365 Days of Love. Day 165

On Monday, when I turned off the I-90 and headed south towards Wanblee, I grew increasingly… despondent. It’s as if every mile South meant another mile of…sadness within my soul. To be clear, I care a lot about the students I work with, I love the people I work with, but there’s an incomprehensible soberness present within me when I return to the Reservation. I’m not writing to trying to define it or reap pity for it, but rather, to share a revelation recently revealed to me about sadness.

Yesterday, I attempted to uncover a new running path and encountered disappointment 15 steps in when I realized the “path” wasn’t really a path at all. Annoyed, I turned around and took to the highway.

Normally, I run to the housing development 2 and half miles away. The 5 mile round trip run bores me and each fearful step brings the pesky promise of dogs who, by their barking and chasing, clearly consider me a threat.

Yesterday, I ran the other way on the highway. I ran towards the store, the nearest town (still 30 miles away), the Interstate. No dogs chased me and each step, it felt, took me closer to places I wished to go.

While I ran, I considered my current lot, I reflected on each strange feeling present and past induced by this experience, I thought about the things I could do to change my situation. The entire run, I thought, reflected, considered….

After 45 minutes, I turned into school housing and in the near distance, I saw the setting sun. Pinks, purples, and blues lit the dimming sky and then I remembered

this is an experience.

Everything is an experience.

And, experiences are privy to me as a human. Experiences should be felt and not wished away, even if they are unpleasant.

Pain, sadness, anxiety are experiences just as joy is an experience.

I trust that I can learn to love greater by experiencing, truly experiencing, every moment of every day. 

365 Days Of Love. Day 164

Over the summer, I spent a fair amount of time working on a grant for John, the owner of a therapeutic fishing pond (I've wrote about him before). On Friday, I received an e-mail detailing the disbursement of the grant.

Good news, right? Ehhhhh.

When we applied for the grant, we asked for $10,000 for the purchase of an ATV. John, after a near fatal car accident, sustained brain injuries that prevent him for being able to drive a normal vehicle. Doctors have, however, afforded him permission to drive an ATV. The e-mail I received on Friday said that although our grant was accepted, the Foundation, would grant The Pond $2000. Not really sure how John would handle the news (and feeling pretty disappointed myself), I waited until this morning to call him.

I started the phone call with, "I have good news and bad news..." and when I finished, he said,

"Well, that's good news."

He was profoundly positive and immediately self-suggested that he call the Foundation to thank them.

I don't I am a naturally negative person, but I do find myself disappointed easily (mostly in myself). I set really high expectations for myself and when I fall short, I propel into extreme self-criticism. I wanted to to that this morning and then John reminded me of something.

Everything is a gift and "falling short" simply means we get to explore more outlets, try new ways, of reaching our goals.

I'm really lucky to know the people I do. I feel as if I'm constantly given reminders to be positive, to look at things from a promising perspective. John (again) taught me that loving is broadening our perspective, exploring our (many many many) options.

365 Days Of Love. Day 163

It's really hard for me to say thank you when people compliment me. Whereas I've done a few things to improve myself, I credit the being I am to the beings that offered me influence, regardless of the subject.
Even little things, like the lipstick I wear, roots itself in the influence of another (in this case, my super stylish former roommate, Jade).

When I reflect on this, I'm reminded of the connectedness of humanity and the importance of truly immersing myself in culture (all facets of culture) and, in turn, opening myself to the influence of others.

Certainly, aspects of myself resemble the unchanging roots of a trees. I do not wish to be so influenced that I lose sight of the being I inherently am nor do I encourage that for anyone. I believe connectedness only comes when  independent individuals commit to genuinely sharing their lives with one another.

In connectedness, learning lies. Learning about ourselves and our communities, learning about others and the innate driving forces behind their decisions, simply learning how to live.

 We learn that differences fuel uniqueness and uniqueness is valuable. We learn that people are products of their stories and some stories are terribly tragic. We learn that love truly knows no boundaries and, that in power of one another, lies our Universal strength.

A strength that, I believe, needs tapping into, a strength catalytic of change and equity...and greater love.

365 Days Of Love. Day 162

Yesterday, at my librarian conference in Huron, I participated in a session about finding your calling. One woman, started crying as she iterated to us that she felt as if she wasn’t brave enough to reach her calling. Empathetically, my heart stung too. I can’t imagine being in my sixties and feeling inept to reach towards any sort of calling. As soon as she said, “I’m not brave enough,” I felt immediately grateful for all the people who have ever called me brave.

Then, I wondered, why? Why do people think I am brave or why have I felt able to do things that others might have felt fearful of? It hit me this morning, during a conference session in which speakers chatted about new books for young readers.

I garner bravery from writing. I always have.

For as long as I can remember, when I was anxious or scared, I wrote. When I would scream at my mom in the middle of the night because “I COULDN’T SLEEP”, she handed me a pen and paper and commanded I “write” (a wonderful alternative to me crawling in bed with my dad and her).

A little later, when friends and I fought and fear inhibited me from approaching them, I’d write page long notes apologizing and asking for forgiveness. Pen and paper gave acted as catalysts for strength.

When a teacher sexually harassed me, I didn’t come to terms with the incident until I wrote about it years later in an assignment for creative writing class in college. Until I wrote about it, I was captive to the ideas and thoughts induced by my insecure self and the misuse of power from a person I trusted.

Even now, when I’m scared or unsure, I write. Writing generates answers, writing gives me hope…

Writing makes me brave. 

365 Days Of Love. Day 161

I've grown to love my second graders. It seems weird, right? Who wouldn't inherently love cute 7 year olds? 

Well, at the beginning of the year, I dreaded the cute7 year olds. I approached the little ones like a mailman approaching a house with a vicious dog, laden with fear. I was disgusted (and confused) by their pleasure in farting...loudly. I didn't understand why they crawled on the floor or why they didn't love my crazy reading voices. 

After some games, relationship building, and fair appropriate amounts of bribery, my second graders and I managed to make it through our hour long periods without tears or huge frustrations. 

Recently, though, I've felt a special affinity for the little ones. When we're reading together, I want to hug them. When they listen, I feel like dancing. Today, I realized my absolute love for them, though. 

They filed quietly into my room and I noticed one of them was obviously sick. Her eyes were droopy and red and her winter coat drown her and her shivers. I nestled her into a spot on the couch and situated the other kids for story time. 

After read aloud, the kids dispersed on the carpet with their own books. I joined the sick little one on the couch. I couldn't help it. She looked so...needy, so....innocent. I almost felt motherly. She chose a story and another little guy joined us, perching his head on my shoulder, and the three of us read The Grinch Who Stole Christmas. 

While we read, I thought, this is love. Fear of sickness was negated. The only thing that mattered was the comfort of those little kids. 

I wanted to ensure that they felt cared for, loved. 

365 Days Of Love. Day 160

Expectations always worry me. Or, perhaps, my own potential worries me. Last week, I was given my first professional (ish) assignment as a writer. After the initial excitement wore off, I flooded with insecurity. On Friday, I was given two exemplar examples to follow when I started my assignment, which only added to my fright.

Friday night, I worried myself into sleeplessness. Truly, I was up multiple times for varied reasons and each time, I dreaded morning and the responsibility it promised. Morning came, too soon, and I initially sweat out stress.

For the rest of Saturday, I did absolutely nothing to develop my assignment. In fact, I avoided my computer as if it was covered with a contagion. I hung out with my family. I had supper with my grandparents and babysat my nephew, I jet set around town, and ran to the store, but I avoided tapping into any pocket of potential in reference to work.

Given my deadline  ever desire to please those who afford me assignments, I forced myself into sleep with sleepytime tea Saturday night. I woke up this morning and I glued myself to my seat until I finished my assignment. When I sent it to the editor who promised publication, my fingers trembled.

What if it isn’t good? What if he doesn’t like it? What if I’m not really a writer at all?

Whenever someone trusts me with something great, I question my ability to “step up” to the challenge.

I wish I could tell you that the editor loved my work, but he’s busy with company and won’t look at it until tonight. I can say, though, that expectations are frightening, but I’m learning to love them too. Expectations push our limits and open, for us, a broader view of who we are and what we can do.

Sometimes, I really want to hate expectations, but ultimately, I love them. 

365 Days Of Love. Day 159

When I’m really excited, I act like a child.

It makes sense, though, right? Everything was exciting as a little one. Playing soccer for the first time, climbing a tree, doing flips on the monkey bars, eating my mom’s infamous English muffin pizzas. Everything was joy-filled. In growing up, the mundanity of life lost excitement and my spirit lost its childlike joy.

Of course, there have been times in my adolescent and adult life that induced excitement like the past. Falling in love, taking international adventures.

It’s so easy to be drab as an adult, though. It’s so easy to fall into a boring, unexciting routine.

Sometimes, though, I am excited enough to be childlike. When I’m grocery shopping and I see a new product, I’ll dance in the aisles (my parents can attest to this). When I’m consistently conversing with a guy I like, giddiness overcomes me. When I drive 30 minutes with friends for a beer at 8:30 at night, I  am absolutely silly with excitement.

As an adult, this excitement doesn’t happen near enough, but that’s because I don’t make choices that allow it to happen.

I don’t think I should drive an hour every night for a beer (I would be broke, fat, and tired pretty quickly) nor do I think giddiness is the source of life. The spontaneity of these decisions, the newness of conversing with an interesting person are the qualities that induce excitement.

I’m often so consumed with establishing a routine, I forget what it’s like to try something new.

The out of routine moments, those beaming with mystery, are the most exciting moments in life.

It is these moments that establish new boundaries for us, teach us more about ourselves, teach us how to love ourselves a little more.

We should chase childlike excitement, chase the love we had for life when we were little. 

365 Days Of Love. Day 158

This morning, my walk to school was so peaceful. It was strangely quiet out with the only audible sounds being a few barking dogs lost in the valleys of the nearby plains. No wind blew through the trees, no cars zipped over the gravel road, and for a few serene steps, not a single person could be seen in my line of vision.

It was quiet and I treasured it.

I’m not sure if it’s the changing season or my inability to completely grasp my new surroundings, but I crave quietness. This morning, for the first time, quietness came.

I wished myself in that moment forever, that most perfect moment of now. The moment without worry, without wishful thoughts of a different life, without anything but me and my ever constant step.

I love quiet, for seven solid steps to school, I love quiet. 

365 Days Of Love. Day 157

My Media class has been exploring the craft of storytelling. We’ve read multiple articles ranging from the tradition of Native story telling to the autobiographical account of a leader in the Civil Rights movement. From these readings, there was something that profoundly stuck out in our reading from yesterday:

Each story is an interconnected part of a larger story.

It made me think of life and how we’re all, in a sense, dependent on one another. I think about my friends, who offer me so much laughter and joy. My students, who show me resilience and innate benevolence. My family, those who have seen my ugliest, but still see me as a beautiful being. And then, there’s strangers. Like, the people I wave at when I run down the highway or the person making my whole milk latte at the coffee shop.

It is in these daily interactions with those closest to me and those unknown to me that I connect with the soul of the Universe. It’s difficult to internalize the importance of connectivity when I’m drowning in books or thinking about a cute boy or “figuring out” my life, but this innate connectivity is truly the gasoline of life. These daily connections are the brief , passing moments that subsist us.

We are all a story, an interconnected part of a larger story.

A

Larger

Divine

Love

Story. 

365 Days Of Love. Day 156

Yesterday, I shuffled my feet for as long as possible to delay my return trip to Wanblee. It’s not that I don’t like Wanblee or my job or Rez life in general. I don’t love it, but I certainly don’t hate it either. On Sundays, I take my time leaving Mitchell because I love spending Sundays with my family. I love going out to my grandparents’ house and raiding their cupboards for sugary cereal. I like eating with my parents and brother and sister and law while my nephew traffics food to my dog under the table. I like running in Mitchell without the fear of stray dogs and with the promise of passing somebody I know. I like my friends in Mitchell, I like cleaning my mom and dad’s house. I just really like being home so it’s always hard to leave.

Yesterday, though, was particularly tough. Since I’m sick, we convinced James, my nephew, to blow me kisses instead of offering me mouth wide open kisses. He liberally blew me lots of kisses while I put Emery (my dog’s) leash on her. When we walked away from little Jamesy, though, he started to cry. It broke my heart. My mom was holding him and his arms were outstretched to the door I was exiting and his little eyes turned red with tears. It took everything in me not to cry. To be entirely frank, I’m not sure if he was sad about me leaving or Emery leaving (their the best of friends). Either way, leaving a sweet little sad baby is such a difficult thing to do.

As I started my trek West on 1-90, I thought about how much I love my little nephews. I love my brother and sister and their spouses and I love my parents, but there’s something special about the love I have for the little ones. The sole driving force behind my wanting to be closer to home is the two little boys that (one day will) call me auntie. Embodying “Aunt Nannie” has been the most treasurable experience in my life. I can’t say it’s forced me to grow up quickly or prepared me for parenthood one day (I still have plenty of immature bouts and I’m nowhere near parent material), but it’s internally developed a perfect perspective on life. Little ones are so curious and trusting. They depend on us for safety and, I think, we depend on them for laughter and hope.

I love my little nephews so much and I love that they’ve taught me love greater than I knew before. A love rooted in an innocent perspective on this most beautiful life. 

365 Days Of Love. Day 155

As much as I love meeting my friends downtown to have a few drinks, mingle, and (perhaps) bust a move, I most always prefer quiet(er) nights at home with good friends after quiet days at home with my family.

Yesterday, I woke up at 7 with swollen glands and a sore throat. I buried myself in my dad's sweatshirt and meandered upstairs where my dad was watching The History Channel on the couch. I sprawled out on the couch perpendicular from him and watched "Most Extreme Airports" and lured my dog into cuddling with me. I was supposed to run with a friend at 8, but the overtly obvious sickness meddling in my throat acted as a run cancellation catalyst. Because I revert to behaviors similar to 5 year olds when I'm sick, I shuffled to my mom's room and crawled in bed with her until 9. Then, the two of us met my cousin in a small town a few minutes away to watch her son's football game. My grandparents joined us shortly after. Around 11:45, my dad's promise of a chili lunch drew us back to Mitchell. We detoured to the Urgent Care clinic and then, per my strep throat diagnosis, to the pharmacy. A little later than initially expected, we had my favorite Fall lunch with my dad and then took a family trip to the grocery store. I spent the afternoon baking, showered,and then went to my grandparents' house for supper (my grandma makes wonderful meatloaf). Despite being sick and lacking my normal spunk, yesterday was a perfect day.

Last night, some (new and old) friends came over and we shared stories around a fire. I drank a Red Hoptober and Crispin Cider and felt pleasantly warm. We made s'mores and ate too many marshmallows. I loved it.

As I watched the logs burn, I though, it's nights like these, after days like today, that subsist life. It's not extremely wild, it's not necessarily memory-making fun, but it's peaceful and warm and pleasant.

It's lovely.

365 Days of Love. Day 154

At the beginning of the year, I hysterically cried after an elementary class (I literally blubbered) because a girl hit a boy and madness preceded to follow. It was, I thought, my ultimate demise as an educator. I felt as if I had failed.

Both classes have since been occurring with only minor kinks. Yesterday, though, during my 2^nd grade special, I nearly cried again. Only this time, it wasn’t out of frustration or feelings of inadequacies. This time, my near tears were rooted in the mangled combination of joy and disbelief.

Two second graders were on either side of my lap while we read an I Spy book. One is a teacher’s dream student. She raises her hand, she participates, she reads above grade level. The other is a sweet little boy who struggles to sound out sight words.  As the three of us read and searched for the hidden pictures in the book, I felt so connected to the little beings that graced my knees. I could have spent the entire afternoon finding pictures in that book with them.

Then, I remembered reality, the unbelievable reality.

The Rez is sad. It’s not sad because the people are sad, it’s sad because it seems so barren. It seems so lost. I haven’t been here long and it would be unfair for me to draw conclusions about this community, but I know the people living here deserve more. I know the second graders that snuggle close to me deserve more.

Reality is hard to choke down especially when it seems so loveless, when it withholds opportunity from such deserving people. But, in those deserving people, in my second graders and fifth graders, there is a vision for a stronger reality one day.

There is a vision for a lovely reality. 

365 Days of Love. Day 153

I frequently take thought trips, wrestling with the ideas of oppression and empowerment. I understand how slip into oppression. I’ve lived in communities where one’s existence is solely dependent on another person or entity. I’ve also seen friends seek unrealistic proportions per some image they’ve been told is “right.” I’ve witnessed incredibly kind people turn bitter after being taken advantage of one too many times. Even I, an educated, supported individual, don’t feel especially worthy of anything special. I get oppression. I hate it, but I get it.

But what about empowerment? How do those who have fallen into the vast barren land of oppression become empowered? How do people internalize their worth and then use it as a driving force for change?

I feel like this concept has been translated to the cliché, “teach a man to fish,” which is great and lovely, but let’s be real, how do you teach worth to someone who, for so long, has been told, “you are nothing, you will never be good enough.”?

Our worth is frightening because when we internalize it, we realize we need to act. When we understand that we’re powerful individuals, we also understand our responsibility. We understand that for societal smoothness, each individual must understand their worth as well, each individuals must believe they are important and needed. Then, our life becomes a relentless fight to undo so many things that have been “normal” for so long, so many things that have resulted in the oppression of too many people.

Where do we start?

This is far too reduced too, but I think there’s only one place to start.

Love.

Each second of everyday, we can love. We can love the cashier at the grocery store, we can love the old woman driving too slow in front of us, we can love the teacher who tells us to “roll with the punches” as she dumps books outside our space, we can love the student who is defiant, we can love the breeze, and the chill, the colors, the smell of rain. In each of us, in all of our days, there are moments to love.

It seems simple.

For people to be empowered, they must feel loved. It’s not a matter of doing one good deed a day or preventing meltdowns when things don’t go our way. It’s a matter of genuinely loving as many seconds of as many moments as is humanly possible. 

Love is  empowering. 

365 Days Of Love. Day 152

It’s amazing how quickly life can change, how temporary so many aspects of life are.

I woke up this morning and confidently slid into the outfit I neurotically picked out the night before. I walked to school in step with my neighbor and clocked in well before I was expected to. I visited the teacher I’m closest with before I trucked to the library. We visited for awhile before I offered to help her get an activity ready for her students. I sat down in one of her student chairs and started boxing off the paper and filing the boxes with synonyms and antonyms.

And then…

I realized I was slightly stuck to the chair. I sat in gum. I was wearing brand new pants and I sat in gum. I tied my blazer around my waist, speed walked home, and changed only to arrive back at school right as the morning meeting started. 

Whatever, not the end of the world.

I bunkered down in the library and perused the internet for a second-grade friendly story on Halloween. When I went to print, I was met with an unfixable jammed printer.

Okay, still not the end of the world.

And then…

Multiple people came into the library, exasperatingly expressing that they were “bringing the books up from downstairs to put on the library floor.”

Every single expletive I knew raced through my mind. It took every ounce of self-discipline I have to not have a two-year old like tantrum on my floor. I’ve spent hours, my mom and grandma have spent hours cleaning out this library. When books were initially purged, I asked that they be discarded or given away. My request was translated to “please transfer the books to an empty room downstairs.” And now, those books are returning to the library.

Since I’ve started here, I’ve gone from not having teaching responsibilities to teaching multiple classes. I went from a middle school teacher to a high school teacher, I’ve subbed, I’ve been asked to teach elementary, and now, my space is being dumped on with things I already deemed unworthy of the library I am attempting to create.

Change is (obviously) inevitable, flexibility apparently needs to be the number one qualification for this job, and I’m finding it’s best to not question my worth at the school (because it leads to me feeling absolutely worthless).

Today, though, already weary from the kinks thrown into my (thought to be) fluid plan, I’m reminded of something of lovely.

Life isn’t about the things that flee quickly, it’s not about the books on my library floor or the hours of work I’ve put into creating a semi clean space, it’s not about my new pants with a streak of white gum across the back pockets.

Life is about the things that last, the things that mark us and make us. Life is about hysterically laughing while trying to catch a mouse in my neighbor’s house (that actually happened), snuggling with my dog a few minutes past my alarm, helping a student pick out a book, spending time with my family, sipping coffee until noon on Saturday, singing songs (off-key) with my best friend, dancing like a fool, having long conversations while hitting the pavement with my running buddy, waving to strangers, connecting with people. 

Life is loving the things that matter and learning from the things that don’t. 

365 Days Of Love. Day 151

My all-time favorite movie is Away We Go. It depicts the journey of a young, recently-pregnant, couple as they explore hip cities in search of a place to reside. Ultimately, they end where Maya Rudolph (the woman in the relationship) began., her deceased parents’ house on windy shore. When I first watched the movie, it set with me like a wishful romance that I wanted my life to one day become. Most recently, when I’ve thought about the movie, I’ve seen it in an entirely different light.

There’s something powerful about going back to where you came from.

When I was in Haiti, I was envious of the Haitian-Americans who were working in the homeland of their parents, returning to their home to empower the community. I was envious because their ties to the country ran far deeper than mine ever would, they were innately connected.

As a teacher in South Texas and, now, as a librarian on Pine Ridge, I ambiguously beg my students to leave, learn the stories of others, absorb the knowledge provided by independence and experience, and then come back. Come back to transform your community, to empower individuals, to lead, to tell a different story.

Oddly, though, whenever I considered this idea of return for myself, I scoffed.

Mitchell (South Dakota in general) is too small for me.

There aren’t jobs for me

What would I do for fun?

I would be selling out, settling prematurely if I were in South Dakota

Now that I’m back in South Dakota, that I’m frequently able to sneak home to Mitchell, I’m flirting with the idea of, perhaps, residing here. At least for a little bit. I feel connected at home, connected to people who initially poured into me and connected to the stories that authored my life after I left home. I feel potential power, power to mobilize a community, power to pursue the things I’m passionate about, power to make amends with the petty pits that at, one time, made me hate home.

I have no idea where I’ll “end” up, but I am warming up to the idea of solidly returning to where I came from, returning to place I first learned

Love. 

365 Days Of Love. Day 150

I find that I am frequently reminding myself that beauty isn’t determined by size 0 pants, long legs, and a va-voom rack. Growing up, I struggled to ever appreciate the way I looked, I felt like the ugly duckling of my friends. I have a single mole under my left eye and for the longest time that was the only quality about myself that I liked.

I’m partially grateful for these feelings because they forced me to internally cultivate a person that I was satisfied with. I joined a club soccer team, organized a fundraiser for a friend’s family, and worked hard in school. These things led to opportunities and adventures that I’m profoundly grateful for. What bothers, me, though, about these negative feelings toward myself, is that there seems to always be a nagging voice in my head saying,

“You could be skinnier, your butt is too big and your boobs are too small, your face would benefit from a nose job, and your hair resembles brown bushes in the height of a drought.”

Most times, I can refute the voice with promises of working out more or eating less or buying the newest hair product to tame my mane, but such promises only act as a Band-Aid. Such promises don’t actually promise anything beneficial, they don’t promise a re-definition of beauty. So, the nagging voice remains, sometimes softly and sometimes screaming. The nagging voice is always present.

In my attempt to define love per the past 150 (plus) days, I’ve briefly considered beauty as well. I feel the most beautiful when I am being most loving. I wear less makeup; I take less time to get ready when I’m doing something that is truly soul-satisfying.

What is beauty?

Per the persistently present nagging voice, the voice that is never satisfied, the voice that simply seeks a degree of immeasurable physical portions, beauty is an unreachable, indefinable figment of my (our) media-influenced minds. That’s not satisfying, though. That’s neither attainable nor desirable, really. What is the point of pursuing something that I (we) will never be? Beauty has to be something more. Something like love, something that takes years to figure out, something incomprehensible, something that we are innately, but have tried too hard for too long to repress. Beauty has to be what inherently lies in the intricacies of humanity, the thick bonds of one to another.

Beauty is love and love is human. 

365 Days Of Love. Day 149

I like to talk about love (duh), I like to experience it in connections with strangers or intimate exchanges between my closest friends or in the serene moments of absolute vulnerability in my family's presence, but I don't want to be in love (I can hear your arguments already, "Oh, Natalie, yes you do. You just need to find the right one"). It's not that I never want to be in love and I'm certainly not waiting for the imaginary divine-chosen "one." Rather, I'm confidently content with the single song I'm singing and I'm undecided on the melody I'd like to accompany it. There is, though, something about Fall that rumbles every romantic bone in my body. The other night, I suggested to a friend that Fall is innately romantic. His response catalyzed renderings of the mind, of the whimsical spirit that dictates my life.

When you think of what Fall represents, I think you're probably right...

Of course.

 Fall begs us to put on an oversized sweater and drink coffee not only for caffeine, but also for the addition of warmth. After a summer of consistent 100 plus degree days, Fall speaks new life into sidewalks and Sunday walks. We wear hoodies and pack blankets to the final baseball games and fellowship around our big screen TVs rooting for god-like men running a diamond shape ball to a small section of grass. Fall is colorful and apple-endorsed. Fall fills us with Octoberfests and pumpkin bread and squash soup. Fall smells good. Fall's breeze swipes my hair from my eyes and tucks it softly behind my ear.

Fall is my melodious lover that simply needs a kiss from his true love to stop the stupor he's fallen  into. (Obviously, I'm wishfully thinking.....)

Fall asks I draw close to people, cuddle, in flannel and scarves, with a good book, learn something. Fall is the North Star for romantics.

Fall is lovely.

365 Days Of Love. Day 148

I'm freakily obsessed with cleaning. Part of it is because I'm hyper sensitive to smells, especially those remotely resembling smoke, dust, staleness, old food (smells I think most people are/ should be hyper sensitive to). My obsession is also, in part, to the hope cleaning offers.

Weird, right? Hope in cleaning?

When I clean, dust transforms to glean, smells are eradicated, and an innate freshness fills the air. The same space that was previously dirty is restored. It reminds me of the way people can be restored. We're all born, more or less, the same. We can eat, pee, poop, cry, and sleep. Occasionally, we can coo too. Somehow, though, per the environment in which we live, the family in which were born into, we change into wildly different people. Differences in demeanor, personality, interests, are all grand things that contribute to a fluid society. Differences in opportunity are injustices that result in clusters of broken communities, a break in humanity.

This is where Saturday morning cleaning translates to human hope. Internally, we're all in need of some sort of cleanse, a dusting of our privilege coupled with our desires, a wash of our impatience,and an uncovering of the kindness we're inherently meant to express. Internal cleaning aids in uncovering our place in creating a fluid Universal community, a place where differences in opportunity simply aren't.  I reckon there's a degree of dirty in all of us, a restored self seeking.

And when we, as individuals, are restored, we, as humanity, are a little bit cleaner too, a little bit closer to love.

365 Days Of Love. Day 147

On one of my last nights of summer, I went for a motorcycle ride with my neighbor. When we got back to his house, his mom and dad, Judy and Charlie, were prepping their motorcylces for a Sturgis-bound journey. They invited us in and conversation commenced.

When I started sharing my (at that time) ensuing adventure, Judy said, “Natalie, you’re not nerdy enough to be a librarian.” I immediately refuted her, promising that I was actually probably far nerdier than the standard librarian.

When I was getting ready for work today (a 3 hour work day without students), I tied my hair back in the modern-day librarian’s bun, put on an oversized sweater and jeans, and completed the look with my –too large for my face- glasses. The cracks in my skin are filled with dust from aged books and my fingertips are glossed by the brittle paper those books contain.

I am a librarian. A hybrid librarian that occasionally substitutes, teaches a High School class on Media, and corrals little ones by convincing them that all books are truly mesmerizing.

 I’ve always been confidently convinced that the degree of nerdiness I possess far surpasses the threshold set by an imaginary board of librarians. Until recently, though, I felt nearly purposeless at this school. When school started, we were missing teachers and I felt if I volunteered to be one of those teachers, I would be more valuable. I embodied insecurity.

Today, though, confident in my full physical conversion to a librarian, I also feel pretty good about my purpose in the school.

I’m a nerdy librarian. I’ve always been a bit (or far more than a bit) of a nerd, I love that my nerdiness now has purpose. 

365 Days Of Love. Day 146

I literally just witnessed an incredible sight. Today, our middle schoolers are having their first football game. At 1:30, there was an announcement calling them down to the cafeteria. Boys barreled out of classrooms and bounced down the hall, clearly amped for their ensuing game. When I joined the hallway of quiet chaos, one student, Tyler, a husky 6^th grader, was shifting from foot to foot at the top of the school’s ramp. In perfect tune with his body, his head rolled from side to side as he beckoned another boy to “run down the ramp” with him. When the other boy joined him, bull-like huffing commenced and Tyler started his rapid trek down the ramp (the other boy took the stairs).

I can hardly remember what it was like to be that excited about something.

I should, though. I should seek that excitement.

Self-satisfaction always spirals back to pursuing my passions, but I’m learning that in pursuit of our ultimate passions, we can be satisfied by excitement about the journey (and the stops along the way). If I remained a librarian forever, I don’t think I would be ultimately satisfied. I think my soul yearns to be a writer or a public health advocate or both. What I forget to recognize, at times, is that this step, this stop, is helping me reach the next one. This one warrants just as much excitement as the “next” one. In fact, this one warrants all my excitement because it is the only stop I have.

Right now. For now.

How enjoyable it must be to live a life with excitement like a middle schooler on his first football game.

That must be love, living excited.  

365 Days Of Love. Day 145

I've lost myself.

Luckily, I'm en route to finding myself again, slowly stopping the spiral that I allowed my life to temporarily become. I believe mystery and adventure are the two things my soul needs to be satisfied. Chaos and a lack of discipline are the two things that most frequently prevent my soul's deepest...needs. In pursuit of mystery and adventure, my soul seeks something else, the qualities that have combined to create me. Often, these qualities surface in writing, running, and connecting with people, new people, all the time. As is obvious, at this point, to anyone who reads my blog, I took a hiatus from writing. My runs went from 75 minutes to 34 and connectivity came in quick, anxiety inspired, conversations with the maintenance man at my school. The worst part of all of this, as I watched my life spin out of control, I knew I was allowing my soul to rest (die would be too harsh of a word here).

After a Saturday of binge eating chocolate and candy corn (unwrapped from my grandma's assisted living, this is an all-time low), I realized that I was making myself feel like shit (literally and figuratively) and just as I could self-depriate I could also self-encourage.

Er, I could be myself. Not some - chicken with my head cutoff - version of myself.

I went on a good run today, I cooked my favorite foods for dinner, I took my dog for a walk, cleaned my house, and I'm writing.

My soul is singing again. A sweet soft song.



It'll be roaring (again) soon.

365 Days Of Love. Day 144

I believe everyone wants someone to tell them they can to do more, can do better. Today, I had a 5th grade student write me a note in which she said, "SSLANT changed me, I love SSLANT" 

For the non-teachers, SSLANT is a acronym that establishes behavior expectations. The first S stands for smile, the second S for sit up, the L for listen, the A for ask and answer questions, the N for nod yes and no and the T for track the speaker.

By the middle of last week, a girl smoked a boy in my class and the two jetted to the hallway to hammer it out before another teacher separated them. I was horrified and thought it was a sign of my absolute failure in the realm of public schools. The next day, I implemented SSLANT, some fancy guided notes, and the promise of a party for good behavior. My class transformed. Students were raising their hands, kids I didn't know had voices were volunteering. The girl who, days earlier, said, "we're stupid Rez kids" was literally bouncing out of her chair to answer questions. 

Hopelessness runs deep here, distrust is defense, but we can do more, we can be better. We, my students, their families, my friends, myself, we just want someone to tell us we can do better, we can do more. 

365 Days Of Love. Day 143

Since the start of the school year, I've been substituting in two Science classes. In the ambiguity of my librarian position, I've found comfort in the (relative) concrete structures of a classroom and the expectations inherently set by the four walls that enclose science-y desks occupied by young adult learners. 

Both yesterday and today, I was nearly in tears by the time my after lunch Chemistry class started. It's not my students or my non-classroom or the overwhelming piles of books that are stressing me out, but rather, it's my inability to connect necessary dots, the dots that lead to built relationships and "eureka" moments in 14 year olds. Yes, yesterday and today have marked every insecurity in bold marker. They have made me question not only my ability to work in a school but also my ability to make a decision that I can actually live with. 

Until Chemistry class commences. 

Within the first minutes of Chemistry, the 4 students in my class make me feel entirely at ease. They remind me I'm not speaking in a foreign language, incomprehensible to anyone under the age of 23. More than anything, though, they remind me why I am here. They remind me that within the walls of Crazy Horse School there lies leaders, potential, humanitarians, advocates, presidents, the faces of justice in the coming years, authors, and radio broadcasters, musicians, and artists. They remind me that in the walls of the school, there lies 

love

love to be given, love to be taken, love to be learned. 

365 Days Of Love. Day 142

I value company, more than almost anything else, I love the company of people.

I had every intention of sleeping in on Saturday morning. I knew my grandma, aunt, mom, and nephew would be there late morning so I planned my run for the afternoon and I tried really really hard to sleep past 7. In my attempt to prolong my morning sleeping, I even extended my usual 10 o' clock bedtime by two hours, which almost never happens. Despite every effort to extend my zzzs, I had three cups of coffee downed and my entire house cleaned (again) before 7:45. My ensuing visitors induced Christmas-like excitement. When they pulled in, every bit of excitement was well warranted.

With my visitors, came pots and herb seeds to plant, a new lamp, coasters, food (copious amounts of food), and best of all, the hugs and smiles and voices and eyes that bring me the most comfort. They brought with them reassurance that I am supported. They brought with them

love.

The love that I so desperately need.

365 Days of Love. Day 141

I was responding to an e-mail from a friend in which I was attempting to give words to my inner feelings about my new job, home, life. At one point, when articulating the condition of the library, I wrote something along the lines of


"there are books that haven't been checked out in our entire lifetime, books that are buried in dust, books that have no bindings. It's hard, I love books, but I also know the ultimate goal is to create a space that kids love and want to be in. To that end, I've had to get rid of a lot of books (which is hard) and there's still so much "cleaning out" to do."




Literally, as my fingers found the keys that created those lines, I thought to myself




this is life.



Not, this is life, pull yourself up by your bootstraps and be an American, but this is life, a continual "cleaning out." When I think about the things that most starkly cultivated me as the person I am today, I'm reminded of the "cleaning out" that had to happen for me to discover the beauty beneath those things. When I struggled with insecurities after a few unfortunate events, my mind, body, and soul all had to undergo purification. It takes time and sometimes self-doubt and renewed insecurities extend the initial timeline, but it is this  commitment to cleanse the spirit and soul that develops us as humans, develops humanity. It is these times, when my bearings are ambiguously defined, that areas of dirt are more apparent and subsequent cleaning is inherent.



This is life, cleaning and putting faith in an unseen product, being present for the process of purification.

365 Days Of Love. Day 140

It's amazing how much the little things mean when the big things are void. 

The sight of 5 6th grade girls writing

The fielding of questions rooted in curiosity

The stories of hopeful teenagers, the stories of resilient future leaders

The hug of a bouncy second grader

The conversation of coworkers

The laugh of those who are stressed

The slap of my feet on the highway 

The compliments of newly introduced friends

The excitement of little ones

The voice of a timid little girl

Love resides in the "little" things. 

365 Days Of Love. Day 139

It's amazing how easily self-doubt can eradicate security.

When I interviewed for my current position, I'm certain I radiated confidence. Had I not, they likely wouldn't have hired an inexperienced Librarian when they were still in need of teachers. For the first week of inservice, that confidence didn't falter much. I've always known that I'm not nearly as dewey decimal-y as I should be, but I never doubted my abilities to scan books, get kids excited about reading, and host fun parent nights and book clubs.

Until today.

I was so encouraged by the process my mom, grandma, and I made in the library over the weekend, but today, when students and teachers and parents briefly passed, I was embarrassed by the mess and I wondered if people understood that the library has been dormant for quite some time and this overhauling process is (I think) necessary and that I'm not a messy personorunorganizedorunpreparedorapatehtic.

Self- doubt, I hate you.

Self, I'm trying really hard to love you.

365 Days of Love. Day 138

In confusion and exhaustion, under books, and engulfed in the sadness of an unjust reality, I rely on one truth, humanity is deserving of love. The kids I see tomorrow, the co-workers I encounter, the stranger in the car I pass on my run, they are all worthy of love and in them lies the power and ability to cultivate a greater love. 

The job of being human is to love. 

In the saddest of realities, under the heavy blanket of injustice, in they eyes of hopeless, there lies the ability to 

love

and in that love lies the hope for the soul of humanity, the soul of us all. 

365 Days Of Love. Day 137

By Friday at 4:30, I was ready to not look at another Encyclopedia or Dick and Jane book in my life. The cracks in my dry skin were quickly feeling with dust spewed from books untouched for years. My throat itched and in my nose perpetually resided the smell of dingy paper longing for human touch. In the week I had been employed by Crazy Horse School, I seemed to have only made a bigger mess in the library. I am the girl that spent the summer dusting and vacuuming my parents' house multiple times a week. Messes and I are best when we don't meet, truly.

I'm not sure if my mom and grandma know me so well that they predicted my spirit's somberness or if they were anxious to see me and participate in my new endeavor. Either way, when they pulled into my driveway on Friday evening, I could not have been more grateful. Their arrival could not have been more needed.

After unpacking the plethora of goods they brought me (Q-tips, food, first aid items..), we took a stroll around my (very small) neighborhood. We nestled into bed relatively early and awoke Friday, more or less, ready to tackle the library. In their defense, they were certainly more ready and I was definitely less. Regardless, we took cleaning supplies and decor to the school and after a quick tour, we approached the library with an (initially) patient spirit. In the early stages of our day, I'm sure I dropped more F bombs than my grandmother ever wanted to hear and sighed frustratedly too frequently to signal any sort of productivity.

As the day progressed, though, thanks to my mom's ability to ignite a vision and my grandma's horse-like work ethic, the room de books actually started to (remotely) look like a library. At the end of the day, I apologized for literally being the worst version of myself as I looked at the beginning of what will hopefully be a wonderful space for kids.

I'm so spoiled. My mom and grandma each have lives that they chose to share with me this weekend. I'm certain they could have done a slew of other things (like keep my dad and grandpa company), but they chose to drive 3 hours, sleep in less than comfortable conditions, and carry, dust, and sort books that are in dire need of TLC.

They taught me that love is working....together.

365 Days Of Love. Day 136

On the first day of inservice, we had a Cultural Competency Training. Many of the things spoken about struck a chord with me, but I wildly intrigued by one thing the speaker said. She shared that quietness is respectful. At the time, the statement juggled around in my head. I spent two years rallying 14 year olds around the idea of their voice as a means of empowerment and change. Quietness is nearly foreign to me. Subsequently, I struggled, initially, understand quietness any sort of trait I would want to teach my students or even adopt for myself.

Then, I came to a realization. When we're always trying to be heard, we can't hear other people. When we can't hear other people, we're limiting the rate at which we as human can evolve. To that end, I've been trying really hard to be quiet and listen. For those of you who know me well, I can see your skewed faces. Natalie? Quiet? Pahlease, this is the girl that hugs random people at wedding dances and openly broaches subjects regarded as "personal" and "private." Really, though, I've made a considerable effort at quietness and in it, I've learned to really love listening, actually listening.

So often, I listen disingenuously, waiting for my turn to speak while simultaneously crafting a witty and intelligent sounding response. Ultimately, I'm not really listening, I'm pulling away key points only to have a boxing match conversation with my companion. Lately, though, I've given up on conjuring incredible responses. It's been refreshing and more importantly, it's been a reminder of the beauty of people. People have so much to say and so much of what they have to say is a peak into their soul and I'm grateful for those little looks.

The past few days have literally been a whirlwind and for the first time in my life, I've quietly blown with it. It's been a lovely little ride.

365 Days Of Love. Day 135

Sometimes faith is the hardest thing to have, the hardest thing to hold onto. Today, I started sifting through the mounds of books that will eventually line the shelves of what I’m hoping will be a wonderfully inviting and engaging library. As my fingers combed through some books that were older than my grandparents, I thought (over and over)

What a mess…

Then, I started questioning my ability to turn around the library. How will I label the thousands of books that are in there? How will I ensure that our students are falling in love with literacy and, in turn, embarking on their journey to self-discovery?

How will I do this at all?

I have yet to have a major meltdown. In fact, I’ve remained relatively calm so far despite the fact that I am friendless, in a new place, and attempting to be incredible at a job I have little experience with. I think these are generally the factors that lead to the break down of self. This time, though, as I commence on a seemingly blind path, I’m reminded of faith.

I’m reminded of my student Jorge, from my first year teaching, and his remarks, “Miss, at the beginning of the year, we were animals, but you changed us into good students who love to read.” My students could have chosen over and over to lose faith in me. Lord knows I let them down enough that any questions they had about my authority or teaching competency were certainly warranted. They chose to have faith in me, though. More importantly, they chose to have faith in themselves, to believe that they were capable of changing their future, despite their past, if they worked hard.

So, my hands, littered with dust from old books and unused shelves, my heart, heavy with responsibility and expectations, and my mind, busy with the seemingly endless “to do” list that inherently accompanies this time of year, are relying on faith. Faith that this is where I am supposed to be and this is what I am supposed to be doing. Faith that the room in the upper corner of an old school will, in fact, be a functionable library sooner rather than later. And, faith, that somewhere in my free spirited self, the abilities lie to ensure visions become a reality, ensure these kids are given the space they deserve. 

365 Days Of Love. Day 134

Last year at this time, I was sitting with my roommate, Jade, at McDonalds writing a vision for my classroom. I remember remotely complaining (while eating cookies drenched in coffee) about the six-page template I had to complete. After I submitted it to my mentor, I sighed seeing the expected revisions and re-workings that inevitably needed to take place. Ultimately, though, my vision became the driving force of my classroom. It dictated the questions I asked my students, the lessons I planned, the pacing of the stories we read. It eventually became our source of flight, the words that gave us wings.

Last week, I wrote the vision for the library in which I’ll be working. To be entirely transparent, my experience in libraries is profoundly limited. I’ve spent a considerable amount of time reading, taking notes, and studying in libraries, but as far as the inner-workings of the seemingly all-knowing information sources, I’m nearly naïve. Like my experience as a teacher, I have grand ideas and the inherent visionary in me wants to run wild with projects and community nights, but I’m struggling to break my ideas down into actions steps. Even more, I don’t even know what to prioritize and the writer in me wants to immediately commence learning the stories of my new community and save solo library time for the weekends. Despite not knowing where to start, my two years in the classroom taught me that having a vision was essential. So, when my new principal requested I submit a vision to him, I (nerdily) jolted with excitement. I love responsibility and, even more, I love envisioning, even if the steps to vision matriculation are a bit ambiguous.

In the process of writing a vision for the library, riding on persistent reflection of the past two years, I considered this: I might not know what to do right now, I might not know the ideal timeline that leads to a rocking (absolutely not drab) library, but I do know it’s important to create a meaningful vision that I’m passionate about ensuring becomes a reality. I love so many parts of the school year, but I love this part so much because it my time to really craft my source of strength, to wind wonderful words into a vision that will give deserving people wings, that will help me to spread my wings, that will dictate this year. I love this time of year because it molds the rest of the year and I love having the choice to create a mold that will lead people, wonderful people, to discover their value and run with their passions. A mold that will be broken when people

fly. 

365 Days Of Love. Day 133

The start of something new.

It honestly doesn’t feel like I’m starting work tomorrow. I’m not sure if its because I know inservice won’t be accompanied by breakfast tacos and a Christ-themed inspirational video or if its because I went from being unemployed to employed so rapidly or if its because I’m the closest I’ve been to home in a really long time. Whatever the reason, I’m definitely starting something new tomorrow despite feeling like I’m about to stroll into something I’m a professional at.

Tomorrow, I will attempt to remember the names of the people I’m going to be working with. I will commence the transformation of a library. I will begin learning a new and exciting job in a new and exciting environment.

Today, I am truly unattached in every sense of the word and tomorrow, I’ll be ultimately attached to a new community. The exploration of this home in my home’s relative backyard will begin and that doesn’t feel like work, it feels like an adventure.

I’ve never been so calm when starting something new. Perhaps this is the calm before the storm or, more likely, this is what it feels like to follow the omens the Universe provides. Either way, I love that I get to

start something new

365 Days Of Love. Day 132

I laid the ground works for a new home in my old home intermixed with facets of my most recent home.

Translation?

I moved to Pine Ridge. The westerly drive on I-90 is inherently freeing. The open space and mountains beckon independence from my innermost parts, taunt me with promises of challenges and triumphs. When I walked into my new home, though, I was overwhelmed with the dust, unexplained dampness of the carpets, broken out windows, and the dingy smell. I didn’t question what I was doing here or why I came here, I didn’t freak out (although I did spend near 40 dollars on febreeze). Instead, I cleaned. I reminded myself that I chose my new home. And that choice, is a privilege as is the ease I can escape to my parents’ house or jet to my family’s house less than two hours away. The dinginess of my new home, echoed by the extreme closeness of my old home served as a reminder that this has always been my home. South Dakota, all of South Dakota, is my home.

When I chose to move to Pine Ridge, accepting it as it is, hoping to disover it’s innate beauty, I chose to explore more of my home.

As I was unpacking today, I came across a few things my mentor in Texas left me when we said our goodbyes. I adorned my kitchen with her notecards, pictures, and stories. They serve as reminders of my most recent home on the border of Texas and Mexico. The home that taught me the value of a story and the true beauty of humanity, the home that encouraged me to write, to find my voice, to use my words. The home that made me vehemently passionate about the empowerment of people and communities.

This is my new home. It isn’t ideal…yet. My amazing parents are collaborating with me to make it eclectic and eccentric, to make it…me. This home holds promise, though. It is old, it is new, it is recent and I’m confident that is a potent combination.

A loving

A mysterious

A combination 

365 Days Of Love. Day 131

Nothing is more incomprehensible than love, nothing is more beautiful or more special.

On Saturday afternoon, one of my best friends said "I do" on the shores of a river under the soft eyes of trees in the company of friends and family and nature. As Ash and Chad read their vows to each other, words picked personally for one another, tears literally streamed down my face and I thought

this is love, this is real

This may come as a surprise to some, but there are few couples I look at and say, "I want that." In fact, most of the time, I think, "I absolutely don't want that for myself." On Saturday, though, watching my best friend fuel the sun with a smile induced by the handsome man standing across from her, I thought

 this love is special

Their vows spoke of the positivity each inherently brought out in the other. Witnessing their vows, seeing their smiles, I knew that these two people were absolutely meant to be together. I knew that the union between the two of them created a love that made the Universe smile, sing.

Such love is incomprehensible. How does it happen? Who created it? Why do some people choose to deny it? Such questions need no answers because

this love is real.

365 Days Of Love. Day 130

I think mountains tell a story. If you consider the towering mass of land, there’s nothing incredibly ravishing about the concept of a mountain. Big, tall, heads of land that reach higher than the valleys and plains surrounding them.  When you see them, though, and swivel through the roads the spilt them, the mountain’s majesty is undeniable.

I love traveling West, I love seeing mountains in the distance, chasing them down, and then staring at them briefly as I cruise by. In their simplicity, mountains are beautiful. In their innate ability to stand out, they capture their audience. Mountains have not been formed by man, mountains are the result of nature, they are exactly what they were created to be.

I feel like humans sometimes lack our natural state, the state we were innately created to live in, breath in, connect in. Sometimes, I feel like we’ve forgotten the importance of standing out, the importance of recognizing our natural beauty and then, living in it. Mountains are forced to live as they were created to be, majestic. We, though, have a choice.

What if we lived like the mountain? What if we sought to be innately human?

Being human is being lovely, standing out and up and majestically for our service to one another. It is choosing to love, choosing to be kind, choosing to seek our passions, knowing and trusting that when everyone does the same, the Universe will breath evenly.

The mountains are innately profound. We, though, we get to choose it, choose to be inherently human, choose to be naturally majestic, choose to love. 

365 Days Of Love. Day 129

Road trips and weddings and friends as close as family.

2012 Summer wedding season started with the nuptials of one of my best friend's, Brittany. On Saturday, it will end with another dear friend's wedding, Ashley. I adore weddings. As I've grown up with my friends, I've stockpiled memories and laughter and, sometimes, tears. I've said goodbye too many times, but have been welcomed backed with the most gracious hellos.

Today, my sweet friend Katie and I are starting our westerly trek to Washington for Ash's wedding. At the beginning of every journey, I feel excitement beyond explanation. The road is certain to offer us adventure and grace.

Today, starts the beginning of the end of my summer, and it couldn't look more promising.

365 Days Of Love. Day 128

I am most firm in one belief.

Every single person is worthy of investment. 


I do not believe that race or class or position in society or family or friends make one more or less worthy of investment. I do not believe that kindness needs to be birthed out of religion. Rather, I think it is innately human to be kind, I believe people are happiest and most secure when they are kind. I believe people are beautiful because they are capable are greatness, not achieving great wealth or building great houses, but doing great things, weaving great lives through innovations and connectivity. I am moving to what people have told me is "the poorest place in America" a "pile of ashes" because I believe every single person is worthy of investment. I do not believe that the poorest place in America is a pile of ashes. I believe it is a mecca of potential, populated by people who are deserving and desiring investment.

I can read and write and speak and be employed because I have been invested in, genuinely invested in. I have been taught how to work hard, I have been challenged, and I have been supported each time I spread my wings. I am a lucky one, I am a privileged one, and I believe everyone is worthy of this privilege.

The root of my decisions is my belief in the power of humanity, its need for investment, and its thirst for love.

365 Days of Love. Day 127

I feel like creating an analogy between a garden and life is pretty cliche, but today, my neighbor's garden taught me a little something special about life.

I feel like people with gardens love to share their produce. When I was really little, our neighbors would give me cucumbers from their garden. Or, they would give my brother, sister, and I M and Ms in exchange for goods from our garden. When I was homeless in Georgia, my friend's parents made sure I had copious amounts of okra, squash, and zucchini after I spent the weekend with them. Gardens just seem to be a natural inducer of sharing. This morning, my dad came inside with two tomatoes. The neighbor had shared them with him and, knowing I love tomatoes, my dad brought them to me. I'm not sure if people share their garden's goods because they are proud of the seed they cultivated to a plant or if it's because they know they can't possibly consume the goods because nature runs its course on them. I'm going to assume its the latter.

What if we shared everything as if we couldn't "consume" it fast enough? What if we cared more about helping others with our talents and means than about keeping them for our own personal growth? What if we looked at everything as a garden? What if we lived as if we knew the things we had didn't really matter enough to hold on to so tightly? What if we lived, valuing the invaluable things like conversations and family, roadtrips with friends and new adventures.

When we value the invaluable, we innately share ourselves, the garden that the Universe has cultivated each of us to be, and that kind of sharing is loving.

365 Days of Love. Day 126

"I'm going to make this place your home.."

In Texas, I was a diehard American Idol fan. It's incredibly embarrassing to admit that. The recently concluded season produced my favorite idol ever, Phillip Phillips. The past two days, I've heard his first single on the radio three times. I couldn't be happier. Happy not because I imagine myself having babies with Phillip Phillips but because the song puts words (and music) to something I find so important, so meaningful.

Home

Not just having a home, but creating a home. In the song, he talks about ignoring the demons and he promises that he is "going to make this place your home." It reminds me a lot of my students, or people in general. If asked to describe home, I think most people would say it's a place of comfort and safety and kindness. For some, though, reality has created a home that seems polar opposite to those things. For my students, their home, their community, was burdened with violence and stripped of its power to truly create an environment of comfort, safety, kindness.

Yesterday, I visited a school on Pine Ridge Indian Reservation. While there, I interviewed for a librarian position. After the interview, the principal and a couple teachers showed me the library and I immediately thought of Phillip Phillips' song

"I'm going to make this place your home."

Visions of comfy pillows and reading nooks filled my head. I imagined colors and conversations between new readers and book studies and creative writing projects. I imagined a home, a place of comfort, safety, and kindness. A place where life's demons are lost in the passionate page turning of books and rallying around causes and the empowerment of individuals.

Home is special. Even more special, though, is opportunities to create it.

365 Days Of Love. Day 125

I hate being told, "You can't do that, do you know what you're getting into?"

I think it's probably one of the most inconsiderate things to say to a person. I am capable of knowing my limits, I understand the things I can and can't do. Most importantly, though, I'm the one doing it. So, by the rare chance, if I don't accomplish something I set out to do, I'm going to have to live with the consequences, no one else.

A few days ago, I got in touch with Teach For America-South Dakota. The Executive Director was so excited to have an alum, originally from South Dakota, back in the state. He asked for my resume and immediately sent it out to a few organizations. The next day, he sent me an incredibly excited sounding e-mail telling me about a librarian position on the Pine Ridge Reservation. Moments later, the principal of the school e-mailed me as well. Literacy centric conversations soon ensued between the three of us and I was soon overcome with the same excitement I had as a first-time Teach For America corps member two years ago. I felt passion, passion that has been burdened by an unsuccessful job search and sad summer.

This morning, I submitted my 18 page application to Crazy Horse School. On Wednesday, I'm going to visit Pine Ridge and meet the newest TFA inductees as they get ready for their first year teaching. This job, by no means, is "in the bag." My application has to be reviewed, I have to interviewed, and then, I have to be loved and wanted. This process, though, has reminded me of something. I care most about helping the underserved, I feel most passionate when I'm pursuing the empowerment of people and communities. For awhile, I thought about getting a "9-5" job doing anything. My spirit doesn't want, though, my spirit wants to do something that offers a path to independence for others, a journey of self-discovery and identity building.

When I've shared this potential opportunity with some people, they've told me "you can't do that." Ultimately, though, I know I can't can't do it, or something wildly similar to it.

365 Days Of Love. Day 124

I don't understand sadness. Sadness induced by anger or the inverse anger induced by sadness has recently proven to be the most disabling emotion. When I'm awake at night, when I can't finish a conversation because of a swell in my throat, when my breath is shortened by quickened, crying induced, breaths, when anxiety prevails despite every effort to dissipate it, when I don't feel like writing, when food doesn't taste good, when exhaustion puts a damper on every single step. This is sadness I don't understand, this is sadness induced by anger that I don't understand.

This summer has sung such a sad song. I remember the freeness I moved home with, the joy I had about being close to my family and friends again, the excitement I had about traveling to New Jersey to see my friends there. In my mix for this summer were the ingredients for a sweet, and slightly sour, summery lemon bar, dusted with weddings and travel and friends and family who I hadn't solidly seen for nearly 6 years. As I think about what I thought my summer would hold, I remember the day that anger and sadness seeped in, rooting itself solidly in my soul and the soul of those dearest to me.

I was in New Jersey and my friends and I were walking around the block, ensuring the three little kids that accompanied us were smoothly sailing on their bikes around us. My phone was in my friends' van and at the conclusion of our walk, I piled in the backseat, buckled my 3 year old riding companion in, and grabbed my phone. I had a slew of missed calls and there was a text message from my mom.

Baby Brooklyn died at daycare...all I know is there was an accident at daycare...my heart is so sad. 


That text message induced phone calls and confusion and conversations that no one in my family ever imagined having. It elicited love and anger and sadness, it initiated hugs that we wish we could live in. Since that day in June, I have seen sadness that I can't wrap my head around. In quietness, in tears, in the longing stares, in hugs, and in the attempts to move forward, there is sadness. I think when such tragedy happens, incomprehensible sadness is inevitable. I'm faulted for attempting to understand it, but my attempts come per my desire to absorb it, to take it away from those around me who I love so so much. We're all trying to do that for each other.

In this confusing sadness, this incomprehensible incident, I'm reminded of a few hopeful truths.

Although being human can mean experiencing horrible tragedy, humanity also holds the greatest kindness, the greatest love. I know this because I see it, I see it in my family and my friends, I see it in the sympathetic eyes of strangers, I see it in the picture of Brooklyn that sits on my desk. Although we can experience the worse imaginable things, we're capable of the greatest possible love.

As much as I work to avoid them, the darkest days happen, but in these heavy hardships, I know that experiencing them, in unison with my loved ones, offers insight to love that is far greater than anger, far deeper than sadness, love that isn't rooted in me alone, but rather, rooted in the soul of humanity, the should of the Universe.

365 Days of Love. Day 123

Our history is so interesting.

On a large scale, the battles and bravery that created our country is pretty profound. The MLKs and Lincolns that rooted in us a sense of social justice are tenants of who we are today. Each experience and leader and voice before us created our present.

Small scale, the history that created our individual presents are incredibly intriguing to me. The other day, my grandparents shared stories about their parents and grandparents. Each memory told made me question the present. Do I look like my great grandma? Do I have her fiery spirit? Is my great-grandpa's work ethic rooted in me? Would I do for my parents what my grandparents did for their parents? Am I kind like they were? Are we, my family, an extension of the legacy they created?

Sometimes I think we use our history as a means of justifying present attitudes or actions. I think we blame our past for our present unhappiness or discontentedness. I think history often takes the position of crutch, or excuse for not being happy right now. I believe, though, that I am indebted to history. Those before me who worked hard and sacrificed much deserve, if nothing more, my happiness presently. History deserves our confidence in choice, in life, in relationships.

History is interesting, the connecting of event to person to experience that created right now is so very...interesting. Although I don't understand it and I'll never see it, I believe it happened for me, for us, to be content now.

365 Days Of Love. Day 122

With every new opportunity, there comes potential and risk.

Never in my life have I experienced so many unknowns coupled with so many desires. Yesterday, I had a meeting with a local organization. They, more or less, offered me a very part-time grant writing position. Eventually, I would love to be work full-time as a developer/ grant writer for an organization that worked to empower young girls and women. So, a very part-time position at such a place is, I think, a step in the right direction. There is potential. With potential, though, there is risk.

Potentially, this position could connect me with people and organizations that would eventually help me  to create a full-time a position doing similar work for multiple entities. Or, I could write a grant that funded a grant writer's salary. So, although this position is small and certainly won't pay my bills, it comes with promise of something more. It begs me to be faithful and diligent.

And then, there is risk. Previously in my life, I scoffed at risk. When I moved to Atlanta with 400 dollars to my name, I didn't think about running out of money or having trouble finding a job or not having a place to live. I just rode the waaaAAAAAAAAaaaaaaave of adventure and relied on the goodness of humanity to keep me from crashing. It worked. Now, though, with student loan payments, car payments, and a small credit card bill, the risk of accepting a very part-time job induces almost as much anxiety as joblessness does.

I'm not sure when this happened to me, I'm not sure when fear of bills and unemployment triumphed over the potential of something new.  I definitely don't like it. I wish I could revert to my Atlanta-bound  self and approach my present life with the innocence and faith I once had. I wish it was easier to choose the promise of potential over the demise risk could bring.

In moments of worry, sprinkled with those few promises of something great to come, I'm reminded of advice that was offered me my junior year of college,

Worry is only in the past or the present. Right now, in this moment, there is no worry. 


Perhaps the promise of potential will be most readily experienced when I choose to live presently. In this moment.

365 Days Of Love. Day 121

I spent the morning at My Fishing Pond in Bridgewater. Today, John, the President, hosted nearly 10 young adults, adults, elderly, and volunteers from Achieve in Sioux Falls. Achieve is a nonprofit organization that seeks to find innovative ways for people with disabilities to achieve their dreams.

Upon arriving at The Pond, the Achieve bus bumbled over the dusty gravel road with the ensuing zest of its riders. As soon as the driver parked the bus, the soon-to-be fishermen and women bounced off the bus, eager for the first fish bite. Volunteers from Achieve, Vern Eide in Mitchell, and the community helped each person bait and cast their poles and then, the waiting commenced.

Natisha, the leader of the group, said The Pond, “gives them (Achieve members) a setting where they’re comfortable.” She added, “Here (The Pond), they can be themselves.” As I watched the newly inducted group of anglers, I understood what she meant. Whether it was their first time fishing or they were veterans of the sport, each person readily gripped a pole and reeled it in at the first sign of any bite. What was most profound, though, was the connectivity The Pond created between John, the volunteers, and the staff and members of Achieve. It’s as if each ripple produced by the casting of a new line represented another commonality between all of us. Despite our backgrounds, professional or otherwise, we were all at The Pond to enjoy a July morning together, catching fish. This is what The Pond does, creates positive ripples, allowing people to be themselves and connect with each other.

The bite of a fish afforded everyone a reason to celebrate, especially the lucky angler holding the winning pole. John rallied volunteers to grab the fishing net and more importantly, cameras to document the new focus of the inevitable fish tales to come.  Grunts of lines burdened by fighting fish were quickly dissipated and replaced by claps at the successful capture of the fish. Pictures were taken and cheers were offered and smiles spanned the faces of everyone gathered around The Pond.

The day ended with a lunch supplied by Vern Eide and community supporters of The Pond. As hungry anglers deservingly devoured hamburgers and hotdogs, The Pond calmed, but a few ripples remained, serving as reminders of the connectivity and confidence the day extended to us all. Just as Natisha from Achieve noted, The Pond is a place where we can all come to simply be ourselves and be comfortable. 

This morning, I learned that loving might come in the most unexpected settings, like the banks of a fishing pond in the company of people who, had it not been for fishing poles and passion, I would have never met. 

365 Days Of Love. Day 120

This morning, my family partook in some Sunday morning sailing. Shortly into our voyage, I stationed myself on one of the pontoons and occasionally gestured to my dad (the captain) that it was time to veer away from the shore. When we docked the boat after an hour or so on the water, I retrieved my phone to find a few text messages and a voicemail. After washed the algae from my fingers, I listened to the voicemail. 

It was John, from My Fishing Pond, asking if I would come to the Pond tomorrow. He has a group from Sioux Falls coming and initially, I thought he'd like more manpower for the incoming fisherkids, but as I continued to listen to the message, I realized John wanted me at the Pond because he has some local news stations coming. He wants to connect me with his network in hopes of helping me finding a job. 

So many people are rooting for me. In the past week alone, I've had an incredible letter of recommendation written on my behalf, two people have connected me with their networks and offered to help me find a job, multiple people have offered job suggestions, and even more people have brought me back to reality mid " I don't have a job" meltdown. 

Over and over I've said it and even more I've learned it...

I truly do have the most incredible people in my life which have resulted in the most wonderful experiences. I'm so....humbled. 

365 Days Of Love. Day 119

My mom is incredible and frequently peruses the classified ads on my behalf. The other day, she pointed out an ad for "My Fishing Pond." It's an non-profit organization located about 20 minutes away from Mitchell. At the Pond, people, particularly those with special needs, are invited to fish. The Pond's mantra is "Where a small pond brings big smiles." Prior to my mom mentioning the ad, I had no idea this little Pond even existed. I asked my mom to clip the ad for me and a couple days later, I dialed the Pond...

John, the President and CEO, sustained a brain injury. As you may imagine, organization and detail-orientedness aren't his strong suites. He started to relay the story of the Pond, his need for a grant writer, and his excitement about the Neil Diamond concert him and his wife were jetsetting to. Conversational topics changed as frequently as South Dakota weather and I found myself struggling to keep everything straight. There was a brief moment where I thought, "What am I getting myself into?" His cute quirkiness and random interludes quickly assuaged any doubts, though. We agreed to meet on Friday and commence the meticulous grant writing process.

So, yesterday, we convened at a local coffee shop. As we read the grant guidelines and searched for important information, John's internet insecurities and need to wear his glasses to read the small print reminded me of my grandpa. His occasional comments in Spanish reminded me of my students. I felt as if John was this bridge between my students in Texas and my life at home, I was immediately grateful for the opportunity I had to work with him. After a few phone calls and a lot of wordsmithing, John and I finished the initial letter of inquiry for the grant in which he needed.

Per his brain injury, John is unable to drive so I offered to take him back to the Pond. For the entire 20 minute drive, he chatted about his wife and kids, his connections to the community (which he promise to enlist in my job search), and his Pond. His passion and love for what he did was inspiring, his kindness and openness reminded me of what I think it means to be human. As we took the exit for the Pond, he asked me how much my services would cost.

Nothing.

In my head, I thought, "the passion you put into the world, the joy you bring to people is a far grater payment than I could ever ask for." I promised him that I was financially stable and I enjoyed helping him. He offered me a hat (which I wore all day yesterday) and took me on a tour of the Pond. Isn't this what life is about? Figuring out what we it is we love to do and trusting that humanity and the Universe will help us do it?

Spending the day with John was a step back into reality for me. The fluidity of life isn't promoted by my stress about not having a job, the Universe doesn't need my meltdowns. Rather, life just seeks that I figure out what I love to do and

do it.

I believe the Universe begs of us to live like John, paying people in passion and kindness by figuring out what it is that we

love.