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.