When You Don't Have a Passion

 Once, I was in a college class and I overheard two boys discussing the show Survivor as we waited for our professor to show up.
As a fan of the show, I spoke up. "I'm a huge Survivor fan!" I interjected.
One guy turned toward me and said, "Well, who do you think is going to win this season?"
I hesitated. The season hadn't started yet. I didn't even know the contestants' names yet. "Well, I don't know yet. I'll sure I'll get a better sense after the first episode."
"If you haven't researched the cast, you're not that "huge" of a fan, are you?"
I sat silently as he proceeded to tell me about his weekly Survivor podcast, numerous auditions for the shows, and an actual Survivor contestant he had interviewed. 

I still think about that moment a lot. Before that precise moment, "Survivor fan" was a part of my identity. I think I even had a Survivor reference on my online dating profile at the time. Though I am fully aware now that that guy was an asshole, he was correct. In comparison, my fandom could not be considered "huge". I dedicated no time outside of show hours obsessing over the cast or challenges. I'd never even applied to be on, despite saying I wanted to. 

This has been a somewhat common trend throughout my life. I thought I liked journalism until I took a single journalism course and was even a tiny bit as excited as my classmates. I love watching sports, but can't even tell you who won the Super Bowl 5 years ago and fall behind in conversations with my dad and brother. I have always been an avid reader, but in an interview for a high school English teaching position, I was quizzed and told in no uncertain terms that I didn't have enough knowledge of literature to fit the position. I recently joined a trivia group in town and told them that I knew a lot about music and movies, but it turned out my knowledge was not deep enough and I couldn't answer a single question in either category. I like hiking, but I don't track my trails and set goals. I like baking, but I've never made anything to brag about. I feel fairly tech-savvy, but when my cousin talks about computers, it's like a different language. I'm a casual gamer, a mediocre bowler, a blog-once-a-month writer. 

I don't have a "passion."

At my current job, we have people called Subject Matter Experts. If we have a question about a specific product, we find the SME for that product and they will have the answer. I thought, Wow, wouldn't it be amazing to be the person that had the answers? What would I want to be an "expert" in? I can't think of anything. There's a river near where I grew up that was often described as "a mile wide and an inch deep." Recently, I've started to think of myself like that river. I love a lot of things. I'm curious. I'm inquisitive. I love to learn and I'm willing to try new things, but nothing in my life has ever really been my expertise. My interest only goes so deep.

Does this bother me? A little bit. I think we are told to follow our passions in life and realizing you don't have one is like going through life without a map. But sometimes it's when you're off the path that you discover the most beautiful things. Sometimes when you're not buried deep into something, you're free to run after a new opportunity. As J. R. R. Tolkien said, "Not all those who wander are lost." So I'll keep wandering. 

Joyful, Grateful, and Kind

 In January, everyone wants to be something new. The month is like a big reset button. I think that's great. I'm the kind of person who actually likes Mondays because of that "new beginning" feeling. Over that past year, I've done a lot of reflecting on who I want to be. I think that comes with the territory of quitting a career you thought you'd spend a lifetime doing. I know what matters to other people. As a people-pleaser, I'm always attune to what others are talking about the most: money, appearance, job title, home's appearance, etc. The problem is I've spent my life trying to be what everyone else admired that it was difficult for me to specify what means the most to me. 

My parents have always put a lot of weight into being successful. Our grades were important and we were always encouraged to our best on every assignment. Honors programs and awards were praised, and now degrees and promotions are touted. 

In the community I grew up in, involvement was important. I remember how often I heard adults in my life publicly talk about kids that weren't on the football/basketball/volleyball team in disgust. Since sports weren't my forte, I tried desperately to hit the right involvement percentage by joining clubs and plays and student council and even videotaping sporting events so I didn't seem lazy. 

To my friends, loyalty has always been important. I want to always show up with open ears and arms. I want to be on their side no matter what. I have dropped everything else at their request. 

My bosses always respect a go-getter attitude. I constantly volunteer for extra tasks or responsibilities. I stayed after school doing all kinds of tasks to show initiative. "Whatever you need me to do" became a common mantra. I never wanted to be disagreeable. 

And I can't deny that I've tried to be what several guys wanted in my life. For the guy always speaking up in class, I wanted to be intelligent. How many nights I spent poring over the reading so I'd have something insightful to say! For another, I tried to be helpful, always offering my time and energy to drive him to the airport or help him move or bring him a treat after a bad day. 

I want to be clear. None of the previous examples are bad. I am so glad I worked hard in school and was involved in so many activities. I'm glad I have been a loyal friend and a good employee. But I think our ideas of who we want to be change throughout the stages of our lives. These qualities served me well in the past, but I have new priorities.

There are people I know that always have a beautiful house and are great hosts. Some that always look beautiful, with hair and makeup and clothing meticulously thought-out. Some that are in great shape. Some that are amazing leaders and are moving up in their careers. I have idolized all of those kinds of people. I could strive to be any one of them and with enough effort, I could probably be successful. But, right now in my life, I don't think any of those is the person I hope to be.

In 2023, I want to be 3 things: joyful, grateful, and kind. 

Joyful comes first for a reason. Life isn't worth living if you aren't prioritizing joy. I want to always be laughing (even if it's loud and obnoxious). I want to be the person who finds the joy in situations that lack hope. I want to continue seeking adventures and consuming stories and seeing the world and not taking life so seriously. I've seen too many people, 20+ years my senior, worrying about the number on a scale or the number of steps they've taken that day or the number in their investment account. We don't remember numbers of anyone when they leave us. We rarely dwell on their mistakes or inadequacies. We remember the memories of joy. So, I hope I have created a lot of them.  

Grateful is next. Over the past few years, gratitude has helped me a lot. I try to think about 3 things I am grateful for every day. It helps me to not fall into feelings of despair. It honestly helps me sleep...or get out of bed in the morning. I also think it's important for me to express my gratitude to others vocally. I think we can assume that those we love know we are grateful for them, but sometimes they need to hear it. We all want to be appreciated.

Kind will always make my list. The world can always use more of it. It is probably the thing that I am attracted to most in others as well. I will be kind to a waitress even if the service hasn't been superb. I don't know what her day has been like. I will be kind to coworkers because we work better if we are working together. I will be kind to strangers, but also to family, who have the power to frustrate me the most. To me, this is essential to who I am.

I hope your 2023 is everything you want it to be. 

When It's Not a Wonderful Life

 A few days ago, I pulled myself out of bed and sat at my desk to start work, still in my pajamas. I looked around the apartment, taking inventory. The sink was full of dishes. There was trash on my desk from yesterday. The laundry was piling up. The stove was dirty. "You're officially in a funk," I told myself.

I've been having these self-diagnosed "funks" for many years. The only way I can describe the it is that I feel heavy. I feel like everything (and I mean Everything) will take an enormous amount of energy. Even the simplest tasks like putting on shoes or taking a shower suddenly seem like too much work. I have no idea what triggers these episodes. Sometimes they last a day and sometimes weeks, although I've gotten better at finding my way out of them. 

On this particular day, I sat in front of the computer for several minutes, just staring. "You can do this. You can do this," I kept telling myself. Finally, I opened the web browser. And the first thing to pop up was the news story about tWitch's suicide. I felt like I couldn't breathe. I have no idea why the death of someone I had never met, that I knew very little about, could hurt like that. But it did hurt. Hadn't I seen him and his wife dancing in front of the Christmas tree just days ago? I opened my phone and found that recent video, played it on replay. I cried the funk right out of me. I set my status to Busy and got up. I cleaned the kitchen, started the laundry, took a shower, and came back and had a productive day of work. But his grin in that video has haunted me ever since.

I've seen and heard all kinds of reactions to the news since that morning. Lots of judgements and assumptions. One of the most common sentiments is, "he had so many people that loved him." I don't have any idea what caused him to pick up a gun and shoot himself. I never will. But I do know that having people love you doesn't always make mental illness better. In fact, it can make things more difficult. When other people care about you, you can feel like you aren't deserving. Because they care, you can be a burden. I want the people I love to be happy, not worrying about me. 

Today, I watched It's a Wonderful Life. The scene that really got me thinking wasn't George's thoughts of suicide of the revelations that came after. It was actually the scene when he comes home from work after losing the money. He is gruff with his kids and wife. He yells at a stranger on the phone. He let his own stress and anxiety boil over and hurt other people. I do the same thing. I think we all do that sometimes. It was obvious that George felt guilty. He felt like a bad father and husband, which probably contributed to his decisions. We don't all have a far-reaching impact on the world like George did in that movie, or like tWitch did in real life, but we are all allowed to forgive ourselves for our emotional reactions.

Neglecting my chores doesn't make me a bad person. Snapping at my family doesn't make me a bad daughter or sister. Forgiveness is so important. For yourself and for others. Actions aren't always intentional, but rather side effects of something else going on in people's lives. Saying "I'm always here for you" is a nice gesture, but it doesn't mean much if we hand out criticism and advice easier than understanding and patience. Today might be terrible. Maybe tomorrow will be too. But every morning is an opportunity for something unexpected, something wonderful, something worth sticking around for.

It Get So Good Video

Being the Right Version of Myself

 For my 30th birthday this year, my friend Ashley visited me and we went to a Renaissance fair. While there, Ashley treated me to a palm/tarot card reading. You should understand I'm a very skeptical person. In the court system, everyone is innocent until proven guilty. In the mind of Roxie, everyone is false until proven accurate. The psychic recognized this. Her first descriptions of me were "stubborn" and "guarded." These assumptions are fair, but I did listen. Over the past 6 months, I have thought about that moment under a tent with my hand open in this lady's hand quite a lot actually. 

As she said, "You could meet someone special this year..." I truly had to force myself not to roll my eyes. She saw an absence of a ring and told me what she thinks single people want to hear. I don't need to meet anyone. I have lots of amazing people in my life. But how she finished the sentence is what made me soften. "...but only if you can be your authentic self. Not the selves you transform yourself into based on what you think others want you to be."

I've always been an exceptional liar. My parents can attest to how often I would spin an excuse to keep myself out of trouble. I never lie because I want to be deceptive. I lie in order to have the "right answer." Whenever anyone asks me a question, my first response is to think, "What answer do they want from me?" I often feign interest in subjects I know the other person is interested in. I complain about things that don't even bother me because I know it bothers the other person and I want them to feel camaraderie Sometimes this impulse gets out of control. I once told my chiropractor that my favorite restaurant was a place I had literally never stepped into, only because I remembered him mentioning it at a previous appointment. 

As I've grown older, I've realized that I easily mold into different personas depending on who I am around. Sometimes this chameleon-like behavior has helped me discover new passions. I wanted to fit in with people in my dorm during my freshman year of college, so I became a football fan, pretending to understand until I truly did. Now, football season brings me great joy each year. I absolutely hated beer, but a friend in college loved craft beer and I wanted to be around him, so I forced myself to buy the drinks he suggested. Then, I fell in love with one and continue to seek out new beers to this day. 

Other times, my pretending causes me great anxiety. That automatic response of, "Oh yeah, I completely agree" has led to me really beating up on myself. I don't actually believe that exercising every day or drinking protein shakes makes me a better person, but I've expressed my enthusiastic support for it so many times, I sometimes start to hate myself each time I sit on the couch after work. I don't think I need to pay off all my loans as quickly as possible or buy a house or seek a promotion, but the more I express support for other people in these endeavors, the more I question myself. 

As I sat in that wam tent on that weekend 6 months ago, the term "authentic self" kind of hit me in the face. Have I lost that self? Can I define who I really am and not the self I pretend to be in front my family or friends or coworkers? Do I know what is really important to me? What makes me an individual? My friend Sarah tells me often that I say, "I'm fine with anything" too often. She's probably right. I try so hard to "go with the flow." Maybe if I expressed what I want or don't want more often, I would meet the "special person" the psychic referred to. I remain skeptical. However, I will continue to reflect on this idea of "myself." I don't want to lose that person.

Things Teachers Deal with That Other Professionals Don't

 This August was the first August in my entire life that I don't remember "starting school." My year has always been organized by school start and end dates. This year, as I drive through my neighborhood, I see kids walking home from school and I feel the strong feeling that I'm late. I'm missing something. While I still work with school districts, I never had that "first day of school" feeling and it's left me a little disoriented honestly. I miss getting to know new students' personalities and planning out the year (I know I'm weird, but I loved lesson planning a unit.) I miss the feeling of "starting again."

But there are a few things I don't miss. There are tasks that teachers do without even thinking that are unknown to most professional communities. Here are a few things I no longer deal with at my non-education job:

1. Sneaking to the Copy Machine Before/Between/After Work Hours: 

Copies were literally the bane of my existence. Lots of jobs make copies, but most do it during their working hours. They also don't get reprimanded for making them last minute. I can't tell you how often I woke up early and didn't have time to even brush my hair because I knew I had to make 100 copies of a test before anyone showed up. Or how many times I skipped lunch to print something. Also, in every single education job I had, I was reprimanded because my lessons changed and I didn't have my copies sent out to the print shop a week in advance. In my current job, I was sent a printer that I don't have to wait in line for and can order ink whenever I want. 

2. Someone Walking in Mid-Presentation:

Principals or Instructional Coaches will just walk in your room as an educator with no notice all the time. I had nothing to hide, I assure you. But do you know how distracted a class of middle school kids can get when the principal stands in the back of the room? It also threw me off. Does he see the kid that's falling asleep? Does this lesson seem rigorous enough? Are my objectives posted on the board? Now, my manager might join a meeting that I am running, but she never pops in mid-presentation. I am very grateful.

3. Internet Outages Ruining Your Whole Day:

Everyone experiences computer problems or Internet outages. It is always an inconvenience in every job. Imagine this, though. You have planned an entire hour of students working on a project online. 5 minutes into the period, no access. All your plans are out the window. Think on your feet. Should they read something? You don't have enough books for every student. You can't leave and make copies (see #1). Should you give them paper to write a paragraph? That will only like like 15 minutes and then what? Think fast because the kids are starting to get loud and aren't staying in their seats. I hated those days. 

4. Creating a Substitute Binder:

Last month, I went to a birthday party in Vegas. How did I prepare for the day of work I was missing? I told my manager and set my email automatic response to say "I will be out of the office and will respond to emails when I return on Monday." That's it. When I missed a day of teaching, I had to create an entire binder before I left. The sub needs to know how where to find the materials, what the seating chart is, how to keep students occupied the entire period (and remember it's 3-5 different lessons each day so make sure he/she knows which period does what), where to take them for lunch, how to deal with the student who may or may not start screaming for no reason, what to do in a fire drill, what times the bell rings... Get the picture? 

5. Committee/Duty Requirements:

I like to volunteer and be helpful. I just don't like being forced to do it every day and to get a sub if I can't fulfill the duty. Every education job I know of requires participation outside of the classroom. You might be assigned to parking lot duty in the morning on Monday and recess duty on Thursday (leaving 10 minutes for lunch tops). Oftentimes, you are required to be part of a committee. I was part of a social committee, school improvement committee, and curriculum committee. I was assigned "door duty" where I just watched to make sure kids made it out of the school building each day and a "bus duty" where I made sure students didn't miss their assigned bus. It was exhausting.

6. Contacting Parents:

This probably should have been #1. The thing I miss least about teaching is contacting parents. I know some educators live for this. One of my coworkers called home every single time a student didn't turn in an assignment. I'm not a phone person anyway, but calling parents about a child's behavior are the worst calls I ever made. It was always a gamble. Sometimes they would politely said they would talk to their child. Phew. Other times parents cried and told me their hardships. Sometimes they yelled at me and wondered why I made their child feel bad. No matter what, I couldn't avoid the calls. I couldn't give a student a failing grade without notifying a parent. I once called an admin on my school phone to tell her that a student was trying to climb out the window of my classroom. She asked, "Have you called home?" 

Stay strong my educator friends. I hope the school year is off to a wonderful start with less of the stuff above. Stay tuned for Part 2. 

Bigger Problems Don't Make Your Problems Smaller

Imagine you have a leak in your house. The ceiling drips....drips....drips. You try to handle the problem yourself, searching for your bucket to catch the drops. But you can't make it stop. So you share the problem with others. 

The landlord comes in and proceeds to tell you all the other problems in the complex. There's a broken toilet next door and the fire that started a few weeks back. You feel bad for the neighbors with big problems, but as the landlord leaves, the dripping continues. 

Family comes by and see the leak. "Oh, we had a leak once," they say. "Only we didn't even have a bucket to catch the water back then. You're so lucky." Friends assure you it will get better. "It could be worse." Yes, it could definitely could be. That doesn't mean you don't want the leak fixed. Your bucket keeps overflowing.

Recently, a friend expressed overwhelmed feelings to me. Looking for a job, moving to a new house, dealing with kids...those drops in the bucket were adding up. But when I suggested maybe she should go to a therapist, she brushed it off. "Nothing traumatic ever happened to me. No one died or got divorced or abused me." I thought about how many times I had thought the very same thing. 'Other people' have the big problems. My troubles are nothing I can't deal with. 

There are always going to be bigger problems in the world. There's absolutely nothing wrong with expressing gratitude for the advantages we have. However, those bigger problems of others don't diminish our own stresses. It's okay to look out for ourselves. I can want to fix the leak in my own house. My worries are valid. Your well-being is important. It isn't a competition. We can listen to each other without discrediting one another. Bigger problems don't make your problems smaller. Take care of yourself, my friends. 💜

When Buses Aren't Safe Spaces

 I had a bus nightmare last night. It wasn't the stuck-in-the-bus, monsters-attack scenario you may be imagining if you've ever watched Jeepers Creepers 2. It's the memories inside the bus that haunt me.

A few years back, I was driving home after work as a teacher, when something caught my eye. A person was running out in the middle of the four lanes of traffic. I panicked when I realized it was one of my students, darting between vehicles to make his way safely to the other side. I breathed a sigh of relief when he casually began walking on the sidewalk again. The next day, I asked that student to stay after school. I expressed how dangerous his walk home was and told him how I worried about him and wanted him to take the bus instead. I saw the immediate panic in his eyes. He began to beg me not to make him do that and swore he'd be careful. I remembered that panic. I remembered when I would have rather run through 4 lanes of traffic than step foot on a school bus.

Buses were always lousy. So many field trips where we were asked to "Pair up!" and I was left on the bench alone, kids walking making comments like "Ew, I'm not sitting with her" or shoving 3 to a bench rather than be my partner. The middle school girls that gossiped from across the aisle: "What is she even wearing?" or "Why is she even on the team when she can't even run across the court?"

For reasons still unknown to me, by high school, my breasts were the topic of school-wide derision. Snide remarks as I loaded my duffel bag onto the seat beside me, desperately trying to provide some type of shield. "Did you pack a good sports bra? Don't know how you can play volleyball with those things flopping around?" I sat close to the front. Although unspoken, I knew the back was off-limits to me, but the proximity to teachers/coaches/counselors never seemed to help. They chatted to each other, oblivious to the torment I endured. (After being a teacher, I understand they were just enjoying adult conversation, but at the time it seemed like a purposeful affront.) Once, on a trip to a drama performance, there was an entire sport made out of flicking scraps of paper in hopes of hitting my cleavage. Girls seemed to love to see me squirm and got more ruthless, asking if I'd let certain boys motorboat me. When I didn't know what that meant, I was the target of laughter for weeks.

Boys were not better. I'm sure it was boys that instigated the paper flicking. On a few trips, a boy would sit next to me and I began to wish I was a social pariah again, sitting alone. They would find ways to touch and graze by me and I was so uncomfortable. I assumed something was wrong with me because I didn't like their attention. Did I even like guys? If not, would my friends and family hate me? Once, I was wearing a skirt on a trip and a guy wrote on my leg "Enter Here" with pen. I have no idea why I didn't stop him. I guess I froze. But I do remember the teacher scolding me when I asked to go wash my leg off when we reached our destination. I needed to stop "messing around."

I'm not saying that buses were the cause of my problems. Kids can be mean in any location. Bullies have a knack for finding places where adults aren't around. But when someone, like my student, doesn't want to do something, there's usually a very good reason. He never told what happened to him, but I never told anyone what happened to me either (until now). Sometimes, we speak out in different ways. This particular student would often yell at me, refuse to do work, or even throw things on the ground during class in frustration. I asked that kid to stay with me after class for 15 extra minutes to avoid the worst traffic for the rest of that school year, promising I wouldn't tell the principal or ever force him to take the bus. Each day, as the other students piled out at the bell, he would plop down on the couch by the bookshelf. I would see his body relax. He was suddenly calm and would chat with me about his brothers or video games. I think sitting there with him after school is one of my fondest memories as a teacher. I was lucky to have had teachers that provided those safe spaces for me when I avoided the cafeteria at lunch or needed a place to go after school too. After nightmares, I always think about the safe spaces in my life. Places like the front room of our house watching TV after school with my siblings or in my bed curled up next to my cat. It makes me feel calmer too.