On the biannual process that is my own writing, I decided to add another entry to my eternal thought stream. I have been processing the past school year, events, trials and joys with the amount of free time that I have been afforded as a teacher. My "down time" is usually needed and to be honest, I enjoy more mindless activities when I am not working. I am always looking for a new show to catch up on, a way to organize my apartment, what types of physical activities I can improve in, etc. But to be honest, these are all meaningless in the grand scheme of things. They are distractions and ways to spend the currency of time. When I die, I don't think anyone will care that I successfully watched every episode of Law & Order 16 times over or that my CD's and pictures are alphabetized. So when my relaxing catches up with me and I start to feel anxious, I get restless, seek excitement, make poor choices and generally get down on myself. This is usually when I find the most conflict with my husband, the most unhappiness with my physical appearance, the most sadness in my reflection. I struggle with being proactive, seeking out meaningful activities or finding inspiration and motivation on my own.
So as I was fighting these ridiculous feelings today, I was reminded about an author that I have grown to love, Donald Miller. He has the most honest, unapologetic view of what it means to be a Christian that I have ever encountered. He is blunt, witty and undoubtedly faithful to his Christian beliefs. If I ever get the chance to just have coffee with the guy, I'll probably faint from excitement. I have been intrigued by his ongoing study of "story". He talks about how life is broken down to this: somebody wants something and has to overcome conflict to get it. That is the basis of every story that is out there. Think about any movie you love, any book you reread over and over, any friend that entertains you and those are the common factors. This plunged me into deep reflection over the story of someone that I lost last year.
A couple weeks ago, I traveled to St. Louis with my aunt to begin the process of cleaning out my mom's house. I knew her to be well endowed in clothes and material objects but I did not know what the status of her stuff was since I last lived with her (10 years ago). When my aunt and I started to clean out her closets, we found unthinkable amounts of items. There were 4 closets FULL of clothes, jewelry, new items with tags still on, an entire closet of outdated clothes, mountains of purses full of pens and receipts. The more we dug, the more we found. While cleaning out her vanity, dresser and desk, I became disgusted with the amount of things she hoarded, kept close and hid from us. I got angry, frustrated and bitter towards my dead mother. This was what she left behind; mountains of stuff. This was her life's resolution, her legacy, what would be ingrained in my head for all time. This was her "parting gift" to me. I started to imagine that it was her final revenge for any wrong I ever did to her.
I grieved the life she could have had, the castle she could have built, the lives she could have touched. I couldn't believe that her story ended with no peaceful resolution. The many relationships that she never fixed. The pain that she never apologized for, the message she never got to say. But then again, I had in my head that the climax to her story was already done. That when her "movie" rolled the credits, that was it. I know that not to be the case now. I listened to a sermon by Donald Miller and he explained that our idea of the linear life is incorrect and that our story's resolution is not seen on this earth. Our climax and resolution is at the wedding feast in heaven. I know that she made many mistakes, she hurt those around her, she left behind a selfish amount of stuff that she could not take with her, that now many of us had to deal with. But I also forgave her for that. I know that the climax to her story is her reunion with her Father in Heaven, that she can be seen through Christ now instead of her faults. That she is redeemed despite her mistakes.
This cast a light into my own life story. I realize now that the formula that society casts onto each and every person does not fit. I don't know that I am supposed to have a neat little life with a neat little story that is quiet, contained and simple. My family was not simple, they were not typical, they were not easy or comfortable. My childhood did not contain security, comfort, tradition or a lot of happiness. But it is my story. I am supposed to do something with what I've been given, I am supposed to face each conflict head on until I get to my climax and resolution in heaven. That may mean that I have a lot more pain and suffering in my future. I might have a difficult time having children, I might face a terminal illness, I might experience pain in relationships, I might lose everything in a tragic accident, I might have to attend A LOT more funerals. I found fear in this train of thought not too long ago, but now that I realize that my story - somebody who wants something and has to overcome conflict to get it - is going to be an interesting one. I want my timeline and life to leave behind something interesting and sustaining, not boring. No mountains of stuff or castles or boring, lame experiences. I want to face my skills and talents head on and use them. I'm not going to sit around for the sky to open and God to force my cat to speak life's meaning to me. I know what it is.
He (God) taught me right from wrong, what he did for me on the cross, how to love others, how to have a relationship with him and what my skills are. But now I need to DO SOMETHING. I need to figure out what is something worth value that I want to do and pursue it. Teaching is something that I am fulfilled in, good at and passionate about, but I want to unpack that more. I want to broaden my expertise and knowledge in that field with more than the formulaic model. I want it to have a good story. This journey of depth in my life is far from understood, but that's the beauty of it being a good story...it doesn't have to be over yet.
Wednesday, July 2, 2014
Tuesday, January 7, 2014
Choosing Joy
Today as I spent more time relaxing during my extended Christmas break, I began to work on my school unit of journal writing. Ask I perused over my lesson plans and attempted to find adequate examples, I came across some of my old writings. The most recent in September was of course very depressing. It was written on the coattails of another blow in 2013. But this entry is not like that one. This is an entry of hope.
I have struggled on and off with situational depression over the years. I go through a slump, decide to retreat into my own head and generally think the world is a dark and dreary place. This Christmas was no different. I regularly look at what I don't have, what others might think and how I'm different. This is a spiral that I don't normally come out of. It wasn't until yesterday that I identified my own power in my feelings. Yesterday I looked to God inside of my emotions and found joy.
It was quite the miraculous moment and very undramatic but it was significant. I have been neglecting the one all true powerful way to find meaning in life. And it does not depend on other people. It is solely my relationship with God. When I am apart from my Him, my life is a whirlwind of doubt and depression. I have often found that when I am giving in relationships I often leave feeling drained. This applies to my job, my marriage, my friendships, etc. I have wondered where I was supposed to get filled in order to keep going. Duh! My God is my "filling station".
This is of course obvious, simple and completely unoriginal but it was a profound moment for me. I am ever so thankful for a God who loves and pursues me. I am so indebted for all my enormous blessings that I don't deserve. I am 100% forgiven and restored in him. I have eternity to look forward to and an earthly life to learn to love God even more.
1 Peter 5:6-7 Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time he may exalt you, casting all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you.
I have struggled on and off with situational depression over the years. I go through a slump, decide to retreat into my own head and generally think the world is a dark and dreary place. This Christmas was no different. I regularly look at what I don't have, what others might think and how I'm different. This is a spiral that I don't normally come out of. It wasn't until yesterday that I identified my own power in my feelings. Yesterday I looked to God inside of my emotions and found joy.
It was quite the miraculous moment and very undramatic but it was significant. I have been neglecting the one all true powerful way to find meaning in life. And it does not depend on other people. It is solely my relationship with God. When I am apart from my Him, my life is a whirlwind of doubt and depression. I have often found that when I am giving in relationships I often leave feeling drained. This applies to my job, my marriage, my friendships, etc. I have wondered where I was supposed to get filled in order to keep going. Duh! My God is my "filling station".
This is of course obvious, simple and completely unoriginal but it was a profound moment for me. I am ever so thankful for a God who loves and pursues me. I am so indebted for all my enormous blessings that I don't deserve. I am 100% forgiven and restored in him. I have eternity to look forward to and an earthly life to learn to love God even more.
1 Peter 5:6-7 Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time he may exalt you, casting all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you.
Thursday, September 26, 2013
a lifetime of this...
Insomnia took over my body tonight and rather than stew in my disgruntled desire for rest, I am taking back to my blog as my mind won't shut off. The reasons for this are quite clear if you have known me at all over the past 6 months. People keep dying. This might be harsh to say but its the truth. To be honest, this didn't start in March but rather 14 years ago. I don't want to paint my life as a pathetic tale of tears and tragedy but people tend to think that when they hear my story. I have tried hard to make sense of these past years but my logic and rebellious nature won't let me.
When I was 16, my father passed away from cancer. To be honest, I didn't think the man could die. I always expected a 4th quarter rally and some miraculous story. After all, I was praying every darn minute of the day for it. I was told my faith could make him well. But it didn't. So I started to doubt. Grieving took me 5 painful years without closure. Everyday expecting a phone call or a knock on the door telling me that it was some elaborate hoax. I imagined that he had to go into witness protection for the FBI or something. I still have the occasional dream about it. The truth is, he was my best friend. Shortly thereafter, my grandfather (his dad) passed away from complications of a stroke. He was in his 80's and had lived long and hard. I could make peace with him, but not someone who was 50.
My Junior year of college, my grandmother (his mother) also passed. Again, peace. But then the toll kept rising. The next year my mother's father and my great grandmother passed within weeks of each other. I understood their age and condition but couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't over. I had a few years of peace with no sad phone calls or sad news. But in 2010, that all changed.
My mother called me one evening on my way home from work to inform me that she had been diagnosed with cancer. A type that was eerily similar to my father's. I took the news hard. My mother was ferocious and vivacious. Not someone who gets sick. About a year later, she called in tears to tell me that a good friend of mine from high school was killed in a motorcycle accident. I went home, cried tears of tragedy and tried to move on. But again, it wasn't over.
Just this past year in March, my own mother passed away. She fought her cancer hard for 3 years, just like dad. But she was called home. My oldest sister reunited with her in time to make amends for the past but took the news hard. She also passed away 6 weeks later, leaving behind a husband and 5 children. My heart was crushed at the loss of 3/5 of my family before my 30th birthday. My idea of a future was suddenly turned upside down. I had no parents and I was down to 1 sister. This was not an existence I expected until much later in life.
Going through this has given me a lot to think about and not much of a sounding board to bounce off of. I have looked for safe spaces to vent, ask questions and release my thoughts. Most places are off limits as I don't want to make people feel uncomfortable. But I found just the right place on Monday night.
I received a call from a dear friend of mine. His name was Brian. I went to college with him and we always got along so well. We took a trip with a group down to New Orleans to help clean up Katrina in 2006 and the rest was history. He would hang out with me during my midnight shifts at the security office. We would go out for the largest burritos in the world at El Gallo. We would often frequent the local Greek all night diner near Trinity when we were craving breakfast at 3am. What was great about Brian was that he had an amazing sense of humor and that he had been in my shoes.
He had also lost his father at a young age. In 2012, his mother also passed away. We were both without parents and we both knew how it felt. Our conversations were filled with similar sentiments about life, understanding and commiseration. It was such a comfort to hear how he was navigating his grief. It gave me great relief to know that I wasn't the only one. One of the greatest quotes he ever said to me was, "I am honored that God thinks that I can handle this much pain, but really enough is enough." We both laughed hard because we both got it. The typical Christian comfort phrases didn't make us feel better. It was being real that healed.
Today I saw on facebook that Brian had passed away in his sleep last night. With him died the one person that completely understood my grief. I hate to be selfish in this moment. I hate to think only of myself and not the countless happy moments that we shared. The truth is I'm sad. Very sad. I'm sorry to have lost such a dear friend in such circumstances. I wish I had had more time. More time to heal with him.
All I can do is read the words that Brian left me after my sister passed as they are all I can cling to now.
Bekah-
I am deeply sorry for the loss of your sister. When I got your text I was at a complete loss of what to do or say and am still unsure. I wish there was something more to do than say sorry and pray. I don't know why at times in life it feels like things are coming unraveled but I do know that through these times the Lord is present and working even if it doesn't seem like it. I find peace in knowing that you know this too. In the coming days and weeks if I can be of any help please let me know. I will be praying for you and your family. Brian Romans 8:38-39
When I was 16, my father passed away from cancer. To be honest, I didn't think the man could die. I always expected a 4th quarter rally and some miraculous story. After all, I was praying every darn minute of the day for it. I was told my faith could make him well. But it didn't. So I started to doubt. Grieving took me 5 painful years without closure. Everyday expecting a phone call or a knock on the door telling me that it was some elaborate hoax. I imagined that he had to go into witness protection for the FBI or something. I still have the occasional dream about it. The truth is, he was my best friend. Shortly thereafter, my grandfather (his dad) passed away from complications of a stroke. He was in his 80's and had lived long and hard. I could make peace with him, but not someone who was 50.
My Junior year of college, my grandmother (his mother) also passed. Again, peace. But then the toll kept rising. The next year my mother's father and my great grandmother passed within weeks of each other. I understood their age and condition but couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't over. I had a few years of peace with no sad phone calls or sad news. But in 2010, that all changed.
My mother called me one evening on my way home from work to inform me that she had been diagnosed with cancer. A type that was eerily similar to my father's. I took the news hard. My mother was ferocious and vivacious. Not someone who gets sick. About a year later, she called in tears to tell me that a good friend of mine from high school was killed in a motorcycle accident. I went home, cried tears of tragedy and tried to move on. But again, it wasn't over.
Just this past year in March, my own mother passed away. She fought her cancer hard for 3 years, just like dad. But she was called home. My oldest sister reunited with her in time to make amends for the past but took the news hard. She also passed away 6 weeks later, leaving behind a husband and 5 children. My heart was crushed at the loss of 3/5 of my family before my 30th birthday. My idea of a future was suddenly turned upside down. I had no parents and I was down to 1 sister. This was not an existence I expected until much later in life.
Going through this has given me a lot to think about and not much of a sounding board to bounce off of. I have looked for safe spaces to vent, ask questions and release my thoughts. Most places are off limits as I don't want to make people feel uncomfortable. But I found just the right place on Monday night.
I received a call from a dear friend of mine. His name was Brian. I went to college with him and we always got along so well. We took a trip with a group down to New Orleans to help clean up Katrina in 2006 and the rest was history. He would hang out with me during my midnight shifts at the security office. We would go out for the largest burritos in the world at El Gallo. We would often frequent the local Greek all night diner near Trinity when we were craving breakfast at 3am. What was great about Brian was that he had an amazing sense of humor and that he had been in my shoes.
He had also lost his father at a young age. In 2012, his mother also passed away. We were both without parents and we both knew how it felt. Our conversations were filled with similar sentiments about life, understanding and commiseration. It was such a comfort to hear how he was navigating his grief. It gave me great relief to know that I wasn't the only one. One of the greatest quotes he ever said to me was, "I am honored that God thinks that I can handle this much pain, but really enough is enough." We both laughed hard because we both got it. The typical Christian comfort phrases didn't make us feel better. It was being real that healed.
Today I saw on facebook that Brian had passed away in his sleep last night. With him died the one person that completely understood my grief. I hate to be selfish in this moment. I hate to think only of myself and not the countless happy moments that we shared. The truth is I'm sad. Very sad. I'm sorry to have lost such a dear friend in such circumstances. I wish I had had more time. More time to heal with him.
All I can do is read the words that Brian left me after my sister passed as they are all I can cling to now.
Bekah-
I am deeply sorry for the loss of your sister. When I got your text I was at a complete loss of what to do or say and am still unsure. I wish there was something more to do than say sorry and pray. I don't know why at times in life it feels like things are coming unraveled but I do know that through these times the Lord is present and working even if it doesn't seem like it. I find peace in knowing that you know this too. In the coming days and weeks if I can be of any help please let me know. I will be praying for you and your family. Brian Romans 8:38-39
-B
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Cleansing.
So I'm sitting here in my living room on the last night of June 2011. A storm is passing outside in curtains of rain, washing the earth away (not to mention getting the inside of my car wet) and I can't help but internalize the water cycle into something profound. The art of cleansing. It assumes damage, it assumes mistakes, missteps, perhaps even recklessness. While pondering this over, it came to me: you have to start with mistakes in order to enjoy being clean. Over the past year and half I have thought back on my life 11,000 times. I have wondered why I didn't realize that I wanted to be a teacher sooner (like college!). I have daydreamed about the 4-5 years teaching experience I could have by now. I have kicked myself for starting this journey now, in this market, in this state and with these student loans. But I have to endure the truth that much like fire purifies metal, a storm also washes clean.
When I get to the other side of this chasm (and believe me I will get there), I will be a kick a$$ teacher. Now this is not solely because I received stupendous instruction from my graduate program (clears throat) or because my resume is spotless, but it will be because I fought for it. God lit a fire under me a few years ago and I can't put it out. There is so much about teaching that I adore: the light bulb moment a kid gets when you transpose an idea into a practical reality that they can grasp, the smile of appreciation, the collaboration of skills between educators, the sound of paper, scissors and glue hard at work. I get high from the smell of a classroom (permanent markers have nothing to do with it). This is what I want to do for the rest of my life. I am married to this idea, there is no going back. So for the insight, I am thankful. For the situation, I have struggled with bitterness. But there is hope.
Recently, there have come a few new trends to my life. One is that I started running. Yes, you are reading the right page. Bekah Weglarz is running. To be honest, I hate it. But what is more invigorating is that I love hating it. I get off on taking my anger out on running, slinging it through the mud, pulling out it's teeth, soaking it in gasoline and lighting it on fire. Too graphic? Deal with it. I kick that son of a gun in the cajones 3 times a week. I am training for a 5K. Not that big of a run I know, but for me? Near impossible. What is even more stimulating is that this act of running is cleansing me. Not just of toxins that I sweat out and burned calories, but I'm less angry, less bitter. I don't dwell on the mediocre and distress of life anymore. I look forward to things, rest in the unknown and enjoy the moment. My soul is being cleansed.
I have also started my regular devotions again. My quiet time with the Lord in the mornings gives me strength, renews my mind, centers me for the day and reminds me why I'm here. I am here to love Him and others through him without agenda. I am not here for myself. Being in an occupation of service this summer has caused me to be humbled. I had to repel entitlement away and cling to opportunity. I am filling a need and providing a service for these families, I am to be Christ to these children. Screaming, crying, poopy diapers, messes, cartoons, toys, giggles, games, crawling, laughing and sleeping; these children are loved by God. If I cannot serve "the least of these", how can I expect to respect the children in my future classroom? The answer is I can't. I have to start here, I am being built to be a better teacher everyday.
I had to start dirty, but everyday I appreciate the cleanliness a little more.
When I get to the other side of this chasm (and believe me I will get there), I will be a kick a$$ teacher. Now this is not solely because I received stupendous instruction from my graduate program (clears throat) or because my resume is spotless, but it will be because I fought for it. God lit a fire under me a few years ago and I can't put it out. There is so much about teaching that I adore: the light bulb moment a kid gets when you transpose an idea into a practical reality that they can grasp, the smile of appreciation, the collaboration of skills between educators, the sound of paper, scissors and glue hard at work. I get high from the smell of a classroom (permanent markers have nothing to do with it). This is what I want to do for the rest of my life. I am married to this idea, there is no going back. So for the insight, I am thankful. For the situation, I have struggled with bitterness. But there is hope.
Recently, there have come a few new trends to my life. One is that I started running. Yes, you are reading the right page. Bekah Weglarz is running. To be honest, I hate it. But what is more invigorating is that I love hating it. I get off on taking my anger out on running, slinging it through the mud, pulling out it's teeth, soaking it in gasoline and lighting it on fire. Too graphic? Deal with it. I kick that son of a gun in the cajones 3 times a week. I am training for a 5K. Not that big of a run I know, but for me? Near impossible. What is even more stimulating is that this act of running is cleansing me. Not just of toxins that I sweat out and burned calories, but I'm less angry, less bitter. I don't dwell on the mediocre and distress of life anymore. I look forward to things, rest in the unknown and enjoy the moment. My soul is being cleansed.
I have also started my regular devotions again. My quiet time with the Lord in the mornings gives me strength, renews my mind, centers me for the day and reminds me why I'm here. I am here to love Him and others through him without agenda. I am not here for myself. Being in an occupation of service this summer has caused me to be humbled. I had to repel entitlement away and cling to opportunity. I am filling a need and providing a service for these families, I am to be Christ to these children. Screaming, crying, poopy diapers, messes, cartoons, toys, giggles, games, crawling, laughing and sleeping; these children are loved by God. If I cannot serve "the least of these", how can I expect to respect the children in my future classroom? The answer is I can't. I have to start here, I am being built to be a better teacher everyday.
I had to start dirty, but everyday I appreciate the cleanliness a little more.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Practice makes Theory
I just had an epiphany. I am a teacher. Now, this isn't new news. It's no secret that I am passionate and excited about filling young minds with knowledge. I stand in front of 31 5th graders talking about "The 3 R's" of recycling and I get a high that heroine could not contend with. But until a couple of weeks ago, this reality eluded me. Allow me to elaborate: I was helping my cooperating teacher with Math Centers and I ran one about telling time. Now in the middle of giving the instructions, a thought came over me. "These kids will tell time for the rest of their lives. I get to be the one that teaches them this." Crap, now I'm screwed. Privilege is a funny thing that way. It's earned responsibility. So I'm freaked. It's no secret that I fail; more often than admitted. I do try my very best everyday. Even so, when I try, I expect perfection...to no avail. After all, I have had over 12 months of theory instruction right? I should be a pro by now. Hogwash. I suck. I get up there and fake my way through most of it. Now don't get me wrong. I buy into common responses to this. Such as the phrase, "fake it til you make it". This is pretty stupid if you think about it. Pretend like you know what you're doing until you feel comfortable lying about it. Great. But, unfortunately, it's true. And I do it, a lot.
Now I have had several people express their support for me in this. "You'll be a great teacher!" "You're really gifted in this." "I know you'll be great!" Sorry to say it, but again, hogwash. No one knows. Least of all me. We say these phrases in the same spirit that we tell people that it's going to be ok. There is no way for anyone to know that. What if I die from a freak napalm accident? Then what? Eat. Your. Words. Now I don't want to sound like a jerk so let me say I still appreciate the sentiment. So, as I was saying, my head is full of theory and tools. I have been pushed out of my nest am left to actually being the teacher. Therefore, I have to reconcile "the ideal classroom" with the actual messy world. Let me tell ya, they go together like brown and black: tacky. So I have to relearn how to be a teacher, what works, what doesn't, what blows up in my face (aka 3 branches of government project). But, as previously posted, I said I wanted to be a learner as well as an educator. So Bekah Anne, eat your words.
On the other hand, I am quite glad that teaching is messy. Because I'm messy. I don't take to life being calm and quiet very well, I prefer the ups and downs. It makes a good story. Since I am a human being (last time I checked) I want to be the protagonist to my own story. Donald Miller is a great Spiritual author and forward thinker. He uses a philosophy about organizing your life into the elements of a story: 1. Want something. 2. Envision a climatic scene. 3. Create an Inciting Incident. I feel this is my new backbone. The new elements of my goal setting endeavors. Good job Don, you got to me. So let this be my send off. May I preach to myself to be comfortable as a learner (aka failing) and may that learning refine me to rise out the ashes and become the teacher that God has made me to be. The End...(ellipses for dramatic effect)
Now I have had several people express their support for me in this. "You'll be a great teacher!" "You're really gifted in this." "I know you'll be great!" Sorry to say it, but again, hogwash. No one knows. Least of all me. We say these phrases in the same spirit that we tell people that it's going to be ok. There is no way for anyone to know that. What if I die from a freak napalm accident? Then what? Eat. Your. Words. Now I don't want to sound like a jerk so let me say I still appreciate the sentiment. So, as I was saying, my head is full of theory and tools. I have been pushed out of my nest am left to actually being the teacher. Therefore, I have to reconcile "the ideal classroom" with the actual messy world. Let me tell ya, they go together like brown and black: tacky. So I have to relearn how to be a teacher, what works, what doesn't, what blows up in my face (aka 3 branches of government project). But, as previously posted, I said I wanted to be a learner as well as an educator. So Bekah Anne, eat your words.
On the other hand, I am quite glad that teaching is messy. Because I'm messy. I don't take to life being calm and quiet very well, I prefer the ups and downs. It makes a good story. Since I am a human being (last time I checked) I want to be the protagonist to my own story. Donald Miller is a great Spiritual author and forward thinker. He uses a philosophy about organizing your life into the elements of a story: 1. Want something. 2. Envision a climatic scene. 3. Create an Inciting Incident. I feel this is my new backbone. The new elements of my goal setting endeavors. Good job Don, you got to me. So let this be my send off. May I preach to myself to be comfortable as a learner (aka failing) and may that learning refine me to rise out the ashes and become the teacher that God has made me to be. The End...(ellipses for dramatic effect)
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Comfort
"Being comfortable makes me uncomfortable." I have been teased for that phrase several times. No, it is not some vain attempt to place myself among famous quotists of our day. The phrase simply sums up my auspicious quest for purpose, destiny and the like. But until recently, it has never resounded louder. Reality is punching me in the throat and I have no defenses. However, I have to take responsibility here. I do this. I run away from comfort. In fact, all my major decisions in life have been made primarily because I got comfortable, complacent...dare I say it: content. Once I snuggled into a corner of life, dug a groove and grew roots, I needed to get up and move. I needed to relocate and restart the growth process (including pain & rejection). I could be noble and say it's because I want to perpetually learn. After all, learning occurs on the cusp of growth and change. But to be honest, it's probably because I'm fearful. I'm fearful of being mechanical. I'm fearful of repeating myself without purpose or pursuit. I'm fearful of plateau. I'm scared of routine. All human beings are afraid of these things on some level. It's just typically people with Autism who are happy with that lot. Some find their comfort in a world without change or catalyst. Some love control and predictability. I hate it.
I will never forget the day I discovered this. It was the 2nd semester of graduate school and I was packing my food for the day. It was a Tuesday, which meant I had class from 4:30 pm until 9:30 pm. This meant I not only had to prepare my lunch for work but my dinner for school that night. I took two frozen meals from the fridge and placed them in my bag. I zipped it up and poured my morning coffee. I then sat down and proceeded to have a mini panic attack. At 6:30 am, I knew everything that I was going to be eating for that day. Already! There would be no adventure of discovery in the fridge as I try to create a unique concoction for supper. No weighing the options of eating out that night and no audacious trips to a vending machine at work. No, I had everything planned, all that was left was execution. My day hadn't even started and I was already bored. I thought to myself, "who wants to live like this?" If all the adventure I got was unearthing the mystery of what my meals would look like for that day, then so be it. I wasn't going to rob myself of that.
That was the last time I packed both meals.
I had been living my life of "unpredictability" for some time by then. I just never knew why I was. I had come to Chicago, left all my family and friends behind and started over. I studied the first thing that interested me, made as many friends as I could and laid a foundation that I couldn't easily get away from. I wanted to make a new home here apart from St. Louis. But then again, I knew I could only keep that up for 4 years. I took the first job offered to me and again hit my life's reset button. That life blew up in a poetic irony sort of way. So I started over at a different job. I was good at that job, my talents were recognized and I was given a promotion, a raise and more responsibility; all within 3 months of starting. But then...I plateaued. I learned all I could, got as far as I wanted to go and hit a dead end. Luckily, I got married and had to move again. Ergo, new job. AGAIN, I became alive with excitement and challenge, mastered the art of the position and drew all I could from it. After about 6 months, that reset button was looking mighty tempting. I forced myself to stop my destructive pattern and reflect on my experiences. I was determined to put these to proactive use. I knew I enjoyed the same aspect of each job that I had had to date: teaching. I liked training new people or helping to unravel a difficult case. I liked being the possessor of knowledge and serving those around me. I was good at explaining things and demanded good communication. I was a leader without meaning to be and respected without trying. So I needed a new challenge, a new opportunity, some type of career that is void of plateau and a had a constant catalyst of change. I needed to be an educator. I needed to blend all of my dreams in life into a one word career that was simple, yet aligned to my talents. I don't want predictability in my job. I want to be challenged, I want to use all of my aptitude and ability beyond their typical evidence.
(My husband likes to call me "the queen of metaphors", so here's one for ya...) I want to make Michaelangelo's David just using play-doh.
I could wrap all of this back around to my general theme of movement, achievement and goals but this time, it's not really about that. Mostly, it's that my dreams of being a teacher are around the corner from becoming real and I'm scared to death.
I blame Eleanor Roosevelt.
When I took my job at Action For Children I had one of those default screen savers that everybody gets. It was filled with pictures of kids & families, quotes from our founder and statistics. But there was one slide that I will never forget. A picture of dopey, plain jane Eleanor next to her famous quote, "Do one thing every day that scares you." I looked at the screen saver for almost a year before I took hold of that challenge and signed up for grad school. It is 1 year later and the finish line is in sight. So there you go Eleanor, I'm freaked.
And it feels great.
I will never forget the day I discovered this. It was the 2nd semester of graduate school and I was packing my food for the day. It was a Tuesday, which meant I had class from 4:30 pm until 9:30 pm. This meant I not only had to prepare my lunch for work but my dinner for school that night. I took two frozen meals from the fridge and placed them in my bag. I zipped it up and poured my morning coffee. I then sat down and proceeded to have a mini panic attack. At 6:30 am, I knew everything that I was going to be eating for that day. Already! There would be no adventure of discovery in the fridge as I try to create a unique concoction for supper. No weighing the options of eating out that night and no audacious trips to a vending machine at work. No, I had everything planned, all that was left was execution. My day hadn't even started and I was already bored. I thought to myself, "who wants to live like this?" If all the adventure I got was unearthing the mystery of what my meals would look like for that day, then so be it. I wasn't going to rob myself of that.
That was the last time I packed both meals.
I had been living my life of "unpredictability" for some time by then. I just never knew why I was. I had come to Chicago, left all my family and friends behind and started over. I studied the first thing that interested me, made as many friends as I could and laid a foundation that I couldn't easily get away from. I wanted to make a new home here apart from St. Louis. But then again, I knew I could only keep that up for 4 years. I took the first job offered to me and again hit my life's reset button. That life blew up in a poetic irony sort of way. So I started over at a different job. I was good at that job, my talents were recognized and I was given a promotion, a raise and more responsibility; all within 3 months of starting. But then...I plateaued. I learned all I could, got as far as I wanted to go and hit a dead end. Luckily, I got married and had to move again. Ergo, new job. AGAIN, I became alive with excitement and challenge, mastered the art of the position and drew all I could from it. After about 6 months, that reset button was looking mighty tempting. I forced myself to stop my destructive pattern and reflect on my experiences. I was determined to put these to proactive use. I knew I enjoyed the same aspect of each job that I had had to date: teaching. I liked training new people or helping to unravel a difficult case. I liked being the possessor of knowledge and serving those around me. I was good at explaining things and demanded good communication. I was a leader without meaning to be and respected without trying. So I needed a new challenge, a new opportunity, some type of career that is void of plateau and a had a constant catalyst of change. I needed to be an educator. I needed to blend all of my dreams in life into a one word career that was simple, yet aligned to my talents. I don't want predictability in my job. I want to be challenged, I want to use all of my aptitude and ability beyond their typical evidence.
(My husband likes to call me "the queen of metaphors", so here's one for ya...) I want to make Michaelangelo's David just using play-doh.
I could wrap all of this back around to my general theme of movement, achievement and goals but this time, it's not really about that. Mostly, it's that my dreams of being a teacher are around the corner from becoming real and I'm scared to death.
I blame Eleanor Roosevelt.
When I took my job at Action For Children I had one of those default screen savers that everybody gets. It was filled with pictures of kids & families, quotes from our founder and statistics. But there was one slide that I will never forget. A picture of dopey, plain jane Eleanor next to her famous quote, "Do one thing every day that scares you." I looked at the screen saver for almost a year before I took hold of that challenge and signed up for grad school. It is 1 year later and the finish line is in sight. So there you go Eleanor, I'm freaked.
And it feels great.
Friday, November 19, 2010
Climbing
So I've been thinking, how are people supposed to be happy? I mean logistically, the society we live in is built upon achievement and not contentment. We climb the grade levels through school, get bachelor's degrees, master's degrees and for the insane, doctorates. But what about after we achieve? We have video games that we play until we beat all the levels, then they collect dust on our shelves. The whole point of reading is to get through the whole book right? We take tests and get scores. What do we do with them? We climb the ranks of employment positions. What happens when you become the CEO? Then what? Move onto a bigger company and do the same thing? Many say, "there's always a bigger fish to fry." I would beg to differ. One of these days, you're going to fry a blue whale, then you're screwed. That's what we call, "the end of the road." The comedian Lewis Black commented in his Carnegie Hall Performance that now that he had played that venue, he doesn't know where to go from there. His punch line was crude and inappropriate (albeit hilarious) but he had a point. Anywhere else he played from that point on, would be a step down.
It's no wonder that when we achieve, we start a cycle of repeating. It's pretty insane actually. Routines are signs of losing it. I once heard this definition of insanity: doing the same thing over and over expecting a different result. You can't find something else to achieve so all you are left with is repetition. I've had several friends who have bought the entire series of TV shows. Smallville, Sex & the City, Friends (guilty), Gilmore Girls, How I Met Your Mother (again, guilty), etc. Problem with this is that once you watch them all the way through, then what do you do with them? Most echo the lifestyle of the completed video game.
Here's my theory: I don't think contentment is achievable. I don't think it exists. I think we are so corrupt as a human race, that our only manner of living is consumerism. Now this is not just monetary, but all manners of the word. I quote my friend Mr. Smith:
"I'd like to share a revelation I've had during my time here. It came to me when I tried to classify your species. I realized that you're not actually mammals. Every mammal on this planet instinctively develops a natural equilibrium with their surrounding environment, but you humans do not. You move to an area, and you multiply, and you multiply, until every natural resource is consumed. The only way you can survive is to spread to another area. There is another organism on this planet that follows the same pattern. Do you know what it is? A virus. Human beings are a disease, a cancer of this planet. You are a plague, and we … are the cure."
As pop culture and pseudo-philosophical as this movie is, it speaks the truth. I can't see it any other way. Think about the good things in human kind. Social Services for example, are designed to help people live, achieve and succeed; aka CONSUME. Our most philanthropic of duties is to make other people just as discontent as the rest of us. It's no wonder we are a pleasure seeking society. All good works are said to be selfish. I would go a step further and say that all good works are destructive. Now, it is the lesser of the two evils. To have a world where each person lives for their own survival and none other is far worse. The human race would cease to exist. Plus, living in the way we do does bring occasional happiness and enjoyment to the string of achievements. I think the other animals of this planet are all holding onto some secret though. They are content just to survive. To eat, sleep, play and die. Never the need for anything else. How often do you hear someone envy the life of a lazy cat or a two year old? They have no other ambition than to be just as they are. Their bodily needs being satisfied is enough.
You know what the truth is, we're all autistic. Constant need for stimulation. We're all obsessed with sensory things. We can't exist without being reminded that we exist. We all need to feel "alive"? Is there something missing from breathing that makes this so difficult? I'm pretty sure if my heart stopped beating, I wouldn't feel alive anymore. Emotional life isn't as big of a deal as we make it. We can feel alive, even happy for a time, if we remember that it's a miracle that we're here. The sheer chances of us being conceived are astronomical, yet it keeps happening. Thousands of babies are born a day. Thousands are being conceived daily (chew on that disturbing thought for a while). We exist. Instead of asking the dirtiest question there is (why am I here?) why don't we focus on thankfulness? I'm glad I'm alive, because you know what? I don't know any different. I don't want to know the opposite of that scenario yet, I'm ok breathing and walking around as a miracle. I'm even ok with consuming, but I won't consume myself with seeking for contentment. I'll just keep breathing.
It's no wonder that when we achieve, we start a cycle of repeating. It's pretty insane actually. Routines are signs of losing it. I once heard this definition of insanity: doing the same thing over and over expecting a different result. You can't find something else to achieve so all you are left with is repetition. I've had several friends who have bought the entire series of TV shows. Smallville, Sex & the City, Friends (guilty), Gilmore Girls, How I Met Your Mother (again, guilty), etc. Problem with this is that once you watch them all the way through, then what do you do with them? Most echo the lifestyle of the completed video game.
Here's my theory: I don't think contentment is achievable. I don't think it exists. I think we are so corrupt as a human race, that our only manner of living is consumerism. Now this is not just monetary, but all manners of the word. I quote my friend Mr. Smith:
"I'd like to share a revelation I've had during my time here. It came to me when I tried to classify your species. I realized that you're not actually mammals. Every mammal on this planet instinctively develops a natural equilibrium with their surrounding environment, but you humans do not. You move to an area, and you multiply, and you multiply, until every natural resource is consumed. The only way you can survive is to spread to another area. There is another organism on this planet that follows the same pattern. Do you know what it is? A virus. Human beings are a disease, a cancer of this planet. You are a plague, and we … are the cure."
As pop culture and pseudo-philosophical as this movie is, it speaks the truth. I can't see it any other way. Think about the good things in human kind. Social Services for example, are designed to help people live, achieve and succeed; aka CONSUME. Our most philanthropic of duties is to make other people just as discontent as the rest of us. It's no wonder we are a pleasure seeking society. All good works are said to be selfish. I would go a step further and say that all good works are destructive. Now, it is the lesser of the two evils. To have a world where each person lives for their own survival and none other is far worse. The human race would cease to exist. Plus, living in the way we do does bring occasional happiness and enjoyment to the string of achievements. I think the other animals of this planet are all holding onto some secret though. They are content just to survive. To eat, sleep, play and die. Never the need for anything else. How often do you hear someone envy the life of a lazy cat or a two year old? They have no other ambition than to be just as they are. Their bodily needs being satisfied is enough.
You know what the truth is, we're all autistic. Constant need for stimulation. We're all obsessed with sensory things. We can't exist without being reminded that we exist. We all need to feel "alive"? Is there something missing from breathing that makes this so difficult? I'm pretty sure if my heart stopped beating, I wouldn't feel alive anymore. Emotional life isn't as big of a deal as we make it. We can feel alive, even happy for a time, if we remember that it's a miracle that we're here. The sheer chances of us being conceived are astronomical, yet it keeps happening. Thousands of babies are born a day. Thousands are being conceived daily (chew on that disturbing thought for a while). We exist. Instead of asking the dirtiest question there is (why am I here?) why don't we focus on thankfulness? I'm glad I'm alive, because you know what? I don't know any different. I don't want to know the opposite of that scenario yet, I'm ok breathing and walking around as a miracle. I'm even ok with consuming, but I won't consume myself with seeking for contentment. I'll just keep breathing.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)