I don’t make New Year’s resolutions. I don’t like making promises to myself that I’m sure to break.
For the last two years, however, I have been choosing a word for the year – something that sets my intention for a direction I want to head. Two years ago, I chose “fearless”, because I was in a place where I knew that I was letting fear hold too much power in my life. Sure enough, when you set an intention like that, the challenges show up to test your resolve. I was brought face to face with a lot of fears, some of which I met with the necessary courage, but some of which got the better of me.
Last year, because “fearless” had brought up a few too many big issues, I thought I’d be more gentle with myself, and simply accept what was meant to come. I chose “journey” as my word for 2010.
Little did I know just how far the journey would take me.
First there was the journey to a new way of being in my body. After years of contemplating it, I finally went for breast reduction surgery. I wasn’t sure how I’d feel about deliberately changing my body in such a dramatic (and really rather violent) way, but in the end it was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. I have been granted a new freedom, with less of a burden on my shoulders, more opportunity to wear the kinds of clothes I wanted to wear, and improved posture that made me feel better about the way I carried myself in the world.
The most beautiful outcome of my surgery has been that I have discovered a joy in running. I run at least 3 times a week, and it has become about so much more than simply seeking a more healthy body. When I run, I meditate, pray, and open space for my mind to explore beautiful possibilities. A lot of wonderful ideas come to me when I run.
A few months after my surgery, the journey took me (and my family) down an extremely rocky road. While I was in Chicago at a conference, my dear husband had a serious breakdown. I came home, hoping it would turn around, but it didn’t. His mind went to that ugly place that mental illness takes you, and when he couldn’t find peace, he attempted suicide.
Fortunately, the suicide attempt was unsuccessful, but we still had a rocky road to navigate on the way back to health. Trying to balance the needs of three daughters with the needs of a husband in the psychiatric ward is one of the heaviest burdens I have ever been called on to bear.
We all survived, however, and Marcel was soon on his way back to stability and health. Our daughters, too, showed strength and resilience, and before long, we felt like we had finally reached a smooth place on the road.
Summer was a good time for us. We camped, we went on road trips to soccer tournaments, and we spent a delightful, relaxed week at a borrowed cabin by the lake.
In the summer, I did what I’d been longing to do for about a year and a half, and that’s when the journey became really interesting. I handed in my notice at work. It was one of the scariest things to do, knowing we didn’t really have the financial security we needed to raise a family, but somehow it just felt right.
In one of those delightful moments of serendipity, within minutes of coming to the conclusion (together with Marcel) that it was time to give my notice, I got an email from the university inviting me to teach three courses in the coming year. It was just the sign I needed to convince me that I would be able to thrive in self-employment.
In October, I left my job and started a brand new journey into self-employment. The month of October was my transition/sabbatical month, and so I spent my time relaxing, reading, and meditating. Possibly my favourite moment of the year was when I traveled to Ontario to attend a circle/story workshop with one of my heroes, Christina Baldwin.
Since then, I have finished teaching my first course, and discovered that I LOVE to teach. I’ve also done some freelance writing, started this new blog, created my business website, joined the board of UNPAC, met with a lot of people, and explored a lot of possibilities.
This new self-employment journey is so many things rolled into one – it is exciting, challenging, fun, nerve-wracking, discouraging, frustrating, delightful, confusing, overwhelming, and freeing.
I wish I could say that now, three months after I left my job, I have it all figured out. But that would be a bald-faced lie. There is so much of this that still feels so frustratingly ambiguous and sometimes I beat myself up for not having more focused. At the same time, though, there are so many beautiful possibilities opening up that I know that it’s better not to trap myself into a narrow framework that will end up leaving me feel trapped.
One thing is for sure – given the way the last two years have gone, I am being very careful what word I choose for 2011! More on that later.
I’ve been having lots of fun making some very cool Christmas gifts in my little studio, plus I’m working on launching a creativity workshop in the new year, and so my thoughts have been on creativity. In that spirit, I made this little video to share some of my fun tips for being more creative.
PLUS if you watch the video, you’ll find how who won the “name my elephant teapot” contest.
Sometimes, we’re our own worst enemies. Sometimes we SAY we want change – we want men to be able to express their feminine sides, we want equality in our homes and places of work, and we want ALL of what women have to offer to be valued in the world.
BUT… then when change appears, we resist it. Sometimes the old way just feels more safe.
I’m sick today, so I’m spending some time in front of the television. I’m watching The View, which SHOULD be about empowered women showing a new paradigm for strong women, right?
In just a few minutes, two things frustrated me.
1. They were talking about men carrying iPads around in “murses” (male versions of purses). One of their male staffers had posed for a series of photos in which he was carrying a variety of bags that mostly looked effeminate. The women of The View proceeded to make fun of the photos, suggesting the old idea that “men need to look like MEN.” So much for men who want a little design or pizzazz in what they carry over their shoulder – that just makes them laughable. Let’s keep men stuck in old boxes, shall we?
2. Immediately after the “murses”, they had a message from the sponsor in which the young blonde woman (I don’t know her name) was promoting some kind of cold medicine, saying that it was “trusted by Moms for years”. Okay, so we’re still assuming that MOMS are the only ones who care for kids and make child-related decisions? When will we be done with that idea? (It’s ancient history in my house, since my husband was the primary caregiver for most of my kids’ lives and knows more about their health needs and remembers when school forms need to be filled out, etc.) When will we trust men to have wisdom when it comes to children and the ability to be nurturers?
The truth is, I think many women (like the women of The View) are stubbornly hanging onto their mom/nurturer roles by making fun of men for being effeminate. We assume that men can’t make health-related decisions for our children, and we marginalize men who want to move into new ways of being.
Let’s move on already.
If we want feminine wisdom to be universally valued in the world, then we have to be prepared to value it in men just as we do in women.
“Be kind,” my dad used to say, almost every time we left the house.
In high school, I mostly ignored his words. It’s what high schoolers do. When I left home and the parting was more significant, I paid a bit more attention, but still barely noticed what words he chose to use in parting.
It was always the same, though. “Be kind.” Not “be spectacular”, “be successful”, or “be brilliant”. Just “be kind”.
Last week, as I was preparing notes for the last class of the first session of the course I’m teaching, I invited my Facebook friends to inspire me with stories of inspirational teachers. In the comments I learned of a teacher who’d helped students study for a test in a different subject than he was teaching; a high school teacher who went the extra mile and invited students to visit a university class; a teacher who made a point of knowing every student by name and greeting them in the hallway accordingly; a teacher who told the students with honesty and warmth that they would learn more outside his classroom than in it; a teacher who would lead students through a guided imagery meditation to help them relax before tests; and a teacher who sent an amazing email as a send off to the students just before Christmas.
What struck me as I read these comments and prepared for my class was this: every one of these teachers was remembered for one simple thing – kindness. It wasn’t their brilliance, their creativity, or their talent. It was their simple effort to extend humanity and kindness.
Yesterday, after our last class was completed and we’d wished each other a happy Christmas break, several of the students came to thank me for what they said was “one of the best classes they’d taken”. I heard words like “it was a pleasure being in your class every Wednesday – you made it a fun, relaxed environment”, “thank you for helping us build community in our classroom”, “I feel like you’ve become a friend and not just a teacher”, and “thank you for giving so much of yourself to us.”
I think I was floating when I left the class. Even without their words I knew that this teaching thing is part of what I’ve been called to do. And I could walk away from my first attempt knowing I had done well.
On the bus ride home, my dad’s words came back to me. “Be kind.”
I don’t know if I was an exceptional teacher, or if I’ll be the one these students will remember ten years from now when they’re asked to name an inspirational teacher, but I do know that I did my best to live up to my dad’s parting words. And the kindness I gave to my students was given back to me.
When my dad died a sudden accidental death seven years ago, many, many people stopped at the farmyard to share stories with our family. We heard stories of when he’d gone the extra mile to help a neighbour during tough times, when he’d stopped to fix a stranger’s tire, and when he’d helped families work through conflict. None of these were remarkable stories that would go down in the history books labeling my dad as a great success. But I do know one thing – he was remembered for kindness. Those parting words he always left us with weren’t simply a catch phrase, they were a lifestyle.
When I die, Dad, I too want to be remembered for kindness. Thank you for serving as a model.
Sometimes it feels like we have gotten stuck in too many broken systems, failing institutions, and flawed structures that are not serving the purpose for which they were designed. We know things are broken – we can see it plain as day – and yet we feel like those villagers who were too fearful or complacent to tell the emperor he has no clothes.
I am teaching a public relations course in a brand new building that was completed the month before my class started. It was touted to be an innovative, interesting building. “How exciting to teach in a space that’s been created with innovative learning in mind!” I thought, naively.
I can only say this – it is a remarkable disappointment. The first thing you notice is the institutional look of it. Bare concrete floors, stark white classroom walls, and nothing that looks warm and inviting – anywhere. The next thing you notice is the noise level. I’m not sure what the walls are made of, but when a siren goes by (which it does, often, as we’re on one of the busiest corners in the city), I have to wait for it to pass before I can speak again. Don’t even get me started about the jack-hammering on my first day.
As you look a little deeper, you notice the more subtle things. The lack of coat racks or lockers, for example – students (and teachers) have to lug heavy backpacks and winter clothes with them everywhere they go. And then there’s the lack of common spaces, lobbies, or even a cafeteria. Neither students nor faculty can gather in common spaces in comfortable chairs. It feels remarkably like they don’t want people to be communicating with each other. (After all, isn’t that how revolts form?)
As a teacher, my greatest issue is with the lack of flexibility in the classroom. I am a creative person teaching a writing class – I need a creative space. And yet there are essentially no options for innovative use of space whatsoever. I can’t even fall back on the oldest method in the books – gathering in a circle – because the desks are too rigid to permit it. And forget trying to put anything colourful on the walls to try to foster creativity – it’s against the rules.
I could go on and on (and sometimes I do), and you might think I’m just a complainer looking for a sympathetic ear. (After all, haven’t teachers been teaching in much worse conditions than these for years?) But I believe this goes deeper than simple complaints – I believe this is a symptom of an illness that we’ve allowed to run too rampant in our culture. I believe that we are failing our students by letting them know that this is the best they can expect in life. I believe we are stifling their imagination, and the work force that they will soon be part of will suffer for it.
“Look at these stark white boxes, students,” we’re telling them. “This is your future. Fit into the boxes as best you can and don’t dare leave your mark on the wall.”
Here’s the thing – institutions should not mold US to serve THEM. WE should create institutions that serve US. And when an institution ceases to serve us, we should abolish it, or at least do some serious reconfiguring.
This building is only one of the flawed institutions I’ve witnessed lately. One of my daughters is gifted academically, and yet she is completely bored at school, falling through the cracks in an education system that is teaching to mediocrity. And when it comes to health care, I could write a volume on the many ways that our health care system has failed various members of my family, mostly because there are lots of disillusioned people “just doing their jobs” in a broken system.
The question is, who tells the emperor he has no clothes? As a contract teacher, do I risk being seen as the “complainer”, or even worse, the “trouble-maker” because I believe we are doing a disservice to the students by not offering them more? As a parent, do I work my way up the school division hierarchy to find someone who will pay attention to the fact that the education system is doing our gifted students a disservice by boring them to tears? As a caregiver and family member of people suffering at the hands of the health care system, do I march into the halls of power and say “This is NOT GOOD ENOUGH!”
It’s easier just to pretend the emperor has on a beautiful handwoven coat.
And yet there’s a tiny voice inside me saying “SPEAK UP! Somebody HAS to!”
And so, this week, I’m letting that voice speak. It’s time to write some letters, speak some truths, and run the risk of offending the emperor.
