Cake It Till You Make It

Another shipment from TeeTurtle graced our front doorstep for the back-to-school shopping this year. I had to splurge on this one for myself. I’ve caked it. A lot.

I’m an introvert who gave myself rashes as a kid from anxiety over people's expectations. Now, having caked it for years, I walk around in public places seeking eye contact and smiles from strangers. I can stand in front of 10s or 100s and speak clearly. Even amusingly, upon occasion. I’ve caked myself there.

Every actor makes a living caking it. If we immerse ourselves in a role, we can harmonize with it and project it.

I took up singing as a junior in high school. I was terrified. I’d never sang in public. By senior year, I was in a song and dance group. I caked it into a group competition. If I were in high school today, it would be a completely different song set (can we say BTS covers like X.East?), but I would do it again in a heartbeat. That was an amazingly fun cake.

Will I ever become completely comfortable doing some of these things? Probably not. There are times when I absolutely cannot get my mind into the steps required in putting on a good cake. I need to retreat to peace, quiet and solitude. While being in the public eye is exhilarating, for me it is also absolutely exhausting and even painful at times.

Why do it, if it’s uncomfortable? With the pains, you learn things and meet people who help you grow. You see change and can feel pride in achieving something new.

Alas, the “make it” part can be temporary and elusive. But it can become more and more natural over time. While I can don the label of “confident writer” more comfortably now than I ever have, it is not a given in my mind. There are days and even weeks where I doubt everything I’m doing. I sometimes make a bad cake. It all crumbles and I’m left with a pile of bits, wondering what was I thinking and how could I hope to ever do anything that’s successful or worthwhile at all. I must go back to the kitchen to try again.

Despite that, caking it leads to sweet rewards. Caking it leads to things we can hardly imagine. We may not be able to reach a 5-tier confection with edible glitter and fresh fruit filling, but we can reach something truly delicious. Because it will be of our efforts. Because it will be of our hopes and dreams.

Because it will be us.

Grace and Gratitude

While enjoying one of the many education-related Twitter chats I step into during the week (this one was #WeLeadEd), I was struck by some comments made about grace. The discussion had moved to highlight the importance for everyone to work within a system that honors the fact that we all make mistakes. Several people mentioned needing grace to achieve this.

Grace is a big concept. The Art of Grace website does a phenomenal job describing it and its place in all the world’s cultures. While many are familiar with Christian interpretations, such as those voiced by Fr. Richard Rohr, the concept is found around the globe. In a nutshell, grace means feeling balanced from the inside and with the outside world. You are comfortable with who you are and where you are. With that mindset, you can freely accept failures as temporary.

Grace is universal but it’s also a state that, in my experience, comes and goes. One thing that I feel triggers a state of grace is gratitude.

When we struggle, we can gain some composure by listing things that we’re grateful for: food, shelter, family and friends. We can then dig deeper and describe more specific things we are thankful for: moments, words, places and times. With the comfort we obtain by all this, we can extend that warmth and share it with others. The simple act of writing and sending a sincere thank you note can be a moment of grace, which could end up being the window the other person needed to see a way to experience grace themselves.

If we feel safe, we are able to deal with trials. We feel more able to handle stress. We treat our bodies better by not attempting to drown problems with unhealthy practices. We see obstacles as bumps in the road instead of insurmountable barriers.

Grace and gratitude. Important concepts for us all to remember. Together.

A Walk. A Talk.

I had to go for a nature walk last night. It was a compulsion: as if something was insisting. Nudging me, repeatedly.

I listened.

The late summer sun was sinking toward the horizon as I climbed the hill. The trail alternated between the dry crunch of grit and gravel and the spongy slap of clover and plantain leaves against my soles. I slowly became aware of other sensations: the mercurial winds teasing my hair, the dancing tallgrass rustling to its beat, the random chirp of crow and cricket.

I relaxed.

I descended the hill, bouncing down the uneven terrain. With a flash of white tail, a rabbit bolted from the trailside brush. I had disturbed its evening meal.

I dropped further, entering the fen. In the darkening gloom, I plunged into another world of wet richness: thick scents of walnut forest, black soil and wetland marsh. Mosquitoes danced about in this isolated space.

I marched on.

There’s a rustic observation deck overlooking the fen. As the sun hovered just over the horizon, I climbed and sat on its weathered boards. They were both warm and splintery. A ground bee buzzed around my knee and landed for a moment.

I breathed.

The voice of doom that I’d begun to turn away from began speaking to me again as I sat. That voice turns wishes to things that will never be, ideas to silly aspirations, and dreams to foolish pipedreams.

I sighed.

I gave myself my talk. This time of the year is one of transition. Summer’s ripeness is coming to a close. The fields are nearing harvest. Sunrise and sunset are both inching toward each other, lengthening the night. I’m here in this time and space, one of 7 billion others with similar concerns and many with fewer resources than what are available to me. I should be grateful. And hopeful. And acting.

I stood.

I raised my arms up above my head, reminding myself we’re all under the same sky. I bent forward and touched my toes, reminding myself I’m safe, grounded and where I should be. I turned my face to the wind, reminding myself to breathe in hope and breathe out my worries. I heard a nearby spring gurgling, reminding myself that action can wash away pain and fear.

It was time to go. The sun had set and darkness was falling. I made my way back to my car as the rush of daytime began to fall into the necessary and restoring quiet of night. One repetition of that cycle was coming to a close. Another was just around the corner.

I smiled.

One Year of Becoming

We joke about how much can change in a year. My life is a case in point.

My first blog ever was published on July 31, 2016- just over a year ago. That piece earned a whopping 6 views! I had no idea what I was doing. The biggest accomplishment in that case was the very act of putting it out there. At 45 years old, I was finally done with beating myself up over whether or not I had any right or talent to write. I told that voice it wasn’t in charge anymore. After almost a ½ century of living, I’d finally decided I couldn’t listen to it anymore and I would listen to the other inner voice saying “Do it. Just...write what you feel.”

I was something. I was becoming something.

At the time, I was working part-time. For 5 years, I had immersed myself in the amazing world of elementary education. I was an educational assistant. I was a mom. I was a wife. I was a type 1 diabetic.

Earlier in the summer, I had started to run. I was becoming a runner. I had started to lift weights and dance. I was becoming healthier. I had started listening to new music. I was becoming a Kpop fan. I had started to write. I was becoming a writer.

The only constant in life is change, as they say.

Next, I started to explore Twitter. I am becoming a regular. I started collaborating with a photographer friend. I am becoming an author now by publishing my own book, Dear Teachers, and seeking to do it again. I am starting to reach out to more experts in education to introduce myself and my work. I am exploring and dreaming of more.

I estimate I’ve written over 100,000 words over the last year. I’ve connected with over 1,000 people on Twitter. I’ve gratefully seen over 130 of my books go out to amazing people both near and far. I’ve posted 85 essays on my blog and they have been viewed on 6 continents over 7,000 times.

I was. I am. I am becoming. I will become.

I started with nothing and am only 1 of 7 billion other people. I’m not writing this for compliments. I’m writing this as a reminder to myself and anyone else who finds my words: we can all change and grow over time. If we stumble or lose, we can find something (or someone) new or find what we lost again in another place and time. If we don’t give up.

I desperately want to earn a living writing and speaking. I desperately seek to be a voice of community and opportunity. I desperately wish to be a spark of light by writing not only for those in education, but for those with type 1 diabetes. I have other ideas to explore.  I’m not there yet. But I have hope, though.

Let’s all try to move forward with that: hope.

Serendipity

From Merriam-Webster:

Serendipity: (noun) the faculty or phenomenon of finding valuable or agreeable things not sought for

I decided to take a picture of one of my favorite t-shirts and post it on Twitter on Friday. It was a spontaneous decision and I’m glad I did.

My shirt came from TeeSpring and reads:

Mistakes Are Proof That You Are Learning

I love the mental space this message offers. It was sold as a math shirt, however I think it applies to quite a bit more. Like...everything. I’ve made mistakes in math, writing and science. I’ve also made some pretty epic ones at home and at work. With things. With people.

The very fact that we HAVE to make mistakes in order to grow has been a hard lesson for me to learn. I grew up with a nasty combination of both high expectations from outside and anxiety from inside. I suppose I posted the tweet to encourage others to embrace the strength of this message in a more timely fashion than me. That way of living is so painful and destructive.

What came after that post was the truly beautiful bit.

Two individuals stood up and responded. One from New Jersey (Jace @inspire0818). One from Georgia (Chris Shearer @hbprincipal). Between the two, something clicked in me. I found myself back in Wisconsin combining their thoughts into a brand new statement:

Sometimes you win and sometimes you learn, but either way, you cannot lose.

Then, Mr. Shearer took it up another notch and designed this cool graphic and shared it with us all. (As an aside, I can even see this as another t-shirt opportunity. I know I’d buy one.) Let’s dig a bit into this collaboratively-crafted sentence.

Sometimes You Win & Sometimes You Learn

There are times when we totally get it. There’s nothing better than feeling that wave of adrenaline when we achieve what we had hoped for and we can raise our arms up and howl in triumph. We’ve won! And yet, typically, we reach that AFTER we’ve failed. Whether it’s catastrophes or a simple series of minor hiccups, the victories come AFTER we learn from our mistakes.

Teachers remind students of this every day. We all could benefit from a voice gently whispering this reminder into our ears as we go about our days. “It’s OK! What worked? What didn’t? What can you do differently next time?”

Either Way, You Cannot Lose

When do we really lose? When we quit. When we lose hope. When we close ourselves off from people, from experiences and from the rest of the world. Initially, it may feel like we’re protecting ourselves. However, when we lock ourselves away from opportunities to win or learn, we in fact become adrift. Why? We don’t obtain the tools needed to captain our ships. Adrift, we are tossed about by the storms of fear, doubt, depression, and anger that brew for us all.

My experiences on Twitter over the last year have been amazingly uplifting. If you’re in education and aren’t active on it, you should check it out. You can find some fantastic peers and sources of inspiration. This was one of many beautiful connections. I’m encouraged to see what resources I can find as I continue my memoir/journal book for those with diabetes and begin writing another edition of Dear Teachers.

We’re all stronger #together. We’re all stronger when we win and when we learn #together. As long as we’re doing one or the other with positive intentions, we cannot lose.