Yesterday I had a job interview for a writing position. During the interview, one of the people asked me what I do when I have writer's block. I said, "I don't get writer's block." He gave me the most incredulous look and implied that everybody gets writer's block. I reiterated that I don't. I said that if something is just not coming out the way I want, I just write "gobble-di-gook" until something good happens. He nodded knowingly, like he was thinking "see, you DO get writer's block."
Truly, I don't believe in writer's block. Maybe this is just me. My brain has so many thoughts and ideas zinging around at warp speed that, if anything, I have writing overload. I can't possibly write fast enough to get it all down.
Now, I will confess that I suffer from my own self-imposed writer's procrastination syndrome, in which I sometimes avoid the butt-in-chair action of sitting down and physically writing. I also have this life that doesn't always mean I have the time on any given day to make it to the butt-in-chair mode.
However, I feel that I am always writing, in my head if nothing else. I'm always going over scenes in my head, thinking up little phrases that I might use somewhere in ten years, pondering why a character seems flat.
Even when I have to write to a specific assignment and on a deadline, I don't usually have a problem with coming up with stuff to write. I almost always end up writing about twice as much as I need, and then have to cut most of it out.
So I was kind of appalled that this guy implied that I was lying about not having writer's block. Maybe I just don't call it that. Or maybe we define it differently. But even when I'm pondering, pondering, thinking, thinking, staring out the window, figuring out what words need to go on paper, I consider that writing. That is a very important part of my writing process. I have to think a long time about something before it gets put down. I don't think of that as writer's block. I think of that as the process.
I'd be curious to hear what other people experience. Because I'm willing to concede I might be wrong. (Although I'm sure I'm not. I mean, I should know what my own experience has been, right? But that might just be only me.)
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Monday, August 23, 2010
Trying to Find a Teaching Job
I realize the economy sucks right now, and has virtually since the moment I started trying to find a job. Lucky for me. But this goes beyond finding a job for me. It goes to what I want to do with my time at this point in my life.
I've been applying for every teaching job that I feel even remotely qualified for or interested in. That's a lot of jobs. Not a nibble. School starts in two days and I have nada. I've applied for other relevant jobs that have nothing to do with teaching but that sounded fun or at least interesting. Nada.
My friend Paul suggests I should focus on writing and give up this crazy notion of working at a job. I want to agree with him. I love writing. I want to spend all my time writing.
Here's the thing, though. I also want to work, to feel that I'm making a difference to other people. Yes, I know writing makes a difference. How many books can I name that impacted me? One for every day of my life. But until my books are published, I also feel the need to be of use right now.
I love working with kids. I adore them. Especially teenagers. They are awesome. That's why I decided teaching was the thing for me. But evidently, teaching doesn't agree. Or at least potential employers don't agree. Or the economy doesn't agree.
This has caused me to spend the summer pondering my place in the universe and other big thoughts like that. In a big way, not just a small way. I seem to go through this kind of upheaval every ten years or so.
I also really want to contribute to the income and financial stability of my family. Sometimes, especially in the current economy with one child in college and one about to be, with one still coming up, I feel the need to earn actual money. (As opposed to the projected sort of money that I might earn when I get my books published.)
I suppose all artists go through this kind of thing. How to earn a living while still working on your art.
So my ponderings and ramblings have left me with this: I want to be of use to the world, I want to work with and teach teenagers, I want to write, I want to earn some money. There you have it. And that brings to mind my mantra from the Rolling Stones: "you can't always get what you want." Sigh.
This morning I had the freeing thought that what if I just quit trying so dang hard? What if I just acknowledge that there is nothing out there for me at the moment, and in the meantime I can do what my heart desires with the trust that if and when something appears, I will be here waiting for it? That is scary. That requires letting go and not trying to control the situation. That requires that I allow God, the universe, and whatever fates affect the state of education and the economy to work while I throw up my hands. Can it be done? Should it be done?
Well, I have always believed that if you put out into the universe what you want, somehow it will materialize. (I don't mean lottery winnings or stuff like that. I mean intangible things.) So this is me, putting it out there. Universe, it is in your hands now.
I've been applying for every teaching job that I feel even remotely qualified for or interested in. That's a lot of jobs. Not a nibble. School starts in two days and I have nada. I've applied for other relevant jobs that have nothing to do with teaching but that sounded fun or at least interesting. Nada.
My friend Paul suggests I should focus on writing and give up this crazy notion of working at a job. I want to agree with him. I love writing. I want to spend all my time writing.
Here's the thing, though. I also want to work, to feel that I'm making a difference to other people. Yes, I know writing makes a difference. How many books can I name that impacted me? One for every day of my life. But until my books are published, I also feel the need to be of use right now.
I love working with kids. I adore them. Especially teenagers. They are awesome. That's why I decided teaching was the thing for me. But evidently, teaching doesn't agree. Or at least potential employers don't agree. Or the economy doesn't agree.
This has caused me to spend the summer pondering my place in the universe and other big thoughts like that. In a big way, not just a small way. I seem to go through this kind of upheaval every ten years or so.
I also really want to contribute to the income and financial stability of my family. Sometimes, especially in the current economy with one child in college and one about to be, with one still coming up, I feel the need to earn actual money. (As opposed to the projected sort of money that I might earn when I get my books published.)
I suppose all artists go through this kind of thing. How to earn a living while still working on your art.
So my ponderings and ramblings have left me with this: I want to be of use to the world, I want to work with and teach teenagers, I want to write, I want to earn some money. There you have it. And that brings to mind my mantra from the Rolling Stones: "you can't always get what you want." Sigh.
This morning I had the freeing thought that what if I just quit trying so dang hard? What if I just acknowledge that there is nothing out there for me at the moment, and in the meantime I can do what my heart desires with the trust that if and when something appears, I will be here waiting for it? That is scary. That requires letting go and not trying to control the situation. That requires that I allow God, the universe, and whatever fates affect the state of education and the economy to work while I throw up my hands. Can it be done? Should it be done?
Well, I have always believed that if you put out into the universe what you want, somehow it will materialize. (I don't mean lottery winnings or stuff like that. I mean intangible things.) So this is me, putting it out there. Universe, it is in your hands now.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Ah, Children and Their Choices
As parents, I think one of the things we wish for is to spare our children from making poor choices. I mean, we've made many of our own poor choices, right? So we know what to avoid. Right? So if we could just convince our children that they should avoid making all the dumb mistakes we've made, their lives would be much better, right?
Alas, one of my most important ideals of parenting has been to let my children make their own choices. Even when they were 2 1/2 years old and wanted to dress in horrendous outfits, I let them. When they chose friends who were obviously not good for them, I didn't say anything. When they want to drop three classes, spend four months sitting around, go out with a jerk, or quit baseball, I don't say anything. (Well, so maybe I say something, but I don't judge.)
It's a dichotomy of ideals. I want them to be themselves. But I want to let them learn from my mistakes. But they really have to learn from their mistakes. And really, most of those things they choose aren't mistakes, to be accurate. They're just choices that maybe didn't work out so well. Some of them actually do work out pretty well. But it's really hard to sit back and watch while the turning out happens, because as a parent, you have no idea it the final outcome will be good or not so good.
So what brings all this philosophizing on? Daughter number two, Emily, was all scheduled to spend the coming school year in Belgium on an exchange program. That was actually a pretty recent decision. I think she announced it in March or so that she'd like to take a year and do something besides head right off to college. (She just graduated from Boise High School, top 20% of her class, 4.1 something GPA, AP scholar, thank you.) You see, several years ago, Emily skipped 8th grade, so she has this sort of "free" year she can use and still come out at the end of college at the same age as her peers.
But now, Emily informs us she's changed her mind. Doesn't want to go away after all. Still doesn't want to go right off to college, either. (For the record, she is very excited about her chosen college: New Mexico Tech, where she plans to study astrophysics.) What she wants to do this coming year is finish her pilot's license, which she has been working on. Plus she wants to do some other things she's always wanted to try but never had time for, like learning to draw. She plans to get a job--thank goodness. Probably still take more piano lessons--yay. Probably write five or six novels while she's at it. I'm sure she'll keep busy. And I have no problem with this choice. I don't think it's a mistake.
But, come on. Giving up a year in Belgium? Would you? I told her the story she's heard before. (All parental stories must be retold several hundred times before a child reaches 18. It's in the Parenting Handbook.) When I was in college, I had an opportunity to go to a program in London and attend dozens of theatre performances while otherwise partying with my friends. And get credit for it. What was I thinking? Why did I not go? It's one of the great regrets of my life. What I wouldn't give to spend ten weeks in London studying theatre..... Sigh. But even after a moving rendition of that story, she still chose to spend her year her way.
It's taken me a few days to adjust. I think the main thing was I had emotionally prepared for both my daughters to be out of the house in a couple of months. Not that I'm in a big hurry, mind you, but you prepare yourself for these things. Now she will still be here. Frodo, her dog, is most happy, I think. He would sorely miss Emily, and he still will when she goes to college. In the meantime, he has another year. Peter was not so happy at the news. He wanted the Xbox to himself. Somehow he got the crazy idea that I was going to let him have it in his room. Right.
Well, this post was supposed to be about choices. Emily's graduation speakers talked about following your dreams, not necessarily doing the expected thing. I guess Emily took that to heart, because flying is one of her loves, and she hopes the possession of a pilot's license will be one step toward her ultimate dream of becoming an astronaut. Gotta love those independent thinkers. That's how I raised 'em.
Alas, one of my most important ideals of parenting has been to let my children make their own choices. Even when they were 2 1/2 years old and wanted to dress in horrendous outfits, I let them. When they chose friends who were obviously not good for them, I didn't say anything. When they want to drop three classes, spend four months sitting around, go out with a jerk, or quit baseball, I don't say anything. (Well, so maybe I say something, but I don't judge.)
It's a dichotomy of ideals. I want them to be themselves. But I want to let them learn from my mistakes. But they really have to learn from their mistakes. And really, most of those things they choose aren't mistakes, to be accurate. They're just choices that maybe didn't work out so well. Some of them actually do work out pretty well. But it's really hard to sit back and watch while the turning out happens, because as a parent, you have no idea it the final outcome will be good or not so good.
So what brings all this philosophizing on? Daughter number two, Emily, was all scheduled to spend the coming school year in Belgium on an exchange program. That was actually a pretty recent decision. I think she announced it in March or so that she'd like to take a year and do something besides head right off to college. (She just graduated from Boise High School, top 20% of her class, 4.1 something GPA, AP scholar, thank you.) You see, several years ago, Emily skipped 8th grade, so she has this sort of "free" year she can use and still come out at the end of college at the same age as her peers.
But now, Emily informs us she's changed her mind. Doesn't want to go away after all. Still doesn't want to go right off to college, either. (For the record, she is very excited about her chosen college: New Mexico Tech, where she plans to study astrophysics.) What she wants to do this coming year is finish her pilot's license, which she has been working on. Plus she wants to do some other things she's always wanted to try but never had time for, like learning to draw. She plans to get a job--thank goodness. Probably still take more piano lessons--yay. Probably write five or six novels while she's at it. I'm sure she'll keep busy. And I have no problem with this choice. I don't think it's a mistake.
But, come on. Giving up a year in Belgium? Would you? I told her the story she's heard before. (All parental stories must be retold several hundred times before a child reaches 18. It's in the Parenting Handbook.) When I was in college, I had an opportunity to go to a program in London and attend dozens of theatre performances while otherwise partying with my friends. And get credit for it. What was I thinking? Why did I not go? It's one of the great regrets of my life. What I wouldn't give to spend ten weeks in London studying theatre..... Sigh. But even after a moving rendition of that story, she still chose to spend her year her way.
It's taken me a few days to adjust. I think the main thing was I had emotionally prepared for both my daughters to be out of the house in a couple of months. Not that I'm in a big hurry, mind you, but you prepare yourself for these things. Now she will still be here. Frodo, her dog, is most happy, I think. He would sorely miss Emily, and he still will when she goes to college. In the meantime, he has another year. Peter was not so happy at the news. He wanted the Xbox to himself. Somehow he got the crazy idea that I was going to let him have it in his room. Right.
Well, this post was supposed to be about choices. Emily's graduation speakers talked about following your dreams, not necessarily doing the expected thing. I guess Emily took that to heart, because flying is one of her loves, and she hopes the possession of a pilot's license will be one step toward her ultimate dream of becoming an astronaut. Gotta love those independent thinkers. That's how I raised 'em.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Crosswords and Comedy
In our family, summers usually seem to end up having some kind of theme, completely unintentionally. For example, years ago, Emily and Melissa played a game they invented, which they called Dark Volleyball. A few years back, the kids and I got hooked on "Whose Line is it Anyway?"--a funny improv show that aired late at night, causing us all to go to bed late and sleep in late. Like we needed an excuse, right? After Emily's freshman year, she and her friends roamed and slept at one another's houses. I dubbed them the nomads. Some years, it's the vacation theme: the Oregon coast, the family reunion.
So this summer appears to be developing the theme of Comedy Central Presents, to which Peter is now addicted. He's watching all 200+ episodes, alphabetically, and is currently on the D's. I watch one now and then with him. Then, too, there is my present fling with crossword puzzles. I'm not a big crossword puzzle fanatic, mind you. They usually irritate me--I end up feeling either stupid or annoyed at their cryptic clues. But so far, I have done several in the past week or two, mostly because I am procrastinating all the stuff I'm really supposed to be doing. Hey, it's summer.
Of course, this summer could also be themed Moving Out, since both Melissa and Emily appear to be doing just that. No physical signs yet, but the chatter confirms it. Or it could be Desperately Seeking Employment, which is where I've been for over a year and a half now. The weather seems to be going for the Coldest Summer on Record. (Mind you, I'm not unhappy with soft breezes and temperatures below 80.)
I guess if I wanted to, I could make this the Summer of the WIP Completion. Or the Summer I Lost 20 pounds. Both well within my reach. Hmmmm. What about the Summer the Backyard Gets Transformed? Too much. Gotta keep those goals within realistic reach. Maybe the Summer I Convince David to Get Rid of All His Unnecessary Stuff. Right....
Okay, crosswords and comedy it is.
So this summer appears to be developing the theme of Comedy Central Presents, to which Peter is now addicted. He's watching all 200+ episodes, alphabetically, and is currently on the D's. I watch one now and then with him. Then, too, there is my present fling with crossword puzzles. I'm not a big crossword puzzle fanatic, mind you. They usually irritate me--I end up feeling either stupid or annoyed at their cryptic clues. But so far, I have done several in the past week or two, mostly because I am procrastinating all the stuff I'm really supposed to be doing. Hey, it's summer.
Of course, this summer could also be themed Moving Out, since both Melissa and Emily appear to be doing just that. No physical signs yet, but the chatter confirms it. Or it could be Desperately Seeking Employment, which is where I've been for over a year and a half now. The weather seems to be going for the Coldest Summer on Record. (Mind you, I'm not unhappy with soft breezes and temperatures below 80.)
I guess if I wanted to, I could make this the Summer of the WIP Completion. Or the Summer I Lost 20 pounds. Both well within my reach. Hmmmm. What about the Summer the Backyard Gets Transformed? Too much. Gotta keep those goals within realistic reach. Maybe the Summer I Convince David to Get Rid of All His Unnecessary Stuff. Right....
Okay, crosswords and comedy it is.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Tribute to Paul Aitken
We just returned from a trip to New York to participate in and be audience members for the New York premiere of Paul's work "And None Shall Be Afraid." This is a five-movement piece of music, the text of which is from five different religious traditions' prayers for peace. It is stunning musically, spiritually, emotionally--every way possible.
I've heard this piece many, many times. I never tire of it. It always lifts me up and inspires me. It makes me want to be a peacemaker.
All throughout rehearsals, Paul kept telling his choir members (two of which we children of mine)that his main goal was for the text, the words, to really come through. He really wants this piece to advocate for peace in the world. Even up through the dress rehearsal, his constant direction was "more text." The singers like to tease Paul about his "more text" admonitions. He takes it well. That's the kind of guy Paul is. He doesn't mind being teased, and he gives as much as he gets.
When performance time came, the text shone through loud and clear. I was transported. Really. Some music is so familiar, so common now that it has to be extra special in performance to transform me as a listener. And even though I've heard this peace so many times I can almost sing it through to myself in my head, this performance was transporting. It lifts my heart. It makes me want to stand up with a loud "Amen." (Which I am happy to report, I did not do in the middle of Carnegie Hall.)
And here's the thing about the music: it came from the soul of Paul Aitken. I pondered this for some time during our trip. What is it about the music that truly takes one to another level? Paul put everything of himself into this music, that's what. It contains all of his theology, all of his world view, all of his life and love. I know I'm sounding pretty cheesy and corny here, but it's true. What else would make hundreds of singers and their families pay tons of money and time to go to New York to sing this piece? It is something about Paul that makes people want to participate in these adventures with him. It is his ferocious fearlessness to put all of himself out there in order to create a musical experience that will inspire others to do the same. He lives his life with constant conviction that we can each make a difference.
And just so you don't think this is all groupie worship, let me just say I've been friends with Paul for a number of years now, and he is no saint. He has plenty of human faults and failings, which I won't go into, because anyone who knows him is well aware of all these. But his soul is full of good. His music is, as I recently described to my brother-in-law, fresh, classic, and global all at once.
I want to thank my friend for bringing this music into being. For being willing to put it all out there. For lifting up the hearts of so many. And for daring to make a difference. My daughter Melissa has said that music is my religion. I don't deny it. It is how the highest of spiritual experiences can best be expressed. "And None Shall Be Afraid" would be the statement of faith for my music-based religion. Thanks, Paul.
I've heard this piece many, many times. I never tire of it. It always lifts me up and inspires me. It makes me want to be a peacemaker.
All throughout rehearsals, Paul kept telling his choir members (two of which we children of mine)that his main goal was for the text, the words, to really come through. He really wants this piece to advocate for peace in the world. Even up through the dress rehearsal, his constant direction was "more text." The singers like to tease Paul about his "more text" admonitions. He takes it well. That's the kind of guy Paul is. He doesn't mind being teased, and he gives as much as he gets.
When performance time came, the text shone through loud and clear. I was transported. Really. Some music is so familiar, so common now that it has to be extra special in performance to transform me as a listener. And even though I've heard this peace so many times I can almost sing it through to myself in my head, this performance was transporting. It lifts my heart. It makes me want to stand up with a loud "Amen." (Which I am happy to report, I did not do in the middle of Carnegie Hall.)
And here's the thing about the music: it came from the soul of Paul Aitken. I pondered this for some time during our trip. What is it about the music that truly takes one to another level? Paul put everything of himself into this music, that's what. It contains all of his theology, all of his world view, all of his life and love. I know I'm sounding pretty cheesy and corny here, but it's true. What else would make hundreds of singers and their families pay tons of money and time to go to New York to sing this piece? It is something about Paul that makes people want to participate in these adventures with him. It is his ferocious fearlessness to put all of himself out there in order to create a musical experience that will inspire others to do the same. He lives his life with constant conviction that we can each make a difference.
And just so you don't think this is all groupie worship, let me just say I've been friends with Paul for a number of years now, and he is no saint. He has plenty of human faults and failings, which I won't go into, because anyone who knows him is well aware of all these. But his soul is full of good. His music is, as I recently described to my brother-in-law, fresh, classic, and global all at once.
I want to thank my friend for bringing this music into being. For being willing to put it all out there. For lifting up the hearts of so many. And for daring to make a difference. My daughter Melissa has said that music is my religion. I don't deny it. It is how the highest of spiritual experiences can best be expressed. "And None Shall Be Afraid" would be the statement of faith for my music-based religion. Thanks, Paul.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Life in the Slow Lane
Something I've learned about myself in recent years is that I'm slow. And I like it that way.
Now, I realize slow has many connotations, so let me try to add some lucidity to my statement. I don't mean slow as in stupid, although my 17 year old might tend to disagree. I don't mean slow as in I move slowly. Sometimes I move very quickly.
What I really mean is that I do not embrace change quickly. Not quite right. I embrace change almost instantaneously, but making the actual changes, that takes me a long time. There, that's what I mean.
Let's take weight loss, for example. I have been following the Weight Watchers plan for a little over 5 months now. I have lost almost 25 pounds. I have a LOT more to lose, believe me. I have several acquaintances who have taken different routes to weight loss and have achieved their goals much more quickly. But I'm okay with the slow way. Here's why: I will not give up cheese, bread, pie, chocolate chip cookies, or french fries. I haven't and I don't plan to in the future. Weight Watchers is a program that helps me to enjoy all my favorite things while making healthier choices and giving me wiggle room to enjoy celebrating Mother's Day with some strawberry shortcake or eating a big juicy burger at my favorite restaurant. Granted, I'm not gonna lose my 100+ pounds by my birthday, but that's okay with me. I am taking the long view. I plan on living around 40-50 more years. I don't want to spend those years eating tiny helpings of carrots or baked potatoes with nothing on them. I want to be able to enjoy my food while being healthy. So I'm going slowly. I'm learning many things about myself, and I'm happy to be making progress.
Here's another example. I have had my fair share of medical headaches to deal with. Low thyroid function. High cholesterol. Depression. Migraines. Etc. My kids laugh at me and the other similarly aged friends of mine as we discuss our various aches and pains, our need for bifocals, and the best chiropractors. I'm a little like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz. I've always known that I have the power within myself to deal with my medical issues. I know I am a very, very strong person who has enough will power to shatter a skyscraper if I want to. But I have spent the last twenty years basically using that strength to raise my kids. As many of you know, this is a hard job, parenting. Hard doesn't even touch it. It's enormously taxing. It's outrageously exhausting. You get the picture. So even though I had it in me, 'it' got zapped out of me. This infuriates and frustrates my health care professionals who have preached and preached about the importance of taking care of yourself, meeting your own needs, blah, blah, blah.
I felt all kinds of guilt for a while. Then I realized, I'm slow. I'll make the changes I know I need to make when I'm darn good and ready, thank you very much. In the meantime, better living through chemistry is nothing to balk at. It has kept me going for the last ten years, and I'm have no shame in doing what I needed to do to make it through. Now I find myself motivated to get moving on these changes. Weight loss is one thing. I'm also working on weaning off my meds. It's exciting, really. And it feels empowering. And I'm doing it slowly. I'm in no rush. I'll get there eventually.
Writing is another thing I'm slow about. I don't write 1,000 words a day most days. I do write often, and I love it, and if I had absolutely nothing else going on, I probably would write more, but I probably would still be going slowly. It's just how I am. I have to let my stories percolate in my head for a long time. Then I write scene by scene, thinking a lot as I go. I get there eventually. But I'm slow.
There's been a lot of press in the last few years about the powerful benefits of living slow. Slow food. Slow lifestyle. Slow everything. I'm on it. I've never been a big fan of instant meals. I do utilize them when I need to, but I would much rather eat real food that took me time to make. Slow. I have never fit into the corporate fast track, preferring instead the slow life of daily diaper changing, writing, weeding, and growing. Even now, as I contemplate going into the full-time workforce, I don't want something fast-paced and go-go-go. I want to teach literature and writing, slowly. I want to delve deeply into a subject. We'll see how well that works out. I know from experience that today's classrooms are all about fast and furious.
Slow is I. (That is, by the way, grammatically correct. Even I typed 'me' originally, though.) I am slow. It's a content way to live. If you can ignore the fast movers around you. Thank goodness the world has Type A folks to get stuff done, NOW. But I think it also needs those like myself, who will take a thoughtful, long view of things. It's about balance.
Now, I realize slow has many connotations, so let me try to add some lucidity to my statement. I don't mean slow as in stupid, although my 17 year old might tend to disagree. I don't mean slow as in I move slowly. Sometimes I move very quickly.
What I really mean is that I do not embrace change quickly. Not quite right. I embrace change almost instantaneously, but making the actual changes, that takes me a long time. There, that's what I mean.
Let's take weight loss, for example. I have been following the Weight Watchers plan for a little over 5 months now. I have lost almost 25 pounds. I have a LOT more to lose, believe me. I have several acquaintances who have taken different routes to weight loss and have achieved their goals much more quickly. But I'm okay with the slow way. Here's why: I will not give up cheese, bread, pie, chocolate chip cookies, or french fries. I haven't and I don't plan to in the future. Weight Watchers is a program that helps me to enjoy all my favorite things while making healthier choices and giving me wiggle room to enjoy celebrating Mother's Day with some strawberry shortcake or eating a big juicy burger at my favorite restaurant. Granted, I'm not gonna lose my 100+ pounds by my birthday, but that's okay with me. I am taking the long view. I plan on living around 40-50 more years. I don't want to spend those years eating tiny helpings of carrots or baked potatoes with nothing on them. I want to be able to enjoy my food while being healthy. So I'm going slowly. I'm learning many things about myself, and I'm happy to be making progress.
Here's another example. I have had my fair share of medical headaches to deal with. Low thyroid function. High cholesterol. Depression. Migraines. Etc. My kids laugh at me and the other similarly aged friends of mine as we discuss our various aches and pains, our need for bifocals, and the best chiropractors. I'm a little like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz. I've always known that I have the power within myself to deal with my medical issues. I know I am a very, very strong person who has enough will power to shatter a skyscraper if I want to. But I have spent the last twenty years basically using that strength to raise my kids. As many of you know, this is a hard job, parenting. Hard doesn't even touch it. It's enormously taxing. It's outrageously exhausting. You get the picture. So even though I had it in me, 'it' got zapped out of me. This infuriates and frustrates my health care professionals who have preached and preached about the importance of taking care of yourself, meeting your own needs, blah, blah, blah.
I felt all kinds of guilt for a while. Then I realized, I'm slow. I'll make the changes I know I need to make when I'm darn good and ready, thank you very much. In the meantime, better living through chemistry is nothing to balk at. It has kept me going for the last ten years, and I'm have no shame in doing what I needed to do to make it through. Now I find myself motivated to get moving on these changes. Weight loss is one thing. I'm also working on weaning off my meds. It's exciting, really. And it feels empowering. And I'm doing it slowly. I'm in no rush. I'll get there eventually.
Writing is another thing I'm slow about. I don't write 1,000 words a day most days. I do write often, and I love it, and if I had absolutely nothing else going on, I probably would write more, but I probably would still be going slowly. It's just how I am. I have to let my stories percolate in my head for a long time. Then I write scene by scene, thinking a lot as I go. I get there eventually. But I'm slow.
There's been a lot of press in the last few years about the powerful benefits of living slow. Slow food. Slow lifestyle. Slow everything. I'm on it. I've never been a big fan of instant meals. I do utilize them when I need to, but I would much rather eat real food that took me time to make. Slow. I have never fit into the corporate fast track, preferring instead the slow life of daily diaper changing, writing, weeding, and growing. Even now, as I contemplate going into the full-time workforce, I don't want something fast-paced and go-go-go. I want to teach literature and writing, slowly. I want to delve deeply into a subject. We'll see how well that works out. I know from experience that today's classrooms are all about fast and furious.
Slow is I. (That is, by the way, grammatically correct. Even I typed 'me' originally, though.) I am slow. It's a content way to live. If you can ignore the fast movers around you. Thank goodness the world has Type A folks to get stuff done, NOW. But I think it also needs those like myself, who will take a thoughtful, long view of things. It's about balance.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Real Life in the 6th Grade
Well, I've had several post ideas in recent weeks, but nary time to write them. You see, I've been spending my days as a long-term sub for a 6th grade classroom. So let me enlighten you as to life in elementary school, whether you are still there, or whether it's been several decades.
The first thing, and this is a comment mostly directed at our legislators, is that teachers DO NOT GET PAID NEARLY ENOUGH. They get to school usually before 8:00 a.m. (more like 6:00 if they teach jr. high or high school) and some are still there at 6:00 p.m. And they take tons of papers home to grade every day. Plus they have to deal with these students suffering from "life entitlement syndrome" (a term I just coined). They get a measly lunch half-hour, which they often spend grading papers or planning lessons, or catching up on their personal issues. And most of them spend their summers taking additional teaching credits often required by the district or the state.
Second, there is not nearly enough time to really teach students in the course of an elementary school day. First, we have to take roll, lunch count, say the pledge, deal with 25 questions about forms that were sent home, book orders, bathroom requests and pencil sharpening. Once the students finally settle down to work, you've got maybe one good hour to cover math, science, health, and also deal with the boy who never stays in his seat, the girl who really only cares about how short her shorts are, and the IEP student who won't be doing any of those lessons.
Then it's off to recess, AKA, a really good way to get the kids all worked up again so that it takes them another 15 minutes to get settled down. After recess, you've got maybe another good hour to cover spelling, grammar, and writing, which is likely to be interrupted by the art teacher, an announcement by the track coach, papers that must be put in backpacks NOW, and the inevitable discussion called "Why do we have to do this?" Then the kids go off to band/orchestra or study hall (where they listen to their iPods).
They rush to lunch, snarf down maybe a teaspoon of food, then outside to get all excitable again. After lunch, they're tired of being told to be quiet, but they are now going to computer lab, where they are supposed to be looking up information about Bosnia, but instead, they have games, google earth, and other distractions. I have to go around the room a hundred times to keep them on task--a truly impossible feat. After computer lab, we have a few minutes for reading and social studies, then we have to leave 15 minutes at the end of the day for them to gather up all their homework, write their assignments down, and pass out papers.
Somehow, during this mad dash of a day, I am supposed to prepare them for standardized tests, assessments of 1,000 kinds, and bring enriching, meaningful significance to learning about pronouns. Which I can do, IF the students were up for it.
But they're not. They feel entitled to put in their time doing worksheets in exchange for 100% scores. These kids have checked out. They listen to a math lesson, nodding when asked if it makes sense, chatting through the entire time they have allotted to complete the 20 easy problems they are assigned, and then still proceed to get only one problem correct.
Some of the students, I grant you, work diligently all day, completing their work in quiet, while the rest of the room echoes with sounds. The sounds of the boys who think their every thought deserves verbal expression. The sounds of the kid who has to drum on everything. The sound of the kid who insists "I'm not talking" every three seconds. Even when it's quiet, it's loud.
They whine about everything, from where they sit to the classmate who farts to the injustice of my calling on someone who has only spoken once all day. They whine when they don't hear my instructions because none of them will shut up, including the ones whining. They whine that they're hungry at 9:00, because they don't eat breakfast at home. They whine that they have to go to band, when it is actually an optional class. They whine that the principal makes them adhere to the dress code. They whine when I insist they turn work in on time. They whine that they didn't know about the test posted on the board for the last six days. They whine when asked to do work that requires actual thinking.
And yet, they want to grow up, go to a good college, earn a good living, and of course be rich and famous. They have no idea how privileged they are, nor how sad it is that they are wasting the precious education that comes to them for free.
Still, I go everyday, ready to make a fresh start of it. Hoping that today there will be some light bulbs that go off. Hoping that somehow the students will find it in themselves to actually care. Hoping that anything I do makes any difference to anyone.
I sound like someone who's been at this for 30 years and is ready to retire. But I've been in this particular 6th grade room for a whole 4 weeks. If I had to spend every day for 30 years in an elementary classroom, I would go stark, raving, mad.
And I LOVE kids. LOVE them. If all I had to do was BE with these students, they would be delightful. And they are delightful some of the time. Like when the one student gets so excited about basketball that it's the only time I really enjoy hearing him talk non-stop. Or the student who will do almost anything for a piece of candy. Or the troublemaker who really gets into art.
But if those legislators think for one second that they can cut funding and cram more 6th graders into each classroom, I challenge them to spend a day doing what I do. They will run screaming for the hills, raise teachers' salaries three-fold, and stop their bellyaching about how far behind education is in this country.
The first thing, and this is a comment mostly directed at our legislators, is that teachers DO NOT GET PAID NEARLY ENOUGH. They get to school usually before 8:00 a.m. (more like 6:00 if they teach jr. high or high school) and some are still there at 6:00 p.m. And they take tons of papers home to grade every day. Plus they have to deal with these students suffering from "life entitlement syndrome" (a term I just coined). They get a measly lunch half-hour, which they often spend grading papers or planning lessons, or catching up on their personal issues. And most of them spend their summers taking additional teaching credits often required by the district or the state.
Second, there is not nearly enough time to really teach students in the course of an elementary school day. First, we have to take roll, lunch count, say the pledge, deal with 25 questions about forms that were sent home, book orders, bathroom requests and pencil sharpening. Once the students finally settle down to work, you've got maybe one good hour to cover math, science, health, and also deal with the boy who never stays in his seat, the girl who really only cares about how short her shorts are, and the IEP student who won't be doing any of those lessons.
Then it's off to recess, AKA, a really good way to get the kids all worked up again so that it takes them another 15 minutes to get settled down. After recess, you've got maybe another good hour to cover spelling, grammar, and writing, which is likely to be interrupted by the art teacher, an announcement by the track coach, papers that must be put in backpacks NOW, and the inevitable discussion called "Why do we have to do this?" Then the kids go off to band/orchestra or study hall (where they listen to their iPods).
They rush to lunch, snarf down maybe a teaspoon of food, then outside to get all excitable again. After lunch, they're tired of being told to be quiet, but they are now going to computer lab, where they are supposed to be looking up information about Bosnia, but instead, they have games, google earth, and other distractions. I have to go around the room a hundred times to keep them on task--a truly impossible feat. After computer lab, we have a few minutes for reading and social studies, then we have to leave 15 minutes at the end of the day for them to gather up all their homework, write their assignments down, and pass out papers.
Somehow, during this mad dash of a day, I am supposed to prepare them for standardized tests, assessments of 1,000 kinds, and bring enriching, meaningful significance to learning about pronouns. Which I can do, IF the students were up for it.
But they're not. They feel entitled to put in their time doing worksheets in exchange for 100% scores. These kids have checked out. They listen to a math lesson, nodding when asked if it makes sense, chatting through the entire time they have allotted to complete the 20 easy problems they are assigned, and then still proceed to get only one problem correct.
Some of the students, I grant you, work diligently all day, completing their work in quiet, while the rest of the room echoes with sounds. The sounds of the boys who think their every thought deserves verbal expression. The sounds of the kid who has to drum on everything. The sound of the kid who insists "I'm not talking" every three seconds. Even when it's quiet, it's loud.
They whine about everything, from where they sit to the classmate who farts to the injustice of my calling on someone who has only spoken once all day. They whine when they don't hear my instructions because none of them will shut up, including the ones whining. They whine that they're hungry at 9:00, because they don't eat breakfast at home. They whine that they have to go to band, when it is actually an optional class. They whine that the principal makes them adhere to the dress code. They whine when I insist they turn work in on time. They whine that they didn't know about the test posted on the board for the last six days. They whine when asked to do work that requires actual thinking.
And yet, they want to grow up, go to a good college, earn a good living, and of course be rich and famous. They have no idea how privileged they are, nor how sad it is that they are wasting the precious education that comes to them for free.
Still, I go everyday, ready to make a fresh start of it. Hoping that today there will be some light bulbs that go off. Hoping that somehow the students will find it in themselves to actually care. Hoping that anything I do makes any difference to anyone.
I sound like someone who's been at this for 30 years and is ready to retire. But I've been in this particular 6th grade room for a whole 4 weeks. If I had to spend every day for 30 years in an elementary classroom, I would go stark, raving, mad.
And I LOVE kids. LOVE them. If all I had to do was BE with these students, they would be delightful. And they are delightful some of the time. Like when the one student gets so excited about basketball that it's the only time I really enjoy hearing him talk non-stop. Or the student who will do almost anything for a piece of candy. Or the troublemaker who really gets into art.
But if those legislators think for one second that they can cut funding and cram more 6th graders into each classroom, I challenge them to spend a day doing what I do. They will run screaming for the hills, raise teachers' salaries three-fold, and stop their bellyaching about how far behind education is in this country.
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