Tag: blog

becoming

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I was speaking with a student the other day about how when we aren’t paying attention, things in our lives (both insignificant and critical) change. Sometimes that change brings positivity and goodness and sometimes that change surreptitiously steals something irreplaceable. We also talked about how it can be hard to look back on that easier time, that time before. Pervasive jealousy can eat away at you in those moments if you aren’t careful. Jealousy for moments when you felt more yourself, more able, less confined, less troubled. I should know. I look back on the pre-inner ear days with great longing. In pictures from before this disorder began, I immediately recognize an ease to my smile that indicates I hadn’t yet suffered the weight of what was to come. I wonder who that girl could have become…what her life might have looked like…what she could have accomplished.

But, I had a student in a bit of a crisis with me, so I couldn’t stop there or even really linger. I had to bring a more important insight to her. And that was simply this: Don’t focus too much on who you feel like you were before this “thing” interrupted your journey, retrain your gaze on who you will become as a result…give that girl some grace and begin to wrap her in love and acceptance.

For my own purposes, it doesn’t matter who that smiling carefree girl in my pictures could have become without the illness; the fact of the matter is that the strength and determination I possess today was instilled because I walked through that fire…because it melted and reshaped me and I am stronger as a result. Is my life what I thought it would be? Nope. But that isn’t a terrible thing. Sure it would be nice to float through a simpler existence on this earth…to move through my days with nothing more than average human dilemmas. That is not the lot I drew and pouting about it only denies the beauty that my life still has to offer.

Of course I can say this because I’m currently on the other side of that fire and it is easier to see the truth because of that. But this student needed to know that she wasn’t alone. That she will reach the other side of her fire as well. She needed to know that it is okay to grow and to change in response to this life and it is also okay to feel frustrated and hurt that this change had to occur…but that giving up is not a worthwhile indulgence. She needed to know that she could still tackle amazing feats. She needed to know she’s not done yet just because it’s hard right now. And she needed to talk and to be heard. So I listened…for a while..before sharing anything with her. Because sometimes you need to empty the tank before you can be filled up again.

(For some reason, as I wrote this, Joy Harjo’s “Once the World was Perfect” came to mind. I think it was the beginning of the poem that resurfaced first–

“Once the world was perfect, and we were happy in that world.
Then we took it for granted.
Discontent began a small rumble in the earthly mind.
Then Doubt pushed through with its spiked head.
And once Doubt ruptured the web,
All manner of demon thoughts
Jumped through—”)
(And I also thought of this–“Mother to Son” by Langston Hughes)
(Day 49–7 weeks of daily blogging–and good thing I’m almost done. Parades have begun in full force and king cake is getting harder to resist!)

wisdom of yesterday

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So, should you ever decide to venture into the realm of setting goals that can only be achieved through discipline (and I would say that is most goals), I strongly recommend prioritizing them and working toward them one at a time. Okay, so maybe this isn’t true in all cases. Maybe I’m just speaking about the predicament I have created for myself in both dedicating myself to a blog a day and to a healthier lifestyle. Those two objectives really should not complicate each other…except they do. Here’s why: In order to live this healthier lifestyle, exercising on a nearly daily basis is required. My work/family schedule mandates that take place in the darkness of early morning (before I work an often 12 hour school day). Conversely, in order to write daily, I have to wait until the day is essentially done…dinner has been cooked and the kids are in bed. This schedule means that I wake up at 4:30am and don’t get to write until somewhere around 9pm…when I am thoroughly exhausted and ready to just fall asleep on my couch while pretending to watch television!

The only thing making success possible isn’t the king cake prize at the end (shocking, I know). Rather, it is merely the determination to succeed. This is something I couldn’t have mustered even in small form last year at this time. I was so sick and spinning nearly everyday and was too weak to foster any sort of regular discipline. Writing was misery in those days because nothing stood still and because my brain was so focused on seeing straight that words were not so easy to recall and certainly didn’t flow into orderly sentences crafted with style and voice…so instead of persevering, I avoided. It seemed easier that way. To make all of this even worse, I also made a pretty conscious decision that since my body was being so antithetical, I would be disagreeable right back and proceeded to eat anything and everything that I wanted. I ate all the gluten, consumed all the sugar, sipped all the carbonated beverages. Did any of this make me feel better? Probably only in the moment where I fibbed myself into believing that I deserved the deceptively delicious nutritionally void delicacy. Beyond that, sugar and gluten simply are not my friends, but after learning to abide by the discomfort my inner ear brought, this food induced malaise paled.

This indulgence into the world of avoidance and emotional eating not only destroyed my once healthy habits, but also built new terrible ones. Which is partly why this challenge has been so important and partly why I’ve maintained it even when it would be so much more comfortable to quit and to attain a reasonable amount of sleep. Knowledge of what I was incapable of last year at this time…knowledge of how far I still had to go…knowledge that it could all come back in any given moment…brings a gratitude that drives me forward. I maintain my discipline because I can…because it is a gift…because no day should be taken for granted and what I actually deserve is to honor the parts of myself that need exercise–both my brain and my body. It would be selfish to do anything else and foolish to waste what I can do today.

Yesterday brings a clarity worth honoring.

(A poetic gift in honor of hard work… “To Be of Use” by Marge Piercy Here she writes these lines and more…

“The work of the world is common as mud.
Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.
But the thing worth doing well done
has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.” )

 

(Day 48! Written after family movie night and still relatively coherent…writing everyday has made that possible…the discipline is worth the discomfort)

endurance

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There’s this section in Naomi Shihab Nye’s poem, “Jerusalem,” that lingers…sort of always there, but every so often pronouncing its presence with a sense of passion.

“I’m not interested in

who suffered the most.

I’m interested in

people getting over it.”
There is beauty here that is simple, pure and I think often misunderstood. My students sometimes see these opening lines as insensitive…lacking in sympathy, empathy, human kindness. But what is missed in that interpretation is that she doesn’t write that she isn’t concerned for those who have suffered. She is simply less concerned with the misguided competition for who has endured more and is more intensely intrigued by the human process of getting over it–the ability to move on…without harboring hate. Because in the “getting over it” the substance of the human soul and the intensity of perseverance, the will to not just survive but to flourish becomes evident. The getting over it is the example, right? It is the inspiration to the rest of us, the paragon we look to in the midst of our own suffering. Without that inspiration, it’s hard to believe we can surmount the struggle. The “people getting over it” embody the hope that we need to carry on. (and when we persist toward healing, we in turn become that hope for others…a pretty cool cycle, right?)
Later in the poem she writes, “Each carries a tender spot:/something our lives forgot to give us.” Suffering isn’t unique to the individual, rather it is a quality of humanity. We all suffer to varying degrees (we all carry “a tender spot”), it is what we do with that pain that makes the difference. Do we choose to become bitter? To hate? To live in anger and frustration? Or do we choose to forgive? To extend grace? To live in acceptance and hope?
It isn’t always easy to envision a path that leads to the “getting over it”…and sometimes even once we locate that path, it is rather thorny. And sometimes the path requires more energy than we possess in the moment, so we sit down and rest…not wallow, just rest…so that we can unearth the strength, the courage to continue toward overcoming.
The poem ends with the hopeful line: “It’s late but everything comes next.”
In this world that swells with selfish selections…that swirls with negativity and heartache, fear and hatred…this line fills me up. It is late. But nothing is over. There is more to come. We haven’t seen it yet.
Let’s get over the tender spots and marvel at those around us who do the same. Let’s remember that hate doesn’t have to be our answer when wounded. Let’s keep our eyes on what comes next. Let’s live in community, in forgiveness, in a world where getting over it, healing is more interesting than some strange competition over who hurts more. We all hurt. At some point, we will all hurt. Let’s embrace our humanity and rise above that struggle to live our lives with meaning and intent.
Because that is, after all, the blessing of each new day.
(Day 44…loved revisiting this poem)

balance

Amy Clark2 Comments

Concentration: my inability, here, the issue I face most nights as I sit down in an attempt to write in fulfillment of the daily requirement of this challenge.

Evenings in my house are chaotic to say the least. Dinner needs cooking, kids have activities and events, homework demands supervision, and conversation amongst loved ones eager to share their days awaits. All a realization of the dreams I had during those agonizing years spent impatiently waiting for a child, thinking one may never arrive. I would trade none of it (even the nights where it feels like everything is a struggle…fights over which kid will bathe first…meltdowns over homework…frustration over the ever-growing mess). It is the warmth of my heart living outside of my body. It is what transformed this house into a sanctuary. It is the very vibrance of love and family. And it fills me with gratitude.

But it does make writing difficult.

In order not to relinquish some of the only time we are allotted each day together as a family, I attempt to write each night on the couch with the dog running across my lap, my kids and husband talking, and the tv on. Part of me loves that I am still able to think straight enough to write given these circumstances because for all of those months and years of vertigo, even a quiet space would have been an impossible writing environment. Just composing a single sentence that felt coherent in those days drained my energy supplies. So, I appreciate the challenge of these evenings of writing amid the ruckus. But I also know that the writing suffers because of it. I know that in a quiet room, when I am more awake and able to think clearly, my writing thrives and I am truly able to work on my craft.

That’s just not where I am in this moment, in this phase of my life. If I am going to write everyday, in this life that I have built with my family, this is how it is going to have to be. I will have to learn how elevate my writing despite being surrounded by movement and sound…all of the time…and not the movement and sound of a coffeeshop full of strangers–that is easy to tune out. Rather, the movement and sound of people I love intentionally vying for and deserving of my attention…anxiously waiting for me to wrap up the writing portion of my evening. I will have to learn to seek stillness in the madness, calm in the fury…a new discipline to strive toward. I will have to learn that while honoring this creative element of my self is vital and life-giving, I owe it to the people I love most to honor them as well.

Balance: still seeking this utopian quality for it will deliver me to a place of equal dedication to all that is important in sealing the shards of my spirit.

(Day 41! just under the wire!)

reading life

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I have been rereading Toni Morrison’s Beloved…lingering over the language, pausing to absorb the weight, walking away when the truth (atrocity) overwhelms me (knowing that is a weakness), standing in awe of the craft and construction of this text–a text that knows itself, doesn’t oversell, over word, or over extend itself. I have adored this rereading more than any other reading of this book for some reason. I am not sure why, but something inside of me was ready to understand it differently (and I am not entirely sure that isn’t simply because I’ve been writing more and that impacts my perspective).

But I’m conflicted.

I am rereading the book because I recently took over a class for a colleague who had assigned Beloved to AP juniors. So, this time I’m reading the book to teach it. Working through literature with teenagers is honestly one of the best parts of my job. Inevitably, my students reveal insight through their analysis and questioning that is profound and reflects a perspective I might not have considered. This is particularly prone to occur when I allow them to lead the way in discussion and response. When I allow them to define what is important and to determine what is worthy of study, their engagement with the text deepens. When I allow the text to belong to them too and I grant them agency as readers and thinkers, the work is suddenly far more than a school assignment.

Yet despite my love for facilitating discussions about and analytical work with literature, I’m struggling with this one. I really just want to read the book. I just want to enjoy that reading and with all that I am, I sort of just want to keep it to myself. I don’t want to have to mar the solemnity of the read or intrude into my interaction with Morrison’s words and images in order to create lesson plans. Selfishly, I want to consider and consume the book in solitude…to make sense of it on my own and not to have to share that with anyone else. And in the midst of the whining I’ve been partaking in because of this, I realized something else.

My students feel this way all of the time. Sometimes they just want to read a book without school sort of wrecking it.

We (as teachers) talk all of the time about the importance of independent reading. And then we attach regulations and projects and logs and assessments to what we are calling “independent” and in doing so we have stripped the independence clean away. When we micromanage the reading lives of our students, we in no way stoke a joy of reading…if anything, we stifle it. As an avid reader, I really just want to read books I will enjoy (and sometimes I want to read them more than once…and sometimes they are beneath my reading level but they feed my brain in a different way…I’m looking at you Crazy Rich Asians) and then I want to talk to someone else about them. My 10 year old would agree with this philosophy. He is pretty clear on knowing that if  a book project is required, he doesn’t really want to involve a book he loves…because that kind of work destroys the read for him. I think it is time that we really consider the work we attach to independent reading and then consider what those assignments are doing to heighten the reading experience, to strengthen reading skills, and maybe we also need to consider what those assignments are doing to the reading lives of our kids. And then, from that place of understanding, we need to take some action.

So, as I plan structures that will allow my students to share their understanding of Beloved, I am working hard to maintain my personal reading life and also to help my students develop theirs. This book isn’t part of their independent reading…it was assigned to the whole class…but maybe there is a way for them to own it as though they chose it themselves…and maybe I can help make that happen.

(Day 39!)

what next?

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Well, it is another one of those nights. A night where I have crafted lovely little plums of writing–literally three different pieces, but not a single one of them is traveling the path I hoped it might. So, instead of enjoying the freedom of publication, they’ve been caged in the prison of saved drafts. Were I not in the midst of this writing challenge, this would simply translate to a great night of writing and thinking and wondering and playing with the arrangement of words on the page. It would translate to a wealth of strong beginnings on topics I am excited to revisit…to revise…to reclaim.  However, tonight, on day 37, I am fatigued, have no finished work and have reached the point where I feel done with writing for the night, only to commence writing a new piece, this piece, (where I find myself whining about having nothing completed) simply because I have to publish something. Because that was the deal. Because I owe it to myself to uphold the challenge with so few days to go. Because, well, king cake on Mardi Gras Day…really, there isn’t much more to say than that (let me reiterate at this point how hard this challenge has been…not the writing necessarily, but the not eating king cake!! My sister sent one of my kids this immense king cake donut filled with cinnamon cream cheese filling. This confection typically would have tempted  me to stray from the realm of the gluten free just for a quick taste. But I refrained. I haven’t earned it yet. My job is not yet complete).

But, in all of this meandering, I’ve begun to piece together a writing plan for after my challenge draws to a close on Mardi Gras day. I’ve been wondering for a while not, what happens after the king cake is consumed? I think my plan going forward will still center around writing everyday…but with eyes on publishing only once a week. This is probably what this challenge should have been all along, but in order to get to that point, I needed the accountability of a daily public display of my work. The discipline is in place now, and I am sincerely longing for days when I can work on a piece that I enjoy without having to bring it to some kind of quick or cluttered conclusion before it is fully ready simply so I can click publish. I have missed the ability to linger over a piece and to really select my words, to craft my point, to enjoy the process. Entrenching myself in the discipline of this particular work hasn’t fueled my love of writing, though it has made me a better writer. It has also gifted me with the awareness that I do, in fact, have the time to write everyday. Because, as in all things, we make time for the things that are most important to us.

Were I a little less brain dead, I would have woven the following poetry links into the work a bit more seamlessly and embellished and extended the ideas expressed in each. But that is not where I am and I refuse to withhold poetry from you simply because I can’t arrange it as I would like. As I was writing this piece and I mentioned feeling caged or freed in varying places, the following poems came to mind…

“The Heart of a Woman” By Georgia Douglas Johnson

“Sonnet (1979)” By Elizabeth Bishop (I’m not going to lie, the imagery and metaphor in this poem overwhelms me with every read. I have no idea why I connect to it so deeply, but I love how it makes my brain work and my mind and soul feel…and isn’t that the point of poetry on some level?)

“Caged Bird” by Maya Angelou

(Day 37…a bit of a disjointed mess for sure, but the writing that preceded it only to not be published was worth it)

half-way

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Today, I was mentioning to my students that I was at the half-way mark of my blog-a-day writing journey.

Their response?

“Oh my gosh!! You are only half-way?! It seems like you have been doing this forever!”

(there was also this… “How have you not eaten any king cake yet?!?!” Which, honestly, I have no idea how I have not given in!)

I’m not going to lie, I feel like I have been blogging everyday forever at this point as well. The difference between my students and I here exists in the fact that some of them sort of grimaced at the thought of having so many more blogs to go, while I relish it. What was once a duty brought on by the creation of this challenge to myself, has become habit…has become the discipline that I was hoping for. I’m not really writing for king cake anymore (though don’t get me wrong, I will be indulging on Mardi Gras day), I am writing for myself and because the more I write, the more I understand who it is I am as a writer. It’s not always easy, I do not always want to sit down to write, and sometimes, once I do, I sort of hate what I have written. Some nights I argue with myself for a good fifteen minutes before finally succumbing to the will to write instead of falling prey to the desire to sleep. Some nights, I have no idea how I will find the time. Work and family garner my attention and dedication first and some nights that means I don’t have time to write until later than I care to be awake. But somehow (and with the encouragement of my husband), a moment opens up, invites me in, and the writing finds its way onto the page. The creative act is all at once intimidating and exhilarating and I enjoy facing that challenge every evening, if for no other reason than out of curiosity for what will come of it.

And I’ve learned so much about myself as a writer and writing in general through these 32 days:

  1.  I don’t have to like what I write; I just have to write.
  2. Despite being an avid and proud morning person, I can in fact write at night, while tired, and with a headache.
  3. The more I write, the faster I write. My process has always been methodical, slow, intentional. I have always sort of loved that. And it works–when there is time. But my process should not create an impediment to a regular writing habit. Sure with more care and more time, each of these blogs would have been improved…but with more time, most of them would never have seen completion or publication (and I require that accountability).
  4. This project is a far better use of my time in the evenings than staring at my phone!
  5. I am better spoken than perhaps I was before…or at least it feels that way. Because I have dedicated time with just me and my words everyday and because my composition skills feel sharper and swifter, my conversational skills feel the same (which is saying a great deal– since the inner ear malfunction, my brain hasn’t always been friendly to my ability to converse with ease).
  6. Writing teachers need to be writing. ( I’ve always known this, but I understand it far more deeply now than before this project began)
  7. Writing teachers need to be sharing their writing journey with their students (because honestly, that has been one of the best parts of this whole affair. And I don’t mean just the stiff, teacherly “Let me share my process with you.” That is helpful and important of course, but there is more to it than that, right? It is important to share the moments that aren’t so carefully crafted to be teachable–the human moments that are more instructive than we give them credit for. My students and I have this whole writing thing in common now and if nothing else, they know that I am with them…that I get it…that I am doing the work too…and that sometimes it is difficult for me just as it is for them…and that we can all persevere through that. And also, they have come to realize that writing is not just about assignments in school, it is a way of life.)
  8. 32 days is not enough time to persuade my dog that this project, which has placed a computer in the lap she prefers to sit in, is a good idea.
  9. King cake is a good motivator, but clicking publish is a better one.
  10. The support of my family–the knowledge that they recognize how important this is to me–heightens my desire to persevere, to continue writing.

(32 days!! My sister told me I should post a pic of myself longingly looking at king cake today. I totally failed there…but it’ll happen eventually.)

And also, because this poem makes me think about the creative act of putting words to the blank page…“The Storm” by Mary Oliver

indecision

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Indecision. That is my problem this evening. The simple task of selecting a topic and seeing it through has evolved into an exercise in stops and starts. I begin working with a topic and at first it feels like it is going well–I’m making progress and enjoying the work. But then, maybe two paragraphs in, I change my mind…decide, hmmm, maybe I’ll finish this one another day, but not tonight. I’ve literally started then saved three different blog beginnings before finally determining that my brain is too tired to see anything through and here we are. I am simply writing this sort of terrible blog about my indecision just to complete this day of writing.

But, in my defense, being a principal means making decisions, and not just a few, all day long, so I feel excused in my inability. A ridiculously long time ago, when my husband and I were first married, he would come home and say he made decisions all day and didn’t want to have to decide what we were eating for dinner or really anything. I thought that was ridiculous…incredulous…a pathetic excuse to get out of conversation and responsibility. Everyone makes decisions all day long. That’s a human thing and it wasn’t unique to him. I was far from sympathetic and even farther from empathetic. And then the universe stepped in. As I began this new work in this new position, I nearly immediately understood what he meant.

My brain is spent when I get home…all I really want to do is crash…to fall asleep on the sofa while watching terrible television. But these days, before I can do that, I have to write and before I can do that, I have to know what it is I will write about. And some days, getting to that point feels impossible.

Today is one of those days for sure. So, this is it. This is what I have to show for my writing today. I don’t love it and I’m far from happy with it. But as I have said before in this challenge on other difficult days, at least I didn’t quit. At least I made the time and space to write. At least I maintained the discipline. I’ll finish those other more substantive blogs on another day when my brain is fully cooperative and a bit more clear. I am certain of that. This project was never about perfect writing anyway. It was always about simply writing, and I have done that.

(Day 23…not sure this one should count, but here it is nonetheless!)

 

titles

Amy Clark2 Comments

So, I feel my blog has a bit of an identity crisis on its hands.

I was at the chiropractor the other day and mentioned my self-assigned blogging challenge to one of the practitioners. She was curious and asked what kind of blog I kept. I was uncertain and my response delay extended a bit too long. She filled in the vacancy with “You know, is it a food blog, a fitness blog, a fashion blog, something like that?”

She was genuinely interested and I didn’t have a reasonable single word descriptor for what this space has become.

The origin story of this blog remains clear in my mind, but its journey since that day has been somewhat unexpected.

When I sat down to start this blog in Boothbay Harbor, Maine at a literacy retreat a couple of years ago, my intent was to craft my writing around my classroom and the importance of poetry in that space and in my life…hence the title…I am pretty passionate about the necessity of poetry in the English classroom and this was going to be my outlet to prove that imperative to the world. However, since that time, while I do often discuss my classroom, I don’t only discuss my classroom. I love to talk about what is important to me as a teacher, but when I write about it (even when it includes poetry), my voice as a writer and my passion as a teacher seem to conflict and stifle each other. As a result, both suffer and I am left with a piece of writing that reveals neither my most skilled writing nor my truth as an educator. And so I often embed discussions of my classroom in larger discussions of the world and the humans that populate it.

And then other times, especially these days, I don’t mention my classroom at all. And my blog is just the ramblings of my day. I suppose I view this space now as a canvas where I can create whatever moves me in that moment as long as I am writing. It is a means of accountability because each day, I have to click publish and others will see it. It is an opportunity to grow as a writer, a safe space to learn and to practice and to honor this thing I so love to do…even when it’s been a long day and the writing will suffer for it. It keeps me honest, it keeps me writing. This blog (and the ensuing challenge) has become my greatest burden and my greatest relief in that way.

When I tried to explain how I used this space, her next response was “Oh, so it’s a journal…like an online journal?” I cringed. I don’t want to think of this space that way though I suppose it does sort of fit the definition. But words matter to me and I am not comfortable with that term for some reason. So if it has to be that, until I can better define what this space is, I think I would prefer it to be called my writer’s notebook (not to be confused with my tangible writer’s notebook full of my handwriting and notes and revisions). For me, a writer’s notebook is a space to play with words in a very real way…a chance to grow and to learn and to stretch abilities…a place to be myself without care for the opinions of others…a writing space that is mine and on any given day reflects who I am in that moment.

So, while my blog’s identity might still be in crisis, I’m okay with that. It’s generosity in allowing me to think on the page is all I really require.

(Day 22!)