Tag: Positivity Project

lenses

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It’s that time of year where nostalgia for moments past peaks and where video montages prevail in abundance–tugging at our sentimentality for days gone by and seeding lofty resolutions for days to come. I say this having recently wiped misty tears from my eyes as a result of one of these carefully crafted caravans of visual memorabilia. It is important to note, that my tearful reaction is not a novelty–I am easily moved…children singing, for example, is sure to dampen my cheeks as does the privilege of seeing anyone (and I really mean anyone in the most liberal sense) live into the fullest possibility of some element of their potential as a human. So, it shouldn’t come as a huge surprise that this most recent bit of sap was in reaction to a collection of sports highlights from this past decade shown on ESPN. Look, I’ll be honest, every time I see Megan Rapinoe pose, I’m going to be kind of overwhelmed by all the emotion and pride that image stirs up. Her strength and her perseverance and her unwillingness to be anything other than herself, like her or not, is an inspiration to me and to countless others. And I will be moved every time I hear Joe Burrow’s Heisman speech or see that photo of him in his “Burreaux” jersey. And not simply because I am a Tiger fan or a Louisianian, but also because of his undying determination, leadership, gutsy hard work and his consideration of those who didn’t even know he saw their hunger–he didn’t just earn awards, he earned respect.

But tonight, as I watched clip after clip of athletes as they harnessed their God-given talents after countless hours of hard work that required sacrifice and stamina (even and especially when that effort felt futile) achieve the success they had only previously dreamed of, I found myself taken in by their emotion.

And I realized something else.

We don’t need montages of strangers at the pinnacle of their careers to draw us toward the flicker of humanity’s potential; we simply need to pay attention in the small everyday moments of victory. As a teacher, those moments overflow if I allow myself to recognize them for what they are. Whether it is the kid who finally realizes they are a writer after years of being told (both outright and unintentionally) otherwise or the student overwhelmed with anxiety who struggles just to get to school yet finds a way to survive a whole day of classes, the young people I work with are achieving victories every single solitary day. And those victories deserve to be celebrated, those kids deserve to feel seen in their moment of exceeding what they felt was possible. Because just maybe those tiny moments of feeling seen and lifted up will enable them to harness the determination and drive it takes to step forward into spheres of greater challenge. Maybe when we speak our witness of the truth of a child, we help to imbue them with the confidence they need to step out of their comfort and into that sketchy place that will not only usher them toward growth, but potentially also allow them to bring their goodness to the world.

And here’s the thing, if that is true in school, it is true in the world. If we just looked for the good in others; if we took the time to appreciate their small moments of victory (which might be huge to them but harder for us to see), we wouldn’t need a highlight reel to remind us of the human capacity for achievement. We would be struck by it everyday.

This endeavor requires a new lens…one that isn’t scratched by cynicism or selfishness…one that is gauged to more effectively see the truth behind the facade, the struggle behind the show. It requires the effort of putting that lens up to our vision even when it is easier to sink into judgement (and let’s face it, it’s sort of always easier to go there). It requires us to be for others all that we hope they will be for us…even when it is seemingly a debt that goes unpaid. It requires an extension of grace even when retribution seems simpler. It requires us to love our neighbors…all of them…even the ones who don’t make that call so easy to answer (and let’s face it, when we get beyond our own hubris, it becomes far more apparent that for someone else in this world, we are that difficult to love person…).

I’m pretty sure all of our hearts are at stake in this one. I’m also pretty sure that the outcome will be worth the effort.

 

 

 

turn around

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This is a blog of two pictures and a simple reminder.

So, there I was, waiting in the car for my oldest to finish up at cross country. I sort of dread these evening cross country practices because they mean leaving school after a long day, only to return shortly thereafter. It means, I arrive at school just after the sun comes up and I leave just after the sun goes down…it’s not a short day. So, there I was, sitting in the car while it was getting darker trying to stay awake and slowly coming to understand how it was that my dad always fell asleep waiting for me to be done with whatever activity he was picking me up from. Honestly, if I didn’t work at the school, a nap in the car would’ve been a pretty brilliant use of my time (a picture of the principal sleeping in her car in the parking lot spreading through SnapChat stories isn’t worth the extra sleep…for real).

Regardless, I was staring at a darkening sky and thinking of everything I had to do and it was weighing me down.

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I was spending my time as any weary mom might…wallowing in thoughts of cooking dinner and getting kids ready for bed and writing this blog and wanting to just crawl into my own bed instead. I wasn’t doing much to rekindle my energy…just cycling from sleepy to sleepier.  In the midst of this not so proud moment, I received a text from my husband who had just finished coaching my youngest at soccer practice. My son had asked him to send me a picture of the sky because he knew I would love it…he was right.

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It was in that moment I realized that beauty and light were still present…all I had to do was turn around. Instead of gazing straight ahead into the darkness, if I simply turned around and looked behind my car, I could see these last warm tinges of the day’s glow before they settled in for the night. If I only turned around, I could witness the reminder of all that I have to be grateful for. If I just turned around, revival awaited. This action would take energy, sure. It would also require a little faith that I wouldn’t have missed the moment…faith there would still be light to be shared…faith I wouldn’t just be disappointed.

So many moments in life require this energy, this faith. So many moments feel easier if we just stay in our lane heading listlessly into the dark skies craving sleep instead of experience. So many moments feel too overwhelming to make the effort. So many moments distract us from the awareness that the light is waiting for us to find it. So many moments require someone else to remind us that the there is still warmth and beauty in the world.

As fortunate as I am that my son was that reminder for me tonight, he also helped me to remember that I need to be this reminder for others as well. He didn’t make me turn around. He didn’t badger me or try futilely to revive my mood. He didn’t make any empty promises that everything would be okay, as we are so prone to doing when we don’t know what else to say to someone lost in the dark. He didn’t even know I was sulking in the car all those miles away. He just knew I would love that picture and so he found a way to send it my way. He was mindful; he was present.

Just as we all should be. Mindful. Present.

(this poem came to mind while I wrote this entry… “Mother to Son” by Langston Hughes)

redeeming grief

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In December of 2004, I lost a piece of myself that isn’t really retrievable. It was a week before Christmas and I found myself delivering my first child into a world he would never know. There will be no deep dive into the details of my pregnancy with Nathan and what determined our loss–if you want those, you can find them here.

This blog series is aimed at positivity so it seems odd I would bring this loss up at all, but I promise, it comes with good reason. You see, this year, Nathan, had he not been so sick, would be old enough to attend high school…and since I am a high school  principal and teacher, this weighs heavy. I walk around my school each day and I watch the antics of my freshmen–I hear the silly giggles, still tinged with junior high joy; I see the awkwardness settling as they begin to figure out high school; I reassure their parents that their kids will in fact mature and that they will find success. And I do all of this with a bit of an achey heart these days because I should be more deeply involved in this scenario than just the voice of principalian experience (and yes, I just made that word up…). I should be walking campus tickled by the laughter of my own son and his friends…I should be the parent in need of reassurance. In the midst of this realization, I felt my grief, which I have spent so long taming, rediscovering its roar.

Sadness was welling up and I was struggling to push it down.

This was so much harder than I thought it was going to be…and I spent the summer preparing for it!

But as we have wandered through these early weeks of school, I have learned to live my gratitude (which is what redeemed my grief all those years ago). These days, I walk around campus and instead of feeling betrayed by loss, I feel even closer to Nathan than usual. It is almost as if he is present with me just a little bit more each day. Instead of what ifs, I just feel grateful that I have the chance to work with, teach and help all of these kids who are as old as he should be. It is my gift back in some strange way.

I have spent the last 15 years of my life trying to figure out the purpose to my grief, and while I may spend the next 15 years trying to do the same, I have learned a few things. When I harness my grief to offer empathy to those who are suffering, the loss is less. When I view my students through the lens of “If this were Nathan, how would I want someone to treat him in this moment?”, I am a better teacher and human. When I transform grief into gratitude, my loss is vindicated. When Nathan feels alive in my heart, when I recognize that I am still his mom, his death doesn’t feel so vacant.

People question my sort of annoying optimism regularly. I feel like if they understood the loss and the illness and the sacrifices endured, those questions would dissolve. I have every reason to live angry with the world. I choose not to. That isn’t easy. It is a daily decision; it is an active lifestyle and it is imperfect. But optimism and seeking gratitude allow me to see greater purpose in the difficulty, in my life. It allows me to put myself on the side and to see beyond the periphery of the moment, of the wounds. It allows me to seek positivity each and everyday. It allows me to truly live.

And that is what Nathan would want most for his mom anyway. I can’t deny him that.

(and because I haven’t offered enough poems lately…here are a couple…“One Art” By Elizabeth Bishop…“Lost” by David Waggoner (okay, for real, if you don’t click on this link you need to read this line–life changing! “…Wherever you are is called Here,/ And you must treat it as a  powerful stranger,”)

simplicity

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My boys were singing in the car this morning on the way to school…loudly…and giggling the whole time. Effervescent joy permeated the air lending levity to the mundane.As they sang along with Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell to “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough,” I paused.

School mornings bring a bit of insanity and frustration to my house (I don’t think I am alone here). Getting lunches and backpacks ready…cajoling kids out of bed…debating the “I’m not hungry for breakfast” dilemma…fuel the potential for disagreement and discord. (I should mention at this point that I am an all out morning person in a house full of boys who possess no love for the hours before 8am–like I cannot wait until they are old enough to be caffeinated!) I work to preserve their moods but also my own because it is impossible to walk into your day feeling like it will be successful when you have spent the morning arguing over the location of socks and the necessity of  brushing away morning breath.

The singing without abandon in the car freed all of us from whatever morning drama had occurred. And it reminded me. It is truly the simple moments that populate my day with positivity. Without being present in those moments…noticing and feeling grateful for them…they would flicker and extinguish themselves into meaninglessness. Lacking focus on these smaller moments of delight would make it easier for negativity and pessimism to creep into my internal dialogue. When I’m consumed with the busy-ness of my life, when I let the less important things creep up the hierarchy of my priority list, I don’t take the time to notice and revel in these bits of positivity and in the people I love most…and my entire outlook changes.

The point of this positivity project blog series was to shift my gaze–to realign it. This morning’s pause offered proof that intentionality is certainly a crucial step to mindset and outlook. This morning’s pause set the tone for the day and realigned my perspective moving forward (so, when a student in my AP Lit class wondered if Marianne Dashwood would be a VSCO girl, it was easier to crack up in laughter, lean in and be grateful for the gift of my job and the even greater gift of my students).

Flashes of delight fill our days, but they don’t wait around too long hoping to be noticed. We have to be in the moment, expectant, hopeful, ready to grasp them in gratitude and to store them up like fireflies in a jar.

Things don’t have to be complicated to be worth our attention. Embracing simplicity can change everything…if we let it.

mind shift

Amy Clark1 Comment

So, it is Monday. And on top of that, lately I have been a little too permissive with myself and my ability to sink into the stereotypical expectation that Monday will be awful…endless…just the worst. Truly, before this particular Monday even arrived, I had already imagined the drama and distraction and defeat it would wield.

(of course it didn’t help that Monday’s first greeting was my smoke alarm blaring at 2 am…but that wasn’t Monday’s fault…not entirely anyway)

But, this morning (after recovering from the deafening rudeness that awakened me hours before), I rerouted my usual attitude. I was determined to breathe in positivity and joy and to exhale peace and grace and to bring that goodness into the day with me. And I have to say that served in superior fashion to subvert the self-induced misery that could have easily infiltrated my day. And honestly, it would have have been a self inflicted wound–because that is what bias does when we allow it to. It distracts us from the goodness the other might contain. And while my opinions about Mondays are a pretty menial example of the impact of bias, it is still worthy of notation that I willingly sacrifice this day every week because of what I assume will happen with no true knowledge of what might actually happen. I relinquish the possibility of a happy or productive or joyful Monday just because someone a long time ago decided to denounce the day. We do this all the time, in so many significant ways.

Which makes me wonder…

What am I missing out on?

This question draws me into deeper reflection on the implicit bias I carry in other areas of my life (that we all carry in other areas of our lives…it is just human nature):

What other goodness am I absent from? What possibilities am I preventing myself from participating in? Who am I withholding myself from knowing better? How much different would the world be if we quit assuming we know the things and started asking questions to find out more…to dig deeper…to understand and to uncover the truth rather than the baseless expectation?

Humans are complex creatures. To assume we know someone or something because the stereotype is the easy excuse, the popular story, incurs loss on so many levels for the person in control of the assumption and even moreso for those on the other side of it.

Monday has not truly earned its bad name with me. I never gave it a chance to be anything other than awful when I think about it. So as I move forward into Tuesday which has notoriously become known to me as “2nd Monday”, I do so with a different attitude. One of wondering what goodness the day might bring…one of owning my responsibility in actively making the day better (because let’s face it, the order in which the days arrive means something, but they are not in control of whether we enjoy them or not…that is really on us).

And as a good friend of mine told me this evening— “I don’t know, Mondays are full of hope for me. It’s the beginning of something new.” (that will make you shift your focus!) So, by this logic, if Tuesday is truly second Monday, amazing possibilities await. (thank you, Kristen for steering me in a new direction–just goes to prove, the words we say have impact we never anticipate!)

So, go out into this world tomorrow (or tonight) and shift someone’s perspective for the better. Break them free from their blinders and open their horizon to new understanding. And then be ready to receive the same grace in return. It is a whole new day after all…a gift of life…and we choose how to spend it.

(Day 4–positivity project)