I do not believe in casting a blind eye on data. I read the news, the articles. Common Core and standardized testing are a load of corporately packaged horseshit. Its difficult going to work each day knowing in order to educate, you must first wade through regulations born from fear, and greed, and privilege disparities that are literally tearing our children apart.

I get it. I GET IT. Teaching is a bitch. As a teacher you are GUARANTEED to work overtime, unpaid. You will MOST CERTAINLY be disrespected frequently. I can promise you will be blamed, often, for things that could not possibly be your fault.

Still teach.

Flaws in parenting, upbringing, home life, work ethic, determination and educational value will become your problems and you WILL NOT be provided with adequate tools to solve them. Students are more unmotivated than ever, and it WILL be cast as your fault if they fail, but you’re too nice if they get As.

Still teach.

You will be purposely misunderstood and willfully misquoted. You will receive little societal respect. You will spend more hours with other people’s children than your own. You will spend more time on bureaucracy than wisdom.

Still teach. OR don’t.

If these are things which you are not committed to experiencing, then don’t. If you are too proud to hear that you are only part of a whole, certainly don’t. It’s doesn’t make you a bad person, and I thank you for your honest self-analysis. But know that that is the deal. I am continuously asked to step away, as if difficulty and disrespect from children should deter me, as if somewhere along the line we forgot that that is much of adult interaction as well. I am repeatedly reminded that as a professional, I deserve better, as if I am somehow unaware of the hardships of my chosen career path, as if somewhere there exists some perfect, faultless work. 

There are a million articles about why to stop teaching, why to not even enter the profession in the first place. And they speak an inarguable truth. Teaching is NOT WHAT IT USED TO BE.

It is harder. It is more tiring, and draining, and NECESSARY then perhaps ever before. Our world is plunging into a new age. Of course the concepts that fed useful workers into the system of Industrialism are no longer the most pertinent. And instead of taking a responsibility as a whole country to prepare our babies for THIS world, a world that we have broken and returned, instead of looking our forefathers in the eye and saying, “I shall go further still”, instead of OWNING our hurts and our hearts and our privileges and our failures, we (as a country) are turning a blind eye.

It’s not enough that my students can regurgitate information. I must make them self sufficient, as we continue to allow for a government whose priorities leave our brothers and sisters of color and LQBTQI family to figuratively and literally wither and die. But I don’t need to protect my students. They will protect themselves. Let me arm them with hope and open minds and thoughtful voices. Let me tell them where we as people have come from, what are hearts are made of, and how we have failed them, so that they may succeed. May they be critical of the world they live in, knowledgeable on how to educate themselves, and unswayed by public or popular opinion.  Let me create the kind of student-citizen that we so desperately need now. The kind of student-citizen that DESIRES to educate THEMSELVES.

For me, born into a life of privilege, the answer seems inescapable. Not because I’m better. Simply because I am called. And as I do my best to lean into the discomfort with grace (and fail publicly, frequently), I need to be clear. If you are called, if you are fierce, if there is discomfort of others surrounding the choices you’ve made, there will always be someone telling you it is too much. Whether it’s teaching or ministry or parenting or business, there will ALWAYS be someone explaining why you shouldn’t, why you can't. I’m here to remind you. Not that you SHOULD. But that you CAN. You are strong enough, brave enough, smart enough to make that choice for yourself.

If teaching is yours, if it is in your heart and mind, we need you. It will be too much. Almost constantly. But my experience, my truth, means that many of the sentences in “Why I Quit Teaching” articles are only half finished. At the other end of all that difficult, often painful giving of one’s self is the most potent energy and love and purpose and rejuvenation I personally have ever experienced. You will have an unquestionable purpose. If you are called, I promise, you are strong enough. Not that you’ll never break down, but that you are made to be rebuilt. And what a thrill to stand shoulder to shoulders with all those brilliant, fearless, everyday humans, the only people that have ever had the capacity for creating change.  Stronger, wiser, and more full of love.

So, you could quit.

But I’m willing to bet you’re braver than that.

I've been thinking about energy and space. About deserving to take up space, to require energy. We (especially women) are told it is best to be quiet and small, that thin is the most desirable, to be quiet is preferred. We feel guilty when people spend time or energy on us, like we are an inconvenience. How foolish.

It doesn't really matter what you believe in for this fallacy to be foolish. If you believe in God, Fate, Science, anything at all... You cannot deny that you were put here.  Not someone else in your place. You. Your life. Your body. Your experiences. Your soul.

It seems to me that if you believe anything at all, then it is not only foolish, but even disrespectful to take this attitude. You are not an inconvenience. You were placed here with a purpose. Don't second-guess the magnitude that. Don't undervalue your unique role. The cards are stacked against us, as a planet, as a species... and yet... here we are.

No. Here YOU are.

You, with your dreams, your ambitions, your actions, your voice. You were not an accident. And regardless of where your life takes you, you never will be. I say you, because I have claimed me.

I claim my unmeasurable strength, and my courageous vulnerability. I claim my actions and my words, even the ones I regret, because they are mine, and I am with purpose; a person with purpose has no baggage or loose ends, only new beginnings and great humblings. I claim my body, every pucker and sinew. I was made out of love. I chose love for my actions and my life. If I am to be strong enough to love in a way that changes things, I must love myself first. I claim my faults, in the way that I see them and work diligently to mend them with self-forgiveness. I claim my weaknesses, in the way that I work tirelessly to turn them into strengths. I claim my triumphs as 1 part endless exuberance and 1 part countless blessings. I am strong because I stand on strong shoulders. This good is mine to share because it was shared with me.

I deserve space and energy because I have chosen a life that endeavors to create. But even more that that, I deserve space and energy because I am. And so do you. Embrace your purpose. It does not have to look grand. It does not have to move mountains or sway nations. It is enough to touch a single life. It is more than enough. It is all we can ask for, that we might fight harder, longer, for the things that we truly care about in the presence loving people and genuine challenges.

We all deserve a chance at that fight, but as long as you are sitting back and allowing the world to tell you your place, you won't be able to give yourself what you need. You have the strength. You've always had it.

How beautiful. And how profoundly deserving of all the time and space and energy this world has to offer you. And you to it.

Well, that sucks.

I am finding myself profoundly overwhelmed. I understand that the task at hand in this particular job is a very different task than many other teaching jobs. To be frank, that understanding is not really helping. 

My children are starving. They're sick. They have few coping skills, and even less of a safety net. They are angry. They have a right to be. 

I understand that loving them is what they need. But it is becoming increasingly difficult to have that love to give when so much of my job is allowing hatred and violence and disrespect to be aimed at myself. I am not immune. I am not invulnerable. And not a day goes by without a threat or curse or assault. It makes me tired. It makes me angry. It makes me want to walk away from that school and never come back. It makes me want to scream at them the way they scream at me. 

But then...some of these children are wonderful. They are so kind and funny and wise. They are still children. They are still ill equipped to face the world. But the life they seek is still seen through a filter of hope. And they want so badly to be loved. There is a little 2nd grader who wraps her arms around my knee and rests her head on my leg whenever we have carpet time. There's a 7th grader who smiles at me with this goofy, toothy grin so full of affection that no matter how angry I am, I can't help but smile back. A 4th grader that stays up all night babysitting his little niece and nephew, but still comes to class every day, and listens sincerely when I tell him he is better than the behavior that he shows. He actively works on it. A 3rd grader who comes in to my room before school most mornings, just so someone will talk to her. She has so many siblings that no one spends much time with just her. A quiet 7th grader with a mouth like a sailor, an attitude, a mean stink eye, and the most beautiful singing voice. I saw her smile for the first time in choir. She's extraordinary.

I found out last week that my job is at risk. That there is a very good possibility that I will be forced elsewhere. In a way I am a little relived that someone might tell me I need to find another job. And at the same time, my heart breaks that I might not be able to stay here with these amazing little people.

I guess the best solution is to live in the moment, fully. My project of late has been to love them. Love them better, love them more, love them actively, love them completely. And maybe, in the end, that will be what makes the difference.

I listened to a wonderful NPR interview with Glen Hansard this morning, and the host was asking Glen what this newfound fame was like. Before Once, before the Frames, Hansard was a street musician, so the host had a good question there. And Hansard gave a really wonderful answer. He said that as overjoyed as he was with all the new experiences and outlets and support, there was a profound sadness to his transition into fame, a sadness that for the longest time, he couldn't put a finger on. As the interview went on, he told the story of having the opportunity to sit down and chat with Bruce Springsteen and they talked about this process, this sadness. And Springsteen's advice was: FEEL IT.

Ahhh! Yes! And how under-appreciated this sentiment is! I think it's important to acknowledge that every choice to do is a choice not to do everything else. Every moment of growth is a movement away. Every wonderful change is a parting with your old self. It's a loss. And it's painful. AND THAT'S OK.

I'm glad to have heard this. I've had conversations with so many friends recently about how our lives are better than we ever could've hoped, we're better equipped than we ever thought possible, and the facts on paper are starting to look more and more like the world we dreamed for ourselves. And we feel guilty for the ache, the homesickness, the loneliness. But to see it through this lens, as a celebration as well as a mourning, to know that it is not only to be expected but that it's important... there is comfort in that. Or maybe just hope.

The response is what matters. The response is what hurts or heals, mars or marries. You can either resist in fear and be torn in half your whole life, or simply commit to allowing the change to happen, no matter the discomfort. No one said it was going to be so difficult. But it's nice to have some company here, even if it is simply a voice on the radio.

Dear singing man on the street,

I appreciate your enthusiasm. Perhaps you could express it in a quieter manner.

First of all...

I am discovering, of late, that I have to idea what I think. I am beginning to realize what a privilege that discovery is. 

I think back to when I was a teenager, and I was so sure. I just knew. And it was terrible.

The further I go into this life I am creating, the more exciting I find the unknown. I went to the grocery store by myself in my new neighborhood for the first time, and it was a freaking ADVENTURE. I found a store that sells the most gloriously useless furniture, saw some amusingly poorly translated signs, met a puppy, got caught singing to myself by a man carrying a window (and when I looked embarrassed he burst into song, too), and discovered no less than 5 new kinds of cheese. GOING TO THE GROCERY STORE.

And that's the wonderful thing about all of this. I've been living for just long enough to think I know the world, know my profession, know myself. And then life happened. And I can receive it.

This is why change is so important. 

And that is the thing I am most proud of, the growth I most celebrate: That I see change, discomfort, even failure, as experience, as learning, as growth. I have not always lived like this. Some people never will.

This understanding has also been allowing me to have conversations I never would've had. Some of these conversations are with strangers (my downstairs neighbor just pranked a friend by throwing a handful of firecrackers into said friend's shower), with colleagues (new teaching techniques!!!), and with the people I love. I had a really important conversation with an old friend (whom I probably would've lost otherwise) that was the most uncomfortable ten minutes I've had in a long while. You know what we said? We said, "You hurt me." We said, "I'm sorry."

AH. How painful. How difficult. How healing.

So that's my project for now. To experience with open eyes and ears and mind and heart. To analyze honestly, and to allow myself to feel whatever comes from that.

And that, I think, might be work enough for a lifetime.