My Real Job

I went back to school today, in an official capacity. I've been back for weeks, moving things around, preparing, planning, buying things. I'm going to teach KINDERGARTEN this year! That was my first gig at Davis Elementary back in 2004. It's exciting to be returning.

This will be my thirteenth year teaching. I can hardly believe it. Through the years I've often caught myself wondering, "Is this my real job? Was I meant to do something else? Something loftier? More difficult? More praiseworthy?" Many of you may remember conversations along these lines. I considered law school, applied fruitlessly to the Michener Center for Writers twice, thought about psychology, The Peace Corps, and teaching abroad. I don't know but the more I think about it, it seems my real job is being here, right now, right here.

I've always struggled with contentment. I always assumed it meant I was being lazy. Whenever things start to feel peaceful I often feel guilty. It's like I'm assuming life is supposed to hurt, so when it starts feeling placid, I start to feel I should shake things up real hard, make things strange and unfamiliar enough to encourage a healthy dose of anxiety (not so healthy, as it turns out) and then I feel like I'm doing my part to better myself, to better the world! I guess my secret mantra was something like "If it hurts, that means it's working!" What if it just isn't the case? What if it's okay to be good at something and stick with it, rather than conquering some new obstacle or tackling another venture? I'm not saying I'll never pursue grad school or change careers. All I'm saying is I like where I am and I'm grateful to be here. It feels great to be in a family at work. It feels magnificent to lay down roots and water and tend them, to reflect on years of friendship; birthdays, weddings, babies, funerals, accomplishments, hardships; going through it all, together.

Ever since I can remember I've been bothered by a feeling of wanting to run. When I was little I wanted so badly to go away to a far away place and attend a boarding school. When I was first in college I longed to be abroad. As a teacher I've often wanted to "graduate" to some new reality. What if the real problem is inside? Maybe the journey I really need to take begins and ends in my own soul. It's not in Spain. It's not in Seattle. It's not even downtown somewhere.

I've been listening to one of my favorite books on CD. I've done this a few times a year for the last few years. I read or listen to Mere Christianity by CS Lewis. I love this book. I've read it so many times and I always seem to discover new things about myself and reality each time. It's such a treasure. This time I felt a new revelation swell in my heart. My real job has very little to do with paychecks, status, prestige, or wealth. It has more to do with ennobling my own and then others' souls. My real job is to keep God's commandments, not judge other people along the way, and remind others by my every act that they are the very offspring of deity. My real job is to rely so heavily on my Savior and my Father that I forget about relying on my own strength for things and I remember that each breath I take is a gift. My real job is to remember that I am really entitled to very little, and that I owe a great deal to my students, my friends, my family, my ancestors, my descendants, myself and my Father in Heaven. This is my real job. And I must take it very seriously if I expect to love and to be loved, truly, in the purest sense. I must watch myself and my thoughts, being careful to avoid pride and all its toxic cousins. I must never compete when it comes to the worth of another. That is a futile and sickening endeavor for so many reasons, too many to list. It is my job to be kind when it's difficult, to be sincere when I'd rather save face, to be strong when I am dog tired, to be humble when I'd rather show off, and to be encouraged when I'd sooner turn to doubt and fear. This is my real job. It's my job to be good to you. It's my job to be honest with you. It's my job to be a little mirror showing you how gorgeous you are. You are. And how.

Lost and Found

This summer has yielded much more than its share of drama ranging from bliss to trauma and everything in between. Sometimes I actually wish my life were more parts boring and less parts intense. But in truth, those moments are rare. I like life in brassy trumpets.

Tonight I feel very tired. I've been losing things, important things: friends, chances, my sensibilities...more. But in these loses I have found things. I've found opportunities, renewal, faith, old friends, new friends, and I found my strength again.

I was really sick last week. It was scary and sad. For a couple seconds I thought I was quite alone in the world. I was so wrong. No sooner had I felt the pinch of self pity enter my heart did I start realizing I was actually the luckiest girl in the world. I received so many flowers this place looked like Ms. America's dressing room. I got chocolates, balloons, ice cream, dinners, lunches, cookies, books, movies, the most beautiful key chain ever, and a collector's decorative plate, heart-shaped, with a little cherub painted on it, an Iron and Wine concert ticket and some very pretty nail polish. I received loving cards, notes, letters and had great visits and conversations on the phone. Just when I was giving in to a serious bout of self doubt, love came rushing in like a welcome flood. I just soaked it up, reveled, cried, and prayed for forgiveness for being such a faithless ingrate. I am so grateful, so grateful.

It seems like life is sifting things for me, shaking things out. Things not meant to stick are falling away. True things, good things, things worth my time and attention, those things stick, almost despite my errors in word, deed, or conception. This is good news because I can be pretty silly often. My judgement often leaves a lot to be desired. But I feel like there are safety nets all around, and it doesn't matter how duped I get with this or that person, this or that idea, in the end the truth is always going to shine through, always. Real things will always set themselves apart from the counterfeit. My true friends will always be my friends, always. Some will fall away. Some will move away. Some will pass away. That's okay. We'll meet again and maybe we'll be much more worthy of each others' affections at that point.

To those who offered love and comfort last week, possibly one of the most difficult weeks of my adult life so far, thank you for your help. Thank you for remembering me and helping me to feel cherished. It made all the difference. You found me.

"I once was lost, but now am found, was blind but now I see..."
(Amazing Grace)

My Top 20 Favorite Bands and/or Musicians as of Summer 2011

I think the types of music a person gravitates to can say a lot. Please feel free to tell me what this list says about me. This list is in no particular order.

1. The Sundays
2. The Smiths, Morrissey
3. Tori Amos
4. The Drums
5. MGMT
6. Innocence Mission
7. Ghostland Observatory
8. Psychedelic Furs
9. The Shins
10. Mark Mothersbaugh
11. Badly Drawn Boy
12. Radiohead
13. Debussy
14. Cut Copy
15. Iron and Wine
16. Beethoven
17. Danny Elfman
18. Ella Fitzgerald
19. The Decemberists
20. David Bowie

If you listened to nothing save these artists for the rest of your life your ears, heart, mind, and soul would be in very good hands, voices, beats...whatever. I encourage you to give a listen to someone you may not be as familiar with on this list. This is ALL really yummy stuff, all of it. Try creating a PANDORA station or two to hear some of these geniuses. Let them serve you! Top to bottom, anything these folks do is pretty much luscious. Trust me.

(To view cleaner images just click once on the photo and it will appear for you.)

How to Keep a Dynamic Brain for Longer

(Response to friend Stephanie's Interesting Blog Post on Personal Power and How One May Find It)

"This above all: to thine own self be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man." ~W. Shakespeare

I like voicing my fears, concerns, questions, and revelations. It makes me feel connected and aware. It's also worthwhile enough to cause me to hope for some sort of insight after the telling, which is one MAJOR reason I write. Not knowing the source for personal power leads one to begging questions, which, in turn, gets us on the path hunting for answers, seeking qualified advice, critically analyzing the findings, and eventually fashioning a plan of action. Change is never easy. But it can be exhilarating. And the research says it's good for your brain, to boot! Stagnation, old routines, and overly systematic living actually contributes to memory loss, fewer synaptic connections, and lower levels of serotonin. People who know how to change things up, move things around, revel in change, and thrive in unfamiliarity are those who will enjoy more useful brains for longer. The human brain needs challenges, just like the body. Our brains plateau when we feed it the same stuff all the time. Again, this parallels the case with the body. Mind, body, and spirit thrive on new material, diverse material, and challenging material. This can be dangerous for smart people, or people in general actually, who get in the proverbial rut because they feel comfortable playing to their strengths. For example, mathematicians may gravitate to algorithms and permutations while literates gravitate to poetry and other forms of literature. This is fine but once the brain establishes certain synaptic pathways these channels get deeper and deeper and sort of begin to make a person a bore, not just behaviorally but chemically/biologically/physically. The brain gets used to certain activities and becomes less challenged. Certain departments shut down because they think they're not needed. Here is where the research says things begin to degenerate. Moral of the story: writers should try Sudoku and math people need to try a hand at a crossword and both should run a few miles a few times a week. Oversimplified, perhaps. Still, you get the picture.
To address the questions and concerns around finding the sources to certain powers: How does someone become a better runner? By running. How does someone become literate? By reading. There are no secret shortcuts. I love this notion. My brother Dave and I talk about this often: If you want to be a good artist you have to be willing to be a crappy one for quite a while first. Let us try and remember this: EFFORT CREATES ABILITY.

Life Isn't Always Kind

This was a line in a movie I saw recently called Another Year. This was an absolute masterpiece in my opinion. I was so moved. I'm not going to highlight any specific scenes for you. Just see it. I want to write about other things just now.

Life isn't always kind. This is very true. My life has been so kind so often. I was born to two amazingly good and gorgeous people who stayed in love. I shared my childhood with especially effervescent personalities, gorgeous faces, exceptional talents of all shapes and kinds. I got a great education in both academic and not-so-academic ways, graduated from a wonderful university, studied exactly what I wanted to, got the job I wanted immediately, worked with the very people I would've hand picked to work with. Life has been very kind indeed.

Then, at other times, life hasn't been so kind. It kicked and punched me on the playground. It called me mean names and threw sand in my eyes. Then later it broke my heart a few times, twisted some tendons, slapped my face a little. Got poisoned a fair amount; mostly voluntarily...unfortunately. I became addicted to some of the wrong things: the approval of others, feeling numb, cigarettes, and Woody Allen, to name a few. I got engaged a lot, too. That was interesting, if not heart-wrenching. Then I really did it! Tied the knot! To someone who hated me twice as much as he loved his action figures. You do the math.

Life is not always kind. Then there was not only the math but the aftermath. Year one: numb, floating feeling, fuzzy, pretty pleasant. Year two: lots of pain, acute, searing, crying in the car because I heard that song, having to sit down at the grocery store because the label on the tuna can triggered that memory. Year three: pretty dang normal, almost, sort of, I mean, all considered. Year four: Ouchie....I need intervention post haste. Year five: Great! Paxil, will you marry me? (no response...just a wink. for some reason it's enough.)

As we approach year six, I see a lot to be grateful for. Maybe I'll stop calculating time the way I have, years post divorce. Maybe it's a new age? It's not the golden age. Not enough earned yet. Maybe it's the age of fleece, not golden fleece, mind you. No. Pink. Pink fleecy blankets. The age of pink, blue, mint green, lily yellow. Here we go, baby. Buckle up.

Tunnel Vision

Sometimes I feel like a tunnel; long, narrow, hollow, going somewhere. Where? I can see light, green leaves, I can smell something fresh and growing out of the distant pitch soil. But I never get there. I never seem to arrive. Maybe that's what this life is, longing for something, something more worthy of us, wanting something, hungry for the things of a better world, a world the spirit remembers and the senses forgot. I can feel something expansive above my view. I can envision myself, that tunnel, moss covered, somewhat hidden, none too apparent or impressive in structure. I can see me, from above, with all the air and sky between that view and that grounded self. Cloud, mist, bird, tree, flower, blade, droplet, ant, worm...all above me. The things that get between us and freedom, true freedom, the things that assume to subordinate us, they are simple in the end. They aren't always worthy foes, opponents, or even suitable playmates. When worms thrive above you it may be time to take the high road. Deep down we know it is our own doing. We exalted the worms and put ourselves beneath rot, looking for something. Treasure? But in dank, dripping concrete cylinders...empty, echoing, longing to arrive, waiting to breathe deeply and long, to see and touch the things we can now only faintly make out, we realize the perplexing sting and strange pleasure of wanting.

I've Got A Feeling

I feel rumblings. Something's in the air! And it's not just all the smoke from the wildfires. It's immense, all-encompassing. Like a new beginning.

Okay, so, a lot's happened. I had a few scrapes with the fates that nearly skinned my sensibilities permanently. I dated a very handsome entrepreneur, who will remain nameless, and discovered I'm not cut out for high risks of any kind. I wish I was mindful of that fact as I agreed to marry an ex-boyfriend of mine from half my lifetime ago. Don't worry, reader. As many of you already know, that's ended also. What can I possibly say other than I think I have a problem. Call it drama. Call it romance. Call it a rock-hard commitment to suffering. I don't know. I just think it's time to give the proper organs their proper jobs.

I think we all know it's safe to say I've been doing this thing with a whole lot of heart, and very little head. This thing, this LIFE thing, it's been all about love, friendship, connection, enrichment, and celebration. That's why I chose teaching. I LOVE KIDS! I do. I love the way they look when they've discovered their potential. I love their optimism and wonder, their goodness, innocence, and spark. They know how to live! In the moment!

Heart. Sometimes I think it's all I got going. My brain likes to work but it's such a tool of my heart. It knows who's boss. She's always been the boss. So why is this bad? Okay. I'll tell you why. I'll tell you, but you already know. Hearts fall for stuff. The gooier, the better. Hearts tell you to do things when you don't have the time nor the resources. Hearts like to get you cuddled and kissed even when what you really need is sleep. The heart will keep you on the phone when you know darn well you need to spend some time organizing your schedule for the next day. Hearts get you reading and writing poetry instead of good, old fashioned self-help or business articles or comic books, even! Hearts will have you listening to another sad story, and actually trying to help, when you know your own story needs a lot of work, and yours wouldn't be found anywhere near the children's section.

I like my brain a lot. I've got to give her more to do. I want to promote her but she lacks experience with leadership. She's not even applying for the position at this point. Sharp kid. Underemployed. Overqualified? Let's not go that far.