How Spoken Word Changed My Classroom

To put this story in the proper frame, let me begin by stating a few facts in a totally obnoxious way. I’m in a really good mood, ok? Hang with me through the alphabet list, and then it’ll get back to normal.

A) My students’ tenacity inspires me every day; however, as they are
B) high school students, most of them weren’t excited about starting our poetry unit.
C) I didn’t blame them. I was in high school not too long ago and I can remember
D) poetry being intimidating.
E) I couldn’t get into it.
F) It didn’t come to life.

F) So I brainstormed for weeks, trying to figure out how to get my kids to
G) recognize that poetry could be freeing and honest and powerful.

H) Then it came to me:
I) SPOKEN WORD.
J) (For those who don’t know what it is, I strongly suggest going to youtube

K) and taking a gander at the myriad videos available. It will change you.)

L) So I reached out to some people who I knew would point me in the best direction
M) of spoken word poets who spoke on topics my students would care about
N) (thanks, Ryan!
O) He’s my brother, for those wondering. Great guy.).
P)  Anyway, I researched and researched, watched and watched, and
Q) found myself mesmerized all over again. I’m talking all-nighters
R) pulled an average of three times a week because I couldn’t get enough.
S) I knew I was not ever going to think of poetry as lifeless again, and hoped
T) that after experiencing the incredible talent of spoken word poets,
U) my students wouldn’t either. I also knew there was a chance of it being a huge
V) flop, as maybe my students wouldn’t care about it as much as I hoped.
W) But I put together (with the help of Ryan) a compilation of various examples anyway.
X)  We watched Rudy Francisco, Joshua Bennett, George Watsky, Neil Hilborn, Sarah Kay and
Y) Phil Kaye, among many others. And guess what?
Z)  Something beautiful happened.

My students got excited about poetry.

Do you understand how great that is? It’s more than great. It’s phenomenal. It’s a different and better response to poetry than I’ve ever gotten before. The videos they saw introduced them to a method of communication and expression in a way I never would have been able to explain to them on my own.

My students understood the spoken word poets. They were moved by the vulnerability, found the hilarity in the self deprecation, were indignant about the social issues presented. They connected with the subject matter. They wanted to try their hands at it.

They found me in the hallways during passing periods to share recommendations on different slam poets they’d found on their own time. We swapped exclamations on how beautiful Rudy Francisco’s poems were, how passionately he delivered his messages in “Honest” and “Scars/Letters to the New Boyfriend.” They laughed with me about George Watsky’s clever use of every “S” word possible in his poem “S for Lisp,” and Taylor Mali’s spunk in “I’ll Fight You for the Library,” “Miracle Worker,” and  “Totally Like Whatever, You Know?” My students and I were deeply moved by Joshua Bennett’s “Tamara’s Opus,” Neil Hilborn’s “OCD,” Rafael Casal’s “ADD.” We discussed what it must feel like to present, to reveal the most raw version of yourself to an audience you don’t even know, or what it would be like to show those pieces of yourself to a room full of people who do know you (or at least think they do). Through the poems and poets we swapped back and forth, they were showing me what they cared about, and I got the chance to share in their interests.

I assigned a Spoken Word Project. We were going to have a poetry slam. The students had two weeks or so to come up with an original piece and present it in class. They had very few guidelines from me, save for the following:

            1. The subject matter needed to be something they cared about
            2. The presentation needed to take at least a full minute.

In the days that preceded our poetry slam, I’ll admit that in addition to student excitement and confidence I got a lot of anxious communication, too. “What if my poem sucks?”; “What if it isn’t as good as my classmates’?”, they worried.  “What if your expectations are too high and mine is nothing like any of the professionals we watched in class?”.  I gave a lot of encouragement. I knew some of them weren’t sold out on the idea, but gently pushed them to dig deep anyway, to explore themselves and figure out what they cared about. What made them feel. What pissed them off. What they loved. When they’ve been hurt. Why any of that matters.

The day came for the Spoken Word Poetry Slam and I have to tell you, I’ve never been more moved by student products. I was introduced to pieces of my students I had no idea even existed. They removed the veil they put on every day before facing school, their peers, their parents. They showed me what lay underneath the smiles they painted on, the courage they feigned, the confidence for which they overcompensated. Not only did they show me those things, they showed their classmates those things. They were brave in front of one another, revealed secrets to one another. The irony of it all is that, in admitting to pretending they were confident and courageous, they were proving both of those things by presenting their spoken word. And everyone acknowledged that. Even the poetry that wasn’t deeply personal was moving, in that it was clever, hilarious, and creative. Regardless of subject matter, tone, or presentation style, everyone got their chance to show who they were, and everyone was impressed by what their classmates brought to the table.

There was something a little bit magical about that day in class. Something happened that day that changed the way my class works. The way my students and I interact with each other. I can’t put my finger on a precise word to describe it, but there’s a tangible difference. We all feel it.

Age is not Synonymous with Maturity

>> Let's get this out of the way: this is not an anti-male, anti-female, or anti-fun post. This is an anti-immaturity post. It's a post about grown ups not acting their age, yet expecting to be treated and respected as adults. It's about the idea that age is often equated with maturity, despite the fact that one often has very little to do with the other. <<

Everyone wants to grow up. When we're in elementary school, we can't wait to leave it all behind & be a teenager. When that happens, we look up to all the high schoolers who can drive themselves anywhere they want. When we're behind our own set of wheels, we look to the 18 year old seniors and think of how grand their lives must be. But then we turn 18 and can't keep our sights on high school anymore-- we only have eyes for college & the independence that comes with it. So then college happens & we are impatient to start our major-specific course load, you know, the one that will launch us into the real world with expertise and know-how. And so the process continues. From about 4th grade on (and who knows, maybe even earlier for some of us), we can't wait to grow up and have the things grown ups have. Staying up as late as we want. Having sleepovers without having to ask for permission. Money. Success. Renown. We can't wait to be on our own, making it in the real world, in charge of our own lives. Being a grown up looks shiny. So we continue looking toward whatever it is that we find better than our current situation & then strive for it.

Except there's one problem: a lot of us don't actually grow up. We age literally, sure. The number of candles on our cakes and the number we tell people when they ask increases each year, of course. But a lot of us don't grow up. Boys can't wait to be men & girls can't wait to be women, but a lot of us continue to act like children. A lot of us don't accept the responsibilities we were so sure we were ready for in earlier years. We didn't realize that being a grown up means Accountability. Bills. Gumption. Budgets. Life changing predicaments. Being the bigger person. Once we realize what being an adult entails, something clicks and and a lot of us want to go back to the days of nap and snack time in Kindergarten. It's safe there. Who can blame us? 

A lot of us are children trapped inside the bodies of grown ups. A lot of us are drowning in what we're convinced life owes us, and the responsibilities don't look the way we pictured them. When this happens, we don't know how to manage because all we know how to do is call our mom and ask her to tell us what to do. All we know how to do is hope it works itself out. All we know how to do is lash out and make others feel small. All we know how to do is worry about all the stress instead of attacking it with a game plan.

________

A lot of kids out there are more mature than we are. A lot of growth and change and transformation is happening inside the bodies of 16 and 17 year old adults, but we don't acknowledge them as adults because their age is not a number we associate with that term. Funny isn't it? Maybe funny is the wrong word here. Sad is probably the better fit.

I can't tell you how many times I've been blown away by the maturity of some of my high school students. Can't tell you how often I sit back and marvel at the beauty of it. Of them. Yet my students, adults in my book, are so often disregarded as kids because they aren't "of age." What??

Sure, there are immature kids out there. Yes, my high school students are high school students at heart and probably have limited life experiences in comparison to the teachers in the building. Yes, they have dramatic, end-of-the-world moments and silly fights with their best friends. Yes, time management may not be all of their strong suits just yet. But just because I have more life experience, more practice, and have been alive longer doesn't mean I've earned the right to be considered a mature, well-adjusted adult. It doesn't mean they have earned the label of immature, flighty kids.They know things. They think about things. They're smarter than we give them credit for.

 ________

Even at a young age, we feel entitled to respect & responsibility & love. We feel like wanting something is justification enough to get it. Me me me. We talk a big game about how much we want to be put first in a relationship, how special it is to be considered, how we want someone to text first, call first, make plans first. We don't consider that others think & feel the same things. We're so focused on what we want from everyone else that we're distracted from being that same person for other people. Maybe the things we're so sure we're entitled to are misguided. Maybe loving each other well is the best way to be treated well. If we act like grown ups and love deeply, instead of like children playing at the idea & loving selfishly, we'll reap the benefits of maturity.

As far as I'm concerned, twentysomething girls don't get to whine about how men aren't purposefully pursuing them. Lack of pursuit often means there's a lack of desire. Which makes sense, because being a childish diva isn't attractive. Plus, if you really think about it, none of us wants a grown man who pursues little girls anyway. Oh, and we have to stop playing games. No one really ever wins with those. We must grow up.

Boys, you will not be treated like men until you act like men. Pride cannot control you. Warriors get wounded and bleed sometimes, and that doesn't mean they aren't warriors anymore. Say what you mean, not what you think we want to hear. Don't run from conflict, communicate. You too, must grow up.

________

The really frustrating part about all of this is that we are a bright & fast-learning species. We can be teachable, flexible, resourceful. We have the capacity to feel. We have the potential to be builders, thinkers, observers, artists, counselors, and inventors. But some days, the world seems to be overpopulated with boys who shave & girls who are 27 going on 14. Teachers playing the "because I said so and I'm older so I'm right" game with students. It's a shame. We're all better than that. The world deserves better from us.

When people are interested in living life in a forward fashion, they accumulate wisdom from their  experiences & apply that wisdom as often as the chance presents itself. Growth and humility happen there. It is a place of maturation. When people are focused on living a life filled with nostalgia and what ifs, they live life backwards & are constantly unhappy. This is either because they live in regret or fear or a paralyzing cocktail of both. Stagnancy & regression happen there. So why do so many of us hang out in the city of pity parties and if only-s? Why do we insist on living in the former tense? We deserve better from ourselves.

Conversations We aren't Having

I’ve realized recently that the quality of conversation amongst people in general is seriously sad. And of course, before I delve any further into this, I should clarify that yes, I realize not everyone has the types of conversations I’m going to outline in this post; and that yes, I acknowledge that there are people who have deep, meaningful conversations with most everyone they come into contact with. But this post is more geared toward the masses. To those of us (which is most of us) who tend to make a sharp left away from true communication (and the vulnerability that often accompanies it) and make a confident beeline for chit-chat.

Ahh chit-chat. The easy, quippy conversations that flow freely between just about any two (or more) people. The meaningless drivel we spit out, whether it’s to pass the time, form a temporary bond, or to take turns blowing hot air around the room. 

How’re you doing? How’s your week been? You finish all that homework last night? Man, I just really can’t wait for fall, you know what I mean?

All of these questions are of the chit-chat variety. All of these questions are easy to lob back & forth between classmates or colleagues, whether or not these classmates or colleagues are real friends or just school/work friends. Questions like these are asked by and can generally be answered by everyone.

You gonna study for that bio test later on? I can’t believe he made us do all the problems from the worksheet, can you? I just can’t wait for college. You think professors give this much pointless homework? Geez, why is it so cold in here?

There’s nothing to questions like these. They’re hollow. And if you think about it, most of them are complaints. Isn’t that strange? The small talk we jump to is often geared towards us expressing displeasure. Although unfortunate, it shouldn’t surprise us that chit-chat is often initiated by our unfailing desire to express our unhappiness at certain situations. Complainers never have trouble finding other complainers with which to complain. We all know the theory on misery: it loves company.

It’s so hot out there. I can’t believe we don’t have any cell phone service. Wow, could that lady be any more obnoxious? Look at all those families across the restaurant, all on their iPhones or iPads. Doesn’t anyone know how to converse with each other anymore? Hah.

We all do this. We should all stop doing this. Think of all the great conversations we aren’t having because we’re too busy having the pointless ones. Seriously, think about it. Take a quick inventory of the last few times you asked “How are you?” to someone without really caring to hear their honest answer. Think about the last few times you answered the same questions with a hasty “Good,” or “Tired,” or “Fine”; not taking the time to actually throw the ball of conversation back to the person who inquired. Scary, isn’t it?

I think we do this because somewhere along the line, our words became less important to us than they should have. I think we do this because it has become normal to change our minds, be noncommittal, be liars. So many people say things they don’t mean. Things they know they should say because those things are expected, so people mutter these expected things, but then their actions promptly convey the opposite. These people expect credit for spouting off the things that one should say, yet they don’t really mean them. That’s probably where the saying actions speak louder than words came from, don’t you think? People got fed up with words being meaningless, so they made a saying emphasizing that it is less about what you say and more about what you do.

Which of course makes sense. Obviously what we do proves where our intentions lie. Where our hearts are invested. And that is perfectly acceptable; however, I believe words should mean something. Clarification: would I believe someone loved me if they just said they did, or if they did things that proved that they did? In this case, and in many cases, I’ll admit that actions are better. Actions are proof that behind our words lay truth. But this is an entirely different topic which I’ll unpack at another time.

Ok, let’s refocus. I’m talking about the lost art of conversation. The lost art of expressing feelings, thoughts, ideas. Arguments. Compliments. Questions. When did we get so self involved that we forgot how to have transparent discussions? When did we forget that the best way to get to know someone is to listen to them? How can we do this if we’re busy filling each others’ ears with mindless chit-chat? The answer is simple: we can’t.

Yet we continue to yearn for meaningful relationships without investing the time to build them.

We are the one’s keeping meaningful relationships from ourselves. We are the ones acting counterproductively and then pouting about it. We wonder why we haven’t had a real, sincere relationship in awhile, but adamantly refuse to realize that, chances are, if our conversations suck, so will our relationships. If our conversations are shallow, so too will be our relationships.

Why do we do this to ourselves? How can we fix it? How can we have the conversations that will lead to the types of relationships we all want to have?

Practice. Listen. Ask questions that matter, then stick around for the answers. Listen some more. Ask more questions. Think. Think of the person you’re speaking with, consider where they’re coming from, their social, ethical, and moral posture. Approach people with open ears. Put down your cell phone, iPad, Nintendo DS, whatever. We can’t have meaningful conversations if we’re only half paying attention. Approach conversation in the precise way you wish others would engage with you. Don’t be the jerk who messes around playing Angry Birds while someone is trying to communicate with you. Don’t be the jerk who asks a question and then tunes out the answer because you weren’t expecting the answer to be that long. Don’t be the person who barks out one word answers. Explain, express, elaborate. We owe it to ourselves to have the conversations we haven't been having.

Confessions & a Commitment

One of the things I dislike most about myself & most people in general is the fact that it is so easy for me/us to be negative. I hate to admit that it's easy and more natural to be that way, & that I have to try really hard to be positive & encouraging. It's hard work some days.

Something else for which I have very little patience is being around complainers. And yet, so often I find myself chiming in*. I'll cringe and get super irritated when strangers whine about the minutia that we whine about (you know the stuff:  bills, travel plans, various social media scandals, celebrity shows, etc.), but get scooped up in the euphoria that venting sometimes provides. I don't care what you say or how good you swear it feels, venting for venting's sake does nothing to better one's situation. Yet I do it anyway. Usually with gusto.

I can't stand that the first person I think about in the morning is me. It bothers me that negativity so often overshadows everything; it's a blanket that stifles great joy & silver linings. Sure, there is probably going to be a negative side to most situations. But guess what? The same can be said for positivity. I want to have more of that. I want my life to be a reflection of someone who is grateful for everything she's been given, appreciative of the things she's gone through, and excited about whatever is in store for her future. I don't want to let the negative crush me. I want to make the most of things.

I've noticed that the people in my life whom I've been surrounding myself with recently are all generally very happy, encouraging people. And that makes for awesome conversations and even better relationships. Do those people have bad days? Yes. Do they sometimes get frustrated? Of course. But do they fight negativity with everything they have? Yes, they do. And that makes all the difference.

So here's what I've decided:

I don't want to be a person who annoys passers by with her sob stories about getting the wrong brand of car, the worst seat on the plane, the wrong color of pony . I don't want to be the woman who is a burden to be around. The one who can't wait to spill her whiny guts to whoever happens to be standing nearby. I want to search for the good without letting the negativity of fatigue cloud my progress. I want to move forward, not get hung up on things I'm so certain mean the end of the world. I want to help people. I want to put myself second, third, or better yet, last. I want to be genuinely positive, & not the fake smile kind of positive. I want to be honest-to-goodness positive. I want to be sincere. Transparent. Intentional.

Here's what else I've decided:

Negativity breeds cynicism & pride. Cynicism seems to be something a lot of people experiment with for a time, & I can't pinpoint exactly why that is. It seems as though people think if they're cynical & bitter (or at least act like it), others will be impressed with how different they are. As though being a cynic means you've really lived life & have great & tragic stories to tell. But that isn't true. Yes, people who put themselves out there risk being burned. And yes, being burned often results in cynical tendencies. But here's the thing about cynicism: it doesn't mean you're edgy & mysterious; it means you're deeply unhappy. And being deeply unhappy doesn't mean you've really lived life. That you truly contributed something to the world or made a difference. It means you've been hurt & it means you're stuck. Stagnant. Cynics can't wait to tell people that life isn't all rainbows, milkshakes, & great hair days. Cynics can't wait tell people that love is a lie & people are stupid & no one really gives a crap about anyone but themselves. Cynics are wounded & frozen. Wounds, especially the kind that make you want to tell people the "truth" about life, are only going fester until they're acknowledged. Only then can the healing process begin. An untended wound of the soul leads to infection of the heart.

I don't want an infection like that to set up camp inside of me. I don't want to be sucked into the quicksand of negativity & selfishness. I want to show cynics that although being prideful & angry might be easy for awhile, it creates more pain in the long-run. It creates more hurt to sift through later.  I want to seek the good. I want to be approachable. I want people to know that I'm rooting for them. That I love them.

So those are my goals this school year. And I'm all in. Pride be damned.

(*Clarification: I chime in with people I'm comfortable around, not just any group of people swapping grievances.)

"Nice Guys Finish Last"

[In the name of full disclosure: for some of my high school readers, this post may be unsavory because you have yet to get past the “all I want is a bad boy” phase. And that’s ok. You’ll get over that eventually. For those of you who continue to seek out jerks, the truth is that you’re aren’t mature enough for the kind of relationship you swear you want. If you want a true, healthy relationship, you will not find it where you’re currently looking. When you date a jerk, you’re robbing yourself of what you want. Jerks put themselves first and don’t have time for communication or compromise. True, healthy relationships do not wear jerks’ faces and have jerks’ attitudes.]

“I wasn’t mean; I wasn’t evil. I was nice. And let me tell you, a hesitant man is the last thing a woman needs. She needs a lover and a warrior, not a Really Nice Guy” (J. Eldredge).

Nice. It’s so…blah. Neutral. Just the sound of the word is boring. If a friend of mine is describing the guy she’s dating and the best she can do is tell me he’s nice, I’m immediately wondering why she’s settling.

We have the wrong idea about nice guys. So many of us say we want to be treated well, be respected, have passion, real passion with someone. But what makes us so sure that a nice guy is the answer? Why do we hang our hats on the idea that if a guy is just nice, that’s enough?

Nice isn’t enough. Nice is flimsy.

In the same way that I hope never to be summed up as merely a nice woman, the men I date and the man I will someday marry will not be simply nice. They will care about things, have personality. Be responsible. Just as I hope to be described as enthusiastic, he will be bold and make decisions. Just as I hope to be called fiercely sincere, he’ll have what it takes to tell me when I’m wrong. Just as I hope to help him be better, he’ll help me be better. Just as I will be not be a doormat, he will not be a compliant yes man. We will not be just another nice couple.

Women often think that as long as the men they date aren’t awful, they’ll do. They’ll suffice. As long as some women can point to another man out there and say: at least my boyfriend isn’t like that guy, they think they’ve got a keeper. A nice keeper they’ll settle for.

Thinking about all of this is good because it reminds me to be more than nice. Reminds me to be better. To find things I care about and pursue them wholeheartedly. To talk to people honestly, considerately. To put myself second. To be passionate. To listen. To own up to mistakes.

I want to be a person someone’s proud to be with. Not a woman who’s settled for. And I won’t be with someone who’s nice simply because he’s better than the loser sitting next to him. I won’t be convinced that nice is as good as it gets. And I hope you won’t be either.

Time for the clarification game.

-No, I’m not saying that women are incapable of making decisions for themselves. I’m saying that women should appreciate a man who knows what he wants and is bold enough to say so. A man who is bold enough to tell the truth even when it isn’t popular. A man who doesn’t hem and haw. A man who steps up and speaks up.

-No, I’m not insinuating that people who would say that nice is among other qualities their boyfriend or girlfriend has must be idiots. I’m saying someone shouldn’t date a person merely because he or she isn’t a jerk. A man whose personality is summed up by a word as cheap as nice.

-No, I’m not assuming that everyone who’s ever been called nice is a hesitant loser. I’m saying there should be more to men and women than easy-going temperaments.

Grown Up Obsession -- Our Lives as Stories

What is it about us that makes us want to grow up so fast? Why are we always waiting around, lamenting the fact that we’re not old enough to do what we really want to do?

Think about it. When we’re in middle school, we can’t wait to be in high school. After 18 happens, we’re looking toward the end of college, some of us hoping, planning, & dreaming for marriage while others of us hope for & dream about acquiring & excelling within our perfect careers. It’s all about what’s next.

Sure, there’s a bit of anxiety every now & then. There’re always questions we ask ourselves, things we wonder. When will our lives start? When will the things we wanted for ourselves happen to us? What if whatever it is that we want fails us? What if we fail others? Or what if we’re really good? What if we surprise even ourselves? What’ll that feel like? What’s next?

We forget to relish the time we have. To make the most out of the now, the present. So much of our lives are spent looking ahead, looking toward our plans, looking toward anything that isn’t what is currently happening around us. Isn’t it strange, how easy it is to ignore what’s happening when we’re focusing on what’s to come? I think it’s strange. Strange and a little sad. When we do this, we miss out on contributing to our own stories.

One of my favorite authors is named Don Miller. He writes a lot of stuff about what he believes in, what his failures have taught him, and how he tries to be a better person. One of his more recent books is called A Million Miles in a Thousand Years and it’s all about living lives that are meaningful. Story-worthy. It’s about how all the truly good stories involve a character who wants something & overcomes conflict to get it.

(Pssst. Those characters? They’re us. They’re our stories. We each get one.)

In a nutshell, Don Miller got the chance to turn one of his other books about his life and lessons learned throughout, Blue Like Jazz, into a movie. Such an undertaking gave him the chance to create and edit the story of his life. He was told by the producers that in order to portray his life as something viewers would actually pay money to see, some changes would have to be made. I found this idea really interesting. Editing your life.  Here’s an excerpt from the intro to his book, an excerpt that I’ve found myself thinking a lot about recently:

“If you watched a movie about a guy who wanted a Volvo and worked for years to get it, you wouldn’t cry at the end when he drove off the lot, testing the windshield wipers. You wouldn’t tell your friends you saw a beautiful movie or go home and put a record on to think about the story you’d seen. The truth is, you wouldn’t remember that movie a week later, except you’d feel robbed and want your money back. Nobody cries at the end of a movie about a guy who wants a Volvo.

But we spend years actually living those stories, and expect our lives to feel meaningful. The truth is, if what we choose to do with our lives won’t make a story meaningful, it won’t make a life meaningful either” (xiii).

Interesting concept, isn’t it? The thought that we’re all living out stories—the choices we make & the consequences we deal with are all ours. The decisions we make and the people we figure ourselves to be turn into the stories we’re living. Out loud. Stories that people physically watch, rather than read. Incredible.

The idea of editing one’s life is a little scary because we never really get the chance to do it. Sure, we can make different decisions, learn from lessons, mature, grow up, etc. But go back & actually change what we’ve done? Erase it completely? Impossible.

So I’m trying to learn from the rare chance Don Miller got of editing his life, giving his lackluster stories more pizzazz. I don’t want to live a lackluster life. I want each moment to matter to me. I want not to focus on just what’s ahead. I want my relationships with everyone around me to be focused. Intentional. Screw small talk. I want to ask questions. I've never been good with chit-chat. I want to find out, get to know, and then appreciate the people in my life. Out loud. I want them to know it. I want my friends and family to hear that they matter to me.

I want to focus on right now. And as many right nows as I can take advantage of. I’m not saying I want to have adventures every second, because come on, how realistic is that? But I am saying there is immense value in staying present. I want to do that. I want to be present & stay there.  

So, your story. The one you’re living right now. Is it a good one? Is it one you’d bother reading about? Are you present or is the sole function of your present to contain plans for your future?

Join me in trying to remain in the now. Let's appreciate where each of us are at this very second, rather than fantasizing about what's up ahead. We're all going to grow up. No matter how much we wish for time to speed up & grant us what we hope for, becoming adults occurs at a different pace, depending on the person.  But no matter who we are or what our plans, growing up happens in time. Let's make the most of that time, shall we?  

What Do You Want?

Where’re you going to school?

What’s your major?

What do you want to be when you grow up?

What do you do?

Where do you work?

What do you want?

So many questions. So many decisions. If everything else in life is inconsistent, no one can say that questions about our future and our goals will subside or become unpredictable. Because no matter what, people will want to know. People will always ask. We will always want to answer.

We’re not the only victims here, you know. We ask these questions, too. We can’t help ourselves. We’re all curious. Nosey. Competitive.  We put others in the same situation because we want to know what everyone’s plans are for their lives; whether it’s because we just genuinely want to know or because we use their answers as a light to guide our own ambitions, we’re all guilty of it. Wanting to know.

Aside from the fact that these questions constantly bombard all of us, we feel pressured to have an impressive answer right away. As if thinking, weighing options, changing our minds, making mistakes, or doing something different from what we said when we were 16 means we’re neurotic, noncommittal, or both. So we answer. And if we can’t—if we’re unsure—we feel inadequate. Guilty. Like just because we don’t have an answer, we’re letting down whoever asked. Whoever feels like they deserve an explanation of us about our own future. We all want to know what we want. We want to be able to tell people.

Lest we forget, we put others in this spot, too. Yikes.

But here’s the thing. Just because a question is asked doesn’t mean we have to come up with gold right away. Just because they (we) ask doesn’t mean we have to have it all figured out in that moment. It isn’t a crime to be honest & say we don’t know. That we’re figuring it out. That we’re doing our best.

For those of us who do know what we want, that’s ok too. It’s important to remember though, that just because we might have things figured out right now doesn’t mean we have the right to look down on the people who might not have things quite as ‘together’ as we do. Because here’s the kick in the pants: just because we think we have our lives all planned out doesn’t mean it’ll end up the way we think it should (for more on this, see post from June called “Before Chickens Hatch…”).

The point is, sure, being able to give answers is always great. But we aren’t any less or more important because we are or aren’t able to give them at the drop of the hat. The point is, find out what you love. Then do that with everything you have. Give it your best, because then, even if you crash & burn, there’s always the chance that you won’t. There’s always the chance that you’ll soar. But let’s say you do crash & burn. There’s no shame in picking a different path for yourself. No shame in trying something different. In changing your mind.

Just figure out what you love. What fulfills you. If you don’t do that, how are you contributing to the betterment of humanity? You can’t pour into others unless you’re filled to the brim yourself. People who work jobs they hate have a difficult time pouring into other people because they’re borderline empty themselves. Don’t be those people. Be the people who do what they love. Then inspire others to do what they love. There needs to be more people like that in the world.

So. . .what do you want?

Chicken Minis & Murphy’s Law

[my least philosophical post to date]

Before I unpack this idea, allow me to tell a little back story.

For most of my life I’ve heard people say “Well, that’s just Murphy’s Law for you,” or some other phrase that means the same thing. When I was little, I remember wondering who Murphy was & why everyone blamed him when things didn’t work out. I remember kinda feeling sorry for the guy.

It wasn’t until middle school that I asked a teacher what the phrase meant. She had planned a really cool lesson for us in the car on the way to school; a lesson that she swore was so much better than the one she’d planned in advance. Unless you are a teacher, you won’t understand the gravity of what an awesome feeling that is…just trust me when I say it’s one of the absolute best feelings ever. So anyway, in her excitement she hastily loaded the instructions into the copier, which ended up jamming and creating a hot mess. The handouts that did print were single-sided when they were supposed to be double, and stapled in two of the four corners (if any former students of mine are reading this, now you know how early I was introduced to my current nemesis: the copier). How on earth the machine allowed for two corners to be stapled is beyond me. Anyway, she rushed back into the classroom, flustered and irritated. She tossed the scraggly papers on her desk (there were probably less than 15 papers…the poor lady had 150 students) and slumped into her chair, exasperated. We were all staring at her, waiting for whatever happened next. She said:

“Of course. Murphy’s Law at its freaking finest.”

After we got over the thrill of our teacher saying an offshoot of the F word, we went back to the business of listening to her tell us that we were going to have to stick with the original, boring plan since the Xerox machine hated her guts. It was at this point in my 12 year old life that I realized I no longer pitied Murphy. Whoever he was, wherever he was, he was now on my bad list. I realized that his rules, whatever they were, made bad things happen to good people like my teacher, who was just trying to create something awesome for us to do. I did a quick rewind-flashback of all the times I’d heard the phrase, all the times it was spoken by frustrated victims, typically people I really cared about. I had a vague idea of what Murphy’s Law was, but after the bell rang in that 7^th grade English class, I hung back & asked my teacher just to be sure. Here’s what she told me:

The secret to remembering what Murphy’s Law means is in realizing that “if anything can go wrong -- it will.”

                 [Ok first off, I have to acknowledge that this is a completely negative
                             way to look at life. However, that isn't the point of this post,
                                 so stay tuned for more on that at a later date.]

I remember wondering how the heck people were supposed to know that. And where did it come from, anyway? It’s an easily applicable saying, but why is Murphy’s Law being used when people don’t know who the guy was or what he did? Since middle school, I’ve come up with my own way of relating to his rules.

I think a great culturally relevant example of this law can be found in Chick-Fil-A’s hours of operation. I call it The Chicken Mini Theory. I like it better than Murphy’s Law because most of the people that use the phrase “Murphy’s Law” don’t realize that it was initially coined during a rocket-sled experiment for the US Air Force that went wrong (thanks, Wikipedia!!).  The Chicken Mini Theory, however, is right there in the definition. Chicken minis. Enough said.

As we all know, the beloved fast food chain is closed on Sundays. And wouldn’t you know, that is the day that I am always, always hungry for chicken minis. I’m not sure what it is about Sunday mornings, but I can honestly tell you that I can’t remember a Sunday where I’ve woken up NOT craving those deliciously battered nuggets. Here’s a peek at the well-practiced dance I do on the seventh day of almost every week:

wake up, crave minis, start putting shoes on to go get said minis, realize halfway through shoelace on left shoe that it’s Sunday, cry a little on the inside, mentally sort through other breakfast options half-heartedly ‘cause once you’ve craved and imagined consuming such a delicious breakfast it’s hard to top it, take right shoe off, unlace left shoelace, dejectedly head to the kitchen.

Why do I always do this? Why, on all other SIX days of the week, do I not crave chicken minis? How come my body is programmed to crave them on the one day they aren’t available? Because. As our friend Murphy tells us, If anything can go wrong it will. Plus, we always want what we can’t have. (Post to come on that topic soon. It will be much more serious than fast food, I promise.)

  

[For the record, I have nothing against Chick-Fil-A’s hours & everything against my inconvenient cravings of their food. Please hear me on that. I truly respect that Chick-Fil-A observes Sundays as a day of rest. I actually think it’s pretty cool of the company to operate like that. Honor the Lord’s day, rest up, we’ll see y’all on Monday. Word.]

The Chicken Mini Theory can be easily applied to a multitude of examples having nothing to do with the minis themselves, much like how Murphy’s Law is never applied to rocket-sled experiments. The difference between the two is that, while few of us can relate to Murphy’s engineering mishap, most of us can relate to the unfortunate wrong of craving food that is unattainable. Running late for an important meeting & you get stuck in awful traffic? Chicken Mini Theory. Going on a first date and you wake up the morning of with a huge pimple on your face? Chicken Mini Theory. Trying to sneak up behind someone and end up tripping and knocking them over? Chicken Mini Theory.

The possibilities are endless.

Truth or Dare

This game - everyone sitting in a circle late at night, munching on snacks and slurping juice boxes - is a game that reveals the true character of those playing, no matter how old they are. This game used to strike terror in me at slumber parties where mean girls were present. I think it's safe to say that we would all be able to recall an accepted challenge or secret spilled while playing Truth or Dare during childhood. I also think it's safe to say that we could all remember being surprised or impressed (or both) with some of our friends as they courageously admitted something or mischievously completed a task. Those things tend to stick with us.

 

Everyone knows that if you go truth, you're a pansy. You're a pansy because you picked truth out of fear for what the dare would make you do. Plus, if you pick truth, you can always lie. Everyone knows that dare is where the fun is. Dare results in a variety of things, from toilet seats being licked to hamsters getting shaved, from kissing to strangers receiving calls in the middle of the night, among other things. You know. Dare is where street cred starts. 

 

Truth or Dare is a party game that presents and reveals the binaries of our character. It is one of many chances we have to decide who we are. For a lot of us, playing Truth or Dare was the first time we were put to the test to see how far we were willing to go to attain & retain Cool. And that game isn't restricted just to elementary school slumber parties. In fact, the older we get, the more outrageous the dares demanded of us, the more scandalous the truths required. The stakes are higher. We have reputations to protect. 

 

As we grow up, we are constantly presented with opportunities to show our character. If I've heard it once, I've heard it a thousand times: life is full of character-defining moments all lined up. As old as that saying might be, I have to admit it is undeniable. So the better we know ourselves, the better. The better we know ourselves, the more comfortable we will be with showing people who we are. The choices presented, the unavoidable challenges of real life, all come down to us deciding who we are & how we will approach a given situation. While Truth or Dare may be a silly (or torturous, depending on who you are) game meant to pass the time late at night, we will continue to be challenged as long as we are alive. We will be faced with difficult choices & circumstances, each with their own set of consequences. Long-lasting consequences.

I'm not saying don't play Truth or Dare. I'm not saying that if you choose dare you're a horrible person, or that if you lie in response to a truth, you're an immoral person. I'm just asking you to recognize that it isn't just a game. You define yourself through that game as a kid, just like you will during other life experiences as an adult. So figure out who you are. Figure out what you stand for. 

 

 

[One last bit of advice: if you play Truth or Dare with real, true friends, you won't feel the pressure to lie or do something you're not ok with. And if you're playing with real, true friends & still feel that pressure, maybe just stick to Twister or ghost stories :)]. 

Before they actually hatch, chickens can't be counted on

(I realize now that the title of this post makes it seem like I've invited you to a great big pity party. To be clear, that isn't what's going down. I hate pity parties.)


Don't count your chickens before they hatch.
How many times have we been told this phrase, or an offshoot of this phrase? How many times have we counted on something to pan out...that didn't? How many of us had a minor panic attack because the thing we'd been assuming would occur because we wanted it to didn't go the way we planned or didn't go at all?

For a long time, I was a Pre-Hatch Chicken Counter (PHCC). I'd have these plans, these lists, these expectations.The plans were simple, crisp, no-nonsense. Impossible to screw up (according to me). So after writing out these impenetrable and extremely thorough plans, whether they were mental notes or scrawled onto a calendar or agenda, I would make more plans. Plans about what would happen after my first, foundational plans worked out.

Anyone else see the cliff I'm speeding toward?

These plans varied. They could be about something as surface level as a list of "What to Pack for Vacation," or a soul-bearing saga called "What am I Doing with My Life?". Dinner parties planned around particular groceries that were named on a separate list (and had yet to be bought), professional milestones planned out before the stepping stone goals were accomplished, etc. If something could be planned, I planned it. If something could be planned as a successor to the original plan, I plannned it. Everything was great. Screw that old saying.

Fast forward to a few years ago.
Imagine a fresh-faced college graduate (this is me). A fresh-faced college graduate with, in addition to a Bachelor's in English and a Master's in Curriculum and Instruction, the foolish expectation that principals in schools all over Texas are waiting by their computers, phones, and secretaries for the moment I send them my resume or stop by for an interview. Ha. As if I was the only one applying for a job. Here is what my life looked like from March - August of 2010:

Resumes sent. Applications tirelessly filled out. Phone calls phone calls phone calls. Waiting. Interview. No word back. Follow up emails follow up emails follow up emails. More resumes sent. Waiting. More applications. Waiting. Word back on first interview: sorry, we need people with experience. More resumes. More applications. Follow up emails follow up emails follow up emails. Waiting. Interview. No word back. Phone calls phone calls phone calls. Word back on second (third, fourth) interview: sorry, we need people with experience. Resumes. Applications. We're actually not hiring. Sorry. sorry. sorry. Cue panic.

Despite the fact that I planned how the application, interview, and acceptance of a job process would go; despite the fact that I had already figured out where I would live in each of the cities I'd applied to; despite the fact that I ignorantly assumed (like I'd been doing my whole life) that these plans were fool-proof; I was so sure things would work out according to my plans. They were written down, afterall. Who cares that the country is experiencing the worst economic decline since The Great Depression, I've had my life figured out for awhile now. So what if teachers aren't quitting or retiring or transfering because jobs are so hard to secure? Planning is enough...isn't it? I'm an expert planner, so I don't need to concern myself with any possibilities that stray from my agenda.

Needless to say, I Pre-Hatch Chicken Counted myself into a mass of flesh and stress.

To give you an idea of what those few months looked like, it was a combination of indignation that I'd have to substitute teach (the horror!), outraged that I'd have to continue living at my (generous) parents' house until I could make & save some money (because God forbid people would find out), and a mixture of self pity and self loathing that I couldn't land a job despite copious planning (Failure, party of one?). 

I could go into all the details of my anxiety and growing pains throughout those five months, but I think those two paragraphs above sum it up pretty well. Plus, remembering just how self-absorbed and prideful I was makes my heart hurt a little bit. Ok, a whole lot.

The point of my story is this: it doesn't matter how much we plan. It doesn't matter how well-intentioned our planning may be. It doesn't matter that we're convinced we'll die a little inside if our plans don't work out. It doesn't matter who we are or how grand our plans. It doesn't matter if our plan is short-term (to make it through high school & the drama that feeds upon everyone inside), or if our plan is long-term (to be a surgeon who will save countless lives). We could take all the right steps, precautions, & prerequisites & still not get what we want when we want it. And that has nothing to do with us doing something wrong, but everything to do with the fact that outside factors are beyond our control. Sometimes stuff happens that we can't avoid or ignore; sometimes stuff threatens or prevents our goals, regardless of how many years we've been dreaming them up. What matters is our response to those threats. Do we crumple because our sensitive, Pre-Hatch Chicken Counting heart wasn't prepared for adversity? Be stronger than I was. Be steadfast in reaching what you hope for. Just because something doesn't work out when you want it to, doesn't mean you'll never get it or don't deserve it. It means you have to adjust. Be flexible. Work on a different approach, perhaps.

My story has turned out prety well so far. After I got over myself and realized my plans were narrow & that it was pointless to sit & wallow in a thick pool of if onlys, I got an attitude adjustment. I realized I wasn't in control. I realized that my options were A) get off my butt & do something, or B) continue sitting on the couch feelng sorry for myself & holding a grudge against the economy. Thank the Lord I chose option A. Thanks to Him, I was reminded of a different saying: whatever you do, do it well.

I subsitute taught all of Fall semester, student taught all of Spring semester, and was offered the best job in the world the next school year. I learned to appreciate my parents' graciousness of allowing me to live at home, learned to be flexible, and apologized to them a lot. Looking back, the transformative process was kind of beautiful.

I still have a long ways to go in this department. I still have days where I feel the stress and panic rising up in my throat whenever an idea or plan or goal doesn't go the way I expected it to. But the difference is that now, I go into problem solving mode. Flexibility mode.

We can overcome a lot more than we think we can. Our hearts are stronger than we realize.

Passion > Money

I have the best job in the world. Not because everyone wishes they did what I do (because they don't), not because I make a ton of money (because I don't), & not because I only work 8am-4pm on weekdays (seriously, y'all. . .people actually believe that). I have the best job in the world because I get to interact with some of the best kind of people: high school students.  I get to be around awesome teenagers searching for who they are, what they want from life, & what they want to contribute to the world. These kids push themselves to be better; these kids share their ideas & philosophies with me & each other. They are sincere and sarcastic, curious & creative. They challenge me every day. They surprise me every day. They let me listen to them, let me encourage them, & let me be part of their lives. I'm so freaking lucky.

I can't believe that at 25, I know I'm doing exactly what I was put here to do. I'm still scratching my head, trying to figure out what I did to deserve such an incredible gig. Out of all the jobs I could have chosen, or thought I wanted at one time or another, I've known since I was 10 that teaching is where I belong. It's where I'm at home. The coolest part of all of that is that I love it despite the fact that I would in no way consider myself an expert. I still have so, so much to learn. There is so much out there that I can use to make me better at what I do, there are so many other teachers I can learn from & look up to. That's the beauty of it. Every year there is opportunity to build on what I've already done or completely scrap it and start over (the second one happens more often than I'd like to admit). There's choice involved. Not just mine, but the students', too. It's unpredictable in the best way possible. Each year is different because each kid is different.

I have pulled more all-nighters as a teacher than I ever did in college. I am in a perpetual state of being up to my eyes in essays, up to my neck in deadlines, and up to my ears in parent emails, meetings, & staff development. But I get to deal with all of that while surrounded by young men and women who have so much talent. So many questions. So much to offer. How great is that??

My job lends itself to investing in people. It lends itself to building relationships and trust. As many times as I've been frustrated with a particular student or situation, I get to laugh twice as often (at least). It doesn't matter that the pay isn't outstanding. It doesn't matter that others disregard the teaching profession because they're (ignorantly) convinced "anyone can do it."  None of that matters. I get the opportunity to step back and be impressed by what my kids are able to create, think of, dream up. Passion & enthusiasm make my job worth every second. It's what makes me miss my students the third day into summer. It's what keeps me coming back in August, excited to meet the new batch of kids whose lives will change my own.

If it wasn't for my students, I can't tell you where I'd be or what I'd love. And I'm ok with that.