I was taking the train from Baltimore to DC, making my way back to the airport after attending the wedding of a good friend from grad school. It was one of those weddings of one of those friends that makes you believe that good things are still possible in the world, that finding a fantastic, self-respecting person who shares similar values is still possible. Do you have any of those friends who you feel lucky to call your friends? People who are just so wonderful and amazing that you feel fortunate to have been a part of their lives, even if just for a little while? Well I got to see four of those people this weekend. And it was pretty great.
As the Metro stopped at the Pentagon station, it occurred to me that the last time I was in DC was in October of 2011 for the Marine Corps Marathon. Running the marathon throughout our nation's capital after one of the worst tragedies in America's history is something I won't soon forget. We ran through the city streets, past one iconic monument and then the next until we made our way to the Pentagon. Only a month and a half before, an airplane had crashed into the building. And here we were, running laps around it in an effort to reach the 26.2 miles we committed to. The image of the Pentagon with a gaping hole in it is something that will be forever burned into my brain.
I have remembered September 11 in various ways since that day...through visiting Ground Zero when I lived in New York to performing community service during my last three years in AmeriCorps. This year, I am working at a camp for people with special needs, where time stands still and national holidays don't mean much more than a date listed on a calendar. How are you going to remember?
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Friday, September 7, 2012
The Pursuit of Happiness
My roommate during my first stint on Semester at Sea wrote down three things she learned each night before she went to bed. I did two blog posts during my first two days on the ship and then gave up, so I give her credit for actually sticking with it. I thought it was sort of a great idea and something I've kept in the back of my head but didn't think about much until now. I've been at camp for three weeks now and each week has had a distinct theme, a sort of lesson that has smacked me in the face as if to say, "Hey you! Think about this." I came here wanting to find some parts of myself that I feel as though I'd lost along the way last year so I decided to run with the idea of a lesson a week, something to think about, ponder, mull over, and reflect upon. The first week's lesson was patience. (See "Patience is a Virtue" post.) The second week's lesson is the pursuit of happiness. Unlike Will Smith in the Hollywood version, I am choosing to spell happiness correctly.
This week I had a group of younger males, mid 20's to early 30's. For the most part, the campers were great. They participated in activities and were genuinely excited to be here. One camper was just about the happiest person I had ever met. In his end of camp paperwork, the best description my co-counselor and I could come up with was "Camper will make you happy when skies are grey." And that's an understatement. He was always smiling, always happy. He would challenge counselors to a "race," line them up in the cafeteria, run a lap, then throw his hands in the air, yelling "Hallelujah!" It made me smile every time. And it happened a lot. Therefore, I smiled a lot that week. He called the the wrong name the entire week, but it didn't matter. I just felt lucky to know him and to, hopefully, help make his camp experience a little better, even though he's the one that definitely did that for me.
On the other end of what I've come to call the happiness spectrum, I had a camper who was unhappy pretty much all of the time. He would fixate on one thing and worry himself into a frenzy. There wasn't really a way to calm his fears until he found the next thing to worry about. He was also having a minor medical issue and complained about that the whole week, using it as an excuse to not participate in activities even though he was perfectly capable. In the five days he was here, I didn't hear a single positive thing come out of his mouth. While it was incredibly frustrating, it also made me stop and think how melancholy it must be to be in such a constant state of worry and anxiety. Toward the end of the week, I asked him what I could do to help take his mind off his troubles and to help him have a fun week at camp since it didn't seem like he was really enjoying himself at all. His response? "I'm just not a happy person." Boom. There it is. This isn't someone who was just having a bad week. This is someone who lives his life in a constant state of worry which sounds a bit like torture if you ask me. He knows this about himself and lives with it. How much of it is treatable and how much of it is a part of his cognitive disability, I'm not sure.
This had me thinking about my own take on happiness. Looking back, sometimes I do tend to find the not so great part about jobs that I've had. In situations like that, it becomes a "misery loves company" mentality. After all, who wants to take the high road and be positive when you have to walk the high road alone? Sounds pretty lonely to me. Then I started to think about all of the things that I was appreciative of about my life and where it is now and about my current job. I happened upon a quote awhile back that I think sums this thought process up quite nicely, "Doing what you like is freedom. Liking what you do is happiness." Nowhere in any of these inspirational quotes about happiness is there a disclaimer or an exception to the rule that if you had a different boss, a different salary, or different coworkers that you would be happy. Happiness depends largely on you and how you choose to respond to your current situation. I haven't always been the best at that, but after spending a week with someone who freely admitted that he just wasn't a happy person and seeing what that looked like, I am determined to change my outlook. While I may not be able to change a given situation, I can certainly change the lens in which I look through.
This week I had a group of younger males, mid 20's to early 30's. For the most part, the campers were great. They participated in activities and were genuinely excited to be here. One camper was just about the happiest person I had ever met. In his end of camp paperwork, the best description my co-counselor and I could come up with was "Camper will make you happy when skies are grey." And that's an understatement. He was always smiling, always happy. He would challenge counselors to a "race," line them up in the cafeteria, run a lap, then throw his hands in the air, yelling "Hallelujah!" It made me smile every time. And it happened a lot. Therefore, I smiled a lot that week. He called the the wrong name the entire week, but it didn't matter. I just felt lucky to know him and to, hopefully, help make his camp experience a little better, even though he's the one that definitely did that for me.
On the other end of what I've come to call the happiness spectrum, I had a camper who was unhappy pretty much all of the time. He would fixate on one thing and worry himself into a frenzy. There wasn't really a way to calm his fears until he found the next thing to worry about. He was also having a minor medical issue and complained about that the whole week, using it as an excuse to not participate in activities even though he was perfectly capable. In the five days he was here, I didn't hear a single positive thing come out of his mouth. While it was incredibly frustrating, it also made me stop and think how melancholy it must be to be in such a constant state of worry and anxiety. Toward the end of the week, I asked him what I could do to help take his mind off his troubles and to help him have a fun week at camp since it didn't seem like he was really enjoying himself at all. His response? "I'm just not a happy person." Boom. There it is. This isn't someone who was just having a bad week. This is someone who lives his life in a constant state of worry which sounds a bit like torture if you ask me. He knows this about himself and lives with it. How much of it is treatable and how much of it is a part of his cognitive disability, I'm not sure.
This had me thinking about my own take on happiness. Looking back, sometimes I do tend to find the not so great part about jobs that I've had. In situations like that, it becomes a "misery loves company" mentality. After all, who wants to take the high road and be positive when you have to walk the high road alone? Sounds pretty lonely to me. Then I started to think about all of the things that I was appreciative of about my life and where it is now and about my current job. I happened upon a quote awhile back that I think sums this thought process up quite nicely, "Doing what you like is freedom. Liking what you do is happiness." Nowhere in any of these inspirational quotes about happiness is there a disclaimer or an exception to the rule that if you had a different boss, a different salary, or different coworkers that you would be happy. Happiness depends largely on you and how you choose to respond to your current situation. I haven't always been the best at that, but after spending a week with someone who freely admitted that he just wasn't a happy person and seeing what that looked like, I am determined to change my outlook. While I may not be able to change a given situation, I can certainly change the lens in which I look through.
Sunday, September 2, 2012
Patience is a Virtue
Patience. If you think you have it or you are looking to find more, work with people with special needs. I'm serious. After my last year in NCCC, I felt that I had lost quite a bit of patience, humility, and compassion, things I felt I had gained quite a bit of during my first year. One of the reasons I wanted to come back and work at a camp for people with special needs is to find some of those things within myself again, to regain what I felt I had lost. While it is one of the hardest jobs, I'll probably ever have, I think it is probably one of the most rewarding. Right now, I feel like I'm still hung up on the differences from the camp I worked at last summer when I should be focusing on the task at hand and helping campers to have the best week that they possibly can. While there are definite pluses and minuses to both places, I can't help but be more appreciative of Camp K, the people there (both campers and staff), and the things they taught me both about others and about myself.
There are always times when I feel that the end goal to a job like this isn't worth it. Those times usually come at a point of complete exhaustion around 2am when you have to spend the night in the campers' cabin for overnight duty. I'm not going to pretend I even remotely like cabin duty. Here, there are scheduled wake up times every three hours in addition to the other things that might come up. But after taking a nap the next day and gaining some clarity, I realize what a humbling experience it is to have someone else's safety, well being, and even bathroom habits be your life's purpose for 9 hours when most other people are sleeping. I make no promises that I won't think "If I quit tomorrow, I'll never have to do this ever again" during my next cabin duty, but I will try and maintain some perspective.
Thinking back on my campers last summer, I didn't have any huge behavioral challenges. Most of the tasks that proved daunting at first were personal care tasks, which now I feel like don't really phase me at all. Last week, I had a pretty good group, but there was one camper in particular who challenged me like I have never been challenged before. This is someone who, at times, just shut down and couldn't express how she was feeling if she was upset or frustrated. So she would lash out, hurting herself or whoever happened to be close by. That was a pretty challenging day for me, so I can imagine it was also pretty challenging for her, not being able to let me know what she needed and how I could help.
This camp also doesn't have a no cell phone rule like Camp K, which I find to be a bit strange since service here is very limited anyway. It's interesting to see that even at a place where we are supposed to be out and enjoying nature, people (campers and staff alike) are still glued to their cell phones. I wonder how things will change for people with special needs when, as technology advances, we as human beings become increasingly closed off from each other. Many of the campers exhibit what is called "attention seeking behaviors", which could be biting themselves, interrupting conversations, hitting, etc. in order to gain attention from their family or care takers, even if it is negative attention. Some of these behaviors are pretty alarming for a camp counselor who has only known them a few days. I wonder when and if this attention seeking will evolve along with the technology as it becomes harder and harder to get that face to face contact they so crave. These people with special needs who are craving this attention could actually teach all of us a thing or two about the value of positive human human contact-that it is still necessary even at a basic human level.
There are always times when I feel that the end goal to a job like this isn't worth it. Those times usually come at a point of complete exhaustion around 2am when you have to spend the night in the campers' cabin for overnight duty. I'm not going to pretend I even remotely like cabin duty. Here, there are scheduled wake up times every three hours in addition to the other things that might come up. But after taking a nap the next day and gaining some clarity, I realize what a humbling experience it is to have someone else's safety, well being, and even bathroom habits be your life's purpose for 9 hours when most other people are sleeping. I make no promises that I won't think "If I quit tomorrow, I'll never have to do this ever again" during my next cabin duty, but I will try and maintain some perspective.
Thinking back on my campers last summer, I didn't have any huge behavioral challenges. Most of the tasks that proved daunting at first were personal care tasks, which now I feel like don't really phase me at all. Last week, I had a pretty good group, but there was one camper in particular who challenged me like I have never been challenged before. This is someone who, at times, just shut down and couldn't express how she was feeling if she was upset or frustrated. So she would lash out, hurting herself or whoever happened to be close by. That was a pretty challenging day for me, so I can imagine it was also pretty challenging for her, not being able to let me know what she needed and how I could help.
This camp also doesn't have a no cell phone rule like Camp K, which I find to be a bit strange since service here is very limited anyway. It's interesting to see that even at a place where we are supposed to be out and enjoying nature, people (campers and staff alike) are still glued to their cell phones. I wonder how things will change for people with special needs when, as technology advances, we as human beings become increasingly closed off from each other. Many of the campers exhibit what is called "attention seeking behaviors", which could be biting themselves, interrupting conversations, hitting, etc. in order to gain attention from their family or care takers, even if it is negative attention. Some of these behaviors are pretty alarming for a camp counselor who has only known them a few days. I wonder when and if this attention seeking will evolve along with the technology as it becomes harder and harder to get that face to face contact they so crave. These people with special needs who are craving this attention could actually teach all of us a thing or two about the value of positive human human contact-that it is still necessary even at a basic human level.
Sunday, August 19, 2012
A Stranger in a Strange Land
As an adventurer, I am usually attracted to jobs, opportunities, locations where I am, for the most part, surrounded by like minded people-people who have done all sorts of cool things that I would like to do and been all sorts of cool places that I've added to my travel to-do list. But then I come home to unpack and repack to my family, the wonderful not-quite-as-adventurous-as-I-am people that they are and all that comes to a screeching halt. I spent the week before I got home hiking across every National Park in the state of Utah plus the Grand Canyon. When I got home, my feet still were itchy and I felt the need to keep moving, keep hiking, keep exploring. I remember a similar feeling coming home from the end of AmeriCorps last year as well. I had this huge desire to sleep outside under the stars and buy camping equipment, to put some more miles on my hiking shoes. All of this is pretty contrary to my first instinct so when the mood strikes, I feel the need to capitalize. It felt then and feels now weird to stop, weird to sit, weird to have nothing to do. Moral of the story: looking up hiking trails in Nebraska is really a moot point.
I think that's part of the reason I feel like I have a hard time connecting with people when I come home. I mean really connecting. Their lives have continued just as much as mine during the times I've been away. And I must admit that I'm guilty of forgetting that sometimes. Just because your address remains the same doesn't mean your life has. These people are my family and I love and appreciate them more than anything, but I've been gone so long and been so all over the place for the last few years that sometimes I feel like they don't really know me at all. Sure they are able to spout off a few words about what it is I'm doing now in the family Christmas letter, but I fear I've done a bad job at staying connected with these people whose roots have enabled me to have wings.
I think that's part of the reason I feel like I have a hard time connecting with people when I come home. I mean really connecting. Their lives have continued just as much as mine during the times I've been away. And I must admit that I'm guilty of forgetting that sometimes. Just because your address remains the same doesn't mean your life has. These people are my family and I love and appreciate them more than anything, but I've been gone so long and been so all over the place for the last few years that sometimes I feel like they don't really know me at all. Sure they are able to spout off a few words about what it is I'm doing now in the family Christmas letter, but I fear I've done a bad job at staying connected with these people whose roots have enabled me to have wings.
Monday, July 9, 2012
Pinpointing the moment of change...
I'm trying to figure out when it happened. When I went from being this high schooler who was conflicted on the inside because she couldn't say how she felt to the people it mattered to most to this person who isn't afraid to speak her mind to just about anyone, including the head honcho that many others are quite literally terrified of. I have been thinking back to trying to pinpoint the moment of change. I think a lot of it had to do with living in New York. There is a saying about New York, "If you can make it here, you can make it anywhere." And I'd like to think that's true. When I first moved to the city, I was afraid to go out after dark. (I blame that on watching too much Law and Order right before I moved to Manhattan.) But by the time I moved away, I was able to navigate pedestrian traffic in Times Square with ease and get a seat on the subway like a pro.
I was also able to talk my way into anything and navigate the bureaucracy of my graduate school like it was my job. I remember when I first moved to the city, I was shocked and appalled that some of these undergrads would call their attorney parents and tell staff members that they "pay their salary" so they should do what they can to make the students happy. They could argue their way in or out of any situation, no matter how many people had to bend over backwards because of a missed deadline or a broken rule. That was actually the reason I felt like New York and I needed to take a break. I had become way too comfortable in that environment and I didn't like that about myself. A friend of mine described is as putting on your "Columbia skin" when you get off the subway at 116th and Broadway. And it was true. By the end of my time there, I wasn't very distinguishable from those students I despised when I arrived two years before. So I decided it was time to go. I felt the need to do the exact opposite of what I was doing in New York: working at an Ivy League university with college students. So I decided that tutoring under privileged kids in Alaska would suffice.
I feel as though I lost some of my edge in Alaska. Things moved a lot slower there. There were a fraction of the amount of people milling about. People didn't leave their houses in the winter. The buses weren't quite on par with the subway system. A moose in the road was an acceptable reason to be late to work. I wanted a change from New York and that is absolutely what I got. But even in Alaska, there came to be a point where I was pretty miserable with where I was and what I was doing and I didn't feel like I could talk to my boss about it.
Then came NCCC. I was responsible for the safety and well being of 10 people. 10 whole people! Even to this day, my instinct is to totally "mama bear" if someone even looks at them funny. I know they are all grown ups, but I'm not sure that that instinct will ever completely go away. For all intents and purposes, those were my kids and it was my job to protect them. The one moment I can pinpoint where this new found boldness may have emerged is during our second round project. We were having a bit of a plumbing issue to say the least. The pipe under the house that was supposed to take all of the waste out from the house to where ever waste goes burst. So all of the waste from the toilet was now being deposited under our house. Yes, it was as gross as it sounds. It took them weeks to fix it even with much poking and prodding from yours truly. We planned a volunteer event that kept us out of the house all day, ate dinner out, and did some shopping to make sure we gave them plenty of time to fix the problem. We arrived back that evening to our lone member who had stayed home that day, delirious and sick to her stomach from the poop smell. She was 18 and my youngest member at the time. Finding her in this state, I was worried that the AmeriCorps version of child protective services was going to come and take her away from me for being a neglectful Team Leader and leaving her home alone under these conditions. We arrived back to a toilet not completely attached to the wall (are they supposed to wobble like that?) with cardboard tacked to the wall behind the tank where actual wall should be. And a bathroom full of dirt and drain flies. It was disgusting. And that's putting it mildly. It was already slightly ridiculous that we had one bathroom for 10 people, but this was the last straw. All of us donned our rubber gloves, grabbed the bleach, and went to work cleaning up the bathroom. I called every number in my cell phone at 9pm on a Saturday night to let the folks from our sponsoring organization know of our state of affairs and that it was unacceptable that we live in these conditions. Someone finally called me back and told me that we could use the toilets in the church next door. So after getting the key, one of my guys and I headed over. He heads to one bathroom and I to the other. Upon finding what we can only presume to be month old feces in each of our respective toilets, we simultaneously start screaming and cursing-at the toilet, at each other, at the situation that we're in. Having a shouting match with a member of my team about poop wasn't one of my finer moments as a Team Leader, but it is one that I won't soon forget. I later had a member of my team tell me, "That was the moment I knew I didn't want to be a Team Leader. There was no way I could call and yell at someone about poop at 9pm on a Saturday night."
I did a lot of things last year that I never thought I would do including calling people at 9pm on a Saturday night to yell at them about poop. But it was necessary so that's what I did. I feel like I've had to do a lot more of the metaphorical yelling at people about poop. And maybe more than I should have...
I was also able to talk my way into anything and navigate the bureaucracy of my graduate school like it was my job. I remember when I first moved to the city, I was shocked and appalled that some of these undergrads would call their attorney parents and tell staff members that they "pay their salary" so they should do what they can to make the students happy. They could argue their way in or out of any situation, no matter how many people had to bend over backwards because of a missed deadline or a broken rule. That was actually the reason I felt like New York and I needed to take a break. I had become way too comfortable in that environment and I didn't like that about myself. A friend of mine described is as putting on your "Columbia skin" when you get off the subway at 116th and Broadway. And it was true. By the end of my time there, I wasn't very distinguishable from those students I despised when I arrived two years before. So I decided it was time to go. I felt the need to do the exact opposite of what I was doing in New York: working at an Ivy League university with college students. So I decided that tutoring under privileged kids in Alaska would suffice.
I feel as though I lost some of my edge in Alaska. Things moved a lot slower there. There were a fraction of the amount of people milling about. People didn't leave their houses in the winter. The buses weren't quite on par with the subway system. A moose in the road was an acceptable reason to be late to work. I wanted a change from New York and that is absolutely what I got. But even in Alaska, there came to be a point where I was pretty miserable with where I was and what I was doing and I didn't feel like I could talk to my boss about it.
Then came NCCC. I was responsible for the safety and well being of 10 people. 10 whole people! Even to this day, my instinct is to totally "mama bear" if someone even looks at them funny. I know they are all grown ups, but I'm not sure that that instinct will ever completely go away. For all intents and purposes, those were my kids and it was my job to protect them. The one moment I can pinpoint where this new found boldness may have emerged is during our second round project. We were having a bit of a plumbing issue to say the least. The pipe under the house that was supposed to take all of the waste out from the house to where ever waste goes burst. So all of the waste from the toilet was now being deposited under our house. Yes, it was as gross as it sounds. It took them weeks to fix it even with much poking and prodding from yours truly. We planned a volunteer event that kept us out of the house all day, ate dinner out, and did some shopping to make sure we gave them plenty of time to fix the problem. We arrived back that evening to our lone member who had stayed home that day, delirious and sick to her stomach from the poop smell. She was 18 and my youngest member at the time. Finding her in this state, I was worried that the AmeriCorps version of child protective services was going to come and take her away from me for being a neglectful Team Leader and leaving her home alone under these conditions. We arrived back to a toilet not completely attached to the wall (are they supposed to wobble like that?) with cardboard tacked to the wall behind the tank where actual wall should be. And a bathroom full of dirt and drain flies. It was disgusting. And that's putting it mildly. It was already slightly ridiculous that we had one bathroom for 10 people, but this was the last straw. All of us donned our rubber gloves, grabbed the bleach, and went to work cleaning up the bathroom. I called every number in my cell phone at 9pm on a Saturday night to let the folks from our sponsoring organization know of our state of affairs and that it was unacceptable that we live in these conditions. Someone finally called me back and told me that we could use the toilets in the church next door. So after getting the key, one of my guys and I headed over. He heads to one bathroom and I to the other. Upon finding what we can only presume to be month old feces in each of our respective toilets, we simultaneously start screaming and cursing-at the toilet, at each other, at the situation that we're in. Having a shouting match with a member of my team about poop wasn't one of my finer moments as a Team Leader, but it is one that I won't soon forget. I later had a member of my team tell me, "That was the moment I knew I didn't want to be a Team Leader. There was no way I could call and yell at someone about poop at 9pm on a Saturday night."
I did a lot of things last year that I never thought I would do including calling people at 9pm on a Saturday night to yell at them about poop. But it was necessary so that's what I did. I feel like I've had to do a lot more of the metaphorical yelling at people about poop. And maybe more than I should have...
Saturday, May 5, 2012
It's not the sky that's falling, it's us that's falling...
I enjoy San Francisco because it's about as close as I can get to New York City while being on the west coast. It's amazing the kind of clarity I find walking the streets, people watching, taking it all in. There's something incredibly rejuvenating about it. The last time I felt this way I was in Paris, practicing my rusty high school French, enjoying baguettes, and climbing the steps of the Eiffel Tower. I find that I am happiest exploring a new place, guidebook in hand, trying to figure out the public transportation system or navigating the busy streets. Being in a city I know relatively well, exploring new neighborhoods or just walking the streets provides the same feeling. It wasn't until I was heading down I-80 toward San Francisco today that I realized that I had been living my life for the last seven weeks in a half mile radius. My current service project is about two blocks away from where I live, so the scenery has been a bit lacking to say the least. I had been feeling particularly restless lately and I couldn't quite figure out why. Then it hit me: I had been looking at the same buildings and the same people for weeks. I was in need of a break. And San Francisco was the staycation of choice.
I was walking down the rather seedy part of Market Street, taking in the sights and sounds of the city when I happened across this man asking for change. Well, not so much asking as standing next to the BART station with an empty Starbucks cup muttering to himself. I heard him say, "It's not the sky that's falling, it's us that's falling." I thought about it for a few minutes and I realized he was right. There have been times in the past, even in the past few weeks, when I felt like the world was closing in around me and there was nothing I could do about it, that they sky was literally falling and the ground was closing in around me. But the sky isn't going anywhere. The sky is in the same place every day, it's the people that are changing, going through ups and downs. So moral of the story: even when you feel like the sky is falling, remember that it's you that's changing and that, good day or bad, the sky will be in the same place. It's actually kind of comforting if you think about it.
After passing this rather wise change-seeking gentleman, I had a bit of a revelation. (Who knew one could find clarity in the midst of the tobacco shops and strip clubs?) While I had been counting the days until my project was over (long story), I had also been dreading the day that I would be re-integrated into office life since it seemed that my friends who were still working in the office were not necessarily in a "happy place." I sympathize completely. I had a rough couple of months between December and February. Due to lots of things both in and out of my control, I was pretty unhappy in my job. In February, I took a trip to Paris. In Paris, I felt that I had found my "happy place." I was able to reconnect with the world, travel, explore, learn, and experience. I was able to do the one thing that makes me the happiest. That feeling snuck it's way into my carry on and has carried over into my life here in Sacramento. I felt that I found my stride at work, which was a nice feeling. In my apprehension about returning to an unhappy work environment, I needed to find that "happy place" again. I had this moment tonight, walking down Market, looking at all of the once grand theaters-turned strip clubs, attempting to imagine this bustling street in its former glory as a cultural hub of the city, where this thought hit me like a ton of bricks: It's time to reconnect with what makes you happy. Simple as that. Where is my "happy place"? And how can I bring a little piece of that to work with me every day? How can I reconnect with what makes me happy?
I was walking down the rather seedy part of Market Street, taking in the sights and sounds of the city when I happened across this man asking for change. Well, not so much asking as standing next to the BART station with an empty Starbucks cup muttering to himself. I heard him say, "It's not the sky that's falling, it's us that's falling." I thought about it for a few minutes and I realized he was right. There have been times in the past, even in the past few weeks, when I felt like the world was closing in around me and there was nothing I could do about it, that they sky was literally falling and the ground was closing in around me. But the sky isn't going anywhere. The sky is in the same place every day, it's the people that are changing, going through ups and downs. So moral of the story: even when you feel like the sky is falling, remember that it's you that's changing and that, good day or bad, the sky will be in the same place. It's actually kind of comforting if you think about it.
After passing this rather wise change-seeking gentleman, I had a bit of a revelation. (Who knew one could find clarity in the midst of the tobacco shops and strip clubs?) While I had been counting the days until my project was over (long story), I had also been dreading the day that I would be re-integrated into office life since it seemed that my friends who were still working in the office were not necessarily in a "happy place." I sympathize completely. I had a rough couple of months between December and February. Due to lots of things both in and out of my control, I was pretty unhappy in my job. In February, I took a trip to Paris. In Paris, I felt that I had found my "happy place." I was able to reconnect with the world, travel, explore, learn, and experience. I was able to do the one thing that makes me the happiest. That feeling snuck it's way into my carry on and has carried over into my life here in Sacramento. I felt that I found my stride at work, which was a nice feeling. In my apprehension about returning to an unhappy work environment, I needed to find that "happy place" again. I had this moment tonight, walking down Market, looking at all of the once grand theaters-turned strip clubs, attempting to imagine this bustling street in its former glory as a cultural hub of the city, where this thought hit me like a ton of bricks: It's time to reconnect with what makes you happy. Simple as that. Where is my "happy place"? And how can I bring a little piece of that to work with me every day? How can I reconnect with what makes me happy?
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Now More Than Ever...
Tonight, I saw the film Bully, a documentary following several students who had been bullied throughout the course of a year. On one hand, it reaffirms my decision to teach, to help kids, to make a difference. On the other hand, it reminds me of how much weight the job title of "teacher" holds. That is, if you want to do it well. And I do. More than anything.
Every time I watch these films that showcase everything that could possibly be wrong with the educational system, I get excited to teach. But when I think about the actualities I will face in my classroom each day, the thought of it absolutely terrifies me. It excites me, but it terrifies me at the same time. That, my friends, is a story for another time. (It's late and if I get into it now, I fear I may not sleep any time soon...)
But in the mean time, if you care about children, see this film!
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