Examine

Examine

Whom do you need?

Students

Friends

Best friends

Boyfriend

Parents

Niece and nephews

Brothers

Strangers in your day-to-day

Self

Memories

Spirit

Nature

Possibility

Teachers

Mentors

Mentees

People who raise conflict for you

People who challenge you and cause you to question

 

*          *          *

“I had to…find my home within my own soul” (Brown 17).

Our souls do house our entire being.  That house is one we design, one we decorate.  It may be weathered from various obstacles and over time, it can be broken amidst conflict, and, like any house, it will have its quirks—a doorbell that doesn’t ring, cabinet doors that are misaligned, a “thin” and “thick” me.  Nonetheless, it is up to oneself to maintain that home, to care for it, and in which to take pride.  And, in return, it will enable you to seek refuge within it providing you with a constant companion, a reminder of comfort, and a source of strength reflected in all that you built.

*          *          *

My heart is strong, and my spirit is free.  I fully trust that what is right for me will unfold, and yet cannot be known to me, “Que Sera, Sera”…

I get up in the morning for my moments of freedom—to breathe fresh air, to take in the sunset, to laugh with my students, to call mom, to hear my nephew say “Auntie” on the phone, to walk in the sunshine with love, to ride through life’s moments with the best friends, to wonder at the woods.  I get up to be with others and to be with myself.  [Whom do you need? Nature.  Students.  Parents.  Niece and nephews. Boyfriend.  Best friends.  Possibility.]

You see, “this is life – simply put…the intentions and passions that actually get you up are what make life the ultimate art” (Brown 30).  Yes, life is an art.  An art that I feel is revealing its undeniable depth to me at this stage in my life.  As I move towards my late twenties, I rejoice. [Whom do you need? Spirit.]  I rejoice for the people and places I have encountered on this journey.  They have fed my soul; my picture of the world moving from a 4 x 6” to an enticing panoramic view.  [Whom do you need?  People who challenge you and cause you to question.]  Through it, I see all that the world has to offer and am rejuvenated by a stirring curiosity.  Creativity?  Meaning?  Oh, the great outdoors.  I feel like I have more adventures now than ever before, largely because I let myself.  How was it that in my adolescence I fenced myself in with abstract pressures?

“Making meaning in one’s life is about getting to the roots of what is most important to you” (Brown 25).  Fulfillment is important to me, which might be synonymous with “getting out there”.  That is, being a part of the natural world, a part of children’s lives; helping them to discover the world.  How incredible it feels to share in the world and all its beauty with love, family and friends.

Yes, “getting out there” is what I want from life—to be outwardly passionate [possibility].

*          *          *

“Here we are again in another special moment,” my hand in his; taking in the colors that fall from the sky [boyfriend].  Stillness all around while I recall the owl I spotted on our trek out here.  A road, much like the one from the painting you see in your dreams, with a country setting, snow, windy road, and sticks [nature].  With every step a deeper sense of gratitude and belonging engulfs you [spirit].  This is the best moment of my day.  I’m so thankful I learned to let myself enjoy this [self]…work can wait.

*          *          *

But that lesson took time.  In last Tuesday’s class, Marie shared, “so many people lose themselves in the actions of life.”  That idea struck me and I feverishly took it down.  For I know there were many actions in my life in which I was lost.  Piling the pressure on to meet societal expectations, to be a “good” kid, to be what I assumed I would become.  Always moving forward at lightening speed, going 110% and watching it spill into school work and all else frivolous.  Foolishly thinking there would be a pay off.  I was always looking to the next moment, the next thing, but “I begin to see how much real time I spend rushing backward or forward, seldom, if ever, present in my life as it is happening” (McCarty 111).

The pay off?  This moment is enough, to be here and fully present.  You can only imagine what a 180 that concept is for me, and so to be at a point where I can identify myself rushing the present is pleasing.

Last semester, a guest speaker came to my class one evening, Dr. Steven Taubman.  His lecture was engaging as he raised questions about the twisted cycle between “thought” and “feeling” and the ways in which they can negatively feed into one another.  As the benefits of rising above both thought and feeling became clear, the idea of being present manifested.  “There is a danger in not being present,” he shared [people who challenge you and cause you to question].  I thought about my students and questioned my ability to have multiple meaningful conversations at once.  I was reminded of my tendency to drift when a friend makes a comment that sets off ideas in my mind or when movement is all around me or when mom is going on and on through the phone.  That warning sat with me.  And so “good enough” is good enough; no more chasing after perfection or draining myself into work.  That only pulls me into the future searching for a pay off that is right in front of me.  To keep my house, my soul, present, I am learning to let myself enjoy moments and silence the weight of “should do” that sits on my shoulders.

*          *          *

Still that “should do” is hard to silence when it’s for my kids, but that’s not even always what they need.  Do students really need another intense lesson, perfectly thought out?  A lesson that took eight hours from my personal life, which puts me at risk of being resentful if they don’t respond well because of what I sacrificed for their neutrality?  No.  Neither of us needs that.  Year one of teaching and lesson learned.

“A student…needs an educator who is willing to admit that they, too, are students of life …The finer and grayer that space is between student and educator, the better the environment in the classroom” (Brown, 22).  THOSE are good moments—my [students] blossom when I take interest in their lives that are totally disconnected from what I teach.  There we both tacitly admit to each other, “yes, there are more important parts of who we are…isn’t it great!”  And it is my privilege to love and support them in whatever ways I can [mentor and mentees] allowing them to feel secure.  Without their sense of security, I cannot teach them anything—they have to trust that I want the best for them.  And I do.  It is that relationship that leads them to accept my push and my pull in helping them to recognize their potential.  It’s the relationship, a way of being, that matters not the eight-hour lesson plan.

I have that job.  “…that job that feeds your passion, that makes you excited to get up in the morning and give everything you have to your work…” (Phillips 66).  I want from life to be outwardly passionate [possibility], to get out there.

*          *          *

Yes, out there, amidst community; I get lonesome without it.  Burlington is a special kind of place—it has really allowed me to experience “community”, probably more so now than ever before.  That is, more as a young professional rather than as a college student (where your world is limited to the university).  There is a satisfaction to be had in recognizing people that live in your town.  The dude that is doing work at every coffee shop in which you go to correct essays, the employees at City Market, Dimitri over at Donny’s, a Greek immigrant who reminds you of your father, or “the Kiwi” who rings up your coffee in the morning at the run-down Gulf station [strangers in your day-to-day] on your way to work.

There is great joy in feeling connected to your work, feeling that your work connects you to the area.  I can drive this commute with my eyes closed.  There’s that sun again, rising over the mountains as NPR plays.  Building a reputation for yourself in a school district so no more do kids need to wonder about you, now they know a little something through the grapevine; perhaps they even request you [students].  Seeing parents of students out and about, coaching cross-country where paths of new and familiar faces cross once again.  It reminds you that you matter in the lives of others, “the fulfillment found only in community” (McCarty 200).  And it does bring fulfillment—happiness, assurance, and belonging.  You are not alone.  The sun has set behind those gorgeous purple and gray mountains, while the sky balances pink then orange over the blue waters; an image I know well because I belong to this community; my heart rests here and it brings me peace.

*          *          *

I remember her coming into my room one night [memories] because she overheard the tears of her fifth-grade daughter, tears no doubt over some peer-related worry.  “You are the only one who will always be there for yourself,” my mother explained to me in my “desperate” situation [parents].  I cannot remember now if those words hit me deep in that very moment, but their truth has unfolded themselves to me in new ways with time and often difficult experiences [people who raise conflict for you].  Looking back on that night, I know how much hardship my mother endured in her realization of that lesson learned and shared—losing her parents, making a marriage work, raising three children, the isolation of a daycare provider, and struggles with her weight.  I can’t say that my self-awareness is any more in depth than the next person’s; still from a very young age I have been extremely aware of [self].  I do not have a memory of self-loathing, rather my adolescent turbulence somehow found comfort in retreating to myself.  I am my own best friend, mom is right.  I have self-respect and trust in my decisions; this ability always felt innate though, in reality, I know it must reflect my [parents’] assurance and trust in me.

*          *          *

But even if we are secure in ourselves, we need love.  Do we give love?  “Love is a response.  Love is something to be expressed, to be demonstrated, and it leads to this sublime place that is within us but also transcends us” (Phillips 139).

Their faces light up with smiles, they race to greet you, screaming for you, they make a moment spiritual, and that love rises above [niece and nephews] whatever came before.

It’s playful and teasing, hard to describe.  Without definition it is a given [brothers].

There is a moment between us, an extra something in your eyes, a smile that lingers on my face.  A worry that gets pushed aside at the [possibility]; I take these risks over again because I believe in partnership [boyfriend].

You know me in ways that I can’t know myself.  You don’t realize there are elements you do not know about me.  You will not be here forever [parents], but, like most children, I take you for granted.

Always a feel good [friends]; we share what we want to share—music, hikes, drinks, conversation…  And with a few, we share everything [best friends] and we are family—we stand the test of time.

You found me in the woods the other day as I walked alone above the snow, amidst the sugar taps, and the sunlight [spirit].  When you call, I listen.  Or is it that when I take the time to listen, you call?

I see the little me hidden behind those eyes still so dark, cheeks still chubby, knees still knobby, with a voice that stays the same.  [Self] does not age.  That constant conversation in my head continues with the same wonders, the same dreams, and fascinations.  Why those exist at the root of my being unfolds.  “…this way of examining your life that we’re using here seems to require that you leave yourself open to new ways of examining your life—and by that I mean new perspectives, new methods, things like that” (Phillips 43).

—written in Spring 2011

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