3 weeks away from being a mom

I don’t think I quite appreciate just how big a deal this is…I am 3 weeks away from becoming a mom. Well, technically, I already am a mom, but in 3 weeks, I will actually have to take care of this baby other than what my body is doing on its own right now. From late night feedings and a million diaper changes, I know my life is going to change dramatically. I am so excited and just a tad bit nervous.

This year has felt, in many ways, like a whirlwind. Ben and I packed our things and moved on May 29th of last year. On that same day, I found out my uncle was diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer. We were staying with my parents for about a week and a half until our stuff arrived up in Bend. The first morning at my parents house, I was officially offered my job that I now have at Mountain View. I turned 30 while we were staying there with my parents. That seemed like the least eventful part of the stay. And then, on June 8th, we left my parents’ house and trekked our way up north to Bend.

Last summer was a beautiful time for Ben and me. Neither of us were working for the first month and a half we were there, so we spent a ton of time exploring our new town, seeing the sights, and enjoying the beauty and novelty of living in a new place. For me, it was the first time I’d ever lived outside the San Fernando Valley, and it was the culmination of 3 years of marriage. Ben had spent the first 3 years of our marriage in school, planning on a career change to make possible moving out of Los Angeles.

The summer was not all beauty and roses, though. My uncle was progressively getting worse, and on July 18th, only 7 weeks after his diagnosis, he passed away. I still can’t believe it, nearly a year later, and it reminds me to be grateful every day for the time I have with the people I love. I drove down to Shasta by myself at the end of July because Ben had just started a job and was unable to come. It was nice seeing my family, but the circumstances were, of course, horrible.

The next month of summer, I spent mostly by myself because Ben’s job took him 3 hours north. Just like the year before, he had to take a job that was far away from me. It was hard, at first, being alone in a new town, but I was able to find things to do–one of which was to start seriously researching fertility and having a baby. I began reading and talking to friends, and really tracking my fertility to see if we could time conception so that our first baby would be born near the summer of 2015. I didn’t want to start a new job and then tell them I had to leave half way through the year, so we agreed we would only try for 2 months (which would put me due at either the end of May or end of June), and if it didn’t happen, we’d wait one more year. Amazingly, God blessed us on our first try with the conception of our son. God obviously wanted us to become parents now!

Around 6 weeks into my pregnancy, I became utterly exhausted. This was a challenge with my new job. Starting a new school is difficult enough, but I also took on being the Speech coach, which requires me to travel about once a month for tournaments for several days (and coming home at midnight or even later after long bus rides). At week 6, I flew down to my good friend’s wedding in Los Angeles. That’s when I really felt how pregnant I was…I didn’t look pregnant at all, but I was so exhausted by the end of the weekend. Two weeks later, I had to travel to the first tournament. Again, at 8 weeks pregnant, I was utterly exhausted, but thankfully I had no morning sickness, so no one knew I was pregnant. I was able to hide my exhaustion fairly well, but it was a challenge!

Me and Shannon when I was 6 weeks pregnant.

The fall and winter were full of traveling. Thanksgiving, we drove to my parents for the week, in December, I flew down for my sister’s bridal shower, and then a week later, we flew to Missouri for Christmas to visit Ben’s family. In January, I flew again for my sister’s wedding. I decided after all that traveling that I was done with all major trips after that. I loved seeing everyone at all of these trips because the hardest part of this move to Bend (for me) has been being away from my family, especially my sister who is so far away. Even so, traveling while pregnant is a challenge while working full time.

The spring was filled with quite a few tournaments–one in January, one in February, one in March, and one in April. Each of these is a weekend extravaganza. My team is wonderful and very easy to work with, so at least I didn’t have to worry about behavior or discipline. But I think the result of all the traveling and newness of my job is that on the 3 weekends a month that I did have off, it was all I could to just sit in a funk and watch Netflix to recover from everything.

I haven’t gotten much exercise this pregnancy, and I feel like I’ve been trapped indoors for months. I know I could have done better about taking care of myself during this pregnancy, but considering all I’ve taken on this year, I feel like I’ve done my best. I am so thrilled that my son is going to be born at the end of May (I hope!) because I’ll be able to spend the summer with him, enjoying the beauty of nature, the sunshine, and a break from work. I can’t wait to snuggle my little guy in my arms and see what he looks like.

Through all of this, Ben has been very helpful to me. I don’t know what I would have done if he had been working full time too. Ben’s taken over most of the household work, including cooking, for me, since he hasn’t been working since October. He will start working again in June, a couple weeks after our baby’s born, and he’ll be taking over childcare in the fall. We’ll need about a month of daycare in September, but after that, Ben will be staying home for a while, and even though I’m slightly jealous of him, I am so happy that our son will be able to be with one of us for most of his first year of life. Ben will make such a wonderful father of a little boy. I know he can’t wait to introduce him to fishing, hunting, hiking, and all things outdoorsy. I’m sure our little Squirt will be out in the garden with him and on Ben’s back on all his adventures, and I’m so glad to have a supportive partner through all this.

I am now just waiting…it’s May and I’m 36.5 weeks pregnant today. I haven’t had much time to reflect this year whether due to my busy job, exhaustion, or just business in general. But I felt like I needed to look back this morning and see how far we’ve come in the last year. Not all of it has been easy, but it certainly hasn’t been boring! We live in a beautiful house in a beautiful town, and we’re about to be parents. I have a beautiful summer to look forward to…all our family is coming out to visit us at some point, and I just can’t wait to meet my son.

Here’s to almost being a mom!

Struggling a Bit

The last few weeks have been tough for me. Adjusting to a new job is being harder than I thought. It’s been over 5 years since I’ve had to make a transition, and my assignment is certainly a lot more challenging that it was at my last school. Compound that with Ben only being home 1.5 days a week, and the fact that I’m still adjusting to living in a new town without my family, and I’ll be honest. It’s being really hard for me. It was a tough summer in so many ways. My uncle passed away after a short 7 week battle with cancer, my sister’s fiance was in the hospital for 3 weeks, my dad had a staff infection, and now my parents might have to be evacuated from their home because of the fire. Ben’s been away from me since the end of July working at a job, and I’ll admit, I’m not the greatest when it comes to stress. I think I do handle things better than I used to but this last week, I was so incredibly emotional. I got to work at 6:30 each day and graded till I went to bed three nights last week. This week I have Open House tomorrow, and a 2 hour meeting after school Tuesday. And that’s all on top of getting adjusted to my new school, lesson planning, grading, teaching, and attending various meetings. I guess I just have to take it one day at a time. Ben will be done with this job in a couple weeks, and hopefully once he’s home, I’ll cope better with all of this. It’s just hard, and while I wish I could be inspiring, I guess right now what I need is some prayers and support. Thanks to all my readers. Thanks for listening.

The Title of My Blog

I don’t usually write anything about a celebrity’s death, but my blog is titled after the poem, “O me, O life” by Walt Whitman. The first time I heard this poem was in the 9th grade when my English class watched Dead Poet’s Society. I remember being inspired by the film, but always left uneasy by the suicide. I felt conflicted about the message of the film. Was the writer saying that some people cannot handle the kind of intellectual freedom that Williams’ character was espousing to his students? Was his passion for literature too avant garde for 16 year olds? His “sucking the marrow out of life” philosophy seemed pretty appealing to me at age 14, and it certainly didn’t make me suicidal; if anything it made me more hopeful that life was full of mystery and beauty.

I suppose I also found the suicide in the film especially unsettling because in 9th grade someone I knew personally committed suicide. It was the first time I had known someone who took his own life. His name was RJ, and he sat next to me in almost all my classes from 6th-8th grade because his last name started with “L” and mine with “M.” Somehow we had most of our classes together in middle school. He signed my yearbook in 6th, 7th, and 8th grade. I still think of him from time to time, but mostly I think about his parents, especially on April 3 (his birthday) and April 19 (the day he took his own life). Don’t ask me why I remember the dates; we weren’t even close friends. His death just impacted me that much. It also happened to be the day before the Columbine shooting.

Come to think of it, my high school years were filled with moments like this. This was just the first one. There were several other notable high school suicides throughout the valley that year, and when I was a senior, a peer of mine was murdered. I realize now that I encountered a very dark world in high school, and I myself struggled with depression from the time I was in high school until I was about 23.

Thankfully, I was never suicidal…I think the reason I was able to have hope and eventually break free from my depression was because of my family and my faith. But also because I held on to beauty and truth. Lines of poetry from Whitman, and maxims from Emerson and Thoreau, fed my need to find transcendence in a world that often felt very dark.

It saddens me that in his time of crisis, that Williams could not hold on to the words he brought to life so many years ago.

 

Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these recurring,

Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish,

Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)

Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew’d,

Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me,

Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined,

The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?

                                       Answer.

That you are here—that life exists and identity,

That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.

How I got the job…

While I can’t promise this post will be quite as heartwarming as the last, I know many of my family and friends who live far away, would enjoy hearing about my move and how we got from LA to Bend. As someone who has traveled a lot, but never made a big move, I had a lot of ground to navigate before actually making it happen.

Like I said in my last post, it was in April that I attended the job fair. I knew that getting a job was not going to be easy. Something I didn’t tell a lot of people was that I had actually had an interview the summer before but didn’t get the job. At the time, I was actually a bit relieved because I didn’t feel ready to move yet, but the experience did teach me a lot. First of all, I had never been rejected for a job after having at least gotten to the interview round, so even though I was somewhat relieved not to have gotten it, it was also a huge blow to my self-esteem. I asked the principal why I didn’t get the job, and basically it was because one of the other candidates had been working with a student population that was more similar to theirs than I had. I knew that might be an issue because I’d been teaching in a private school for the past five years, and now I was headed back to public. After being rejected for that reason, though, I really began to worry about my prospects.

I decided I had to “kick it up a notch.” I made portfolios of some of my lessons, including student work, and sent one to every principal in Bend. My friend, Vickie, videotaped me teach one of my 8th grade classes, and I included the DVD with my portfolio. God, I will miss those kids. What an amazing group of kindhearted 13-year-olds. Anyone who says that middle school kids are difficult, has never met the kids I had the privilege of working with this year. They were fun, funny, smart, kind, and just a blast to teach.

After sending out my portfolio to each principal, I followed up with emails (probably three to four times), and then I attended the job fair. I was the first one in line, the first to get my interviews, and it was over in about 45 minutes! I couldn’t believe how fast it went, but I knew it had been well worth my time to make the contacts and get my name out there. Unfortunately, I didn’t get to meet all the people I had wanted to, so after flying home, I began contacting the rest to see if I could meet them during my spring break when Ben and I would visit to find a home.

Long story short, I actually had three interviews. One in person that I flew up for and two via Skype. I was tentatively offered a position for one, but it wasn’t official until the person I was replacing resigned, so I took the other two Skype interviews I was offered. I pretty much thought I would end up with the first job (which I was excited about). I had heard that it was nearly  impossible to get a job because of all the qualified applicants. But the morning after we left Los Angeles (we were staying at my parents in Oakhurst for the week while the movers had our stuff), I got a call at 7am in the morning, offering me the position which I will begin in the fall. It’s at a high school 2.5 miles from my home.

In the end, things often don’t happen the way we think they will. I was fairly well convinced that I would have that first job I had interviewed for, and I was happy about it. But when an official offer came through which was so close to my house, it was impossible to turn down. The last five months were filled with excitement, but also a lot of fear. I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to pull it off, especially after my experience last summer. People everywhere were telling me how hard it was to get a job, especially without having subbed for the district first.

In the end, I’m not quite sure why I was chosen, but if there was any one thing I can think of it would be grit. While I know I am a good, hardworking teacher, there are other teachers who work very hard too. But grit is a quality that got ingrained in me during those early days when I was a gymnast. A gymnast who didn’t make the competitive team the first time, so what did I do? I wrote my coach and told him I was going to try harder, and the second time I tried out, you know what? I made it.

So if you’re looking for a job right now…my #1 piece of advice (other than being very competent at what you do) is to have grit. Don’t be afraid to let people know how much you want the job. You may think you’re annoying them, but guess what? When there are 150 other people vying for your position, you have to do something to stand out.

Get gritty. And if you don’t get the job…get grittier.

And when you do get the job, realize you didn’t get there all by yourself. I know for a fact that I had a whole team of people behind me. Vickie who videotaped my lesson, my administrators who gave me glowing reviews, my students who made sure the video went well, my husband who endured listening to me when I was scared, my parents who also listened to me when I was anxious, and most importantly God, who was surely looking out for me and my husband this whole time.

10 reasons I’m glad I became a teacher before becoming a parent

I haven’t written many posts about teaching even though it’s what I “do” every working day.  I’ve contemplated writing some posts about how to teach writing (essay, narrative, persuasive, etc) or how to lead a literature discussion, but I feel like most of my audience would not be very interested.

But, here’s a topic I hope you’ll enjoy reading about.  These are my 10 reasons I am glad I became a teacher before becoming a parent:

1. Kids actually like structure:  Having taught grades 6-12 in my eight years teaching, I can attest to the fact that most kids like structure. The younger the student, the more structure they need.  Students, like many adults, like to know what to expect on a day-to-day basis.  Think of it like this. Imagine every day, your boss had different expectations of you.  That would make for a pretty unnerving, stressful job, wouldn’t it?  As a teacher, I have very clear expectations and procedures for my students. I post a daily agenda, have homework bins in the same spot each day, and follow basic routines so my students know what I expect.  As a future parent, I know that structure will be important for my kids.  Now, I don’t mean that I need to plan out their day to a tee.  But setting clear expectations for my kids about what kind of behaviors I expect from them, will make it a lot less confusing for them.  And routines, whether nap-time, story time or bed time, will most likely comfort them more than make them feel restricted or confined.

2. Be consistent.  Kids can spot a lack of fairness like a dog can smell a piece of meat. Now, I’m not one to tout the benefits of fairness.  Life isn’t fair and I don’t want my kids to get the wrong idea. But, I do believe that the key to classroom management (or discipline) is to be consistent. Decide what matters to you and then enforce the rules consistently each time.  The result of not doing so?  Kids won’t take you seriously and behavior problems will abound.

3. Kids, like all humans, are fragile.  It’s easy to judge a kid who is acting out. It’s easy to dismiss them or become bitter or angry. But I have learned time and time again, that there are things going on in kids’ lives that we can never even imagine. Case in point. I had a student who acted out and pushed the boundaries on a daily basis. I thought he was obnoxious and rude.  Then I found out that his father had recently died. I took a different approach in my discipline with him, choosing to talk to him in a way that I intuitively felt might reach him better.  Guess what?  He stopped acting out.  Now, that said, I would hope I would know my own children very well, but as all parents of teenagers know, many of them are moody for reasons they may not be able to fathom.  And while hormones are not an excuse for bad behavior, listening to them and genuinely showing you care, can actually go a long way.

Me with three girls I taught my first year as a teacher.

4. Boys need good female role models. Having grown up with only a sister, I really knew nothing about how to raise a boy.  As a teacher, I have found that boys, especially between 8th and 12th grade, need women to talk to who are mentoring, mother figures. I cannot tell you how many times I have had boys, ages 13-18 come to me for advice. Just like girls, boys want to be known and understood, but they often take a very different approach.  Just this week, I had a young man say, “Mrs. Medley, you know so much about me!”  I asked him why he thought so, and he said that the way I talked to him, made him feel that I understood him. I could tell he wanted people to know and understand him and that he thought it was cool that I had tried to get to know him.

5.  Kids watch everything we do.  I can think of another time that a young man (an 11th grader), asked me for advice with respect to some family issues he was experiencing. While we were talking, an adult (a colleague) came up to me and proceeded to talk badly about his ex-wife.  After he left, the young man said, “See, all adults are screwed up! Except you!  That’s why I want to talk to you. You are a good person.”  Now, that said, I know for a fact that I am FAR from perfect, but what that interaction showed me is how careful we need to be about what we say in front of kids. They hear and judge everything we say and do.

6. Straight As may actually be bad for kids. Without meaning to, many parents force their children to be someone they’re not. By not allowing their kids to fail, this sends the message to kids that they have to be good at everything. JK Rowling, in her commencement speech at Harvard, explained that had she not failed at everything else she had tried to accomplish, she would never have even allowed herself to do what she was really meant to do on earth, which is write Harry Potter.  I wish I had learned this lesson earlier in life instead of beating myself up over an A- or a B+ (God forbid!).  I have had students so afraid to fail that they will cheat and lie to avoid doing poorly on an assignment. Instead of fostering good character, parents who pressure their kids to be perfect may actually be encouraging a weak moral character.

7. You don’t have to be friends with everybody. In a culture that uses the word “bullying” to describe any kid who is mean, we sometimes forget that YOU DON’T HAVE TO BE FRIENDS WITH EVERYONE. Come on adults!  There are plenty of people in our lives that we have to put up with, but we definitely don’t want to be their friend. And the reality is that we do not need those kinds of people in our lives.  Jerks are jerks, and we shouldn’t tell our children they have to be friends with everyone.  You can choose your friends and your kids should be able to as well (as long as they are still respectful toward everyone, of course).

8. Every child is different, so you can’t treat them the same. Fairness doesn’t mean sameness.  In the same class, I have a boy who makes ape noises and grunts as he tries to body slam his male friends in a sweaty male embrace, and another boy who is so fragile that he looks like he would break if you touched him.  So when Boy #1 doesn’t bring his homework, I might say something like, “Hey, Incredible Hulk (my nickname for him), why didn’t you do your homework?!”  I am straightforward, semi-mocking, and intense.  Why? Because that’s what he responds to, and he feels most comfortable when I interact with him like that.   When I talk to Boy #2, I pull him aside, away from any peers (so as not to embarrass him), and I ask him if anything is going on that kept him from doing his homework.  I encourage him and offer to help him if he needs extra help getting back on track.  Boy #2 needs that or he will turn red, start shaking, and potentially cry.   So how do I know this?  Well, it requires paying attention.  Even in the same family, kids can be so different.  Case in point, “Incredible Hulk” has an older brother who I taught two years ago.  He was somewhat like his brother, but he identified himself as a good public speaker more than as an athlete, so when I struck up a conversation with him, I would usually ask him about his speaking competitions.  Paying attention to what matters to kids is important.

9. If a kid doesn’t like what I like, it doesn’t mean they don’t like me.  When I first became a teacher, I thought if kids didn’t like English class, they didn’t like me.  Now, sometimes that’s true, but I have been amazed the kids who told me I was their favorite teacher even though they hated the book we read or the grammar they had to learn.  I really hope my kids will enjoy reading, writing, and discussing “the meaning of life,” but I know that they also might not like that. They may like math (dear God!). Maybe they’ll even want to be an engineer (God forbid…lol…just kidding!).

10.  The most important thing is that kids know you CARE about them. Teenagers can sense when a teacher is being genuine just as easily as they can spot someone who is disingenuous.  My former students have come back year after year (in person or on Facebook) to tell me how I made a difference in their life. 9 times out of 10 that difference had nothing to do with what I taught them in English class. It was because I took the time to CARE.  How do I show them that I care?  Well, believe it or not, kids can tell if you put your heart and soul into your teaching. In my first year teaching, before I had no idea what I was doing, I still made an impact on some kids because I was trying very hard to do a good job, and guess what…that goes a long way. Kids don’t expect you to be perfect. They expect you to care.

When I left Reseda HS, a student, Kimberly, baked me this cake.

Stephen King’s: On Writing

Do you ever have times in your life when a truth just seem to scream at you? When people, books, documentaries, or Ted Talks (lol), keep saying the same thing?  Well, for me that “thing” has been that I am a writer, and I need to stop denying it.

Calling oneself a writer is a bold step. I think I told my students once that they were all writers, but I probably only half-believed it. Writers are always in a state of “becoming.” Whether you are as prolific as Stephen King or like me, a blogger and sometimes fiction writer, if you are writing and writing regularly, then you are a writer. Granted, as Stephen King says, if you are a competent writer, you can become a good writer, and if you are a good writer, you have a chance (albeit it small) of becoming a great writer. If you’re a bad writer by the time you’re out of high school, he thinks it’s too late. I’m not sure what I think of that, but there probably is some truth in it. To some extent, writing is a gift, or a talent. Even in middle school, if given the option to take a multiple choice or an essay exam, I would opt for essay any day of the week. It’s really not that hard for me to express my thoughts clearly in writing, and I can’t remember a time when it ever has been.

That being said, I have SO MUCH to learn. Especially if I ever want to hack it in the world of fiction. I’ve been discussing this with my good friend, Vicki, and she recommended I read, On Writing by Stephen King. Oh what excellent advice you give, Vicki. What did I get out reading King’s book?

1. The Basics: I’ve already mastered the basics of writing–grammar, sentence fluency, mechanics. Done. (Thank God)

2. Being an honest writer, means keeping it simple. Don’t add a lot of extra words. Avoid adverbs like the plague and be sparing with adjectives. Although I already knew this, I’ve struggled with it as I have a tendency to be verbose.

3. Start small. It suddenly dawned on me that I’ve been going about this writing thing all wrong. I can’t write a novel before publishing a short story.  Time for a redirect.  I’m going to start by writing short stories. I need to exercise my fiction muscle before running the marathon.

4. Write every day.  (Ahem, why do you think I’m writing this post?!)

5. Write the first draft as fast as you can. Get it out of you quickly so you don’t lose focus. Then go back and perfect for as long as it takes.

6. Writers don’t write for fame or money. They write because they are writers. This I already knew, but it gave me a lot more hope that even if I never publish, I will write because it gives me a sense of purpose.

7. Writing is telepathy. Writers and readers share this “head space” during the time when a reader is reading the writer’s work. How cool is it that my thoughts can become your thoughts. That when I describe a scene that you are picturing it.  How intimate. How beautiful.

Yesterday, while exercising at the gym, a prayer came to my lips and it went something like this: Dear God, I have so much to say, so much to learn, so much to write. Please let me live a long life because I know it’s going to take me my whole life to get it all sorted out.

So yeah, God. I’m ready for this ride. I’ll show up. You send me my muse.

The Death of a Tortoise: A Memoir

I wrote the following as an example for my 8th graders. I gave them an assignment to write about an “aha” moment (or enlightening moment) in their lives when they realized something about life or themselves that they had not previously.  When I began sharing with them something from my adult life, they said they couldn’t relate to something so “big” because they were only 13.  So I searched the recesses of my own memory, and told them a story of an enlightening moment from when I was 13.  Here it is:

It was the beginning of spring when I found the empty tortoise shell in my parents’ backyard. I was thirteen and Amy had been a part of our family for not only my entire life, but ever since my father was a young child as well.  My grandfather, who we affectionately called Papo, had purchased several tortoises as pets for my dad and his siblings when they were young, and miraculously they had all lived well into my father’s adulthood and into my childhood as well.  So it was with great pain that I picked up Amy’s near empty shell on a warm spring morning in April 1998.  I too felt empty in that moment, as if someone had taken from me the last of something.  It took me several years to figure out why I felt such loss upon her death.  Amy’s  death symbolized the loss of my grandfather who had died two years earlier, and when I held her empty shell, I felt my connection to him along with my childhood slipping away.

My grandfather, who had lived around the corner from me for a good portion of my childhood, died rather suddenly when I was eleven years old.  I had recently started attending Chaminade Middle School, where not one of my elementary school friends had decided to attend.  My parents had moved us out of his old home and into a new and larger one in Northridge, and we even began going to a new church.  Everything in my life, all my friends at school and church, were gone, and even my home.  But what left me feeling most hollow was the death of my grandfather.  The problem was that with all the changes that were happening in my life, I didn’t allow myself the time to grieve.  I was adjusting to a new school, a new neighborhood, a new church community, and life just didn’t feel like life anymore. I felt like I was living in someone else’s shoes.  But by the time Amy died, I had adjusted to this new life, and I finally had the space to grieve.  When my father saw me crying in agony over our tortoise, Amy, what he was really seeing was me finally mourning my old life that I finally realized was completely gone.

Sometimes death and change happens so suddenly that we do not have the space or capacity to understand its impact in our lives.  It took me a couple years to fully understand why Amy’s death impacted me so strongly.  She was not just a tortoise.  She was the physical embodiment of my childhood lost.  In her empty shell I saw myself playing in my old backyard, feeding her under our fruit trees, and teaching my sister how to catch and throw a ball.  But most of all I saw my grandfather.  What Amy taught me is that sometimes it takes time to realize how change affects us.  It takes time to grieve.  But when we are ready, the grief will come.

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A Conversation with Professors

Today I found myself in a lively Facebook conversation with several professors who teach at Cal State Northridge, one of whom was my professor.  I took American Literature and Native American Literature with him when I was a freshman and junior respectively.  I loved his classes and added him as a friend on Facebook after graduation.  He even came and guest lectured during my first year teaching at Reseda High School.

Anyway, I responded to his original post which read:

“Many students don’t do the reading before class. Some of these students also text on their phones or browse the Internet on their laptops during class. If they don’t do the work outside of class, and if they don’t do the work inside the class — why are they in college? Why are they BORROWING money in order to pay for an education they are NOT getting?” (the Professor)

My first response was this:

“Because we live in a culture that has taught them to get something “done” instead of get something out of what they are doing. Go to any high school, especially a good one, and you will see that the emphasis is on end goals instead of the learning process. Kids take AP classes, not to learn more, but to have yet one more thing to put on their resume for college apps. Granted, probably many of your students were not those “top” kids who took AP courses, but the principle still applies. I fell pray to that thinking in high school, but I was lucky enough to actually fall in love with my subject matter in college that I actually did the readings and came prepared to class for discussion, not just to impress the teacher but because I wanted to learn something that would make me a better person. In my latest blog post, published this morning, I talk about the fact that many people have told me they see no value in reading (including many adults I know). I suspect this is because they want something tangible to come from anything they put effort into. Sadly, the most valuable things we have in life are not tangible in the physical sense. Empathy, concern, appreciation for life, an understanding of other people/cultures/times. To me that is highly valuable. But sadly, I’m finding fewer and fewer students (and adults) who share my view.”

This then proceeded to spark a rather lively conversation with several other professors at the school which ultimately led to a discussion of how modern technology has effected the way people learn (or don’t learn for that matter).  As teachers we are always in a quandary about how much technology to use, when to use, and how to use it effectively.  I found it interesting that all of the professors in the discussion felt that technology, along with the multiplicity of other distractions in our culture, has made it much more difficult to engage students.  It’s not that technology is bad. It’s just that it has made it so much easier for us to be distracted. I say “us” because it’s not just kids who fall victim to this. Heck, while grading stacks of papers, I’m often distracted by technology, as it pulls me to comment on a post or look at Instagram photos.

As English teachers/professors, I think we feel this even more acutely in our classrooms.  Students are not used to focusing for a sustained duration.  Reading for more than ten minutes at a time is a huge challenge for many students because their attention wanders so easily.  Ultimately, many simply give up all together and choose not to do the reading at all.  The professors in the Facebook thread complained that class, which centers on discussion in college, is impossible because so few of the students are actually doing the reading.  And some of their students are even English majors!

The reality is that teachers and professors alike are pressured not to fail students, even students who clearly have no drive to complete the work.  That is because college is a business and secondary schools that are run by the state are expected to churn out students who actually graduate.  The sad thing is that students graduating with high school diplomas can’t often put together a clear well thought out sentence let alone an essay which reflects serious critical thought.

So what is the solution?  We know technology is here to stay so we can’t simply abolish it.  I think in schools we need to create tech free zones or times when students are forced to have human interaction free of any technology.  This up and coming generation has been raised with smart phones, so they have never known a time when texting was not a possibility.  We must create a space for students to learn how to disconnect from technology so that they CAN connect to other human beings and themselves more fully.

Perhaps Louis C.K says it best:

My Journey to Joy

Over the past few days I have been thinking a lot about what my purpose is for this blog.  I have come to realize that while I write about a wide variety of topics they all have one thing in common: my journey to joy.  In my teens and early twenties I suffered from depression.  It was like I was living in a fog of sadness–possessed by a vague darkness.  When I was twenty-three I was tested in ways I had never been before.  In one week, I fell down a flight of stairs head first, and miraculously, I did not suffer any serious injuries.  Four days later, I was the target of a gang initiation.  Gang members in two trucks came after me, totaled my car, and probably had every hope that their actions injured or killed me.  Again, I was amazingly unharmed.  I knew intuitively that these two drastic events (both of which ended with no injuries) could not be a mere coincidence.  I knew I had to change my life.  The problem was–I didn’t know how.

We are constantly in a state of change. It is our choice whether we take the opportunity to grow.

From the time I was in middle school till I was about 23, I was deeply fearful.  I allowed my fears to rule my life.  As a student my fears mostly revolved around my grades.  I HAD to get a 4.0 or higher.  I had to win academic awards.  In high school, I only got one “B”, and it haunted me.  I felt sick for weeks because of it.  I was obsessed with perfection, and I allowed myself to fixate on it.  The key word here is “allow.”  I wanted to believe I had no control over my impulse to be perfect. I fueled the problem by allowing myself to feel wonderful every time I had a success.  Only that wonderful feeling wouldn’t last long because then I had to move on to the next “assignment.”  But the truth was, I did have control and I chose to stay depressed.  I didn’t think I was choosing it at the time, but I was.

Those two events four days a part, when I was 23, set motion a journey: My Journey to Joy.  God knew I hadn’t learned enough from those two events, though.  Seven months after that harrowing week, a tree literally fell through the roof of my home.  Two months after that I was pink slipped from my job.  And that year, I lost $100,000 on my condo as the economy tanked.  These tests, and I say tests because that’s what they were, forced me to either break or bend.  Ultimately, I chose to bend.  It has not been an easy journey, but it has been a richly rewarding one.

This blog is dedicated to my journey toward joy.  I hope that anyone who reads it, especially people who have struggled with sadness or depression, can read my posts and realize that everyone has the power to change their life.  No one is trapped by circumstances.  The only thing that can trap you, is YOU.  Over the past six years, I have undergone an incredible transformation which is still in progress.

At the heart of my TRANSFORMATION is my REALIZATION that joy comes from inner peace, and inner peace comes from:

1. Knowing myself: understanding my imperfections and not allowing them to cripple me

2. Knowing God and seeking His guidance in my life

3. Relying on good people who love me to carry me through the hard times.  I believe my transformation is largely due to the prayers from my parents and sister, who loved me even when I was not very lovable.

4. Living a balanced life: one that feeds my body, mind, and spirit.

I owe my joy to these people, who love me in spite of my flaws and see the good in me that I once was unable to see in myself.

Each week, my goal is to post at least three times.  Each post will relate in some way to my personal transformation, specifically focusing on how our bodies, minds, and spirits must be nurtured daily so that we can experience true harmony and joy in our lives.

I hope you will take this journey with me.

Childhood Lost (a poem…by me)

I came across this poem I wrote as an example for my Creative Writing class two years ago.  We had been studying poetry and were discussing haiku.  Most students think haikus are easy.  5-7-5.  Only 3 lines.  They’re done.  It’s over.  I tried to explain that a well-written haiku is actually very difficult to achieve because you have to  boil language down and pick just the right words to leave an impression.  I say impression because you don’t want to give too much away. Just enough to evoke an image or a feeling which is often universal or transcendent.  But, of course, I also remembered I was working with 13 year olds (many of whom had not chosen Creative Writing as their elective but had failed to fill out the request form for the elective they really wanted).

I did have one girl in the class that year, however, who made my efforts worth it. Just when I thought it was useless to try to get them to understand subtlety and meaning, she would wow me with some piece of brilliance.  I’d love to share one of her poems or short stories with you but that would require her permission, and sadly as it often goes with great students, I only get to be in their life for a short while.

Anyways, their assignment was to write a series of three haikus which were interrelated, perhaps even telling a bit of a story, or carrying the same message or theme.  Something I have always struggled with is letting go.  Letting go of my past, of who I used to be, of how my relationships once were with the people I love(d).  This was hard for me at 12 and it’s hard for me now at 29.  At 12, I realized that I probably needed to move on from playing with my cloth dolls and imaginary friends and begin to enter the world of adolescence.  At 29, I have to let go of much more difficult things.  I have to let go of the kind of relationship I once had with my family.  I’m not a kid.  I’m an adult and soon I’ll be starting my own family with Ben.  It’s not that I’m not ready for it.  It’s not that I don’t look forward to it.  It’s that I feel this enormous sense of loss when I think about my childhood or even my adolescence.  When I imagine the backyard at our house in North Hollywood. Playing with my little sister outside.  Watching episodes of Sherlock Holmes with my dad.  Going to Starbucks weekly with my mom.  It’s those little things that I miss and that I know I can’t ever get back.  Sure, I can try to relive those moments, but even when I relive them, they won’t be how they were. I’m not 8 or 13, or 16.  I’m 29.  So this poem expresses that well of loss, but I think you’ll see that it also is hopeful for all that is to come.

 

Childhood Lost~

The Velveteen Rabbit

 

I knew my childhood

Was over, when I put my

Dolls into a box.

 

Velveteen rabbit,

I thought, as I sat and wept

the child that was.

 

All caterpillars

Must die, so that they may live

again. Butterfly.