As I've continued to think about my post about Facebook yesterday and about my obsessive relationship to Facebook comments and blog posts and all writing I ever let free for public consumption, I've realized that there is a more important layer to this fixation I have on any conversation I start on Facebook or any post I put on my blog.
This fixation, this fascination with every comment on every post is the writer in me trying to tell it all correctly, trying to make sure everything written is just as it should be and to add and amend if it isn't.
When I am writing, when I am writing anything, even a Facebook status, I am exercising this voice my writing gives me. I am trying out these words I like to taste and measure and place in just the right places. More, I am stating my position, staking my claim in the dialogue, and I want whatever I say to be right, to be true, to be insightful.
Perhaps that seems arrogant. I am a bit arrogant after all. Anyone who writes and releases it for others to read has to be a little bit, right? How could you think anyone would care what you have to say if you didn't have at least enough arrogance to think, "Someone might want to read this or care what it says...."?
Anyway, what I'm really getting at here, in this post that would be better suited for a journal than a post because I don't know what I'm saying yet and am just discovering it as I'm saying it... what I'm really getting at here is that there's a part of me that thinks I have some things worth saying.
About education and how it's legislated.
About the craft, the art, the sacrifice, the beautiful torture of teaching and about making it matter for students.
About myself and who I am and why, and I think that can extend to others–
About people and why they do what they do and how some things should be done differently.
About books and songs and beauty.
About life and why and how I want to live it.
About spirituality and the Bible and the body of Christ.
Now, I'm not arrogant enough to say I have all or any of the answers about those things– just that I have some things I want to say.
And I keep thinking that maybe I'm missing opportunities I should be seizing to make my voice heard, especially when it comes to education and to Christianity– the two great fascinations of my life. I'm realizing that God, Christ, Spirit should be the one and only great fascination, so maybe I've said that wrong, but, for better or for worse, as I'm still in progress, there are no conversations that wrap me up as intensely as those about education and about this life of trying to follow Jesus and what it is and what it should be.
And I just want to talk about those things, write about those things, share those things, hash out those things, edify and be edified in those things. I want comments sections– while I fear them and fret over them so much that I find myself considering a Facebook detox– I want comments sections to be a place where truth is found together, where everyone works together with their different perspectives to find the truth that incorporates and enlightens them all. I am weird. And such an English teacher.
Anyway, I need to stop this ramble and just post it because why not?
This is just here to remind me, when I forget, as I keep ignoring this part of me, as I keep keeping writing as a way to survive my own life instead of nurturing it into something that could matter... could it matter?... this is is just here to remind me and to admit to myself and my readers, my friends... there is a part of me that thinks I should be speaking up, using my words as a way to share truth and Truth.
But maybe not.
Stay tuned.
Thursday, March 27, 2014
Wednesday, March 26, 2014
Facebook: A Confession and Reflection
Confession: I think I have a problem with Facebook.
It is always a part of my day, while many things infinitely more important (the Bible, prayers, phone calls home, just to name a few) don't always make the cut in my "busy life." I know that I spend too much time on it. I know that I check the app on my phone too compulsively, not because there's anything I care to see but because those red update numbers are there (or even aren't) and because it's just what I do if there's an empty moment, no matter how short. I know that I use it to procrastinate, getting lost on it when I'm tired because it's easier to keep scrolling and clicking than to get off the couch or do whatever work I'm putting off. I also know that I am too apt to get up in arms about something I see posted, too likely to post something myself that might get others up in arms, too tempted to make comments when I should probably stay social-network-silent, too prone to spend too much time thinking about whatever article or comment or conversation that's caught my attention, too easily distracted by thoughts about what I've contributed, worrying about others' reactions– possible disagreements, misunderstandings, whatever.
I've gotten better about not jumping into Facebook debates too rashly, though I still have my share of contentious conversations when I should probably just limit my Facebook interactions to things like "How fun!" and "What a cute baby!" and just let it be what it's supposed to be– social.
But here's where Facebook and my relationship with it lead to a reflection of who I am– I'm not very good at anything purely social, not good at relationships that stay at the "What a cute baby!" level (though I am all about my friends' cute babies). There's only so long I can have a relationship that doesn't go further. I am really more into relationships and conversations that go a bit deeper, at least some/most of the time.
Don't get me wrong– I'm plenty superficial on Facebook. I love Facebook as an outlet for whatever obsession I feel compelled to share at the time– Dolly Parton movies, new John Mayer albums, articles about Taylor Swift, updates from my husband's music page, books I'm reading, songs I can't quit playing on repeat, pictures of my husband and me or my sisters and me. And I love seeing the same kinds of posts from my friends. They represent the first basic exchange of information in relationships– interests, hobbies, things you love, what's going on in your life. I can use Facebook for that purpose ad nauseam. (I mean, if you don't want to know how many weeks, days, and hours until the new John Mayer album or read lyrics from the new album for a week after it comes out, you need to hide me from your newsfeed. I know I'm obnoxious. Sorry, but I've gotta let it out somehow, or I would explode. It's a Neas family characteristic to be obsessive and to insist on sharing the ecstasy of the obsession, even with people who neither get it nor care, and it's not a gene I want to fight.)
I love this aspect of relationship, and I love when Facebook makes it possible to know this first layer of people better... through photos of vacations and babies, lyrics and quotations in statuses, shared articles and videos, all that typical newsfeed stuff.
But I love the next layer of relationship even more– the part where you share beyond your interests and characteristics into your thoughts, your beliefs, your opinions– what you think of life and the world and why. These are the conversations I like to have with best friends and with new friends, and so I do tend to try to push Facebook to that level... and maybe that's just not a good idea. Thoughts and beliefs and opinions turn too much into politics, and maybe Facebook isn't the place– too many people who could be hurt or offended, too many people who could misunderstand, too many people involved. And, if nothing else, maybe it's just not worth the time it takes to engage in these kinds of conversations over a social network.
It's definitely not worth the time I get sucked in reading things that don't contribute to relationships at all, at any level.
I try to focus my newsfeed and my attention to my closest friends. I try (largely unsuccessfully) to resist the urge to follow ads to online shopping websites or to click on viral videos it doesn't really matter if I ever see or not. I follow NPR and TIME, trying to make my incessant newsfeed scrolling worth something a little more, but I find I still tend to click on dumb popular culture articles more than anything newsworthy or important, even from these sources.
There is always the inevitable stupor and waste of time.
So maybe I should say goodbye to Facebook, sign off, or at least limit myself, cut my time on it down to next to nothing, take that time for face-to-face relationships, for phone calls, for reading and for prayer.
Hmmm... do I think so? Am I willing? I'm still working it out, but perhaps I will disappear soon. It might at least be worth the experiment.
It is always a part of my day, while many things infinitely more important (the Bible, prayers, phone calls home, just to name a few) don't always make the cut in my "busy life." I know that I spend too much time on it. I know that I check the app on my phone too compulsively, not because there's anything I care to see but because those red update numbers are there (or even aren't) and because it's just what I do if there's an empty moment, no matter how short. I know that I use it to procrastinate, getting lost on it when I'm tired because it's easier to keep scrolling and clicking than to get off the couch or do whatever work I'm putting off. I also know that I am too apt to get up in arms about something I see posted, too likely to post something myself that might get others up in arms, too tempted to make comments when I should probably stay social-network-silent, too prone to spend too much time thinking about whatever article or comment or conversation that's caught my attention, too easily distracted by thoughts about what I've contributed, worrying about others' reactions– possible disagreements, misunderstandings, whatever.
I've gotten better about not jumping into Facebook debates too rashly, though I still have my share of contentious conversations when I should probably just limit my Facebook interactions to things like "How fun!" and "What a cute baby!" and just let it be what it's supposed to be– social.
But here's where Facebook and my relationship with it lead to a reflection of who I am– I'm not very good at anything purely social, not good at relationships that stay at the "What a cute baby!" level (though I am all about my friends' cute babies). There's only so long I can have a relationship that doesn't go further. I am really more into relationships and conversations that go a bit deeper, at least some/most of the time.
Don't get me wrong– I'm plenty superficial on Facebook. I love Facebook as an outlet for whatever obsession I feel compelled to share at the time– Dolly Parton movies, new John Mayer albums, articles about Taylor Swift, updates from my husband's music page, books I'm reading, songs I can't quit playing on repeat, pictures of my husband and me or my sisters and me. And I love seeing the same kinds of posts from my friends. They represent the first basic exchange of information in relationships– interests, hobbies, things you love, what's going on in your life. I can use Facebook for that purpose ad nauseam. (I mean, if you don't want to know how many weeks, days, and hours until the new John Mayer album or read lyrics from the new album for a week after it comes out, you need to hide me from your newsfeed. I know I'm obnoxious. Sorry, but I've gotta let it out somehow, or I would explode. It's a Neas family characteristic to be obsessive and to insist on sharing the ecstasy of the obsession, even with people who neither get it nor care, and it's not a gene I want to fight.)
I love this aspect of relationship, and I love when Facebook makes it possible to know this first layer of people better... through photos of vacations and babies, lyrics and quotations in statuses, shared articles and videos, all that typical newsfeed stuff.
But I love the next layer of relationship even more– the part where you share beyond your interests and characteristics into your thoughts, your beliefs, your opinions– what you think of life and the world and why. These are the conversations I like to have with best friends and with new friends, and so I do tend to try to push Facebook to that level... and maybe that's just not a good idea. Thoughts and beliefs and opinions turn too much into politics, and maybe Facebook isn't the place– too many people who could be hurt or offended, too many people who could misunderstand, too many people involved. And, if nothing else, maybe it's just not worth the time it takes to engage in these kinds of conversations over a social network.
It's definitely not worth the time I get sucked in reading things that don't contribute to relationships at all, at any level.
I try to focus my newsfeed and my attention to my closest friends. I try (largely unsuccessfully) to resist the urge to follow ads to online shopping websites or to click on viral videos it doesn't really matter if I ever see or not. I follow NPR and TIME, trying to make my incessant newsfeed scrolling worth something a little more, but I find I still tend to click on dumb popular culture articles more than anything newsworthy or important, even from these sources.
There is always the inevitable stupor and waste of time.
So maybe I should say goodbye to Facebook, sign off, or at least limit myself, cut my time on it down to next to nothing, take that time for face-to-face relationships, for phone calls, for reading and for prayer.
Hmmm... do I think so? Am I willing? I'm still working it out, but perhaps I will disappear soon. It might at least be worth the experiment.
Monday, March 24, 2014
I Wish I Could Blog and Drive... Again
I've written before about the hazy clarity of a long drive here... so many thoughts, prayers, songs, so many ideas, a mind that is full and quiet at the same time. It's the perfect mood for writing, but it never lasts until I can finally sit and try to put it all in writing.
I should have made voice memos of my thoughts, I guess. Or I should have at least sat down to write as soon as I got home instead of turning on the TV and painting my nails. (At the time, I thought the manicure needed to happen before the writing because long nails get on my nerves when I'm trying to type, and I had no idea that I'd find Steel Magnolias on TV and find it impossible not to keep watching my all-time favorite.)
So, I'll just sit here and enjoy the feeling of short nails and the look of fresh polish on the keys and smile at every favorite line of my favorite movie and look forward to my sweet Sweetheart coming home for dinner very soon.
I'd be a better writer (and teacher, wife, person...) if I were more disciplined and less prone to whims (like manicures and Magnolias), but I do remember that one of my recurring reflections on my drive had to do with loving life as it is and gratitude for how wonderful each day truly is. And I think just simply being happy is a good way to celebrate that.
I should have made voice memos of my thoughts, I guess. Or I should have at least sat down to write as soon as I got home instead of turning on the TV and painting my nails. (At the time, I thought the manicure needed to happen before the writing because long nails get on my nerves when I'm trying to type, and I had no idea that I'd find Steel Magnolias on TV and find it impossible not to keep watching my all-time favorite.)
So, I'll just sit here and enjoy the feeling of short nails and the look of fresh polish on the keys and smile at every favorite line of my favorite movie and look forward to my sweet Sweetheart coming home for dinner very soon.
I'd be a better writer (and teacher, wife, person...) if I were more disciplined and less prone to whims (like manicures and Magnolias), but I do remember that one of my recurring reflections on my drive had to do with loving life as it is and gratitude for how wonderful each day truly is. And I think just simply being happy is a good way to celebrate that.
Sunday, March 16, 2014
A Playlist for Christians/Teachers/Anyone Part 2: Restless
I hate Sundays.
or
Sundays make my stomach hurt.
or
Sundays should be for nothing but sleep.
I have been drafting the first line of this post in my head all day. They are more terse than my usual sentence style. Straight to the point–
Sundays suck.
or maybe a little longer, typical Natalie sentence, overpacked with repetition and alliteration, would be better–
I wake up on Sunday with heavy eyelids, a heavy head, and a heavy heart, and the feeling lasts all the way through Monday morning.
I know that I am not alone in this. I don't even think it's unique to teachers. I think everyone who goes to work on Mondays feels it, though teachers do seem to talk about it more, maybe because there's so much more at-home-weekend-work needed to prepare for Monday in our job than with an average 9-to-5. It's not just Monday that's looming but also the stack of papers to grade, lessons to plan, and lunches to pack that stand in the way of even getting to Monday. One of my best friends, who is also a teacher, jokes that she wants to become Seventh-day Adventist so that her Sabbath won't be sullied by that Sunday teacher feeling anyone who teaches, anyone who works instead of rests on the weekend, knows. I have also often wished for a Saturday Sabbath, but probably my problem is that I don't really have a Sabbath at all.
It is truly fitting that the next song in my playlist, the order of which I wrestled with and settled on at the beginning of last week, is "Restless" by Audrey Assad.
The song starts at about 5:35, but I think the beginning is worth listening to, too.
I have nothing to say worth being said, no answer to the Sunday conundrum, no antidote to its sinking, in the pit of the stomach sickness or dread. And, worst of all, to steal Audrey Assad's beautiful words from the clip, I have no "spiritual bandaid for the great gaping hole in between my theology and my practice." Instead, I am still someone who believes that Christ is sufficient and that His Kingdom is first but lives like so much more is needed and gives priority to so much else. I will spend a half hour or so from now listening to music, reading Scripture, writing what's in my heart, and then I will click publish, and– wretched sinner that I am, without the faith not to worry about tomorrow and without the obedience to honor this sabbath day set aside to God– I will go fix dinner and then settle in for a night of grading papers, planning lessons, putting away laundry, and putting off cleaning the bathroom,
I won't pretend a blog post or a single prayer will change it, but I will acknowledge that the only true rest is in Christ and that the only pursuit that is worthy is the seeking of His Kingdom, and I will conclude with God's Word, with a verse or two from today's sermon and several from a quick concordance search of the word Sabbath, praying for God's Spirit to speak them in me and speak a new heart in me that begins to beat more in sync with the Father.
Lord, may Your Words at least remind me, as I defile this Sabbath as far as work is concerned, that my heart, my hope, my confidence all rest in You and You alone. You never strictly obeyed Sabbath's rules when you walked this earth, and maybe a rest of the heart is what You truly desire. I don't have that always either, Lord, but I pray for it and have it now, if even for a moment.
or
Sundays make my stomach hurt.
or
Sundays should be for nothing but sleep.
I have been drafting the first line of this post in my head all day. They are more terse than my usual sentence style. Straight to the point–
Sundays suck.
or maybe a little longer, typical Natalie sentence, overpacked with repetition and alliteration, would be better–
I wake up on Sunday with heavy eyelids, a heavy head, and a heavy heart, and the feeling lasts all the way through Monday morning.
I know that I am not alone in this. I don't even think it's unique to teachers. I think everyone who goes to work on Mondays feels it, though teachers do seem to talk about it more, maybe because there's so much more at-home-weekend-work needed to prepare for Monday in our job than with an average 9-to-5. It's not just Monday that's looming but also the stack of papers to grade, lessons to plan, and lunches to pack that stand in the way of even getting to Monday. One of my best friends, who is also a teacher, jokes that she wants to become Seventh-day Adventist so that her Sabbath won't be sullied by that Sunday teacher feeling anyone who teaches, anyone who works instead of rests on the weekend, knows. I have also often wished for a Saturday Sabbath, but probably my problem is that I don't really have a Sabbath at all.
It is truly fitting that the next song in my playlist, the order of which I wrestled with and settled on at the beginning of last week, is "Restless" by Audrey Assad.
The song starts at about 5:35, but I think the beginning is worth listening to, too.
I have nothing to say worth being said, no answer to the Sunday conundrum, no antidote to its sinking, in the pit of the stomach sickness or dread. And, worst of all, to steal Audrey Assad's beautiful words from the clip, I have no "spiritual bandaid for the great gaping hole in between my theology and my practice." Instead, I am still someone who believes that Christ is sufficient and that His Kingdom is first but lives like so much more is needed and gives priority to so much else. I will spend a half hour or so from now listening to music, reading Scripture, writing what's in my heart, and then I will click publish, and– wretched sinner that I am, without the faith not to worry about tomorrow and without the obedience to honor this sabbath day set aside to God– I will go fix dinner and then settle in for a night of grading papers, planning lessons, putting away laundry, and putting off cleaning the bathroom,
I won't pretend a blog post or a single prayer will change it, but I will acknowledge that the only true rest is in Christ and that the only pursuit that is worthy is the seeking of His Kingdom, and I will conclude with God's Word, with a verse or two from today's sermon and several from a quick concordance search of the word Sabbath, praying for God's Spirit to speak them in me and speak a new heart in me that begins to beat more in sync with the Father.
Lord, may Your Words at least remind me, as I defile this Sabbath as far as work is concerned, that my heart, my hope, my confidence all rest in You and You alone. You never strictly obeyed Sabbath's rules when you walked this earth, and maybe a rest of the heart is what You truly desire. I don't have that always either, Lord, but I pray for it and have it now, if even for a moment.
Remember the sabbath day, to keep it holy. Six days you shall labor and do all your work, but the seventh day is a sabbath of the Lord your God; in it you shall not do any work, you or your son or your daughter, your male or your female servant or your cattle or your sojourner who stays with you. For in six days the Lord made the heavens and the earth, the sea and all that is in them, and rested on the seventh day; therefore the Lord blessed the sabbath day and made it holy. Exodus 20:8-11
You shall not make for yourselves idols, nor shall you set up for yourselves an image or a sacred pillar, nor shall you place a figured stone in your land to bow down to it; for I am the Lord your God. You shall keep My sabbaths and reverence My sanctuary; I am the Lord. Leviticus 26:1-2
You shall remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt, and the Lord your God brought you out of there by a mighty hand and by an outstretched arm; therefore the Lord your God commanded you to observe the Sabbath day. Deuteronomy 5:12
If because of the sabbath, you turn your foot from doing your own pleasure on My holy day, and call the sabbath a delight, the holy day of the Lord honorable, and honor it desisting from your own ways, from seeking your own pleasure and speaking your own word, then you will take delight in the Lord, and I will make you ride on the heights of the earth; and I will feed you with the heritage of Jacob your father, from the mouth of the Lord has spoken. Isaiah 58:13-14
I gave them My statutes and informed them of My ordinances, by which, if a man observes them, he will live. Also, I gave them My sabbaths to be a sign between Me and them, that they might know that I am the Lord who sanctifies them. Ezekiel 20:11-12
But seek first His kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things will be added to you. So do not worry about tomorrow; for tomorrow will care for itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own. Matthew 6: 33-34
But I say to you that something greater than the temple is here. But if you had known what this means, 'I desire compassion and not sacrifice,' you would not have condemned the innocent. For the Son of Man is Lord of the Sabbath. Matthew 12:6-8
Jesus said to them, 'The Sabbath was made for man, and not man for the Sabbath. So the Son of Man is Lord even of the Sabbath." Mark 2:27-28
Therefore, let us fear if, while a promise remains of entering His rest, any one of you may seem to have come short of it. For indeed we have had good news preached to us, just as they also; but the word they heard did not profit them, because it was not united by faith in those who heard. For we who have believed enter that rest, just as He has said, 'As I swore in My wrath, they shall not enter My rest,' although His works were finished from the foundation of the world. For He has said somewhere concerning the seventh day: 'And God rested on the seventh day from all His works'; and again in this passage, 'They shall not enter My rest.' Therefore, since it remains for some to enter it, and those who formerly had good news preached to them failed to enter because of disobedience, He again fixes a certain day, 'Today,' saying through David after so long a time just as has been said before, 'Today if you hear His voice, do not harden your hearts.' For if Joshua had given them rest, He would not have spoken of another day after that. So there remains a Sabbath rest for the people of God. For one who has entered His rest has himself also rested from his works, as God did from His. Therefore let us be diligent to enter that rest, so that no one will fall, through following the same example of disobedience. For the word of God is living and active and sharper than any two-edged sword, and piercing as far as the division of soul and spirit, of both joints and marrow, and able to judge the thoughts and intentions of the heart. And there is no creature hidden from His sight, but all things are open and laid bare to the eyes of Him with whom we have to do. Therefore, since we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession. For we do not have a high priest who cannot sympathize with our weaknesses, but One who has been tempted in all things as we are, yet without sin. Therefore, let us draw near with confidence to the throne of grace, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need. Hebrews 4
Monday, March 10, 2014
A Playlist for Anyone (especially Christians who are also teachers) Part 1: The Valley and What It's For
I'm working on a little project– my perfect daily playlist, one especially for Christians who are also teachers, though I think it'll probably apply to anyone. I am fascinated with the abundance of lessons– mostly in humility and trust– I am learning as a byproduct of being a teacher this year. Here's Part 1:
"The Valley" by Ellie Holcomb
All people, at least most sensitive "feely" people like me that I know, live life in mountains and valleys. Some days are wonderful and sunny, and it's easy to see and feel God's light all around us. Some days are crummy, and some days I just feel like feeling bad and just find myself empty. I believe that God is teaching me how to fight through the valleys and see His light streaming everywhere and always because He Is, but I also believe, in the midst of the gloom, He's teaching me why we have the valleys, to learn to trust, to learn dependence, to learn that He is all and only and that nothing I can do in myself or find in this world will ever come close to Him.
"The Valley Song" by Jars of Clay
I often feel guilty about my "valleys." People experience death of loved ones, terminal illnesses, financial ruin, starvation, persecution... all over the world and right next door... and my "valleys" are brought on by meanly worded parent emails and being lost under stacks of work to grade. I often want to tell myself, "You call this bad? Give me a break," as I realize that anyone with real pain and struggles has the right to say to me. I don't pretend to have experienced the worst valleys that life has to bring. I pray that I won't, but I do believe that even in my petty valleys, God is there and teaching me how to praise Him and rely on Him and not the happiness of my circumstances. This song seems to cry out from the deepest of valleys, like the ones of David in the Psalms. I don't think my valleys qualify as true depths, but I'm learning to praise in them, practicing the discipline of turning to God in all things.
"Clear the Stage" by Ross King
This song is truly amazing. It pierces me to the soul every single time. This song speaks of idolatry in terms of the trappings of "worship," in the sense of music and songs and services. When I listen to it, I hear God speaking to me about all the idols of my classroom and my self-importance and drive to find validation in my job. It wouldn't be as pretty, but I could replace the words about pews and decorations with desks and lesson plans, and it would be the ultimate song of what I need to remember every single day. I could change the refrain to "You can teach all you want to, you can teach all you want to. Worship is more than your job." Not pretty, definitely. But true. Christian teachers, especially this one, can so easily start to believe that teaching is an act of worship when it isn't, not because it can't be, but because our focus is so often not really on God or loving His children but on all the distractions and idols of the trade.
The most searing words of this song: Anything I put before my God is an idol. Anything I want with all my heart is an idol. Anything I can't stop thinking of is an idol. And anything I give all my love to is an idol. We must not worship something that's not even worth it. Oh, that God would help me remember what is worth it in this life, nothing but His kingdom, nothing but Him. Not my class, my books, my standards, my goals. Certainly not tests but not even the affection of kids or their smiles or the little ways I help them toward their goals and their futures. Only the Lord can do anything in their life that matters, not me or anything that I would teach. Lord, help me remember that every day.
"The Only Hope I've Got" by Ellie Holcomb
On the same note as the song above, this song.
Every day, Lord, "Will You help remind me of what is true, the only hope I've got- it's You."
Saturday, December 28, 2013
Staring at the Foreground
I stare toward the horizon a lot lately.
I just keep staring at it, expecting it to change. The road looks straight and clear in front of me, but I keep thinking that it’s going to turn, to drop off, to lead to somewhere different.
Am I really going to keep traveling this same path? High school was four years. College was four years. I’ve taught four years. When is graduation? When does the path change again?
I stare toward the horizon a lot lately. Well, actually, I stare at my computer screen a lot lately.
I have a secret Pinterest board where I pin articles about teachers who’ve quit teaching and moved on to new careers. I have a folder of bookmarks on my web browser titled “Dream Jobs,” but I don’t think there’s a link to a single truly dream job on it. I’d have to know what my dream job is for that to be possible.
I’m signed up for email alerts of teaching and tutoring jobs in my area. I signed up one day when I was fed up with teaching, yet even then I couldn’t think of any other categories of jobs to consider than those. I check them every day out of habit now, and I’ve almost sent in my resume for a few.
I’ve considered getting my Master’s in library science. I always wanted to be a librarian. My elementary school librarian wore sequined tops and animal print and made them look awesome. She smelled of perfume and used her long manicured nails that I admired so much to turn the pages of children’s books that she read from the side, holding them turned for us to see the pictures. I could see myself in sequins and glasses, with my hair piled on top of my head like hers, cataloging and organizing and helping kids pick out books. I can almost smell the books… being a librarian would be amazing.
I say I wish I could quit teaching. I threaten that I’m going to. Every year, I say it’s my last year, but I think of ideas for next year in the shower, continue to buy books for my classroom, and write notes to myself to remind me how I can teach what I’m currently teaching better next time. I wonder what I would do with all the canvases I’ve painted for my room if I quit, try to imagine not having school to think about all the time and can’t think of what would take its place.
The truth is my dream job is teaching. I can’t think of anything else to add to my job alert profile because what am I made for but teaching? What else have I ever wanted to do?
I wanted to be a waitress.
I wanted to be a writer.
I wanted to be a librarian.
I wanted to be a linguist.
I wanted to be a teacher.
That is the exhaustive list of every career aspiration I can remember having in my childhood and adolescence.
I don’t know if I can add wanting to work at LOFT or Starbucks or being SuperNanny to that list or not. Do those whims I’ve had since adulthood count?
The thing is, I think I’m a teacher.
I keep staring into the horizon, trying to find an alternate route, something that will fill my heart without the sacrifice, something that will make me feel constantly validated, something that would let me sit with my books and my papers and my journals all the time, something I could do in an 8-hour day without any night and weekend work and see lives change for the better every single day right before my eyes.
I think I’ll be staring into the horizon for a long time if I’m looking for all that.
Maybe it’s time to start looking around me instead of ahead of me:
my scrapbook of notes from kiddos
my bright-colored classroom, my oasis and theirs
a girl wearing her glasses because if I can, she can too
a stack of essays, far from perfect, but better than last year’s stack
facebook messages from former students, asking for advice
kids who come back to visit from high school
and notice what I’ve changed, remember where they sat in the room,
ask if we still read what we read together their year,
say they miss 7th grade the most
the kid I don’t even have in class who hugs me in the hall
the 8th grader who brought me a card the first weeks of school
“Thank you so much for everything you taught me last year.
We’re already using it this year.”
the 8th grader who brought me candy for Christmas
(I can’t believe she thought of me all this time later.)
nervous pre-teens in prom dresses and ties at a formal dance
pages of notebooks marked “Please read, Mrs. Coleman!”
and written as letters just to me "Mrs. Coleman, what do you think?"
I am a constant back and forth when it comes to this place in my life. I’ve felt good like this about teaching before, and it always seems to fade. Somehow, though, this time, I think I’m going to keep it. I’m going to get tired again, frustrated again, all those negative school feelings again, but I think this new current of gratitude for the amazing privilege of being a teacher, of assuredness that this is who I am, is going to stay, even when it’s beneath the surface, reminding me of who I am and how and why…
I think it’s going to last. At least until something new really does appear on the horizon, all on its own without trying to force it.
I just have to get my eyes off the horizon, quit staring into the distance, and look around.
I just keep staring at it, expecting it to change. The road looks straight and clear in front of me, but I keep thinking that it’s going to turn, to drop off, to lead to somewhere different.
Am I really going to keep traveling this same path? High school was four years. College was four years. I’ve taught four years. When is graduation? When does the path change again?
I stare toward the horizon a lot lately. Well, actually, I stare at my computer screen a lot lately.
I have a secret Pinterest board where I pin articles about teachers who’ve quit teaching and moved on to new careers. I have a folder of bookmarks on my web browser titled “Dream Jobs,” but I don’t think there’s a link to a single truly dream job on it. I’d have to know what my dream job is for that to be possible.
I’m signed up for email alerts of teaching and tutoring jobs in my area. I signed up one day when I was fed up with teaching, yet even then I couldn’t think of any other categories of jobs to consider than those. I check them every day out of habit now, and I’ve almost sent in my resume for a few.
I’ve considered getting my Master’s in library science. I always wanted to be a librarian. My elementary school librarian wore sequined tops and animal print and made them look awesome. She smelled of perfume and used her long manicured nails that I admired so much to turn the pages of children’s books that she read from the side, holding them turned for us to see the pictures. I could see myself in sequins and glasses, with my hair piled on top of my head like hers, cataloging and organizing and helping kids pick out books. I can almost smell the books… being a librarian would be amazing.
I say I wish I could quit teaching. I threaten that I’m going to. Every year, I say it’s my last year, but I think of ideas for next year in the shower, continue to buy books for my classroom, and write notes to myself to remind me how I can teach what I’m currently teaching better next time. I wonder what I would do with all the canvases I’ve painted for my room if I quit, try to imagine not having school to think about all the time and can’t think of what would take its place.
The truth is my dream job is teaching. I can’t think of anything else to add to my job alert profile because what am I made for but teaching? What else have I ever wanted to do?
I wanted to be a waitress.
I wanted to be a writer.
I wanted to be a librarian.
I wanted to be a linguist.
I wanted to be a teacher.
That is the exhaustive list of every career aspiration I can remember having in my childhood and adolescence.
I don’t know if I can add wanting to work at LOFT or Starbucks or being SuperNanny to that list or not. Do those whims I’ve had since adulthood count?
The thing is, I think I’m a teacher.
I keep staring into the horizon, trying to find an alternate route, something that will fill my heart without the sacrifice, something that will make me feel constantly validated, something that would let me sit with my books and my papers and my journals all the time, something I could do in an 8-hour day without any night and weekend work and see lives change for the better every single day right before my eyes.
I think I’ll be staring into the horizon for a long time if I’m looking for all that.
Maybe it’s time to start looking around me instead of ahead of me:
my scrapbook of notes from kiddos
my bright-colored classroom, my oasis and theirs
a girl wearing her glasses because if I can, she can too
a stack of essays, far from perfect, but better than last year’s stack
facebook messages from former students, asking for advice
kids who come back to visit from high school
and notice what I’ve changed, remember where they sat in the room,
ask if we still read what we read together their year,
say they miss 7th grade the most
the kid I don’t even have in class who hugs me in the hall
the 8th grader who brought me a card the first weeks of school
“Thank you so much for everything you taught me last year.
We’re already using it this year.”
the 8th grader who brought me candy for Christmas
(I can’t believe she thought of me all this time later.)
nervous pre-teens in prom dresses and ties at a formal dance
pages of notebooks marked “Please read, Mrs. Coleman!”
and written as letters just to me "Mrs. Coleman, what do you think?"
I am a constant back and forth when it comes to this place in my life. I’ve felt good like this about teaching before, and it always seems to fade. Somehow, though, this time, I think I’m going to keep it. I’m going to get tired again, frustrated again, all those negative school feelings again, but I think this new current of gratitude for the amazing privilege of being a teacher, of assuredness that this is who I am, is going to stay, even when it’s beneath the surface, reminding me of who I am and how and why…
I think it’s going to last. At least until something new really does appear on the horizon, all on its own without trying to force it.
I just have to get my eyes off the horizon, quit staring into the distance, and look around.
Blogging... or lack thereof
Blogging... it's a funny thing how it's different from real writing.
Added later: real writing? What do I mean by that? I want to edit it because it doesn't seem accurate, but I want to leave it because I'm struck by the fact that that's what I wrote originally. Real writing. Hmm..
Anyway...
Blogging... it's a funny thing how it's different from real writing.
Even though there are only 3.5 people, maybe, who read each thing I post on here, there's something different about blogging.
When I look today and see that my last post is from June 7– Hey, I was still 25 then!– I at first feel ashamed, as if I have been abandoning my first love of writing completely. Thankfully, I know that my Day One journal app and my good, old-fashioned paper journals, which I love for their realness and paperness and ink-and-graphite-smoothness, do hold writing since June 7, not as much as needed or wanted, but enough to keep me going.
I have been writing, but I haven't been blogging, which leads me to this reflection, which no one cares about but that I'm going to post anyway, about how blogging is different.
Writing that is blogged is somehow more final. There could be an audience. I mean, it probably wouldn't happen, especially with this one, but something conceivably could get shared on the internet and become a sensation. I mean it could. So I have to be careful and make sure it's something I wouldn't mind attaching my name to.
But, in reality, the actual reason it's more final, in my real world of maybe 3.5 readers, is there will almost definitely be at least a small audience, a few faithful friends who follow the blog and will read out of obligation or curiosity or maybe even excitement since its been over half a year since I last posted– how did I let that happen?!– when they get they email announcing I have written. (And I really am grateful for my friends who care what I write! I'm not disparaging the 3.5 of you– a group of actually more than 3 or 4 people who won't actually all read at any given time, which is why I've made the average smaller... You are few in number but great in love and importance.)
But anyway.
Blogged writing is more final. It won't just live in Day One for me alone or stay scrawled in my notebook where only I will revisit it. Someone, at least one other person, will read it, maybe even comment or refer to it later.
Someone could actually call me out– Hey, remember, you said you were going to love your job this year, remember? (Btw, I actually told someone on Christmas Eve– one of my incredible teachers past, one of the first who inspired me to write and to teach, perfectly enough– that I love teaching. I said it all genuinely and naturally without thinking about it. It shocked me as it came out. It was kind of astounding. I'm still reeling at it now as I relive it. I don't know the last time I said that without planning it or forcing it. It was either a crazy slip or a crazy epiphany.)
Someone could actually talk to me about how ridiculous my number of posts about or referring to John Mayer lyrics is getting and how I need to get it together.
Someone could see the depths of what I'm wrestling and know that John Mayer's lyric is still true in me– So what? So I've got a smile on? Well, it's hiding the quiet superstitions in my mind. Don't believe me, don't believe me, when I say I've got it down. (Good luck, imaginary person who would tell me to quit quoting John Mayer. Not gonna happen.)
Actually, that has happened. Well, not stopping the JM obsession or someone telling me to but someone seeing the depths of my wrestling. One of my high school friend's father, a dear friend in his own right, a pillar of our hometown, told me that he reads my blog from time to time. He told me, looking me straight in the eyes, Your struggles are quite– what was the word?– compelling?
There's something about knowing that the struggles have been aired, that anyone can read them, that someone may feel them along with me or that, even if they're completely foreign to the reader who's never felt anything like them, they've been written and they've been read.
And they're out there for anyone to see.
Someone could disagree with what I think are spiritual break-throughs and call me out as a heretic. I don't know who would be so bold in my group of sweet-natured friends. But someone could.
Or someone could say, Wow, how did you put to words exactly how I feel? Like I want to say to JM and to Sara Groves and to random bloggers and singers out there who've done that for me.
Someone, a favorite author of mine, could make a comment on a post and start a chain of events that would lead to Jason and me meeting new friends in Nashville and having a new favorite blog to read and maybe even more in the future... Actually, that already happened, and the story isn't finished yet...
Maybe even someone, not John Mayer himself perhaps, but maybe someone close to him in charge of his PR doing Google searches of his name, or maybe a friend, will discover this blog and say, "John, we've found someone you need as a friend, someone who gets you."
Which reminds me– I should write about Dolly Parton more so that could happen with her too.
Alright, now I've gone and gotten weird.
And I've pretty much forgotten what I'm even writing about at this point.
So it's time to stop. I just want to say that there's something different about blogging, knowing that the words are going out to the world. Even if no one reads them. The words are out there, gone, and mine.
It makes me feel like a writer. A real writer.
So I need to blog more.
Because I am a writer.
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