Lessons From a Failed Blog

At the beginning of the year, in an effort to nurture my inner writer, I set a goal of making one blog entry a month. Now, six months and three blog entries in, it is pretty clear that I have failed. Over the years, and through some painful lessons, I have realized that failures are opportunities for reflection and change. A chance to pick up the good bits and leave the rest behind. So, what are the good bits?

A blog is not an assignment

As I look back over the first few entries I made on my blog, I realized that they are written like essays. Each month I would get ideas of what to write about and then spend weeks deliberating about which topic to write about or what to say. This perfectionism made me put off writing anything. Instead of using my blog as an outlet for creative expression, I was being stifled by it. Words went unsaid. The blog became a "have to" rather than a "want to."

Going forward, I am going to cut myself some slack. Be kind. Be encouraging. Not judge the writing before I even type the first word. I am going to let it take whichever form feels right in the moment. 

There is no grade

Even though I set out to write to nurture my writing voice, the idea that other people would read (and judge) my writing sat foremost in my mind. I worried about how things might be perceived or misunderstood. I wanted to impress people and make them like my writing and my views. 

The freedom of a blog, however, is that it can be a place to record my thoughts in an unedited way.  It is a chance for me to break out of the mold of J. Alfred Prufrock and share my wondrous, silly, troubling parts of my life without wondering if I "should" or "shouldn't." If people read it, then they can share and connect - or not. The point is to give an outlet to creativity. I hope to connect with people who read what I have written and think, "I so get that!" 

In light of this, I took my real name off of my blog. I think this will free me from second-guessing how things may be perceived, especially in light of my teaching career.

It doesn't have to be an independent endeavor

When I set my goal at the beginning of the year, I figured that it would just be something that I did on my own. However,  I have been  reading a friend's blog and I am touched by how many people comment on her blogs and how she often references other blogs in her entries. She has found a community of writers and this has helped her develop her own blog and to feel connected and engaged with other people in the blogosphere. 

I want to reach out and find blogs of people out there that interest me. I don't really know the best way to do this, but I am going to start looking. If you know a blog that you think I would like, please link to it in the comments section and include a link. Thanks!

Here are my new goals for my blog:

• thoughtful
• genuine
• creative
• inspired
• free

I am feeling so much lighter now. I think I want to write...

Sometimes Good Is Good Enough

(Note: This was originally posted in April, 2012)

I made a goal in January that I would do one blog entry a month this year. I miss writing for the sake of writing and thought that this would be a good way to do this. I did entries here in January and February and then entered a short story in a contest for March (that counted).

For April, I have been debating about what to write about. I waited for inspiration as the days quickly passed by. Life happened. Writing didn't.

So, here it is at 10pm on April 30th and my blog entry is now eight sentences long. The perfectionist within me thought about staying up and writing more, but I am choosing forgiveness and humility over pride. As a friend once said, "Sometimes good is good enough."

So, goodnight sweet friends. Here's to more interesting reading later this year.

Humility - Virtue or Vice?

As a child, I was what kind older people would call "precocious" and what my dad called a "smart-a**". I liked being good at things and felt this almost uncontrollable urge to show how smart or right I was about things that I had even the slightest experience with. Needless to, I didn't have many friends as a kid (except for boys, who didn't mind arguing with me or going along with my ideas and schemes when they thought they might be fun). When I learned about "humility" being a virtue in Sunday school, I didn't get it. How could acknowledging the things you were good at be a bad thing? Didn't everyone want to do thier best and be recognized for it?

Years went by. I learned about "Hubris" in studying Greek mythology and learned about the pitfalls of bragging in the halls of my junior high school. I started to have more friends (even girls) and tried to keep my big stinking mouth shut when I felt that impulse to say something superior. Yet while I acknowledged that uncontrolled or misplaced pride was not a good thing, I still held little regard for the "virtue" of humility. I pictured the person who, having worked for hours to prepare a Thanksgiving feast for 20, smiles meekly and says "Oh, twas nothing." Yeah right. You worked hard, you succeeded, and you should be proud of your accomplishments.

What I am realizing more recently is that my concept of humility as a vice rather than a virtue is actually based on a false humility. Wikipedia differentiates these in this way: "True humility" is distinctly different from "false humility" which consists of deprecating one's own sanctity, gifts, talents, and accomplishments for the sake of receiving praise or adulation from other" (based on the writings of Uriah Heep). This is what i was taught in Sunday school it meant to be humble - to be self-depracating.

However, "true humility" isn't about thinking that you can do something better (or worse) than someone else. It is acknowledging that everyone has things they excel at and things they struggle with but that none of us is intrinsically better than someone else. We all struggle, we all shine, but our worth as people comes from something far greater than our accomplishments or failures.

This reminds me of the passage by Marianne Willamson:

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."


By this measure, I am humbled every day by the strength/courage/warmth/humor/wit/talent of those around me. True humility is definitely a virtue.

Inside My Head

This week, while I was washing my hair and participating in two strands of thought going through my mind, one verbal and one visual, I suddenly had the thought that not everyone probably does this. That not just my brain, but my way of thinking – of processing, analyzing, synthesizing and expressing/applying – may be very different from what other people do inside their heads.

Now, let me stop for a moment to say that I have been fascinated for at least ten years with brain research as it relates to education. I believe in and apply the work of Dr. Gardner and multiple intelligences. I have known for a long time that brains are vastly different and yield vastly different learners. I have known this on a professional and intellectual level for a long time; however, what struck me this week was the question: “What does it look like/sound like/feel like to be in someone else’s head?”

To give you some of my perspective, just now, my cat came over to me and purred loudly to get my attention. As I was petting him, I, seemingly simultaneously,

·         Listened to his purr, Kenton’s typing across the room and the hum of my laptop;

·     Felt the warmth of his fur and realized that my feet were cold;

·        Thought about what I would write next;

·        Heard an underscore of a melody in my mind;

·        Vividly visualized what a command center in my head would actually look like.

By the way, it looked sort of like a theatre inside a planetarium. With bit, half-domed screen with words and images popping in and out and scrolling by like comets. Really, it is more like being in space itself: in a blank void, where things just appear when summoned, whether consciously or unconsciously. Words, feelings, pictures, sounds and the connections between them. When the connections are stronger, the images loom larger and sometimes take on a brightness around the edges.

This is what it is like for me. What is it like for you?

Here is what I would like to know:

·        Do you sometimes feel like there are different frequencies in your brain which can be heard at the same time? Like two radio stations, one coming in louder and clearer and the other a bit further away but sometimes switching in and out?

·        Do you have two internal conversations at a time, which sometimes interrupt each other or intersect and become one?

·        Do you ask questions and wonder things verbally, but see the solutions visually – in images or written words or sometimes even a feeling pulling you in certain direction?

·       Does your brain move faster than your mouth ever could?

My brain doesn’t always work like this, but it often does. Especially if I am engaged in a challenging mental activity like trying to work out a solution to a problem or figure out how best to explain something to someone. I see/feel it in my mind with a clarity that I attempt to bring out into the world with varying degrees of success.

Which is probably why this feels so futile right now. As wonderfully complex and beautiful language is, it feels far too weak to explain the complexities of our internal worlds. Like J. Alfred Prufrock, I find myself reflecting back and thinking, “It is impossible to say just what I mean!”

So, dear friends, the next time we meet over coffee or a glass of wine, I would love to better understand what it is like inside your head. You can draw me a picture, tell me what it feels like or whatever helps you to best explain the view from in there. I am curious to hear what is similar and different and celebrate both.

In the meantime, feel free to comment here or in a separate email. I'll understand if words don't suffice. 

Thinking Bigger

The irony of living in the “information age” is that it isn’t about having the information. To be an educated person today, you need to be able to find the information you are looking for, connect it to what you already know and apply it effectively. This isn’t to say that information itself isn’t important, but that just having information isn’t enough.

Life today is less like game of Trivial Pursuit and more like the game of Clue. In Trivial Pursuit, you are asked to recall and regurgitate random bits of information that you have collected over the years. The Victorians would have loved this game, as being an educated person in those times meant having an encyclopedic knowledge of random things. However, the game of Clue asks our brains to engage in a much broader variety of tasks. You record your own data, then ask questions and pick up on clues that fill in the gaps in what you already know. To win Clue, you have to figure out the right questions to ask, connect it to what you already know and then apply it to make an accurate accusation. Who would you rather work with in today’s world: the person who excels at Trivial Pursuit or the person who excels at Clue?

I was thinking this over this week as my students presented their final projects in our How We Express Ourselves Unit. They were asked to pick an art form they like today and to research at least two things from the past that influenced it. They then presented their findings to our class in whichever way they thought would be most effective. Their topics ranged from children’s literature to Legos, from hairstyles to cartoons. The presentations ranged from hip-hop dance demonstrations to Keynote and Powerpoint presentations. What they all had in common, however, was the integration, application and sharing of knowledge. Yes, there were facts, but there were also connections, analysis and presentation skills.

One of my favorite examples is a girl, “Jamie,” who chose the topic of ruffles in fashion. I must admit that, when she first requested this topic, I was a bit skeptical myself at how much intellectual depth this topic would produce, but I respected her passion and her choice.

For her presentation, Jamie created a tri-fold board with photos and samples of ruffles used in fashion from the Elizabethan, Colonial and modern times. She explained how the ruffles during colonial times were transported to South America and Mexico and how they remain part of traditional clothing today. She brought in examples of “pleating” and “darts” and explained how they were similar and different from ruffles. She pointed to the photos as she explained how the materials ruffles were made of and the placement of ruffles on clothing had changed over time. She then used these trends to make a prediction about the future of ruffles in fashion.

Oh, and in case you’re wondering, she is a fourth grader.

I can pretty much guarantee you that “ruffles in fashion” will never be on a standardized test; however, I can also guarantee you that this project and the associated learning will have a lasting educational impact on this child. She grew in her research, thinking, communication and presentation skills through discovering and sharing about something that was interesting to her. Along the way, she also picked up some historical facts that are connected to something she loves and will therefore be easier for her to access in the future.

One of the main issues that I have with high-stakes standardized testing isn’t that it asks too much of students and teachers, but that it asks too little. It is too much like Trivial Pursuit and not enough like Clue. It asks for too many of the skills of the Industrial Age and not enough of those needed in the Information and Technology Age.

Growing

When I began gardening a few years ago, all I really wanted was a tomato that tasted like a tomato. That first summer, I was so excited to find that my cherry tomatoes did in fact ripen and become sweet, juicy tomatoes that were rich with the taste of summer. Even my young children, who previously shunned tomatoes, loved to pick these little red balls that would burst in their mouths.



Each year since, my garden has grown. One year I tried zucchini from seedlings and the next I grew it from seed and was surprised that these did better. From here, I tried the close relatives of the zucchini - yellow squash, pumpkins, even butternut squash. I still don't have broccoli or eggplants quite figured out, but have plans to improve their health next year.



Along the way, as would be expected, I have grown as a gardener. I have expanded my small plot to berms that travel around my yard. I have underwatered and overwatered and killed more than a few plants along the way. I have planted things that were totally inappropriate for my climate and watched them fade away despite my care. I have learned about different kinds of soil, which bugs are beneficial and how to attract them, and even what compost is and how to make it. Yet, what has surprised me the most is how much my garden has become a place of spiritual growth and renewal.



In spring, I find myself thinking about the hopefulness of the whole endeavor. I wonder about ancient people and how they made their discoveries of the life cycle of plants. I find myself praying as they may have prayed for the life within the seed to grow and poke through the soil. In a few weeks, as one by one the sprouts come forth, I am overwhelmed by a sense of the miraculous. I know the science that explains the process, but I am nevertheless filled with joy at the power of life.



As spring gives way to summer, my I find myself meditating on ideas of nurturing and the labors of love. It is not a burden for me to wake up at dawn and go water my vegetables but rather I find pleasure in the peacefulness of this time. I pay attention to how things are growing and sometimes find myself happily encouraging them with kind words. My prayers during this time seem to be a lot about mothers in the world, all connected through the way we love and nurture our children. I also think about and pray for children in the world whose needs have been neglected and for them to be loved, respected and cared for in the way that they deserve.



In late summer each trip to the garden is a lesson in gratitude. Even though I saw a zucchini ripening, I am so grateful when I pick it and bring it inside to prepare. I am grateful to sun, water, bees, dirt, and some greater goodness that surely must be part of this process. With this gratitude comes a desire to share my abundance. I find myself offering the jewels of my garden with others. It is also a time to be grateful for pleasures and savor the rewards of labor. Each bite of roasted zucchini with rosemary and garlic is a moment of bliss.



Now it is approaching the end of the growing season and my mind is looking ahead and planning next year's garden. The basil got too much sun this year and so I will need to find a shadier spot. The raspberries are doing better, but I still need to research and discover how to make them thrive. I find myself contemplating religion and how it is essentially an effort to ensure a good harvest. I envision God as a gardener who cares less for the plans and more about the lessons of hope, love, and gratitude that come as we engage in our lives.



Some of my best days are those that start in the garden because I carry these lessons with me like little seeds within my heart. Each year my garden has grown, my heart has grown too. For that, I am the most grateful.

Yearbooks

It has been 16 years since I graduated from high school and yet it remains the period of my life about which I have the most regrets. I wish I had known more about the college admissions process. If only I could have seen my own beauty instead of constantly looking for it to be reflected back at me from others. Why did I focus so much on my faults instead of my strengths? How did I get away with ditching school so often and still graduating?

I recently got on Facebook - aka the land of people from your past - and searched my high school for people that I would want to be in touch with. For long lost friends with whom it would be great to rekindle friendships. I didn't see that many in the list for my class, so I pulled out my senior yearbook. And then my sophomore. And then my junior high yearbooks. It was then that I realized that what I regret most about my high school years was that I didn't nurture more friendships. Moreover, I got so caught in drama with my (two years older) "boyfriend" that I began losing touch with most of my junior high and high school friends long before I even left high school. Somewhere between entering high school and leaving it, I had managed to lose sight of who I really was as a person.

In ninth grade, I was very involved in school. Student council, scholarship clubs, activities. My ninth grade yearbook is crammed with inside jokes from friends and acquaintances across different social groups. Then, in the middle of my sophomore year, I was in a severe car accident. I broke my TMJ joint in my jaw, broke several teeth, and had to have my mouth wired shut for a few months. I tried to keep a cheerful attitude, but the truth was that it shattered my fragile high school ego. Just when I was beginning to think of myself as pretty, the car accident took that away. Instead of feeling comfortable with a large group of people, I began to feel more moody and self-conscious and stuck to a small group of friends. When I began dating an older friend in my junior year, I let my other relationships slip away. My grades also slipped as I began to ditch school to go hang out with my friends who had already graduated. I was a good student, when present, and so my GPA stayed bouyant enough to not get noticed, but the truth was that I had pretty much lost interest in school by the middle of my junior year.

How many of us wish we knew then what we know now? I feel so grateful for where I am in my life now, but thinking about high school makes me realize how fragile we are during this period in our lives. Faced with life-altering decisions (like drugs, sex, alcohol, college) when we have such a desire to prove our independence and yet such a need for guidance and support. I didn't have that guidance and made so many awful decisions that trampled my spirit and led me down dark paths away from the person I wanted to be.

As I look at those faces in the yearbooks, I wonder what has happened to so many of them. I also think about my own daughter going off to high school in less years than I think I am ready for. I want so desperately for her to understand that the choices she makes will influence the person she will become. To enable her to see her own beauty and value her strengths. To be the guiding hand that I so needed when I was in high school. I am afraid of sharing some of my regrets with her, but my hope is that, by doing so, I can help her high school years be filled with joys instead of regrets.