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.

Home?

It's been a week now. The moving boxes are in the garbage, the fridge is slowly filling up a bit more, and I am slowly becoming less dependent on my GPS to get me around the city.

One week ago last night I couldn't sleep a wink. I was so terrified about leaving the world as I knew it behind to take a difficult trade in a new town. I wanted life to stop moving so damn fast. Maybe if things were put on pause, I could pause, and take a breath. One day I'm at a job interview, then seemingly the next day I'm in an empty unfurnished apartment, then the next I'm at a U-Haul rental. The pace felt blistering.

Last night, I ended up going to bed early. I was so exhausted from the ultimate tournament I played in all day that day and the day before. Sleep in my bed seemed attractive compared to the floor of a hotel room with a group of men who just recently stopped feeling like strangers. Now I consider these men friends. Just one week ago it felt like it would take months to feel at home, but when I got out of the car from the drive home, I couldn't help but feel a wave of comfort overcome me. As if I had finally arrived. As if I had come home.

One week. In one week I found that life doesn't ever stop and wait. In order to be at peace with the direction of my life I had to move with it. Harmony will never exist in strife, and in order for me to experience that I had to stop fighting against my vector. A huge part of me wanted to view my plight as leaving my comfort zone, but my paradigm slowly shifted from a "leaving" mentality to that of an "entering" mentality. After a few days I was no longer leaving home, but entering a new lot. It wasn't like this place had become a consolation for a lost familiarity anymore; instead it was an adventure.

I think back to all the experiences where things changed and I thought they would be the death of me: moving to college, changing majors, dropping to part-time status and working, etc. All those changes started rough. But as time went on, I found a rhythm. I found different friends in the different circles I became close with. Routines and rituals found their way into my life, and after a while, when I got a feel for my system, things became more natural. The hard part of it all was leaving old friends and senses of comfort behind. I tried to keep everything in light of the changes, but it didn't work. Dorm friends weren't seen as often as work friends, who weren't seen as often as the friends I had made within my major. It took conscious work to just let the shift happen, and be confident enough in myself that I will survive the quake, and thrive in the outcome.

I'm discovering now how terrifying change truly isn't.

Tabula Rasa

I always wanted my goodbye's to be as epic as the ones I see in the movies. I want people to share their true feelings of me, whether good or bad. I want people to call off work or school obligations to see me off. I want time to stop for a brief moment while I stand there with the woman I always wanted to be with but never had the courage to approach.

But time won't stop. She'll tip her glass to me and we'll exchange no words. Some of my good friends will opt out of my final night so they can stock shelves, write papers, or cook themselves dinner so they can make their ends meet. Some of the people who can even set the time aside to say goodbye may not be capable of sharing their true feelings with anyone, much less someone who's leaving them behind.

This isn't a sad reality. While it may be reality, the only reason it seems sad is because it smashes against my silly fantasy. I think so often we see reality as cruel because of its divorce from things we see as fitting, when in reality they are only fantastical. In the grand scheme of things, it's my responsibility to objectively discern the degree of my impact on Newark, DE. I have to sort out all the mistakes I have made, while at the same time accepting the good I may have provided.

I can easily see all the people I had been more harm than help. I can see all I women I had hurt; and I hate that I had done that. All out of one childish tendency or another. This is I will set right in Richmond. Never again. I can also see all the men in I life I marginalized. I spoke down to them and regarded them as lesser life. For that I must repent. And my evil not only stops at maladjustment, but also at indifference. I didn't provide some things to people I know I should've been able to. Mainly spiritually. All of these things I must put behind me.

The fright of the blank slate lies directly within its definition; starting over. However, I'm not truly starting over. I'm still bringing the same version of myself I am leaving Newark with. I have a clean name, yet the same rather tussled identity. When I take a bird's eye perspective of what's truly happening, there's nothing epic about it! I got a job which perfectly matched up with the degree I got, and I'm moving three hours down 95 to do that job. It's a big deal; but if time's going to stop for anything, it shouldn't be that.

Growing seems to have a lot to do with accepting responsibility for the things we are ultimately responsible for. In this case, it's my responsibility to determine the spiritual things I should take to Richmond with me, and determine the things I should leave at home. It's not other people's responsibility to make me feel like I left Newark with an overall positive impact. Their input is vitally important, and helps me nail down the specifics, but I shoulder the ultimate duty of believing I'm not a malefactor in the town I live.

See how not epic being an adult can be?

Such is reality. The tricky part is accepting it and being in harmony with it. That's being an adult, and that's what I want to leave Newark and enter Richmond as.

Another Blog?

Yes. Another blog.

After a long moratorium from writing, I have started up another blog. I started a new blog because the last one has run it's course. The beginning portion of it was simply my need to externally process my feelings in public. Pretty stupid. Granted, I screwed my head on right after a while, and used the blog as a means to increase my writing chops.

This one I wish to establish a more healthy middle ground. I want to use this blog to update on my life and my writing, while at the same time stretch my prose to its limit. One could argue my last blog did that, which it did at the very end, but I hated opening it up and seeing two years of high-school-xanga-esque posts. It was discouraging. And just in the manner that I have had to mature to fit the needs of my life, so has my writing, and thus, my blogging.

That's the story. For those of you who liked my blog over the past year or so will hopefully feel the same about this new one. Let me know what you think. Thanks.