365 Days Of Love. Day 112

I think if we understood the value of people's stories, we would be more patient, more kind, more loving. 

When I was  teacher, even though I would, at times, get mad at my students, I often considered them angels in disguise. My mindset suggested that any fault or shortcoming they had was the result of a shoddy system that adorned them with great burdens. I thought this because I valued their story. When they talked back to me or refused to pick up a their pencils or refuted my directions, I, while holding them to high expectations, reminded myself that they are a product of their environment, an environment afforded them by society. I valued their story and because of that, I loved them dearly, more than I had ever loved a non-family human being before. 

As a teacher, my openness to the stories of those around me was inherent, I was hungry to learn their stories, I craved their influence in my own story. However, outside of teaching, I struggled to fuel the same desire. Subconsciously, I valued the stories of my students above the those around me. I sought to know who my students were, but I neglected to learn about those I worked with or interacted with in my life's routines. 

When I learned to accept my students as a changeable product of many things, I learned to loved them deeper than I thought was possible. As I step away from teaching and the expectations demanded of me in such a tense environment, I'm seeking the stories of all those around me. Being a teacher changed me far more than any experience I ever had before. I desire that same change, but this time, I desire through the knowledge of the "everyday" story, the person I pass running, the mentor I've long admired, the friend's mom who is so gracious to me, my grandma who is our family's matriarch, my parents who are quiet but soulful, those who have long been a part of my life, those who are coming and going for a moment. 

I believe learning to value this stories is learning to love. 

365 Days Of Love. Day 111

When I first decided to move into my parents' basement, I felt like an epic failure. Wasn't I supposed to do something incredible after Teach For America? Wasn't I supposed to immune to exhaustion and subsequent bouts of rest? I thought so, too.

Most recently, though, instead of sulking in my perceived failure, I have been more grateful for

1. Geographical closeness to family
2. Unemployment (while still getting paid from my previous job), which offers me time


I'm a a fairly needless person. If I want a sandwich, I make it. If I want to take a trip, I buy a plane ticket. If my room is messy (which, let's be honest, rarely happens), I clean it. BUT, when it comes to my family, I am so needy. I'm not needy of their money, but rather, their time. Each night this week, I've conjured up a reason for my brother and nephew to come to our house. When my mom resigns to her room for the night, I whine until she joins my dad and I on the couch for our nightly shows. I run towards my grandparent's house just so I can stop and visit under the primis of "getting a drink." I love having my family close. I love that I don't have to coordinate Skype times or hear their voices over static. I'm here, they are here, and I feel so strongly that it's where I belong (at least for now).

My unemployment has birthed a slew of opportunities. This morning I was able to deliver meals to elderly people with a friend (Tama, I know you read this, is it okay to call you a friend? I debated "friend" or "friend's mom"). I loved the seeing the elderly people poke their heads out from behind their doors and when they invited us in, I enjoyed their conversation and smiles. You know those family pictures that are taken when grandbabies arrive? Those pictures that have 4 generations in one photo? Well, when we were delivering meals, even though none of the people were related to me, I still felt as if we were connecting generations. There's something so special about such connections, they hold time and wisdom, and as a 24-year old, both of those qualities are so...needed.


When thoughts of failure seep in to my mind, I combat them with this

When will you ever be able to do this again? When will you ever be getting paid, unemployed, and living rent-free?

Already in my respite, I've been given so much and I'm riding the promise that there's much more to learn, much more lovely lessons to grasp.

365 Days Of Love. Day 110

Last summer, my mantra was, "follow the story." Under such a banner, I stayed calm while stranded at a Haitian airport, I picked up a hitch hiker outside of Chicago, I came wildly close to falling in love with a young man who was about to embark on an international adventure. It was a great and exciting summer and as I chanted this mantra into the school year, I endured more adventures, sometimes foolishly, but adventures nonetheless.

Today, though, I considered an evolution to this mantra. Instead of following the story, I want to create it. Often times when people compliment me, I think, "Yikes, they don't really know who I am, I'm not that great, I haven't done anything super awesome." Even more often, I point the complimenter to someone else who I consider far more awesome than myself. In this cycle of compliments and denying said compliments, I've realized a truth about humanity. 

We are full of potential. 

All of us.

I am not any more special than anyone else. I have been incredibly lucky to have such influential people in my life to look up, I am humbled by the experiences afforded me that have molded me into the 24-year old that I am today, but I am not special. Rather, these things have offered me a sort of potential energy, the energy that begs I do something. And, because I'm not special, this energy is not special either, it lives within us all.

 Our stories past create the potential we have in this moment. The love offered us, the love stripped from us, the love wanted by us. These are the things that provide the potential 

in

this

moment

 And the potential we have 

in 

this 

moment is the primer for the story that we can 

create. 

365 Days Of Love. Day 109

At times like these, when sadness trumps joy and tears escape more readily than laughter, I wish I could live in the arms of an embrace forever. There's something so very comforting about the touch of another human being, hands squeezing my shoulders, or fingertips dancing down my spine. In these embraces, there is safety and comfort. They don't squeeze away sadness or diffuse any sort of pain, but in the arms of those dearest to me, I know

We'll all make it, we'll all be alright.

Reality says, though, that embraces, even those liberally given, must end too. And as the arms loosen and life resumes, we're left to maneuver this new life, this different life.

Today, while on my run, I saw a dad teaching his little boy to ride a bike. The little boy, training wheels in tact, successfully rode a few feet on flat ground before starting a slow trek downhill. As his bike picked up speed, he screamed for help and his dad rushed to catch up with him, stopped his bike, and helped him climb off of it. Seeing this, I thought

An embrace. The dad rushing to his son's side was his way of embracing his son and letting him know

You'll make it, you'll be alright.

After that, the dad hauled the little boy's bike up the hill, put the boy back on the seat, and turned the bike towards the lush grass. The boy pleaded with his dad to not let go, the dad reassured the boy he'd be alright as he tapped his helmet, and then, he let the little boy go.

And down the grassy hill the little boy went.

This is life, right? Just like the little boy didn't want his dad to let go, I don't want the hugs most recently offered me to end. I don't want to stop crying into my mom's shoulder or squeezing my sister close to me. Like the little boy, though, we have to climb the seemingly impossible hill alongside those who are stronger and when we get to top, whenever that might be, we have to live as if we aren't in the arms of another, we have to live as if we have our own wings to soar. And perhaps, for awhile, we hop along the safety of grass, sticking close to those who are near and dear, but just as certain as the boy will learn to ride the bike, we will learn to live again.

I'm certain that tragedy forever changes lives, I'm certain that living will look entirely different now than it ever did before, but I'm also certain that as the embraces loosen and our wings spread, we will learn to live again.

This time, though, our souls will be infused with a sweeter spirit than before and life will sow a blessed joy, this I know is truth.

365 Days Of Love. Day 108

The past few days I have taken an unwanted, unexpected, respite from writing. I haven't been on vacation, I haven't been too busy with work, I haven't been apathetic or lazy. Rather, I've been too angry to write, I've been asking to many answerless questions to write, I've been far too sad to write.

On Tuesday, my cousin's three month old baby died. I was in NJ when I found out and immediately booked a flight home. I arrived in Minneapolis Wednesday night and was home by Thursday at lunchtime. My sister and I went to my aunt and uncle's house as soon as we pulled into town and the hugs that umbrellaed us then induced this awful stage of limbo between nightmare and reality. It was in the presence of my family that reality's tragedy surfaced. It was through the tears of my dear cousins, under the arms of my aunts and uncles, in the sounds of sobs, and in my grandparents' extraordinary attempt to remain strong that I realized our family, our entire family, was stripped of the most precious gift and would, in turn, be forced to embark on a journey laden with sadness and anger and absolute confusion.

In this horror, though, I learned a great truth about my family. We are connected by a love far greater than anything I've ever experienced, anything I ever thought possible. On Friday, when we said our farewells to sweet baby Brooklyn, hugs were offered liberally leaving no space between bodies for previous held petty divisions. On Saturday morning, when we offered baby Brooklyn to the Heavens, we found comfort in each other's arms as Brooklyn flew through the wind, blowing our hair and drying our tears.

The past few days should have never happened, such days should be withheld from humanity. The greatest wordsmith couldn't offer appropriate condolences, solace isn't afforded through cards or flowers, but in the arms of our family, under the watchful eyes of our grandparents, in the voices of our aunts and uncles and cousins, there is a great love. In this love lies the sweetest bonding force, sweet baby Brooklyn, and in this love lies our

hope.

Baby Brooklyn, we will forever be indebted to you, for it is you that unveiled a love unseen previously.

365 Days Of Love. Day 107

Today is simple. Today, we must love. We must love our friends. We must love our family. We must love that person cutting us off or that stranger across the aisle. We must love the passerbys and nameless. We must love greater than we thought was possible. We must love every hour, every minute, every second,

every

single

moment.

We must love not because we fear losing, we must love because it is simply what we were made to do. 

365 Days Of Love. Day 106

There are few things that make me giggle more than time girl time. I think one of the hardest things about living in Texas was not having consistent sleepovers where conversations were silly-centric back and fourths about boys or life in general. On the contrary, one of the things I'm most looking forward to about living in South Dakota is the ensuing sleep overs with my original group of girls.

I've been in New Jersey just shy of a week and last night when I came home from a graduation party with a friend, Melissa, the friend I'm staying with, and I melted right into "girl" mode. I volunteered to pick up a father's day card for her husband after she told me it slipped her mind. So, when I arrived home, father's day card in tow, I launched into an elaborate story about the plethora of cards I had to choose from, spending at least three minutes describing the mini book in the father's day card section, that detailed farts and their origins. I, of course, wanted to buy the fart card, but considering my purchase was on behalf of another, I refrained. As I relayed the hilarious details of my carding adventure to Melissa, she laughed and interrupted with commentary on the different type of cards I told her about (we both literally broke down with laughter about the fart card). Our hallway, nighttime conversation took me back to girlhood, when giggling was common and stress wasn't even a defined part of my vocabulary, where sleep came easy and play didn't ever seem like a necessary chore.

My girlfriends, from the beginning of my time to now, have shown me that love is laughter and comradery, special bonds that bend and weave with time.

365 Days Of Love. Day 105

One day, I'm going to look back at this blog and be able to point to times in my life when I felt most blossomed and confident and other times when I felt less sure of who I am and then, there will be times like these, where I'm not blossoming nor am I cowering in insecurity, I'm simply content. Of course, I feel best when I am blossoming, when I'm meeting people and trying new things and writing exciting stories about my adventures, but in this time, when my life is simple, I feel content because I know that this is the calm before the beautiful storm that will most certainly ensue.

In this time of calm, unlike any such times before, I'm learning to truly process and reflect on the past six years (six years ago was the last time I experienced this settled feeling). As I've revisited friends from my life's previous endeavors, I can't help but think, "I was so different when I knew them, I've evolved so much, but yet they remain so dear to me." At times, when I think about the past six years, I feel as if my life isn't my own. Was I really a teacher? Did I really go to Israel at 18? Was I really stranded at a Haitian airport for 3 and half hours with no phone? It's these thoughts that makes times of contentness so important. In this time of lull, in the quiet of the morning and the serenity of the evening, I can culminate all things past, consider all things future, and then, realize the power of this

one

quiet

moment.

The depth of my soul is a nomadic story teller, the crease lines under my eyes and my crooked toes speak of adventure, but the years past and the promise of years to come have inspired me to simply be, for now, be love, be kind, be quiet, be content.

365 Days Of Love. Day 104

Yesterday, was my nephew's James' birthday. I meant to write him a birthday blogpost, but I didn't have time to thoughtfully think about a message to send my sweet little nephew. Today, though, after running errands, visiting a nature center, going for a run, and helping little ones make s'mores, I find myself sitting down in a quiet, clean living room wanting nothing more than to write a blogpost for Jamey's birthday. Rather than reflect on his life for the past year, I will write a message to Jamesy, lessons that I know now that perhaps would have proven valuable in my earlier years as well.

Dearest James,

Happy Birthday sweet boy. Everyday I write a blogpost about someone or something that has taught me how to love deeper, better. Since it's your birthday (one day late), I want to write a letter to you that consolidates some of the lessons I've learned into more tangible words of wisdom for you. When you're older, I'll share my coffee with you and we can really talk about things like love, I'm sure you'll teach me many things in the years we wait for that moment. Jamesy, love everyone. It's true, sometimes people will be really hurtful. They might try to take advantage of you or use you for something, love them anyway. When people are hurtful it is because they are insecure in who they are so they have to create sadness in other people. Those are the people that need love the most. They need to know that their happiness and satisfaction is important, they need to know that they are valuable to the greater Universe, they need to know that someone loves them and wants them to be happy. Loving someone doesn't mean you have to buy them lots of things or invite them to your house for a sleepover, it might just mean that you say hello to them in the hall or smile at them when you pass them on the street. Most importantly, little guy, every single person has a story and learning that story will most certainly enrich your life. If you write them down, you may even have enough stories for a book one day (your daddy used to write in a Rugrats journal). Lastly, Jamesy, you are important and valuable and your story is important to greater Universe's story. I love you so much, I can't wait to watch you grow.

Natalie

365 Days of Love. Day 103

Yesterday, I posted about having so many great friends in so many great places. I referenced the Hawthornes, who I’m currently staying with on the East Coast. I’m going to retract the statement I said about them be close friends. They aren’t friends, they are family. After an epically long bus ride yesterday, Steve picked me up, we grabbed groceries, and jetted to their house where we were greeted by Melissa and their three kids. There was a welcome sign on the door and when I walked in the door, each boy, Landon and Chase, had another welcome sign for me.

Chase immediately cuddled up to me and Landon spent a considerable amount of the night sharing his ample insight on video games. Elle, the baby girl, quickly warmed up to me, allowing me to pick her up or tickle her cute cheeks. Melissa and I were talking about bodily functions minutes into our reunion and Steve was laughingly rolling his eyes at us.

I was in New Jersey for a year when I was 19 years old. I met the Hawthornes 3 months into time here. In the 9 months we were in frequent communication in Jersey, we formed a bond that I know consider wildly similar to that I have with my family. It’s special and loving and there’s a rare degree of comfort I feel when I’m in their presence.

From the Hawthonrnes, I’ve learned that familial love is greater than distance or time apart, and at times, it seeps outside the bloodline. 

365 Days Of Love. Day 102

Yesterday, I was driving the (one time familiar) route to my aunt and uncle’s house in Champlin, MN. It’s a five-hour drive for people who don’t drink two bottles of water and 16 oz. of coffee, but it generally takes me a little bit longer per frequent restroom stops. Yesterday, as I drove, I reflected on how many great people I had in my life.

My friends from high school are still the first ones to know who I have a crush on or what I’m thinking about doing with my life. We’ve each evolved into far different people than the little beings we were when we first merged souls, but the years we’ve spent together have kept us continually merged.

After I left high school, I went to 4 different colleges and took a semester off to live in Georgia. Twice this year, I’ve seen friends from the first college I went to. When we’ve seen each other, though, conversation flows and hugs are given freely. We giggle like we did freshman year and to onlookers, I’m certain it seemed as if we were dear dear friends.

Over Easter, I spontaneously road tripped to Georgia with my roommate. I dropped her off at her mom’s house and I ventured to NW Georgia and stayed with my friend’s Becca and TJ. Becca and I met when I was 18 while working at a camp. After their wedding in May 2008, I moved to Georgia and lived with them (and a few others), I moved away six months later and hadn’t seen Becca or TJ since. When I called them to let them know I’d be in their general neighborhood, they immediately offered their house. Again, it was as if time didn’t pass and distance didn’t separate us.

And now, as I type this, I am sitting on a plane in Wisconsin. My aunt and uncle let me stay in their house last night and my uncle woke up at the god-awful hour of 3:30am to take me to the airport for my first flight out of Minneapolis so I could layover in Milwaukee and get to NYC by late morning. In NYC (after independently maneuvering public transportation to take me to NJ) I will be greeted by friends I haven’t seen for over two years.  I’ll be on the East Coast for nearly two weeks and I’m certain time will pass, again, as if I had never left. I have such great friends.

Often, I self-inquiry, “how did I manage to make so many great friends in so many incredible places? How, when I hate talking on the telephone, have I managed to maintain said friendships? Why me, why do I have incredible people in my life, both friends and family, who inspire me to be a strong, independent, me?” Such inquiries never generate an answer; rather, they induce a reaction, humility. I feel as if I could walk out of the door with nothing and I would be taken care of, I’m grateful for the sense of trust and fearlessness that my relationships have cultivated within me. I’m humbled by the numerous people who have invested in my life. I’m lucky, and I understand that. Even more, I’m profoundly humbled by the generosity of people and grateful that the Universe aligned by personal legend with such people.

My experiences, my friends, my family, all the beings in my life have taught me that love is investment and kindness. Love isn’t counting miles or minutes apart, but rather enjoying every moment spent together 

365 Days Of Love. Day 101

I often (wrongly) assume my body has no breaking point. I tend to do as much as possible on as little sleep as necessary and ride the promise of adrenaline and youthfulness. At times, it’s caught up with me (like, when I was hospitalized in NJ for mono) and other times, I’ve rejuvenated myself by sleeping for a solid 9 hours only to start the  go go go cycle again.

Unfortunately, as I write this from my aunt and uncle’s house not far from the MSP airport that I’m set to fly out of tomorrow, I feel by throat tightening and body aching. This is a sure sign that I’ve done too much on too little sleep and my body is begging me to slow down. As frustrating as this is (since I’m supposed to be vacationing in T-9 hours), I’m also really amazed at how our bodies work. It’s as if the atoms that we consist of know what we need (rest, at times) more than we do ourselves.

And for that, I love my and appreciate my body’s awareness of itself and the benefit I am, in turn, provided with.  So, with that, I’m resigning for the night, hoping that rest now will result in renewed health tomorrow. 

365 Days Of Love. Day 100

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been active. I had shinguards in Kindergarten and ballet slippers a year later. In Middle School, I was a perma-athlete, switching sports with the passing seasons. Despite all this activity, it wasn’t until my junior year of high school that I started running consistently. Prior to that year, I had tied my laces to go for runs, but my ill-motivations never sustained a long-term running effort.  My junior year, though, the director of our local rec center linked me to a dedicated runner and through that relationship, I fell in love with running.

I was never an incredible runner, but I could run forever without outputting copious amounts of effort and no matter the distance I ran, I always really really really enjoyed each taken step.

Until my freshman year of college.

I started school at Oklahoma Wesleyan. Since my high school track coach moved there shortly before I did, I was excited to run track under his guidance again. Our first meet, I surprised myself , and my coach, by finishing almost a minute faster than either of us expected me to. Shortly after that first meet though, my calves started hurting quite terribly. Each time I ran, I felt like my bones were going to snap in half at the same time my calf muscles exploded. Each visit to the orthopedic doctor resulted in the same diagnosis, “You have a stress fracture, rest.”

Week after week, I rested, but each time I tried to run, the same pain threatened each step.  When I returned to SD for the summer, I went to a local orthopedic doctor and was quickly diagnosed with compartment syndrome, which essentially means that blood and fluids flow to my legs, but once they get there, they stay there. As a result, there was build up of pressure in my calves (hence, the exploding leg sensation).  Two months after the diagnosis, the same doctor performed surgery and promised I would be able to run  shortly thereafter.

The pain never went away, though and running was never effortless like it had been before. A year after surgery, I was in the Sioux Falls airport, waiting for my one-way flight to New Jersey and I received a call from the orthopedic doctor who I had recently seen for a final checkup.

“Natalie, you probably won’t ever be able to run again.”

I cried. I was already sad about moving away from my family and this phone call was taking away the one thing that I had previously thought could go with me anywhere. Never. Run. Again. I couldn’t imagine my life without running. I ignored the doctor’s orders and I continued to run, but it was far from enjoyable. Often, my legs felt too heavy to pick up, which wore the rest of me out far faster than I was used to being worn out. For years, I talked myself into running, rarely every actually enjoying the 30 or 40 minutes I was pounding the pavement. I managed to run two marathons and a few half marathons, but running wasn’t what I looked forward to each day. Rather, it was something that I did because I knew that I once loved it and I wanted so badly for that feeling to return.

Today, I was trotting around Mitchell, re-getting to know the paths I started running on and it hit me

My legs don’t hurt, this feels really good, running is easy again.

I knew that this feeling would return, I knew there would be a day when I loved running again.  Each run I’ve taken since the doctor told me to stop, there was enough joy to make me want to try again, to encourage me to keep trying to attain that effortless run.

Running has taught me when you really love something, you keep doing it and doing it and doing it, even when it hurts, you keep doing it.  

365 Days Of Love. Day 99

I've been in Mitchell for two days and I've seen two past teachers.

Yesterday, I was walking out of the grocery store, beer and vegetables in tow, and I crossed paths with my biology teacher from high school. Recognizing each other, we shared hellos, and then she inquired about my life. We only talked for a few minutes, but she seemed interested in what I'd been up to and offered ideas for what I might do next. It was refreshing, it's been six years since I took her AP biology class, and she still afforded investment in my life. 

This morning, steps into my run, I saw my Spanish teacher from high school loading a high chair into her car. I slowed my step and attempted to get the attention of Senora Morgan. She was pretty engrossed in high chair loading so I was nearly in arm's reach when she noticed me. Again, it was as if six years hadn't passed since I saw her last. We talked about teaching and the joy of the last day of school (as a teacher, which is SO much greater than it EVER was as a student). I explained my "next steps" in life and she nodded in full support. I helped her lift the high chair onto the roof her Jeep and then continued my trot down the familiar street. 

For the rest of my run, I considered how genuinely invested in me each of theses women chose to be. When they saw me, they didn't have to stop and inquire about my life circa the past 6 years, they could have offered a "how are you?" in passing, which would have sufficed. They didn't, though. I truly value the amount of genuine relationships I have in my life. Whether they've been rooted in teachers or friends or family, I have so many people who genuinely care about me. Per these relationships, I feel as if I have a slew of people rooting for me and that encourages me to never settle, never allow self-doubt to be at an audible volume. 

Again, I'm reminded of the first day of my blog where I said "I believe the Universe has afforded me the most perfect people and the most wonderful experiences." I'm humbled by the kindness of the Universe, grateful for the beauty of its people, better because of its love. 

365 Days Of Love. Day 98

It’s been far too long since I’ve sat down at my computer and clicked away at the keyboard. In my respite, I went to Colorado, flew back down to the Valley, rapidly packed my car (and attached U-Haul) trailer, picked up my dad in Laredo, and drove damn near 24 hours. In the time of coming and going and leaving one home to arrive at another, I feel like I’ve been experiencing an inner-battle of sorts.

Who am I? What it is that I really want to do with my life?

Some of my friends from the Valley have gotten incredible jobs for next year, others are starting med school, and a few are vehemently following dreams. I feel caught somewhere in the middle. I loved Colorado while I was there, I loved the mountains and the people, and the accessibility to things like baseball games and breweries. I also love the idea of living at home for a year or two, saving for grad school, and working a job that I go to at 8 and leave at 5 or 6 and don’t really think about it much beyond that. For lack of a better descriptor, it’s so weird not having a plan.  My entire life has been planned. When I was little it was chores, dance, and soccer practice. In High School, it was college. In college, it was Teach For America. In Teach For America, it was anything and everything to induce a love for reading in my students in hopes of changing there academic trajectory. And, after Teach For America?

I have no plan.

I feel a bit like a failure. Aren’t you supposed to do something really awesome after TFA? Isn’t it suppose to be an experience that sets you up for a wonder of new and awesome other experiences? I’ve applied to jobs, heard back from some, interviewed for others, but nothing has really cultivated into…anything. I’m left asking myself

What do I do now?

I think Teach For America would want me to do something in the field of education, I think people expect me to do something incredible and world-saverish, I think my family and friends want me close to them, I think some people want me to write a book. Whereas all these things are good and grand, I think I want to re-group. I’ve been away from home for 6 years, I went to four different colleges, lived in 6 cities, I want to stay put and really re-group. It feels good to say that, but I also know (and I can hear people saying it) I’m capable of far more than re-grouping. I think, though, that re-grouping now (with deadlines and goals so it isn’t incessant) will set me up for something greater soon.

So, for now, in my absolute planlessness, I’m going to re-group and love that I  have the time, support, and resources to do such a thing at 24 years old. 

365 Days Of Love. Day 97

I hate being obviously confused or lost. Even when I venture into a new place, solo, I try to act like I know exactly what I’m doing or where I’m going. Last night, after a day of teary goodbyes, an hour drive to the airport, two flights (separated by a two hour layover), I arrived at the Denver airport and proceeded to look entirely lost. Twice.

First, I walked to the wrong baggage claim carousel. Our flight attendant twice mentioned that we could pick up our bags at carousel 7, but when the last bag at number 7 spat out, I was standing bagless. When I approached a man about the potential of lost luggage, looked at me and said,

“Hunny, the American carousel on the other end of the terminal. “

Damn.

I trekked over to the correct carousel, claimed my bag, and followed signs for the car rental venue. I dug through my purse to find my printed car rental confirmation e-mail. When I retrieved it, I noticed the car rental company’s name was nowhere to be found. Initially, I didn’t think it would be a problem. I assumed that if I went to the wrong company, they could direct me to the right one. Wrong. At the Denver airport, you have to take busses to the car rental headquarters. If you take the wrong bus, you’ll end up far away from people who can help you attain your car. Ugh. Lost and looking idiotically around. Again.

I searched my inbox for any indicators as to what company I rented my car from. I called my mom, who was sleeping (it was 1 am), I called my friend who lived in Denver, he was sleeping too. Lastly, I called my friend who works until 2 in the morning and has mad computer skills. He, of course, figured out my dilemma and nearly two hours after I landed in Denver, I had my rental car’s key in my hands and was navigating new highways in hopes of arriving at my cousin’s place without 1) getting lost and 2) getting in a crash.

My iphone successfully directed me to Arvada where my cousin, Jeremy, and his wife, Rachel, live. When I arrived, Rachel was waiting up for me, welcomed me into their new home, and showed me to my room for the weekend. When I fell into my bed shortly after arriving, I felt so cared for. I really do have such wonderful, open, people in my life, friends who hack my e-mail to help me figure out something I should have already know and family who welcome me graciously into their new home.

I’m profoundly grateful for the love afforded me, I feel very lucky. Love that negates any feelings of foolishness I feel when I’m lost. 

365 Days Of Love. Day 96

Yesterday, when the yellow school pulled away, filled with teary-eyed 12, 13, and 14 year olds, I felt like my identity was being shipped out as quickly and readily as the students were.

For two years, my life has been defined by lessons plans, grading, investing students, investing families, test-making, tracking, teaching and, inevitably, re-teaching, coaching, and repeating it all over and over again. Social ventures have often turned into best practices for classroom management or brainstorming sessions are getting to that one student who insists on putting his head down. When I’ve spoken with my friends and family from home, my side of the conversation has been filled with, “my students this, my principal that, Teach For America, work, work, work, students, students, students.” So, when my kids left yesterday, officially unteachering me, I asked myself,

“Who am I without them? Without a classroom? Without lesson plans and grades? Who am I, period?”

My students are the greatest things that ever happened to me. Because of them, I was able to think so far beyond myself, to learn responsibility in an entirely different degree than I had ever learned it before, to be confident in my intelligence and my ability to transfer that intelligence to other humans, to work unremittingly towards a goal that brought me no personal gain, to love myself deeper so I could love them deeper, to burrow deep within myself to uncover the passionate lifeblood that has sustained me for the past two years. It’s no wonder I felt like, with them, the school bus took such a huge part of me as well.

Through a teary 6 mile run this morning, I sought to piece together the parts of pre-teacher me and teacher me to figure out what it is to be me now. Frankly, this puzzle has copious amounts of piecing to endure, but I’m certain of a few things:

Culture has created pockets of our country that are grossly underserved. Life where I live now is vastly different than life where I grew up. Whereas I have a ticket out (just as easily as I had a ticket in), many people here have broken wings, incredible feats to brave before their ticket greets them. I come from privilege, even though my parents aren’t wealthy. I come from privilege because I knew how to read and write and speak before I entered kindergarten. I come from privilege because never did I worry about not having food or clothes or shelter. I come from privilege because every single adult in my life expected me to work hard. There was a time when I thought my life was the norm, but it isn’t. It is normal for those of us who aren’t born in a small border town, or the ghetto of a city, or rural America. Culture has made far too many people believe that my students can’t achieve, that their parents don’t want them to achieve, but this just isn’t true. I’ve seen students grow 6 years in the single school year I had them. I’ve seen parents dodge bullets and grenades to ensure their child is in school. Culture, with its fangs of injustice, has placed on my students a horrible burden. Culture has attempted to keep them in the fields or across the Rio Grande, but One Day, they will snag the tooth of culture and they will rise above, their light will grace this earth in the only way they deserve for it shine. And, we, culture, are dependent on the fast cultivation of that day, we are dependent on my students and students like them, we are in dire need of their light.

We are responsible.

So, who am I without them?

Incomplete.

We are incomplete without them, which is why my new identity is rooted in my experience here and my responsibility, wherever I go next, to pursue the wildly passionate unveiling of our students’ light.