have to fear is what tends to be the doorway. Not only in the fact that it can close off trials, but that it can open an awakening. The paradigm shift from hesitance to the acceptance of reality clears the mind in a profound way. It almost heightens senses. The existence of fear allows us to approach with caution, yet our accepting the reality of the beast's not going away forces us to continue steadfastly. It's as if we know the avarice's strength while at the same time knowing we can't get around it, so we face it. We face it with almost a bold presence, in that we won't back down, while at the same time carefully calculate our next move.

I must confess, I don't feel brave. But the way I feel doesn't seem to be a relevant portion of the equation anyway. I intellectually understand the above paragraph, but I don't practice the boldness myself at times. Yet the truth stands aside from my perception. Granted, this specific view of fear doesn't hold relevance for every circumstance, but for all intensive purposes, it's the most relevant to myself right now.

To summarize:

We are seldom prepared for our lives, yet we daily live them.

Some Thoughts on "Greatness"

As the time when I embrace my new career(s) fast approaches, I can't help but think on the end goal in mind. Teaching is not a pursuit of normalcy, but rather one of passion. Because of this, there is an expectation I hold myself to, and it's actually that very expectation which is making me feel daunted and horrified about my endeavor.

This expectation being Greatness.

While there is an allotment for "the learning curve" in Greatness, I tend to approach it with a childish impatience. In any case, I've noticed that in all my pursuits, whenever I sought Greatness it wasn't circumstantial, instead it was the meeting of my expectations of Greatness. I've met people who were great runners, ultimate players, mathematicians, and instructors, and they have an interesting take on their Greatness: it doesn't exist.

The pursuit of Greatness is something which may propel us to being great, however, if one never meets their expectation of Greatness they may feel they have fallen short or even frivolously attained upward mobility. A great instructor could change a kids perspective on a given subject matter, and this instructor may do this more often then not, but if this instructor feels that they can only be great if they affect every student this way, they may feel disappointed.

Essentially, I'm learning that approaching Greatness isn't something to be done lightly. It requires a series of small and specific goals, slowly ratcheting up in difficulty. It takes time, patience, and most importantly pragmatism. My goal as an instructor is to inspire. I will feel I am a great instructor when I regularly feel like I am engaging my students. Perhaps I should work towards this by first structuring my lessons well! I can't inspire a student with a lesson if I can't even write it!

I always hate ending a deep thought with a formula, but it appears that pursuing Greatness is something which required A Great Patience from the onset.