The meme showed the reflection of what seemed to be a perfect apple, all crisp, red and shiny. On the backside however, where its reflection couldn’t be seen was the other side where it can been bitten into, no longer all shiny and red but messy and turning a slight shade of yellow/brown on the inside. Meant to show how we tend to present ourselves on social media and, who are we kidding, in real life as well, it was a message that hit home for me as I know, despite how I try to make my life look, nothing is all hummingbirds and butterflies.

The problem here is, there is a fine line, as there always seems to be, between sharing and sharing too much.  Sharing just enough to illicit the care and kindness you need as compared to sharing too much and scaring people off.  You see, as much as people say they care and maybe want to care, sometimes it’s just too much for them to deal with, so they emotionally and sometimes physically, walk away.  I get it.  It’s something I work on all the time.  It’s uncomfortable to feel these things with and for someone else and easier sometimes to just try to ignore or walk away.  Knowing this, most people won’t really share what’s going on in their lives because frankly, they don’t want to annoy their friends, family and acquaintances.  Hence, the shiny apple in the mirror.

My personal routine is to share all the cool stuff I get to do or anything new and exciting my family might be doing.  I also try to share other posts that speak to me, things that teach or are uplifting or make people laugh and think.  I really want people to read things that make them feel better – especially in this ridiculous political climate we find ourselves where so many seem to be looking for a fight.  Because fighting is so much easier than having a conversation or civil debate I suppose.  I’ve spent my life placating people.  Not because I want to patronize them but because it’s just too stressful and  exhausting to deal with the anger or the possibility of anger.  I mistakenly did that a couple of weeks ago on social media and while I don’t think anyone really got that angry, just feeling like I had to prove my point about something I felt really strongly about, was really stressful.  It’s so much easier just to put on a happy face and go with the flow.

Someone the other day commented on one of my posts and said something to the effect that they love reading about my joyful life with my family.  Joyful?  Sometimes.  Happy?  Most of the time. But there’s also depression and uncertainty and anger and sadness and exhaustion – you know, real life.  Today is one of those days.  It’s not anything new, it’s recurring and isn’t likely to change.  It’s the epitome of that old adage about the definition of insanity.  I’ve allowed myself to dwell in the sadness for a couple of days, trying to get excited about wonderful opportunities coming up soon but it’s been hard.  I have these very deep conversations in my head as to why I feel this way, why I ALLOW myself to feel this way and a lot of times it seems I feel powerless to make change.  And yet I know I’m not.  My brain is actually a pretty confusing and scary place to be right now.  You might want to stay away for your own safety.

I know this isn’t the usual “go knock ’em dead”, “you can do it” “happy, happy, joy, joy” kind of blog post I like to do, but maybe someone out there is struggling as well.  Maybe you look at my life or someone else’s life and it seems like it would be a great place to be compared to yours based on what you’ve seen on social media.  The thing is, we’re all human, all made of the same stuff, all going through things, some easy, some hard, some beyond painful.  It’s the backside of the apple that we all have but are not willing to or are afraid to share.  Even those people we completely disagree with in whatever way, or say we hate, are just like us.  And maybe if we looked at them with the understanding that they too get sad and angry and confused and worn down, that they laugh and cry with and for family and friends, maybe we wouldn’t look at them with such disdain and maybe we wouldn’t feel so alone in our own trials.  I don’t know.  Just sharing the thoughts in my brain right now.

So here’s the deal.  I’m showing you the other side of my apple today.  It’s not pretty, it’s not tied up in a fancy package and everything is not apple pie and ice cream.  Sometimes it’s rotten to the core.  Now I just have to decide what to do with the apple today.

I’m not sure this is something I should post, but I can say that as a former band member and a member of the forever band family, I have had my share of dates with guys in the band.  I ended up marrying a trumpet player, but before that I literally dated someone from every section of the band except a flute player.  Yes, from the tuba to the clarinet, I have experienced the personalities of each and every one of them and despite the fact that I married a trumpet player (they ARE the best kissers in the band), the coolest and most fun of the instrument players are the drummers, or as they like to be referred to, the percussionists. (We’ll let them think that for now : )

There’s something about drummers, as they confidently bang on anything that isn’t sitting still – well, maybe bang isn’t the word.  So maybe hit on – no, that’s not good either. Well, you know what I mean.  There’s not a table or a chair or cabinet or any other piece of furniture safe from the drummer’s sticks, playing whatever rhythms pop into their heads, all day long.  My oldest son is a drummer and my brother is a drummer, so I know what I’m talking about.  Anyway, back to the confidence.  They sling on those drums for marching band or play in that local cover band, and with a slight swagger, they let go with those monkey arms and just get lost in making the music.  It’s a wonderful thing.

Drummer also have, uh, shall we say, reputations?  Since these sections tend to be very male dominated, sometimes they push the “not so appropriate” envelope a little.  Oh, don’t get me wrong, it’s usually really funny as in “I can’t believe you just said that (giggle, giggle)” kind of way.  And they just smile at you in a disarming sort of way and the heart skips a beat. Pun intended.

I was never really cool enough to date more than one drummer – clarinet/sax players turned vocalists like myself aren’t that cool, and it always seemed like flute players got the drummers anyway.  Maybe I should have worn my hair in a ponytail more often.  No disrespect to my flute playing friends, of course.

But I digress.  Today is Hug a Drummer Day.  I’m not sure who makes this stuff up, but I know a lot of drummers and I’ve hugged a bunch of drummers.  And while the day is supposed to be about hugging them, it really should be about how much fun it is to be hugged by them.  As a rule, they’re just fun and I’m a lucky person to know them and all of my band family.  So, before the day ends, hug that drummer in your life and remind them of just how cool they are.  Not that they need reminding.

I have to admit I’m a sucker for those feel good little videos that pop up on social media, especially when they include kids.  Today it was a pre-schooler, walking to school with his little backpack, holding a banana reciting “I’m smart, I’m blessed, I can do ANYTHING”, the last word becoming more emphatic with each repetition.  Oh sure it’s cute and reminiscent of Stuart Smalley on SNL or “you is smart, you is kind, you is important” from The Help.  However, having dealt with a child who arrived in my room angry today, calling themselves “dumb” and “stupid”, unable to focus, I don’t look at this as just being cute anymore.  I’m beginning to wonder if a mantra like this might be essential for children.

Another story that popped up today was that of former President Carter, the 95 year old sporting 14 stitches and a huge bruise from a fall in his home.  I’ll be honest, if that had been me I would have been propped up in bed being waited on – if anyone was ever home to wait on me.  Anyway, I digress.  Instead of laying around, what is he doing?  He’s working on a home for Habitat for Humanity, something he’s been working on for 35 years. That’s a long time but I started to think about it.  That means he was 60 when began.  Wait a minute.  I’M 60.

I’m smart.  I’m blessed.  I can do anything.  You know, when you have a purpose and you believe in your ability to accomplish that purpose, you can do anything.  This is where it starts.  President Carter could have blown off his commitment and nobody would have faulted him for it.  But he had a purpose, a reason to get up off the couch and do something for someone else.  He feels blessed and therefore feels he can and should bless  others.

So where do we miss the mark when we have young children who literally hurt themselves, calling themselves stupid?  How did we let them down by letting them believe that CAN’T do anything?  Before you think I’m talking about giving every kid a trophy for doing the bare minimum, making them believe that they can do no wrong, that’s not what I’m talking about.  That’s another blog for another day.  There’s a healthy way to help kids believe in themselves without building up a false self esteem.  There’s a way to teach kids that each person has something special to give to society, gifts meant to help others, that make them special.  Yes, they are smart, and blessed with their gifts, they can do anything they set their mind to.

Also, I’m convinced that the message is not just for kids.  Those of us who are nearing or in retirement, when society thinks we should slow down or just stop completely, have a purpose as well.  Our gifts don’t stop giving just because we reach a certain milestone in the age department. I’m inspired both by this young man just beginning his story and the older gentleman reaching the end of his.  I am smart, I am certainly blessed and I can still do anything.

 

What if we looked at life through the eyes of a child?  Always seeing wonder in every little thing.  Always asking questions about things we didn’t understand without being afraid of people thinking we’re not smart but because we just wonder about something. Free to wonder and then take action on that wonder.  Like, what does it feel like to lay down on a football field?  Well, try it.

What if we looked at life without looking at or through a device? What if we looked at real fireworks or balloons instead of looking at them through our screens?  What if we took real field trips instead of virtual ones?  What would happen if we turned off our devices and actually looked at each others faces instead of pictures of faces on social media? What if we took out the earbuds and took off the headphones and listened to each other and the sounds around us rather than block them out?

What if we initiated more things?  What if we initiated Sunday dinners with friends and/or family?  What would happen if we initiated difficult conversations instead of trying to avoid them?  What if we initiated doing kindnesses for people instead of just talking about it?  What if we stood up and said what we believed was right, even when it was uncomfortable?

What if we tried to see the lessons in every situation we find ourselves in?  Yesterday I made a mistake and got on a wrong bus to head downtown for the game.  Seeing as there was nothing I could do about it, I sat back for the ride which was going to be longer than I expected.  About halfway through the trip, the obvious smell of alcohol drifted in with a young man and his toddler daughter.  Sitting in front of me, he said hi and then began a conversation.  From this conversation I learned that he had just lost his step-father and bio-mother within the past month, his mother from an overdose.  I told him how sorry I was, thinking about his baby girl and wondering if this addiction would eventually pass  down to her.

After our conversation, which included  questions about my children, my age and whether I had every smoked, smoked weed or drank, I found out that I’m the same age his mother was – he thought I was 40.  I’m assuming it was based on how his mom looked at 60.  Life must have been hard.  He shook my hand as he left and wished me a good day. I prayed for him and his daughter as I saw them sit down, waiting on their transfer.  What if I caught the wrong bus so I could pray for them?

What if we got to know PEOPLE, not solely based on their religious background, political persuasion or any one of dozens of categories we pigeon hole people in? What if we found out we had similar likes in art or music, we loved the same sports or foods and we made a friend?  What if we continued to be friends despite a difference in philosophies or belief systems?  It could happen, you know.

What if we stopped making assumptions based on someone’s geographical location, background or the way they looked?  What if we actually talked to them to find out who they were before we made assumptions? I sound like one of my kids at school.  There can be so many “what if” questions.

What if we continued to ask “what if” and acted upon some things for a change?  Maybe the world would be a better place.

 

 

 

Sitting at the red light on the way to work this morning, I found myself consciously paying attention to things around me.  Things like the beautiful clouds in a sunny sky after days of rain, and leaves falling from the trees.  Realizing I probably should pay attention to the cars,  I noticed that all of the cars passing me going in the opposite direction were white.  Followed by all black.  As I kept looking, I observed, with the exception of the very occasional red truck, every vehicle was black, white or silver/gray. And here I was, sitting in the middle, one, little, yellow bug.

Very rarely do I want the spotlight on myself.  I would be much more comfortable sitting in a corner alone.  But in a moment of pure indulgence, I chose a car that is hard to miss.  People tell me they wish THEY had a car like mine.  People smile and slug each other when they see it.  My friends want to ride in it with the top down.  It is a HAPPY color.  And yet, as I drove through the neighborhood where my school is located, I saw nothing but black, white and gray cars along the street and in the driveways.  I pulled into the school parking lot, and aside from the two red trucks, it was again, pretty much all black and white.  Why?

My particular area of town is pretty conservative and relatively affluent.  Seems the more money you have, the less color you use.  Why is that?  Why are beige and black classic and never goes out of style?  Because it’s easy. Why do we want to look like everyone else?  Sure those cars look great right after they’ve been washed, but other than that I’m not sure.  Again, why limit yourself to being colorless when you could let all your colors shine?

The truth is, we’re not always encouraged to let all of our colors shine.  We’re not encouraged to experiment to see what we can or want to do. Certainly you’ll more successful if you just do “A”.  Not “A” and a little bit of “B” and/or “C” because that might cause you to be not as focused on “A”, and therefore not as successful.  We need to “find our passion” and focus all of our energies in that one area.  People who go from one thing to another are not focused or are considered “flighty”.  They’re not serious and can’t be taken seriously.  It truly limits us as human beings as though each of us is only meant to do one thing.  I just think we’re a little more complex than that.

Last night I watched the Linda Ronstadt documentary film, The Sound of My Voice.  This is a girl who was raised in a diverse family of German and Mexican heritage where she grew up listening to a large and diverse variety of music.  Everything from Mariachi to Opera, Pop, Rock and Standards, she says she just loved to sing – it didn’t matter what genre of music it was.  Fortunately for her, her family not only encouraged this but everyone sang in her family so it was just who they were.  At 18 Linda left for L.A. to pursue singing.  Notice I didn’t say a career, as she says she just wanted to sing.

She began as a pop singer who also sang rock, country, blues, and later opera and what I would call “standards”, finally reaching back to her roots and singing Mariachi.  Each time she said she wanted to do something new, everyone told her she wouldn’t be as successful and discouraged her. Each time she did what she wanted, because she just wanted to SING.  Great music can be any genre and she just wanted to sing great music.

In 2009, Linda discovered she had Parkinson’s disease, mainly due to the fact that her voice wasn’t responding like it used to.  In the movie she says of her singing now, “I can hear [the music] in my mind, but I can’t make the sounds any more,” says Ronstadt. “Singing is complex. … I was made most aware of it by having it vanish.”

Just like the yellow car, everyone wants to be like Linda.  They wish they had the nerve to just try “whatever” like she did.  But things get in the way.  The job, the spouse, the kids, the bills, the social pressure, the family expectations.  We settle for a little happy instead of a lot of joy.  There is always going to be hard work and heartache and disappointment, but that’s just part of life.  But what happens if you don’t explore some other colors while you have the opportunity and then the time runs out?  It just makes sense to me that while I have a choice, when I can still decide a direction in my life, why not make it yellow instead of black or white?

 

 

 

We called it Dave time.  From early on, we knew if we didn’t schedule enough time for him to go somewhere we would be late.  If he woke up later for school we would be late.  If we started too late to get to an event, we would be late.  There was an order of things that needed to be done before he could go anywhere.  We didn’t think anything of it – it was like his way of messing around and so like in any parent/child relationship, we found ourselves getting on his case to just “move faster”. It never seemed to work.

Shyness in public places was also a thing and there were many times his brothers, especially his younger brother, would walk him through things as simple as ordering from a counter or asking a question.  An introverted person myself, I just assumed he was like me and so no red flags popped up.  After all, my younger brother did things for me when I was younger, so no big deal.

The boy christened every place we every lived with blood, always falling down or running into something.  His gait was different, with an exaggerated bounce.  We assumed it was because he was growing and  just awkward because of that.  Where he wasn’t awkward was with his art.  What fascinated me the most was watching him draw something from the center of the piece outward.  You couldn’t tell what it was at first but then it would suddenly come to life.  He was a perfectionist in the smallest details, frustrated if he couldn’t get it just right, crumpling up his art or school papers because it wasn’t just the way he wanted things.

Organization was non-existent.  He couldn’t find things, couldn’t remember where he put things and yet he could share with us the most minute details about some obscure battle in Europe centuries ago or the background of an artist or a passage from the Bible.  He devoured books at a rate that blew me out of the water, three to four at a time, different genres, authors, subjects.  He remembered everything that he read and was able to connect the dots between subjects.  And yet he couldn’t remember what time he needed to get up in the morning for school.

In middle school, we frequently got calls or letters from the guidance counselor, concerned that he was depressed because she would find him all alone in a corner reading instead of interacting with peers.  We would shake our heads about it when he would come home and tell us that his counselor was concerned.  What was to take seriously?  This guy had a wicked sense of humor, laughed all the time at home and with his dad and brothers could recite entire Monty Python scripts.  He was fine.  When we decided to apply for the Arts and Humanities school in the district it ended up being the best decision we ever made.  It was small, he had the same teachers for years and he was able to work through his art.  He graduated from high school and we were off to college.

Then came the crash and burn.  He had his own apartment where he spent hours alone and depressed.  We found out later that in his large lecture classes he would try to find a quiet corner to hide because he was overwhelmed by the people.  When he tried to take a test, because EVERYTHING was connected, he was told that there was  too MUCH detail and that he just needed to answer the question.  He struggled and failed.  Twice more he tried to live away from us and again he struggled.  He couldn’t hold a job, because he was always late and couldn’t seem to keep track of time.  He would spend too much time with a customer instead of just pushing people through because details mattered.  He stopped taking care of himself and we finally had to bring him home.

Then a revelation.  I had to read an article about Aspergers for my teaching.  As I read about the physical, mental and emotional traits displayed by children with Aspergers, on the autism spectrum, the light bulb went off.  This was Dave.  By this time, he was in his 20’s.  In school he had been tested for everything under the sun, but autism was never checked out.  He COULD make eye contact and his IQ was too high so it was never considered.  Now we understand that autism is a spectrum and each case is as individual as the child.  So now I had an adult child who I thought might be Aspergers.

To make a long story short, after introducing the idea, having someone else suggest this might be the issue and having new tests run, it was verified that yes indeed, Aspergers was the case.  It explained his social anxiety, his physical awkwardness, his lack of time management.  And as he has gotten older, with the expectations of society, he knows that he’s not like others his age, and depression and anxiety are real issues.

He’s not alone.  There are so many others like him in our world today.  People of extraordinary intelligence, with great focus who just don’t fit into the structures put into place within our higher education and workforce.  It’s hard to understand someone who can’t keep track of time, especially if there are a lot of changes.  It’s frustrating for teachers and employers.  And parents.  I understand.  But as a parent, I’m just wanting someone to understand that this young man is amazing and has ridiculous potential if someone would just give him a chance to show them in his own way.  Like all struggles, this one helps me to understand what other parents feel for their autistic students and has given my insight as to their potential and how to work with them.

Three percent of the people in this country have autism. Who around you might that be and how are you in a position to help them become a welcome member of our society – just the way they are?

 

 

 

 

During 3rd quarter at Husker football games, it is tradition (at least when it’s warm), to get ice cream.  Now, there’s not a lot of choice here – it’s either vanilla, chocolate or a combination of the two known as the “swirl”.  I myself, am a “swirl” kind of girl. It’s soft serve at its best, for sure.  It’s nice because you don’t have too many choices.  Too many choices can cause long lines due to slow decisions, causing consternation among those behind you.  And so, we stick with basic vanilla and chocolate.

While we as Americans like our variety and choices, I find it ironic that we like to put people in either one of usually only two possible categories.  We’re either old or young, white or of color, liberal or conservative, gay or straight – you get the point – based on usually arbitrary criteria – whatever MY criteria is.  Be believe or don’t believe in this or that philosophy, or we either do or don’t support a particular issue. It’s just easier that way, right?  When there are only two choices, as I’ve determined them to be, it’s easier to either agree or disagree with people.  Very simply, we either agree or we don’t.  Period. We don’t have to build any relationship and find out that there might be some areas where we agree and some where we might disagree because then that causes confusion.  We find out that maybe it’s not either vanilla or chocolate but maybe there’s some swirl involved in there somewhere.

When my kids were toddlers, I tried to make sure there were not too many choices for them.  Do you want to eat the carrots or the peas?.  Do you want to wear the red shirt or the blue shirt?  Because we know that small children get overwhelmed by either too many choices, instructions or questions.  But eventually we’re supposed to grow out of that, gradually gaining the ability to choose among a variety of things, follow a longer list of  instructions and answer more complex questions.

Which brings me to my next observation.  If we’re supposed to eventually grow and mature in our ability to differentiate between more than two things, why do we still categorize ideas, beliefs, philosophies and people in no more than two camps?  Why does it have to be either for or against something?  Why do I either have to agree or disagree with you?  Why can’t it be more than just vanilla or chocolate?  Why can’t I have a swirl?And perhaps the swirl can just be an open mind or heart or thinking outside the box or creativity, or seeing the gray instead of all black and white. After all, I can still like both the vanilla AND the chocolate when they’re mixed together.

Now, please don’t confuse this discussion with decision making.  I’m a firm believer of making decisions and not “kicking the can” down the street.  I’m figuring out, however, that I can make my decisions based on more than one point of view.  If I only look at every decision I have to make based on one particular point of view, for instance, from a gender or political party point of view,  it limits me.  It’s important that I listen to a variety of points of view in order to come to my own conclusions.  That’s called thinking for myself.  It’s what I try to help my students do.  It’s what a large part of our country has forgotten how to do.

Look, people are more complicated than chocolate or vanilla.  They’re vanilla with chocolate chip cookie dough thrown in.  Or chocolate with almonds.  Or, heaven forbid, strawberry!  There are as many points of view as there are people, so why limit ourselves.  Just like getting two different scoops of ice cream together in one cone, mixing things up can be wonderful.

 

She walked into the room, the consummate professional, with over thirty years of teaching experience, ready to observe my student teacher.  Punctual and prepared, she greeted us both as she entered the room, laptop in hand, and with the other, she handed us each a little bag of snickerdoodles.  For those of you who don’t know, snickerdoodles are wonderful cinnamon sugar cookies and these were the best I had tasted in a long time.  Only in Nebraska would your University supervisor bring cookies before observing you.

But that’s just the way Nebraskans are.  While “Nebraska Nice” was probably THE worst state slogan ever, right along with “Nebraska:  It’s Not for Everyone”, it aptly describes the people of this state.  And, in a world where nice seems non-existent, I find myself appreciating this simple trait more and more.

It translates to our sports, of which we have one.  Okay, there’s volleyball and basketball, depending on how the new coach does, but Nebraskans have the reputation of being the nicest fans in college football.  This is truth.  I see it every game day when Nebraska fans greet and welcome those from out of town.  Today there was a news story about our little airport (all of 4 gates) that decided to pull out all the stops to greet Ohio State Buckeye fans.  High fives, cheers and hand shakes were handed out by employees of the airport which considers itself a “gateway to the community”.  This is not unusual in a state full of people who pride themselves in what used to be valued by all.  Just a bunch of hard working, do the right thing, polite, “think of others before yourself”, NICE people.

It’s not fancy, but it’s welcoming and heart warming.  Like the cookies brought into my room today.  Or the freshly baked pumpkin bread I received from a colleague earlier this week.  Or a simple note dropped in my mailbox.  It’s where “it’s the thought that counts” is taken seriously.  It’s the words “I’ll pray for you” and the person means it.  Or maybe instead of asking if you need something, it is just provided.  It’s the kind of thing that people did back in the day, neighbors looking after neighbors, people welcoming strangers.  In a world where no one seems to get along, Nebraska Nice is refreshing, and a place to get in touch with what relationships should be all about.

So back to those snickerdoodles, which were delicious.  Did I already say this?  Anyway, she didn’t have to do this.  She’s probably a very busy woman with many other things she needs to do.  But obviously not to busy to do something nice.  Nebraska Nice.

 

 

The dreaded To-Do List.  The list where you mark something off and two more things mysteriously appear.  I live and die by the to-do list.  When I was only teaching school, the to-do list was fairly simple – do lesson plans, plan for the play, and the concert, and the music festival, and… you get it.  But now, with the tons of things I’ve gotten myself into, the to-do list has a life of its own, filled with directives for all kinds of areas in my life, never ending and never finished.

I’m a yellow pad and purple/pink pen kind of girl.  I’ve tried doing lists on the computer, but there’s something so much more satisfying in crossing something off my list instead of deleting it.  With deleting something, you never really remember how much you had on the list in the first place.  With the yellow pad, you can look at it at the end of the day or week or month and say, wow, I accomplished (or) didn’t accomplish a LOT.

I would love to say I’m one of those write everything in straight lines, organized people, but what I tend to do is lots of circles and arrows and abbreviations that I tend to forget later and have to figure out what I meant.  It seemed faster when I wrote it down. I do this with note taking as well.  Research now says that people who write things down remember them better.  Maybe.  It works for my grocery lists as once I write it down I can almost remember every item on it without looking.  But somehow the to-do list isn’t that same way.  Maybe because I write it down so I don’t HAVE to remember – I can just check the list.

So how do you know that something is a priority?  Well, you put an asterisk in front of it. If it’s REALLY important, like I need to do it today or I’ll miss an important deadline, I may have multiple asterisks screaming at me to DO THIS NOW.  And I rarely start from the top of the list and go down.  Sometimes I just need to do all of the easy little tasks first so I make myself think I’m doing a lot, hopefully inspiring me to tackle at least one big project.  Or leave me with nothing but long, difficult projects so now I have no choice but to make the time to do it and be completely overwhelmed with life in general.

Don’t get me wrong.  I LOVE doing all the things I’m doing. Individually.  It’s when I’m doing them all at once, which seems like All. The. Time. that it’s a problem.  So I work to compartmentalize and prioritize things (arrow pointing back to the asterisks), which I know makes people crazy when they think I’m not going to get something finished, but I usually get it done before I need to.  I say usually because, well, let’s be honest, I’m not superwoman and occasionally I just stop and realize I can’t do it all.  So I apologize to whoever else is involved, try to make it right and then put it back on the list.

Just so you don’t think that everything on my to-do list is accomplishing stuff for others, I DO have several tasks for me on there too.  And they’ve been there for months because somehow everything else seems to be more important and have an actual deadline.  I was looking at the yellow pad today and realized that some things I want to do for me on the list have been there for a couple of years.  Literally. They just seem to get overlooked or pushed to the bottom of the list.  Not sure what that says about me…. Maybe I’ll put that on the to-do list to think about later.

 

 

 

 

“It takes time” is not a comforting thing to say anymore.  Especially in our instant gratification world where we have fast food, fast connectivity, fast and often abbreviated  correspondence and then, we think everything should be even faster.  We complain if our computer runs a few seconds slower than it should or if our food isn’t waiting at the window when we drive around the corner at the drive thru.  Why the thrill with fast, when good things happen to those who wait?

Like relationships.  Oh sure, you can get a pretty good feel about a person pretty quickly, but given time, a person who may have completely annoyed you at first glance may grow on you.  If you give the relationship time.  Time gives us the opportunity to get so much deeper than just the surface information.  Sure, I’m a libra and like long walks on the beach, but do you know my joys and struggles?  Do you SHARE my joys and struggles? Of course time gives you the opportunity to WORK on things as well, so perhaps it’s working within the extended time that actually improves the relationship.

And then there’s food.  Words like simmer are meant to invoke the slowing of time.  It takes time for flavors to meld, to work together into something truly mouthwatering.  That frozen chicken tender thrown into the deep fryer, not so much.  Good cooking takes time and WORK.  It may be meaningful work or cathartic work or joyful work, but it’s still work.  Have you noticed that both “time” and “work” are four letter words?  Perhaps that’s why we try to avoid them.

To a young person, sometimes “giving something time” can be downright annoying.  Or in the case of struggling with something, “giving it time” can be discouraging.  We want things to happen or change overnight, we want to be the instant expert.  Just give me a list of things to check off, I’ll do them and I’ll be able to do anything.  Perhaps.  But will it be done well?  Will it have the richness of something that builds up over time, like experience?

Teaching is one of those things that takes time to learn.  I was told once upon a time that it would take me ten years before I would be truly comfortable walking into any classroom and doing my thing.  I balked.  I was annoyed.  I was impatient.  And in the end, I learned that only with work and time does a teacher become an artist.

As I have the opportunity to work with student teachers, I find myself pushing with some urgency because I know how hard the work is and I want so badly for them to be successful when they begin their careers.  I want them to be adequately prepared so that when things get hard, and they will, they won’t want to run away from something that with time, will be one of the most rewarding things they will ever do.  It’s that fine line of knowing I only have so much time to get them prepared, and knowing that once I do, it will still take another decade of simmering before the dish is perfect, so, much as I feel that urgency, I can’t rush this.

Anything worth doing, like cooking, building relationships and especially teaching, takes time and patience.  At different times in our lives, we may want to do something different or learn something new, but do we give ourselves enough time to really embrace it and make it worthwhile?  Are we doomed to be a part of our immediate gratification culture or can we slow ourselves down and enjoy the ride?  Give it time and make it worth the wait.