Helpless??

Years ago, in Cochabamba, Bolivia, I was standing on a street corner with my friend Jean, waiting for some people to join us. As we stood there, we noticed a girl alone on the other side of the street. And nearby, two young men. There was something odd about the situation. Or at least, it seemed odd to us as we observed the three. Suddenly, one of the boys went up to the girl and she seemed to be trying to get him to leave her alone. Then, the other one started running up. Not knowing what to do, I instinctively started moving towards them and yelling something.

But before I could see what happened, Jean grabbed me by the arm and pulled me away. She was terrified. And suddenly, so was I. Maybe it was because we had just been robbed a day or two before by four young men with a gun. Maybe it was because I had no idea what I would have done if there was some sort of trouble. Maybe it was because in reality, I wasn't sure if anything was going on and maybe I was just making a scene. But as we ran the other way down the street I was overwhelmed by a horrifying sense of helplessness.

I was useless.
Powerless.
Ridiculous.

Last night, I was left with a similar feeling.

While some friends and I were eating dinner in a restaurant, a man came by pulling a woman aggressively by the arm. She pulled her arm away and walked out in front of him. As everyone at my table exchanged confused glances, I saw them walk by the window. Again, he was violently dragging her along. I mentioned this to my friends and decided to go outside and see what was going on. They were arguing on the street. I stood there for a minute and then... went inside.

I wanted to intervene somehow. I wanted to say something. But I didn't. I went back to the table and sat down again with my friends and we all went on almost as if nothing had happened.

Something did happen though. And I regret my lack of action. I don't know if it was because I was a little frightened. Or embarrassed. Or feeling silly since no one else seemed to think it was a big deal (and I am, to my shame, really sensitive about being considered an "over reactor"). Or maybe because I just had no idea what I could or should do. Whatever the reason, I should have done more than just stand on the street for a moment staring at them and feeling unsettled and awkward. I should have acted.

This morning, still feeling upset over the incident from last night, I started to consider the problem. Mostly, I feel like I need more information (and probably courage too). I need to know what the right thing to do is. Can you just go up to someone and say, "Is everything alright?" Is that too weird and invasive? Or is that the right thing to do when you are concerned about a situation? So I did a little research. I am attaching a few articles (here and here and here) in case anyone else is interested in some advice on dealing with abusive situations in public. I feel much more confident to act now. And though I still feel guilty for doing nothing, I think if I see something like that again, I will know what to do.

Also, in honor of International Women's Day yesterday (coincidence??), while I am proud of the great strides women have made in our country an around the world, there is still so much work to be done if we want true equality and justice for all people. Just the fact alone that I was the only person in the restaurant who even got out of my chair when a woman was being dragged out by her arm (and still did absolutely nothing useful), reminds me that physical (and emotion and mental) abuse is still far too commonplace in our society. We ALL have work to do if this is ever going to change. I love this article about the need for men and women to work together to end violence and promote equality. This is a conversation that needs to be front and center in our lives. And luckily, there are some great people and organizations that are facilitating discussion and awareness and making incredible strides in our communities! This list of things you can do from ONE is a great place to start.

Because the truth is, we don't have to be helpless!

An elementary course on making friends

Today when I got to school one of my students looked up at me and excitedly shrieked, "Messy hair!!!"

After feeling embarrassed for a few moments, I decided she actually must have just felt a special connection to me, since her pretty blond hair is regularly a bit of a rat's nest. And it made me a little more okay with her pointing out that I am sporting a slightly more disheveled look today.

Only second to the enjoyment my students get when my hair is a disaster is how pleased they are when I flip out and jump "5 feet in the air" when the fire alarm goes off. They could laugh about that for hours!

And they did.

Actually.... they still are.

once upon a time it was the year 2012

and in that year I did not die. Though perhaps I went into hiding for a bit. Maybe I haven't come out yet completely. But I can't move on without saying something.

Last year was... not really a year. It was not one. A whole. A unified entity.

I think of last year and I feel I lived so many lives in so little time. It is a little scary. And a little hard to explain--being many people. And yet only one.

2012 started smack dab in the middle of my life in Spain. I rang in the new year with my Spain family in the living room of that house where I lived that part of my life. We celebrated with food and dancing and music and joy. Just a year later and it feels like an eternity ago.

The women of my Spain family!

A reason to go home.  (photo by Spencer Boerup)

A month later, in February, I was home. I was celebrating again. This time, the marriage of a dear best amazing darling friend. It was like being picked up and dropped, for a few days, right into the middle of a life I hadn't lived for years--my friends and family together again for the first time in more than a year for some of us. It was magical. And hard. And wonderful and frightening and short.



Within a week, I was back in my Spain life. Teaching. Traveling. Hanging out with friends and alone and living as if it was all normal and real. Dating and breaking up. Laughing and crying and just being. Until it was done. And there were goodbyes and endings and unanswerable questions about futures. As there usually are.

Half way through 2012. Just turned 25.
Florence, Italy.

I left Spain on my own. I spent my 25th birthday as a tourist somewhere in Tuscan Italy, in the middle of a new adventure that was, for the first time, mine alone. Post-Spain. Pre-NewTucson. I wandered through Italy and fell in love with the beautiful landscapes and churches and paintings and history. I drifted through Paris and was enchanted with everything, even though it was sometimes cold, even in July. I ate the best falafel of my life and entered the homes of great artists and felt like the very air there made the world and people and myself lovelier somehow. I decided that my next language would be French.

(I'm not joking, but I should be.) 

Dad and me at The Alhambra.
Granada, Spain.

Days later, in mid-July, I was traipsing through southern Spain with my Dad. Driving on back roads through beautiful countryside. Hiking through otherworldly rock formations. Floating in the salty sea waters of the Mediterranean. Trying to take it all in. But already being pulled into what was next.

When I arrived in Tucson at 11:30 pm on July 29, I was already scheduled to attend training for my new job at 8 am the next morning. In the most unlikely turn of events, I was already a teacher. A 4th grade teacher at a little charter school. And the next unbearably new part of my life had started.   right at the end of July. Without pomp or ceremony. Without time to wrap anything up or become (re)acquainted with this new home. What was had ended and what would be was already bulldozing a new path I hardly had time to consider before launching myself into it.

The last 5 months of 2012 were a blur. A terrifying, glorious mess. An education and a re-education. A new beginning. A return to the past. I still hardly know what to do with those months. They disappeared faster than my brain could take them in. I was home for the first time in 6 months or 7 years, depending on how you look at in. But really, I was in a new life and a new place, not even knowing the street names (anymore). There was no time to think or process, there was barely time to breathe. Luckily, I had my family. My friends. Such good friends! And zumba classes and running and great co-workers and funny moments and busy-good weekends. I even went rock climbing--a new love!

Then it was over.

Well, sort of. Because the year and the phase are not the same thing.

I still don't know what to make of 2012. Except that it is all a blessing. One more piece of my life. Of my heart. Of my soul. Of who I am and will be. Whoever that is.

With that, I wish you all an abundance of peace and love, wherever this crazy life takes you!
xo

LATEST UPDATE: Loss of reasoning abilities and moderation sweep country

Recently, there have been increased incidence of what are known as "hearing malfunctions" among United States citizens. From West to East and North to South, no population seems to be immune to this malfunction, and reports of it are increasing daily. Strangely enough, when this disorder occurs people across the country are listening to the same words at the same time, yet, despite written transcripts and the ability to replay the exact words, there is increasing disagreement on what is actually being said.

This is just one symptom of a frightening epidemic of what some are starting to refer to "Partisanitis." The affects are quite tragic, leaving victims seething and seizing in overblown fits of rage, indignation and childishness. And scariest of all is that the infected actually believe themselves to be in an increased state of awareness and accuracy--when faced with real facts and rational thinking "Partisanisia" seems to set in and only a very limited and selective portion of the world population, history and reality in general seems able to enter the affected minds. All other views are categorized as cruel, stupid, unrealistic, ridiculous and even evil.

The epidemic is characterized by the following symptoms:

First, the disease seems to start with a slight eye problem, wherein everything begins to look not just black and white, but actually distinct shades of red and blue. Interestingly enough, personal opinion strongly influences the side affects of the afflicted patients. Depending on ideas and feelings of the patient, either red or blue begins to produce extreme feelings of anger, resentment and distrust. It is also associated with emotional outbursts and unreasonable characterizations of people and ideas associated with the unfavorable color.

Next comes the earlier mentioned hearing malfunctions. These are directly related to the color associations. When a person or group is associated with the upsetting color, everything said is understood by the affected mind as an evil attempt to destroy lives--often the patient believes the words are a direct affront to their personal well-being and value system. On the other hand, when a person associated with the other, favorable color speaks, there is a feeling of calm, approval and support. This feeling may be produced at times through actual evidence, but is generally founded on nothing more than vague statements that cannot be tried, proven or substantiated in reality. As, in fact, are the upsetting statements.

However, the most disgraceful and tragic side affect of Partisanitis occurs when the infected persons begin, as if driven and unable to control themselves, to attempt to spread their disease to as wide an audience as possible. This takes the form of unpleasant and often embarrassing statements strewn across social media sites, sickeningly falsified data published in advertisements and across the news, internet and posted on bumper-stickers, and much more. People speak as though there were no alternative perspective and as though those associated with the negatively perceived color were actually devil possessed and seeking the demise of the entire human population. Or at least certain populations deemed important by the affected persons.

All inhabitants of the United States are encouraged to be on guard for signs of Partisanitis in themselves and those they know. It is suggested that when these disturbing behaviors are observed that they be ignored and the person displaying them pitied. While Partisanitis tells the victims of the disease otherwise, it should be stated that there is no secret plot by any person currently seeking to be elected as President of the United States to overthrow the government, wreck the lives of all humans and destroy the world. And while those suffering from the affects of this ailment will try to convince you that one color-associated person or another is actually, as one patient of partisanitis put it, "hiding your true motive to make America weak and vulnerable," these are the ramblings of sick minds.

Unaffected citizens are asked to calmly review facts, make logical and reasonable decisions, discuss issues and listen to the views of other unaffected, rational people with respect and dignity. It is not advisable, under any circumstances, to attempt a reasonable, rational or logical discussion with any person suffering from Partisanistis. There is no cure except for what can be called an "epiphany" of reason that takes place within the patient. These are rare and miraculous but do occur in some more evolved patients. In the meantime, we must be patient and hope that by the end of November our families, friends and associates will be restored to their normal selves, as is often the case (though sadly, some of the infected are irredeemable even outside of election season).

Be careful out there!

Disclaimer!!!!!!

Experts are still debating the actual diagnosis of Partisanitis.

It has not been officially recognized by the  AMA.

However, due to high and increasing incidence the author wishes to bring 

the matter to the attention of the innocent.

It should also be mentioned that the author is 

NOT IMMUNE

to her own moments of Partisanitis.

She also does find it encouraging and beautiful that many people

have become interested and involved in the election process.

She only wished they would be more civil.

And less disgusting.

Ya know?

Avoiding. But not giving up.

Every few days I look at my blog, as if to see if by some miracle something has been mysteriously posted there without my knowledge. (hope hope hope)

But alas, nothing new has appeared. And while I have felt increasingly guilty for my neglectfulness (why? how? I am accountable to no one for this blog... and yet...), I have been avoiding it. The truth is, every time I consider writing I either feel suddenly void of anything worthwhile (SPELLING WORD!!.. for my 4th graders) or have too many half-developed, unconnected semi-thoughts running through my mind to decide what I should actually put into a post. My last few (and far between) posts have reflected this dearth of inspiration and I am really quite ready to replace them with something more interesting, thoughtful and important. There are unlimited possibilities to solve this dilemma, but I am either too lazy or too dull to make them work of late.

I am trying to do better.

For now I will just share this:

'Cause even the stars they burn 
Some even fall to the earth 
We've got a lot to learn 
God knows we're worth it 
No, I won't give up 

I don't wanna be someone who walks away so easily 
I'm here to stay and make the difference that I can make 
Our differences they do a lot to teach us how to use 
The tools and gifts we got yeah, we got a lot at stake 
And in the end, you're still my friend at least we did intend 
For us to work we didn't break, we didn't burn 
We had to learn how to bend without the world caving in 
I had to learn what I've got, and what I'm not 
And who I am 

I won't give up on us 
Even if the skies get rough 
I'm giving you all my love 
I'm still looking up 
Still looking up.

Gorgeous words. Beautiful. I am feeling the need to get up and get moving. To do more. To be more. This song reminds me of the hope there is in the world. The never-ending supply of loveliness. The strength and depth of the human spirit. And I can always use that.

Enjoy.

A little of nothing

I should say something. I guess. Because it has been so long. Or because there are so many things to say (as usual). Or because I just want to.

And yet, despite all of that, about the only things I have to comment on are:

1. Teaching is really hard. Some days I feel okay about it. Some days I wish I had the internet set up at my apartment so I could start looking for a new gig.
2. I finally read the Hunger Games series, and despite a complete lack of confidence that I would be very impressed, I actually really enjoyed the books. They were interesting, well written and thought provoking. They were written for a young audience, obviously (though sometimes the gore was a bit much. I know, I'm sensitive.). So on a Young Adult Fiction scale from about a Twilight to a Harry Potter, they rank about a 7. Not bad at all. And I do recommend them to anyone who has held out like me. Worth the read.
3. As you may have guessed from #1, I am now in a new apartment. On my own. I really like it, though I am still not entirely moved in or unpacked. The biggest problem is cockroaches. I think I pretty much took care of that with some Raid Bug Barrier, but the thought of these prehistoric (are they really?) beasts has interrupted my normal life quite a bit. I have terrible thoughts of them crawling on my clothes and cups and plates and spoons which makes it hard for me to use or touch anything without compulsively washing the object and my hands repeatedly. I imagine the creatures waiting until my eyes are closed to crawl out of hidden spaces and walk on me during my sleep. I can't stand too near the sink when I wash my face, in case they sneak out of the drain or from the cupboards under the sink while I have my eyes tight shut to keep the soap out (even though I always check under there first), thus I get a lot of water on the floor trying to get the water to my face from more than an arms length away. I blast scalding water down the drain anytime I am going to take a shower, just as a precaution. When I get home I open the door from a good distance back and make a sweeping appraisal to make sure it's alright to enter. If I need to turn a light on I always look at the switch first to make sure there isn't a bug on the wall. And I don't enter any space without the lights. I will not be taken by surprise. I keep every drained closed at all times and periodically spay things with an extra layer of bug spray so that it never has the opportunity to wear off. If anything moves of makes a shadow I jump and flinch. And even though I haven't found any cockroaches dead or alive for several days, I open cupboards and move plates and bags and boxes slowly and from safe distances, to give myself time to run, if necessary. I hope to be able to relax again... someday.
4. I am feeling guilty about all the people I owe phone calls. I know it's not really new and I am generally bad at keeping in touch, but I have been especially guilty of this since I got back from Spain. Please forgive me.
5. I want to hike to Romero Pools. Soon.

There are probably more important things I should add, but since right now I should be planning what I am going to teach my class tomorrow, that's all for now, folks. I really love you a lot if you are still reading this abandoned blog :)

Time tricks

I told myself I needed to apply to jobs before I left Spain. Before I traveled. Before I got home. I wanted to be prepared. I wanted to be responsible. And I didn't really believe it would make any difference anyway.

In the back of my mind I had a plan. I would relax. Re-adjust. Unpack. And slowly dip my toes into working. Maybe I'd start part-time. I'd work at Bookmans and revel in the calm bookstore atmosphere, traipsing around between the bookshelves full of delightful used old books. I'd love it. And it would be relaxing and low-key. And I would just take it easy. Or something.

Little did I know that something else awaited me. A crazy whirlwind that would leave me less than 8 hours difference between the time my plane landed back home and the time I had to to work the next day. Little did I know that from that first day on I would be swamped with paperwork, planning, organizing,  preparing and arranging. Little did I know that being an elementary school teacher would put me in over my head more than I have ever been before. And I am in way over my head.

But I'm glad that's the way it turned out. I never saw myself as a 4th grade teacher. And I am not sure if I do even now. Yet, that's what I am, for the time being. And for the last three weeks I have been thrown into the midst of a new world. A world where everything is so simple and yet so unbearably complex all at once. Where every day there is something new. There is constantly something fabulously sweet or beautiful or valuable. And also something so utterly frustrating and incomprehensibly ridiculous I don't know how I am going to stand it. I reach the end of each day exhausted. I am asking everyone questions. I am searching for new answers and solutions, learning something I thought I knew all over again. Seeing everything from a new angle and trying to figure out what that means and how to deal with it.

And mostly, since I got back home, just 3 weeks ago, I am wondering why the days are shorter than ever before. How time seems to run out so quickly and why there is never never time for everything. Not nearly.

Of course, that really shouldn't surprise me. Time has always been the greatest trickster. So, I guess nothing is new after all. It's all just the same story over and over again.

And it's good to be back.

How nightmares become reality

This morning I couldn't find my hairbrush, which is weird, since I am usually so organized and tidy and have everything in its place. (Former roommates, no comments please!) Then I saw it sitting on the table. As I went to grab it, I yanked my hand back with sudden shock as my brain recalculated the situation--comb/scissors/hair/disaster!! Turns out, instead of a green hair comb it was my green-handled pair of scissors. Even first thing in the morning, that's the kind of detail you can't let yourself overlook!

Now, hopefully I am not so spacey that I would actually try to comb my hair with a pair of scissors. But the experience was especially disconcerting because I had just woken up from a strange dream... like most dreams, I guess.... Last night in my dream I got this really great new job (I have no idea what it was, but in my dream, I was thrilled.). Unfortunately the next day I was certain I was going to get fired because somehow I had a really horrible haircut, and I didn't know how it happened. I just remember trying to hide my lopsided bangs from my boss, as we were talking face to face, knowing all along that I was doomed!

I hope that I will ever get fired from a job over my haircut (or wake up someday looking like a preschooler mistook my head for an art project. Or like I confused my hairbrush with a pair of scissors... who does that?), but still, the coincidence of having a hair "nightmare" and then brush with disaster seemed like kind of a freaky coincidence.

Even freakier, I also dreamed this week that I went home to see a friend who was getting married. We were on our way for me to meet the fiance when my friend commented that she had just met his other wife, who was "super nice." "Oh, so he's divorced?" I asked. "No." My friend replied, giving me a puzzled look, completely unphased by the fact that she was about to enter into matrimony with an already married man. In fact, no one in my dream seemed the least bit concerned with the situation. It was like everyone had suddenly gone crazy. I was the only sane one left. I knew I had to take things into my own hands! I met the guy, and he seemed nice enough. And I thought to my(dream)self, "He's a sweet guy. It's a pity I'm going to have to ruin his wedding. I hope my friends don't hate me forever for this!" I had no plan, but I had my certainty--THIS WEDDING MUST BE DESTROYED!

Dreams.... to be honest, I hope most of mine never come true!

The moment:

Suddenly the boys I've ordered across the room, in a final attempt to deter their note passing with the girls in the classroom next door (through a very inconvenient sliding door connecting the two classes), seem more suspicious than usual. They have all starting humming a familiar song that I can't quite place my finger on. This is when I notice the sliding door moving slightly, apparently on its own. Then I catch it, the boys are humming "mission impossible." One of them has crawled all the way across the room on all fours and is attempting to slide the note under the door.

That's when I realize: It's all one big joke. For them, my every attempt at order and authority is a game they are trying to beat. They already know I'm harmless.

...

I am reading a book right now* in which, amongst many other things, a woman starts teaching high school, but is not a certified teacher. And boy can I relate to her:

"My first day [teaching high school] had gone as smoothly as anybody could reasonably hope--no revolts, no crises major or minor. Still, I couldn't put a finger on what it was, but standing in front of a roomful of high school students seemed to use up a ferocious amount of energy. It made me think of those dancers in white boots and miniskirts who used to work bars in the sixties, trying desperately to entertain, flailing around like there was no tomorrow."

Yep. That's about right.

*the book is Animal Dreams by Barbara Kingsolver,

if you wan to check it out.

ps. not all of my classes are like that.

and I have actually learned to love teaching.

but then there are those moments...

I'm not sure if I want to laugh or scream.

Humans

"Later Lin understood about her grandmother not wanting to think about the past. Auntie, Grandmother's sister, told Lin how the old woman had been raped and left for dead, cut at the neck. Auntie said she found her, the woman's long hair red with blood all about her neck and shoulders. Auntie grabbed her and lifted her. 'You! Sister, wake up! You are breathing!' Auntie yelled. By some miracle, the artery was not cut, even though Grandmother thought she was dead, wished she was, and lay back weak and limp, but she was yelled into life by a woman almost too thin to have a voice.

"[I]t was why Grandmother always wore one of her two scarves. It was why here eyes saw only as far back as they would; not far. . . .

"Lin buried her head against her great-aunt's chest. 'Is it human?' Lin asked. 'To do that. Is it human?'

". . .'Yes. I think it is human. There is so much to a human.'

'Does it have to be?'

'I don't know.' She braided the child's hair. 'But that's enough for now. There's only so much a girl can hear.' Just then there was a gunshot in the distance.

"Later, when they were down in the reddish sand by the water, she held Lin and said, 'I'm sorry.' Crying.

"Lin studied her face, to see what she meant. She looked at her fine nose, her cheek that seemed dented, her eyes. Lin said, 'I know. You're sorry about humans.'

"Auntie nodded, hiding her face."

-Linda Hogan, The People of the Whale

I can barely begin to explain the beauty and the tragedy and the redemption of The People of the Whale. Reading it at times was like being inside the minds and hearts of people both magnificent as well as deeply wounded. This passage sums up one of the overarching themes of the book: the capacity for humans to hurt, torture, lie, and kill--each other, other creatures, nature, society--anything and everything around them. The depths of disgrace to which they can succumb when they are not whole; when they are lost and afraid and have traded in their hearts for a sense of personal survival or desire. It is tragic and terrible.

I too have questioned the ugliness that exists within humanity and even lamented being a part of a race with such a capacity for cruelty; so fallible; so easily broken and twisted and led astray.

And yet.

In life, in this world, (and in The People of the Whale) alongside every act of disgrace there is also beauty. For every broken soul there are others working to rebuild; to strengthen; to teach. Just as the world is full of hatred and woundedness, it is also ripe with compassion and healing. And the horrors and glories of humanity are mingled together and twisted into our histories and our lives in ways that cannot be easily separated and explained. It is all too complex. Too intertwined. Too deeply connected in every aspect of life and our very beings. I wonder if it is even possible to delve deep enough into the human heart and spirit to comprehend the disparate halves of our being and the incongruencies of goodness and evil that are among us and within us.

Really and truly, "There is so much to a human." Beautiful and terrible. Miraculous and sorrowful. I don't really know what else to say about that. I don't know how to accept it, to live with it, to assimilate that reality into my understanding of the world. But I see it, constantly. And I know it is part of me too; that I contain both good and evil; that I have beauty, but also brokenness. In the end I just hope that we can find ways to bring all of that together; that we can heal those parts of us all that have suffered and unify our goodness and compassion and love. I think it is possible. I pray it is.

image: Linda Hogan

The things Alfred Hitchcock has done to me.

In Spain I live in a wonderful room. A loft. At the top of the house with lots of space and light that comes in through the two big windows on either side of the room. Some days, like today, when it is sunny and warm, I like to open one or both windows allowing air and sun and the noise of the outdoors to come in.

Today really was a beautiful day. Warm--27 degrees! (Celcius of course!)-- and bright, with just a touch of a breeze. So of course I couldn't pass up the opportunity to leave my one window wide open all afternoon! Finally, towards evening I was getting ready to go for a run in this lovely weather when, suddenly, there was a sort of banding noise and a little sparrow came flying in. For a second I was delighted. How cute!

But then, I saw the panic in the bird's eyes as it starting flailing about and hurling itself around the room. So, doing what any courageous soul might do, as the poor bird collided with the closed window on the opposite side of the room, I squealed and raced into the bathroom shutting the door quickly behind me and then stared blankly into the darkness.... since I had forgotten to hit the light switch, which is inconviently placed outside of the bathroom. Why? Don't ask why in Spain. These people are just different...*

After standing there in the pitch black room for a minute and hearing no terrifying sounds in the on the other side of the door, I took my chances and peaked out, not sure if I was more frightened to see the bird bomb-driving towards my face or to find it injured (or worse) near the not-so-open window. However, as I carefully scanned the room, all traces of the bird had vanished. . .

. . . unfortunately, with it also went my last shred of dignity.

So I guess, if you're looking for the moral of the story it's basically this: If you need some help in high stress, emergency situations, where calm, collected thinking is a requirement-- I'm your girl! Just think what you could do with this kind of bravery, quick thinking and logic at your disposal!

*Also, Spanish people aren't really different... all the time.

Habits

I like to think of myself as healthy--I mean, I like to exercise! Today, for example, I went running.

What I don't like to confess is that before going running I ate half a bowl of cookie dough...

...and I almost skipped running to eat the rest.

Real is better than perfect.

Today I saw someone put this quote up, as if it is good advice:

"Pretend to be completely in control and people will assume that you are."

Steve Jobs

But I think it is terrible advice. I think this is exactly what is wrong with the world and all of us. I've made that mistake (many times) and I know it is nothing but pride and fear that makes us pretend.

I can't count the number of times when the smallness of humanity--our weakness, neediness, lack of understanding, ability, resources--has stunned and humbled me. Not because it is sad and terrifying, though at times it is that too, but because it is magnificent. Because it is incredible that, in all our silly, weak ways, we manage to make it through. We overcome and we survive.

It's a miracle. Life is a miracle. And when we pretend that we are "completely in control," that we have it all together, that we don't need each other and God and help every day and every moment, not only are we faking and lying and deceiving ourselves and each other, but we are diminishing the beauty of our successes. We belittle those pieces joy and love and perfection that pass through our lives to make them worth living, despite the fact that we don't have it together and we're not in control. None of us. We need help. We need each other. And I think there is nothing more beautiful in this world than recognizing our own littleness and loving it. Accepting help when we need it and offering to others what we have in abundance to give. We all lack something. But we all have gifts too. I think we've lost touch of that in the world--the fact that we need to exchange and share--that no one can have it all on his or her own, but that we benefit from others and that everyone has something important to give. The more we try to pretend that we're fine on our own, the more we lose out on sharing and receiving from one another. And that's a pity.

So I will tell you now, and always, I don't have it all figured out. I don't have everything completely under control. I don't understand so many things, so many more things than I do understand. I need help and love and blessings. And it is my greatest desire to offer some small benefit to another person; to lift, to aid, to touch, to bless another life. Because life is so much more beautiful when you're in it together with someone(s). For me, that's whole point.

Balance

Today is January 3rd. For breakfast I ate chocolate. Then I did a few crunches and push-ups.

Can you guess what my New Years Resolution is? Yeah. Me neither.

Remember your place

So it turns out that I have one thing in common with Taylor Swift (please skip to minute 5:46 of this video to find out what):

Out of Control

The myth

Part of my life in Spain is that some things seem to be pretty much out of my control. The food I eat (since I eat with the familyI live with), my schedule (since I have to rely on public transportation), and especially the kids in my classes. They are CRAZY (sometimes)!!!

I have one classes that was starting to drive me nuts. The teacher and I decided to teach together today rather than splitting the class in half like we usually do. I decided to see what techniques he used to control the class and get the kids to listen. What he did was: NOTHING! He didn't control the class or make them be quiet and listen or ask them to put away their homework for other classes or participate as a class. He just let them be, and then walked around the class talking to the students. And honestly, I think everyone was much happier than in my classes when I insist on everyone behaving properly. But maybe part of my cultural experience is understanding that in some classes, the kids just aren't going to be perfect angels, and that the teachers don't expect them to be.

For me, it's hard not to feel like I am failing as a teacher if my students aren't listening attentively, participating and concentrating on our class material. But maybe that is just prideful. And maybe, it really is okay to let go of a little control and just go with the flow. This shall be my new experiment.

The same old thing

Someday I will grow up and be responsible.

Until then, my life will always be the same. I will know what I should do and think I'm going to do it. But in the end, something will happen and I'll end up with the same pathetic, guilty feeling as usual, knowing I have been irresponsible... again.

For example, tonight was "Home Evening" for some young adults at my Church. Because today was a holiday, the family I live with, who usually go to Home Evening and open the building, didn't think anyone would go. I offered to go, just in case, and bring the key to the building. They told me I didn't need to, but I could go if I wanted.

I knew I should go, because I had a feeling that some people would be there. And it isn't a big deal to go. So I was planning on it. But then...

I am moving from my room to a different part of the house and I got caught up with that,

And I talked to my mom on Skype,

And I was tired,

And I didn't want to put on any make-up and get ready,

And then it was already past the time I needed to leave to catch the train....

so I didn't go.

Then I found out that some of the group did go, and they couldn't get into the building. And if I had just done what I knew I should do, there wouldn't have been any problem.

Failure.

So anyway, if you were wondering, that is my life in a nutshell. Yay.

Where'd the time go?

There is nothing that will make you feel simultaneously old and immature more effectively than being in constant contact with people just a couple stages behind you in the journey of life. If you're me, that is.

Not only am I teaching high schoolers, but I spend most of my free time hanging out with a 16 year old, and sometimes her friends. Realizing that some of these kids are almost ten years younger than me... well there's a reality check for you! You mean, it wasn't just yesterday that I was in high school? Could it actually be so long ago that I was that age? And if so, why do I feel like these baby-faced teens are closer to being my peers than the other teachers I work with?

Maybe it's a result of having to communicate in a language in which my speaking abilities resemble those of a young child; or perhaps because something as simple as getting a library card (or even finding the library) seems almost as daunting as performing neurosurgery, but I'm starting to wonder if these 16 year olds (and 14 and 15 year olds) might, in fact, be smarter and more capable than I am.

A few days ago I had a class of students who were about 15. They were all practically fluent in English and Spanish (and learning German too... the little jerks!). I spent the entire class hour listening to them enlighten me on the excellent cultural offerings of Madrid. Who are these people? When I was fifteen I probably would have had a hard time giving you proper directions to the mall, not to mention all the best art museums and historical landmarks! I am beginning to wonder who should be teaching who.... I mean, um, whom... My Spanish surely needs more help than their English. And they are all so well-read I questioning the validity of my degree in English literature...

And then there's the fact that my friend Mari, the 16 year old daughter of the family I am living with, is my only real friend in Madrid and is often my designated escort if I'm going somewhere her parents think I won't be able to find on my own. And I am so glad she is with me, too! At this point, I wouldn't be surprised if someone suggested that I don't cross the streets anymore without holding someone's hand.

Okay, okay. It's true that most of the really fluent kids were raised in bilingual families, and I haven't had the chance to meet a lot of people my age yet except a few other teachers who live closer to the center of the city. But I do confess, I can't help but feel like, for the age gap between us, I'm not a heck of a lot more mature that these pimply high school kids (and lets be honest, I probably have more pimples than they do).

Then again, I'm the one getting paid to be at school. (Take that you precocious little brats!) So maybe that's what it means to be an adult-- you don't have to be that much smarter or more capable; you don't even have to do anything a 15 year old couldn't adequately handle-- you just have to find someone who will give you money for doing it.