The little theater on campus is a gem, showing those films you only see on foreign film lists at the Oscars.  It has been some time since we’ve been there, the last time late in 2019 to see the Magic Flute from the Met.  I was scheduled to see another in March of 2020 but then things happened. Anyway, in the past I tended to take groups of students, but we did go a couple of times to see other films.  I’m not sure why we didn’t go more often, but most times we’re temped by the allure of things being streamed or the latest and greatest in the theater with the reclining seats, not the old school seats at the Ross.

So off we went on a lovely spring evening, walking hand in hand from the parking garage to join a group of white haired people walking into the theater.  I mention that because they ALL had white hair.  We stood in line behind them, most of them Members of the theater, with their punch cards and discounts for popcorn, going through one at a time.  We got our tickets, debated which size of popcorn we should get and went in to find some seats.  Old school again because we didn’t choose our seats ahead of time, it was first come, first served.  I looked up into the audience, most of whom were women with the vast majority of them having white hair.  I was feeling pretty young until I realized that if I wasn’t coloring my hair….

The film was wonderful, based on a true story, taking place in 1961 in England.  A story I had never heard before but won’t soon forget.  The music was really “Mad Men” and the whole film had a real 1960’s vibe.  As the lights came up, the conversations began, friends greeting friends with delighted smiles, standing on the steps in groups, or walking over for a quick hug. Two women at the bottom of the stairs began dancing to the music, laughing and twirling each other in a type of swing style that matched the music, one exclaiming that they hadn’t done that for a long time.  Obviously, membership pays off in terms of making friends and suddenly, the young behavior belied the white hair that had been so prevalent earlier. 

A trip to the restroom followed, as frankly, we’re all of that age where making sure we don’t pass up the opportunity is important.  Two ladies were talking about Helen Mirren and how they had certainly “de-glamorized” her for the role.  It’s Helen Mirren of course – she’s amazing no matter what she does, “de-glamorized” or not and the role she played here, of the long suffering but loving wife, doing whatever she can to take care of her family was one that anyone could relate to. That’s the thing about this theater – the types of films they bring always leave you thinking, giving you things to have conversations about afterwards.  

Our conversation on the way to the car however was how we were certainly younger than most people in the theater but knowing that in reality we weren’t.  The problem is that I FEEL younger most of the time, until I can’t remember a word I want or something I planned to do or something I went for in the next room.  I’m feeling good physically too for the most part – working hard to ignore the random aches and pains that appear and disappear.  We laugh at how hard it can be to get in and out of his car sometimes but how young we feel with the top down and the wind in our hair. 

In a recent article, Jane Fonda said you can be really old at 60 and you can be really young at 85.  My hope is that I continue to pursue the things I want and that I won’t be hindered by people who assume that I’m “old” and past my prime and not just older with plenty of time left to contribute.  At 62, I know that there are more things I want to do in my life, there’s more to learn, more books to read, more people to meet, more differences to make, more wind to feel in my hair.

While the pandemic has obviously brought to light dysfunction and hardships around the world, it has also illuminated individual priorities, character flaws, and strengths.  Like many events throughout history, we tend to find out what a person is really made up of when faced with challenging circumstances.  We talk about the greatest generation with a sense of awe, perhaps because they had to deal with so much in a relatively short amount of time and still managed to function and thrive.  They didn’t talk about the hard times and the suffering much if at all and seemed to focus on the work at hand and the future – raising and supporting their families, serving and being a part of their communities.  You might argue that they were holding it all in and that wasn’t healthy, but I will argue that focusing on the positive and where they could make a difference was a way to grow.

People who had been through so much continued to sacrifice, giving up everyday items to support causes in an effort to work together and serve their country.  Things weren’t perfect of course, after all we’re dealing with people, and I’m certain if we did our research, we would find all kind of crazy things happening, but all in all, people worked, scraped and made things happen.  

So, let’s flash forward to 2022.  Again, life happens and as a human race, we’re surviving a pandemic, there’s a war on the other side of the world, the country has been reduced to two political parties where we silo everyone so we can disagree about EVERYTHING. We’re seeing everyone, especially young people, plagued with mental health issues.  Are things any tougher today than they were at the beginning of the 20^th century?  I would argue that things are easier today, that despite things like inflation, it’s nothing like the depression and we’re watching a war that we’re not involved in – at least not yet.  And it looks like we’re coming out of two year long pandemic and getting back to more of what we’ve been used to.  Not the same, but it took two years to get here, so chances are it’s going to take a while to heal.  So why aren’t more people working to make good things happen?  Why are people dropping out of the workforce and life in general, at such an alarming rate?  What has been so hard that the result is so different?

I believe there is one main difference between the boomers and whatever we’re calling the last couple of generations.  I was taught HOW to keep going and survive despite life’s ups and downs, the inevitable ebbs and flows of life events that affect EVERY person.  Taught by my parents (sometimes through difficult circumstances), by my teachers, mentors and peers. Life, death, health, illness, financial woes and successes.  What do you do and how do you behave when things get hard?  Sometimes we refer to it as grit and whether it’s something you’re born with or something you’re taught, it’s absolutely necessary to have in order to survive.  What I believe might be happening is that we have adults who, with the very best of intentions, are working to alleviate any opportunity for adversity in the lives of young people in order to protect them, but in reality, we’re hurting them by not giving them the tools to survive these inevitable difficult life events.  Without this preparation, we hear things like, I can’t do this, or it’s too hard, or I need a mental health day.  

This may be a bit of a sticky wicket here, but we know that the more someone hears something, the more they believe it.  If I tell a child they are smart or beautiful every day, eventually they believe it.  If I tell them they’re not strong enough to handle something, and not give them the tools to handle things, they believe that too.  When we hear how hard everything is from the media, day after day, we begin to believe it. When the hard times come, people prioritize themselves instead of others, show their true colors or find a strength they maybe didn’t realize they had.  There are different options during times of great difficulty, options to give up and give in or step up and step out.  It’s a choice.

The greatest stories that come out of times like these are where people make the best of an awful situation, choose to serve others or survive against all odds.  This is not the easy way out, and it’s by far harder than giving up.  What is it we’re not equipping people with to do this?  While things like therapy are important, we tend to use it in a reactive way rather than proactive. Hardship and dysfunction are opportunities to grow into a better, stronger person and it’s our job at adults, leaders, and mentors to share the tools and strategies with others who need them in order to survive not only what’s happening now but what will happen again in the future.  History will continue to repeat itself whether we like it or not.  Are you and those you care about equipped to survive whatever comes next? 

See if you do this.  When someone asks you who you are, do you share what you do?  For instance, I tell people that I’m a music educator, or more precisely, a music teacher leader.  I do that because for the past 30+ years, that’s what I’ve done.  I often wonder if my kids ask if that was more important than being a mom or if my husband believes it’s more important than being a wife.  I tend to wonder if it’s the real me or a description I hide behind.  It’s quick and easy and people seem satisfied with that.  However I did something today I’ve never done, and that’s describe myself as a writer for a small class on creative writing.

What do I know about creative writing?  Who do I think I am taking on this task?  I would never claim to be a writing teacher, however, if I just add the little hyphen to who I am, I am now a musician-educator-mom-wife-writer and I CAN share my personal experience as a writer, what it means to me and how I believe words are powerful.  My words, your words and the words of those young adults in their writing class today.  Our lives, our perspectives, our experiences, our differences, all deserve to be read, heard and honored without judgement, including our own.  However, what I thought was a class on creativity and using creative strategies to begin the writing process, turned into a relationship building exercise I wasn’t expecting.

Writing is a personal thing.  Even if you’re writing about something you have little experience with, you tend to rely on similar experiences or perspectives that come with unique feelings and memories.  And when you share your writing, you can open the door to memories and feelings for others.  As I observed the six young adults in the class, they seemed fairly close, but as they began to open up and share the things they had written, you could see the conversations and questions begin, wanting to know more about each other, sharing parts of their lives they hadn’t shared before.  Closet visual artists, music lovers, dancers and yes, writers all came out as they began writing descriptions of pictures using their senses, describing the occasion of a favorite photo in their phone.  They divulged their fears and hesitancy about sharing, sometimes afraid it wasn’t detailed enough, it wasn’t as good as something else they heard, or it didn’t end the way they wanted. As everyone assured each other that what they did was great and how they identified with what their friend had written, some of the fear waned and those who had hesitated now volunteered to read.  You could see them sit up straighter, watch their eyes light up and their heads nod in agreement.  Honestly writing about who they were and how they saw life changed the atmosphere in the room.

Three hours later, the laughter became a real thing, with one student saying their face hurt from smiling.  The same student who asked for a hug at the end.  Another student whose face lit up when she found out I was going to teach at her old elementary school and asking if I would be writing about my experiences there. I encouraged them to continue their writing if for nothing else that it becomes an outlet for their thoughts and feelings, a way to get to know themselves better, a way to share and refocus their creative goals and dreams.  What started as me sharing my experiences with writing turning into a lesson for me about just how powerful words are in terms of building relationships and encouraging people to be everything they are, no matter how many hyphens it takes.

It has been a while and I’m out of practice.  The daily exercise of writing something ended some time ago, partly due to the pandemic, partly due to not having kids to write about and feeling a little lost.  Once in a while, something would catch my eye or there would be something I felt really strongly about and I just had to write, but these moments seemed to happen less and less.  The pipe dream of writing the book seemed every bit of that, with those who had initially encouraged me letting the dream die as well.  After all, one can only talk about something for so long before people no longer believe.

About two and a half months ago, I received a video email from someone.  Someone who invited me to consider joining a group of creative minds to get the spark going again.  Someone who believed I would be a good fit, who said she adored me and hoped I would consider joining them in order to fan those sparks into flames.  To share things I had created and get kind but honest feedback.  It would be eight weeks of work, learning, creating and sharing to see where things might go.  Not my usual thing, I mean, I have a hard time meeting one stranger, but this was a group of nearly 20 people that I didn’t know, except for this one kind soul who invited me to check it out.  Best thing I’ve done in a long, long, time.

I’m not going to go into detail about what has happened the last couple of months because I’m not ready to share things yet and I’ve learned that’s ok.  It hasn’t always been easy – my lack of technology skills showed up early as I couldn’t figure out how to join the first zoom (I know, I’ve been zooming nearly every day for two years – so embarrassing), I had to dash from work at exactly 3:30 every Tuesday in order to get to our creative work or share sessions, I’ve given up a couple of hours every Saturday afternoon for eight weeks to gather with this group of like minded people from literally all over the world to get the spark going again, sometimes having to go directly into zoom meetings for something else afterward.  Our last meeting is this Saturday and I’m already sad.  It has been a life changing experience.

My initial thoughts when I was asked were A.  I don’t have time and B. This is too much money to spend on myself.  I tend to say yes to everything, and I mean EVERYTHING.  The combination of being a hummingbird, wanting to flit around to try a bit of everything and my tendency to be a people pleaser gets me in trouble a lot, often biting off more than I can chew.  But I had just left a job that had completely drained my bucket and this just felt like the right thing to do.  The choice (my word for this year) was to be sensible or follow my gut.  I followed my gut and I haven’t felt this good in a long time.  Yes it’s work, but it’s work for me.  It’s exciting, engaging, challenging, fulfilling and so much more.  I received some feedback on my work last week that shot me to a high I haven’t felt in years. 

I’ve had the opportunity in the last decade or so to hang out with some the finest, most brilliant people in the field of music education.  These are people who excel at their craft, who have been doing it for most of their lives, who feel a distinct passion for the work.  I love working with and around them because they inspire me to be a better person, and hopefully, a better music educator.  But the last two months have been different.  Yes, I have the opportunity to again hang out with actors and writers and musicians and artists who excel at what they do, HOWEVER, the difference lies in the fact that these people are looking for a new challenge.  The gentleman who has been working for a large themepark/conglomerate for years who is now working on his own screenplay, the former educator working on a book based on his life, the architect who is doing art installations and writing a rock opera, the actor writing a play.  All of us leaving the security of what we’ve known and done forever, stepping out to do something new, learning the steps to walk through our new adventures from people who have walked in our shoes, encouraging each other along the way.  It hasn’t been perfect, we have all gotten distracted by life, not accomplishing the daily/weekly goals we’ve set for ourselves, but we’re learning to forgive ourselves and keep moving forward, learning to ask questions at a time in our lives when we think we’re supposed to have all the answers.  It’s a lesson in humility and courage, things that tend to bring people together.  If only everyone could have this experience.

I’ve often reflected on the fact that I’ve been very fortunate to meet people who have opened doors for me or encouraged me to open those doors to set so many opportunities in motion.  Fortunate to be at the right place at the right time.  Smart enough most of the time to know a great opportunity when I see one, but perhaps not always brave enough to go for it.  A well timed invitation, however, can be a powerful thing.

Growing up in a military family, marching band was, well – military.  Precision and men in uniforms playing marches.  That was my idea of marching band.  My dad was quick to sign me up for band in 4^th grade and while I was hoping to play flute, the embouchure was alas, difficult to find, so the music dealer said, “let’s try clarinet”.  Not as cute as the flute and it had a nasty tasting reed, but it was what it was.

Band was fine. In middle school I sat in the first row, probably thinking I was all that.  As a ninth grader, I would listen to a friend who was a year older than I tell stories about all the great things they were doing in high school marching band. Marching band.  Yes, I remember my dad taking me to a high school football game once just so I could see the marching band saying “one day you’ll get to do this”.  I wasn’t so sure.  The uniforms weren’t pretty and it was at a football game. How boring could you get?

But band was fun, so when the time came to go to high school, I of course signed up for band.  Now, this was high school band in Kentucky and they take their marching band seriously, so it wasn’t like I had a choice.  Everyone did marching band in the fall, so like all the other Sophomores, I too boarded the yellow school bus for the loud, hot, bumpy ride to band camp. I’m pretty sure I still have the letters I sent home.  It was hot, everything hurt, I was tired like I had never been tired before, and we did nothing but march, eat and sleep.  In the sun, in the rain, on blacktop, in the mud, on the grass.  Why in the world would civilized people want to do this?  And in our band, you weren’t guaranteed a place until several days into camp, so if you wanted a spot, you had to do this AND pretend you loved it so much that you would always run back to your last dot.    

At the end of the week, we ran the show the last day and I. WAS. HOOKED.  It’s insane, I know.  I was sunburned, my knees were killing me, my teeth were going through my bottom lip and I freaking loved it.  I was now running back to my spot because I couldn’t wait to run it again.  Now I just had to learn how the game of football was played so I wasn’t completely bored.

I always wanted to be a dancer and take dance classes.  Money was tight and when I asked for lessons, I was told I was in band and couldn’t do both.  Marching band turned into my dancing experience.  Not only was I moving to music, but that movement enhanced the music.  I mean, can you name a dancer who plays the music they’re dancing to?  It was during that time that I attended my first drum corps show, the “marching arts” as we call them now.  Marching band, while still occasionally military in style, was a combination of art forms on the football field, music, visual art and dance. By the time I was in college, it really felt like dancing, made all the better because I was among others who felt the same way. 

I became obsessed with feet.  Well, not feet per se, but how the style of the marching needed to reflect the music.  As the years went by, teaching feet was my thing because it was my chance to dance.  Dancing on grass, moving to phrases, staying within the form with others, changing direction on a dime with complete control of your core. Months of work to create a seven to eight minute extravaganza. It’s completely crazy and there’s nothing like it.

If you were ever a part of this activity, you completely understand and it’s hard to explain it to those who have not.  Why in the world would anyone move around on a football field playing an instrument in the sun, rain, sleet or snow?  They do it to dance on the grass.

The question asked to the class was, what is a terrible day for you?  The students, all English Language Learners ranging from 1^st through 5^th grade began to share.  “Not playing in the park because it is too cold”.  “Not having music class.”  “No music class”.  “No music class”.  

The students from countries all over the world were learning music together.  Playing rhythm patterns on simple rhythm instruments, singing songs, and reading rhythms by putting them with words from a book.  Aside from the large age range, it looked like any other elementary class in terms of content. It was hard to imagine that some students had been there for only months and one student was there for the first time.  Here they were, reading, clapping and saying rhythms in their best English, echoing their teacher, laughing and cheering each other on.  It was a joyful place where the children’s idea of terrible was not having this music class.

At the end, the teacher gave students the opportunity to play a djembe at the front of the class.  Students from parts of the world where this type of music is prevalent jumped at the opportunity to play some rhythmic phrases on the drum.  For some of these students, it was as though they had been born to play it, the complicated rhythms and hand positions making it seem as if someone much older was playing.  Their classmates cheered, clapped and smiled for each friend playing.  That kind of encouragement allowed a quiet girl to walk up and very simply play quarter and eighth note patterns and she too was rewarded with enthusiastic applause.  

For me, that’s the joy of teaching younger children.  If you let their imagination run wild, they will try and be all kinds of things.  A puppet will become real, you can travel in a train or an airplane or become part of a story.  While waiting to enter a class last week, I found myself trying to get out of the way of a kindergarten class coming down the hall.  Kids are great because they assume if you’re an adult at school, you must be ok and they will wave and smile at you.  One little boy raised his gloved hands to me and waved – I thought – so I waved back.  He gave me this look of disdain, made the movement again, only more distinct and said, “I’m a crab” and he proceeded to walk sideways down the hallway.  I responded with, “good for you!” and laughed.  I can afford to do this now, but as a classroom teacher, I probably would have kindly asked him to walk down the hall like the other kids.  But who was I to tell this child he couldn’t be a crab?

In another class, the student teacher was reading a book about a character named Mortimer.  Well, SHE wasn’t reading it, Mortimer was.  Totally believable as the student teacher wore a mask and you couldn’t see her mouth move.  The children, seated on the edge of the steps, were entranced by the puppet speaking to them.  After a little while, the children recognized the repeated part of the story and said with him “Mortimer, be quiet!”.  Every child.  At one part in the story, Mortimer said he had seventeen brothers and sisters.  “Duuude!” exclaimed one little boy, trying to imagine having that many siblings, I’m sure.  The children said hello to Mortimer as they met him and goodbye when we was put away.  Lots of smiles and laughter.  Not a terrible day.

I watched a short video a colleague of mine made of herself and her toddler daughter at the piano.  Mom was playing the “ABC” song while her daughter imitated on the treble end of the keyboard.  At the end of every rendition, the child excitedly demanded, “again, again, again!!”.  And mom would play again.  Three times (at least, as the video stopped), each time with a squeal, “again, again, again!”.  Why?  Because in the eyes of children, music makes it a very good day.

Life the last couple of years has been hard for all of us, but especially for children.  So many of them are having terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days and don’t really understand why.  But the places where children are thriving are those classes that nobody seems to take seriously.  The ones where children can let go and create and imagine and be whatever they want to be during a time when so much has been taken away.  Classes like art, PE and music are not a distraction, I believe they will become the salvation for children in a world where they have difficultly expressing the fear, anger and uncertainty they feel now. 

I interacted with another child the other day who reminded me very much of a student I had years ago, a child who expressed her excitement by flapping her arms and shaking her legs.  A little one who was holding a ukulele and trying her best to play.  She hummed a song she was making up while she played and smiled.  Maybe she was imagining herself as a performer.  What she was doing wasn’t technically correct, but who was I to tell this child who had difficulty expressing herself verbally, that she was doing it wrong when she was creating her own song.  It seemed to be a very good day.  Music is so important for ALL children, making a meaningful difference in their day.  I ask you, in what other discipline can you hear a child demand, again, again, again? 

If you haven’t noticed, there is a teacher shortage.  Everywhere.  Students getting out of college with majors in education should have their pick of jobs anywhere in the country.  People without majors in education can get jobs teaching in some states.  If you are willing to work with rooms full of various aged children for a majority of your waking hours and then spend more time preparing to do it all over again the next day, this job is for you!

In what other profession can you be expected to pay to be an intern where you eventually do all of the work while the person who actually gets paid with the certification sits and watches you?  Then, once you get that first job, you have to wait until October of the school year to get your first pay check.  Meaning you might have to work a second job during the summer between going to mandated meetings so you can afford to live the first couple of months of the school year.

And speaking of pay, you will only be contracted to work 180 days per year because you get your summers off, lucky you – except for those mandated meetings, so what the district will do is take what you make during those 180 days and stretch it over a year so you actually get paid each month.  What a deal!  I’ve been very fortunate to teach in a district that pays pretty well, but you have to be sure to check out what that district has decided your education and experience is worth before you sign that contract.  I heard a future teacher say that we don’t do this for the money while smiling through her mask, which she may have to wear for 7-8 hours per day at the rate we’re going.  She may not be smiling after that first year of not doing it for the money.

Everything is given to you to teach exactly what the school/district wants you to teach, sometimes scripted to the very words you need to say to the students to make sure that every student gets exactly the same education, even though the children are all different.  Creativity, intuition, knowledge of children is not necessary when you’re being told exactly how to teach by just about everyone.  The district, administration, teacher leaders, parents all have something to say about how children are educated.  Despite your work to earn a 4 year degree (or more) and become a professional at your craft, nobody is going to trust you to do your job because we all know teachers have personal agendas.  It’s why they got into teaching after all.  I just keep thinking about that enthusiastic future teacher who has no idea what she’s gotten into.

Teachers have become pawns in a political game, they’re the reason our students are brainwashed, the reason they’ve lost learning, the reason they change genders, the reason they become bullies or violent.  As a teacher you’re expected to cure all of societies ills, but not overstep you bounds, develop relationships with students, but not get too involved, teach without bringing any of your own personality into it.  You’ll have to take into account every little difference in every student you teach, even if you only see them once every 4-5 days, even if you have 500 or more students.  At one time I taught 800 students at two different schools.

It blows my mind that while the world reeled from a pandemic, teachers made it work, teaching both in person and virtually, paying attention to students in their classrooms and on their screens.  I watched those screens while observing teachers doing what was being asked of them.  Trying to maintain behavior management and learning in their physical classrooms while watching kids on their screens get up and get blankets to lay down on their sofas, learning in their pajamas, getting up to get food and drinks, playing games all while they were supposed to be attending class and learning, with no parent in sight.  I watched while it seemed the world was finally beginning to understand just how amazing teachers were and again when somehow everyone decided teachers were the enemy, ruining their children and this country. 

Teachers are neither devils nor saints, but would love to be taken seriously as the professionals they are.  By everyone.  By anyone.  And we wonder why there is a teacher shortage.  The shortage that research told us was coming and we ignored.  A shortage caused by teachers who are retiring earlier than they intended because they just can’t deal with the unrealistic expectations from people who don’t have a clue and the disrespect from everyone who thinks they understand education just because they spent some time in a classroom.  Young teachers who are leaving in droves because this is not at all what they thought they were getting into and who can make more money and get more respect doing just about anything else. High school students who would NEVER consider becoming a teacher because of all the reasons just mentioned and parents who dissuade them. Why would you ever want to be in education?

I’m getting close to my second year out of the classroom and I’ll tell you why you would ever want to be in education.  It’s because of the kids.  It’s just that simple.  The rest of it is nonsense.  I asked a couple of teachers the other day what the best part of teaching was and they answered in unison “when the lightbulb goes on”.  Great teachers love to help kids learn how to learn and love it when that lightbulb goes on.  They love getting kids excited about learning something new, helping them feel they’ve accomplished something, showing them they can do more than they ever thought they could do.   It’s beyond exhausting.  And in the past, totally worth the exhaustion because teachers knew that the bottom line was the student.  I miss teaching because I miss the kids.  Period.

But for everything, there eventually has be the line in the sand, the straw that breaks the camel’s back and ladies and gentlemen, congratulations, we’ve done it.  We’ve pushed teachers to the edge and they’re saying goodbye.  In droves.  And all of these people who have complained, bullied, disrespected and demoralized these teachers are going to find out what it feels like because they’ll get to do what they asked for. They’ll be responsible for the education of our young people.  And as for the quality of education – well, imagine a doctor or lawyer practicing without a license, people building things without training in engineering.  You get the idea.  

To our legislatures, political leaders and parent groups, please help.  Support and encourage our teachers instead of tying their hands or assuming the worst.  Trust their training, trust their love for the art of teaching and trust them to do their best for students.  Before everyone is asking, why would I ever want to be a teacher?

The poster was displayed prominently on the wall at the front of the classroom.  “You Have the Power to Make the Right Choices”.  It was affirming the power of self control, of thinking before doing or saying something you shouldn’t, an encouraging statement for students who perhaps don’t always feel like they have any power.  Not a bad thing at all, except I couldn’t get past the word “Right”.  Who determines whether or not a choice is “right”?

You see, saying something is right or wrong is a judgement call and just who is making it?  Is it your parent, teacher, employer, God – I don’t mean that in a flippant way by any means, but if there is judgement, do you allow that judgement to take away your power to make choices?  

Sometimes we’re judging ourselves.  We’re perfectionists, or maybe we’ve allowed our emotions to take over instead of our brains, or perhaps there’s a tape of someone else’s voice running around in your head telling you any number of things.  That voice can be very powerful.  Powerful enough to take away any power you think you had or would love to have to make any choices, much less the “right” choice.  

Making the right choice takes courage, because making the “right” choice for me may not be the “right” choice for you.  Can you live with that?  As a parent, can you live with a choice your  child has made for themselves without judgement?  I have difficulty with that one because I often feel my choices are the “right” choices for them, justifying that with “I just want the best for them”.  But that takes away their power to choose, doesn’t it? Can you make the “right” choice for yourself that may be in direct conflict with co-workers or your boss, especially if it means a major change?  Choice can be hard.  If only choice involved easy decisions like choosing between milk chocolate and dark chocolate….

I used to be very black and white in terms of what was right and what was wrong.  It seemed so simple.  I was TOLD that it was simple.  I was TOLD what I should think was right and what was wrong. Chosen behaviors were either good or bad and so much of the time, you interpreted it as though you were either good or bad.  And I wanted to be good, which was the “right” thing to be.  I still do (mainly because I’m afraid of judgement) and wonder why others don’t. Sometimes we avoid making a choice altogether because we’re afraid of making the wrong choice.  It’s easier to avoid than to make a mistake that others might judge.  We’re back to that judging thing again.

So many times I hear that some people have no choice, but that’s not true.  People may not have the same choices, but everyone has choice.  We have choices all day every day, they’re just different.  Sometimes we don’t feel like we have a choice, but there is always a choice. Maybe that’s why nothing ever really seems to change – because we don’t believe we have any real choices. All of us, no matter who we are, can change the trajectory of our lives and others with the smallest of those choices.  But how many of us believe we can really make the necessary choices to change that trajectory.  Are we lazy, afraid or just stuck? How time consuming is it to have to question whether or not we’re making the right choices?  No wonder we never get anything done!

I’m a believer in trusting my gut when it comes to choices.  I’m not saying I have always followed my gut, but I’ve learned that when I do, I have more of a feeling of calm that the choice I made was right for me or my family.  I spoke with a lovely young woman yesterday who is coming to a life crossroads where there are many choices to be made that must be congruent, and like a lot of us, I’m sure there was a list of pros and cons, positives and negatives.  At some point, however, a choice or several choices will need to be made.  Life becomes stagnant without making choices.  Although I suppose again, not making choices is a choice.  Going with that gut however, even if there are butterflies involved, tends to take you in the direction you should go.  There are times I should have trusted my gut, I didn’t, and I regretted it.  And there are many times I did trust my gut, despite people telling me to do otherwise, and many adventures followed.  Not always pretty and smooth, but adventures.  And life should be an adventure, right?  

Look, I’m not saying that the person who created this poster was saying the wrong thing – that would be a judgement call and most of us are striving to be the best person we can be. But what if it had said “You Have the Power to Make Choices” – or “You have the Power of Choice”  and teach children that they can take their time, think and make a choice that feels right for them, guiding them in a way that is not harmful, but maybe doesn’t look exactly like what someone else would do.  What choices would you make if you weren’t being judged?  Is it possible to ignore judgement and do what is right for me?

In the world of the Jetsons, one of the things I thought was so cool was that George could call in on a screen and talk to his boss, or Jane could “call” a friend and see her on the screen in real time.  A virtual world I suppose we would call it, but there was a basis in reality there too.  The people on the other side of the screen were people they already had relationships with, so they were just maintaining or continuing them.  However now, we not only meet with people we know, we also meet people we’ve never met before and it feels like we have a relationship with them even though we’ve never been in the same physical space.  How do we even know they’re real if we’ve never seen them with our own eyes?  Just asking.

The definition of virtual we’ll use is this:  carried out, accessed or stored by means of a computer, especially over a network. All of these meetings and events played out through our computer or phone screens where you discuss all kinds of things, forced to express your ideas or feelings in a room by yourself with your face plastered on a screen where everyone is looking right at you.  It is an introvert’s nightmare.  It shouldn’t be, I mean, after all, it’s virtual, right?  They can’t touch you, you can mute them, you can hide yourself behind a name or picture but there are expectations and rules that must be followed.  You see, even adults will revert back to childhood antics without them.  Passing notes behind the teacher’s back still exists, only it’s called texting on your phone to talk about the person you’re listening to virtually.  We control our background to hide the clutter or try to impress with our filled bookcases or art as though we’re actually inviting these people into our spaces but no. There they are, peering at us from their little Brady Bunch boxes doing the same thing.

Here’s where it gets really weird – it’s when you start having feelings for and about the people in the little boxes.  It could be all kinds of feelings – inspiration, anger, admiration, intimidation, frustration – it runs the gamut.  But what is even weirder is you begin to develop actual relationships like friendship (or not), based on the interactions you have with them in a virtual meeting once a week or once a month on Zoom.  I can’t tell you how many new people I’ve met on zoom that I may never meet in person.  Or the people I HAVE been in the same space with before all this Covid craziness but didn’t know them yet and therefore never interacted with them.  It feels frustrating to have wasted that time when maybe we could have developed a real vs virtual relationship at some point in the past.  I suppose.  After all, am I not getting to know them now?  

I mean, there have always been pen pals, then things like on-line dating.  I know several couples who very successfully created lasting relationships, including marriage, through these experiences.  I suppose it’s a safe way to get to know someone without being in the same room.  Which then turns into an introvert’s dream, right?  It’s so confusing.  

We do get to see aspects of these people we wouldn’t have before.  In my situation, I’ve been used to sitting at U-shaped tables covered with tablecloths while we sit in uncomfortable chairs for hours talking about all kinds of things.  Now, I get to choose my chair to prepare for long meetings, I can stock up with my favorite foods and beverages to have at my disposal.  People with young children or pets get interrupted and rather than it being unprofessional, everyone oohs and aahs.  Gone are the days of business or business casual – bring on the comfy pants and slippers.  There is a part of me that misses dressing up and hanging with my colleagues, eating mediocre chicken from a hotel buffet.  I felt like a grown-up.  Now it’s just me in front of a screen, nobody special, texting during the meeting, just there to contribute cognitively when it’s my turn and I can raise my virtual hand. 

You never realize how much a word encompasses until you try to live it.  Choice.  Every second of every day there are choices to make.  When you choose to get up in the morning, the routines/habits you choose (or not), what and when you choose to eat, which route you choose to take to work each day – you get my point.  So, choosing the word “Choice” as a focus for life this year, has made me very aware of the impact one word can have.

Choices lead to transitions.  I have chosen to adjust my work situation. Attempting to do two different jobs well at the same time hasn’t worked for me.  Reminds me of the two times I attempted to teach K-12.  K-5 was great, 6-12 was a disaster.  I heard someone say that sometimes you complete a project by dropping it.  For me it feels a bit like quitting, but I’ve done life long enough to know that if it doesn’t feel right, it probably isn’t.  So you make a choice because life it too short to continue doing something that you don’t look forward to or stress about.  And sometimes, we keep things from progressing or keep people from their next steps by choosing to stay with something when we shouldn’t.  

Making choices leads to having to make more choices.  This week an opportunity presented itself.  I had asked for some guidance and it presented itself loud and clear.  It’s do-able but it’s new and different, an unknown and therefore scary.  However, this one choice could positively affect other choices in the future.  Making choices sometimes means taking chances.  It’s not that you can’t learn from your choices, whether your choices turn out to be good or bad, but you hope that the choice leads you in a forward direction, takes you to the next adventure or at the very least allows you to learn something you can use later.  In this case choosing to trust someone I know who I believe can help me move in that forward direction.

Which leads me to the fact that choices, a lot of times, means you have to trust someone.  As much as I would love to only have to trust myself, sometimes I have to reach out to others for help in taking the next steps.  As an introvert, I try to avoid bothering others and I dislike asking for help.  I blame my parents.  But I digress.  So, if I’m asking for your help, know that I’m stepping way out of my comfort zone and choosing to take a next step which includes you, hoping that you will choose to help me in my next adventure.

Choices are never made in a vacuum and they always have an effect on others, sometimes small, sometimes large, sometimes causing an inconvenience, sometimes causing others to make choices they may or may not want to.  My choice to adjust my work affects my spouse, our budget, the people I’ve been working for, and the direction of someone who will take my place. Every choice has an effect on me and possibly numerous others, and therefore I have to really sit back and contemplate who these choices affect besides myself, then decide what I can do to make the transition for all involved as easy as possible.  

For those of you who know me, you may question all the choices and changes I make, but there are many things that I’ve learned over the years, the most important being I don’t want to get to the end of my life wishing I had done something differently or done something, period.  In order to do that, I have to make choices.  So many of us look at people who seem to do things differently and have the greatest adventures and we wish we could be like them.  It’s all about making choices.  In some cases, it may be something spontaneous and in others it may take some planning and again, asking for help, but it ultimately goes back to the individual making a conscious choice to step out and go in another direction and being willing to take the steps or make the sacrifices to make it happen.  

Obviously, we make major and minor choices all day every day and I don’t mean to make light of those major life decisions we all have to make that completely change the trajectory of our lives – the choice of a life partner or not, to have/foster/adopt a child or not, to take in a parent or not, to say goodbye or not.  But I do believe we have to trust our gut to know if what we’re having to choose feels right for us and consider the effect on others when we make those choices. 

You made the choice to take the time to read this blog today.  What does that mean, if anything, and will it cause you to make a choice about something important in your life?  I made the choice to write about this to communicate with those of you who need to hear it and to encourage myself to make the choice to ask some people for help, that choice possibly affecting others.  What will you choose to do or not do today?