I was just about to finish up the self-appointed task of reading and annotating the entire new textbook anthology we're using for one of the classes that I work with on campus, and pretty pleased to be nearly complete, when I flipped the page and came across the biblical story of Jonah. (The whole anthology is different perspectives on what it means to lead a life that matters.)
I didn't even have to read the story to hear the message loud and clear.
Now, pretty much everyone knows the story of Jonah. It's one of the first feltboard stories you see as a little kid in Sunday school class. Jonah gets a pretty clear directive from God. Go. To. Nineveh. Jonah, being sort of a brat, is like, Um....No. He gets in a boat that's headed the exact opposite way of Nineveh, climbs down below, and takes a smug and satisfied little nap. The guys on board experience a huge storm and assume that one of them had clearly done something wrong, so they wake Jonah up to see if it happens to be him. And you know Jonah is already like, Craaaaaapppppp. It's totally me. So he tells them to toss him overboard, and they do, and the storm disappears. Eerie. Even more eerie is the fact that a big ol' fish is waiting for Jonah in the water, swallows him up, and spits him out a few days later on dry land. (It's here I always have the image of that scene from Pinocchio where they build a fire in the whale's belly to escape...and that, by the way, is the wrong story...) God once again reminds Jonah of his mission. He goes, probably with a series of big overblown sighs and frustrated grunts, does his job in Nineveh, and God saves the city. Jonah gets mad about that, but that's another post for another day.
So, like I was saying, I didn't even have to read the story to know the message. For a while, God has been calling me to a certain something, a Nineveh of my own. I don't really want the job. It's not a fun job. It comes with a fair amount of risk. It is going to be hard to do. I will probably be there for a while, or forever. And I've been trying to ignore this job for a while. But I really have known for a while. And just seeing the title of the book of Jonah on the page this week was enough to tip the scale.
I'm not dumb. I can take a hint and learn a lesson. And frankly, one guy being tossed overboard into a raging storm and then a whale's belly is quite enough. I don't need to throw myself overboard with him. I don't even need to be in the boat. Tonight I told Derrick for the first time that I was told to go to Nineveh, so to speak. And he just chuckled and told me that my confession made a lot of sense. And then he said, Welcome to my life, a series of frustrated but grateful groans to God about being in the places I am told to be. All. The. Time. At least we get to gratefully groan together from now on?
I'm not really sure why God does this, sends us to places we don't want to go, on missions we don't want to do. I wish I had some really insightful thing to write right here. I guess I just choose to see the silver lining when I can. Otherwise, I'd probably just end up perpetually mad at God. There was a reason Jonah was to go to Nineveh. There must be reasons for me to face my own Ninevites. Some growth or learning or development or maturity. Even if I stomp my feet and scrunch my face the whole time. God knows better than I why he called me to this task. He knows why it needs to be me and them and how it will all turn out in the end. It might not be the way I anticipate. I might even be mad at the result in the end, but that doesn't change the fact that God is God, and I am who he wants to use. I don't get it. I'm a tad frustrated by it, but I know in the end that there will be gratitude and growth in there somewhere, somehow.
At least the fleeting thought of getting in the opposite-way boat is out of my head. Jonah already learned that lesson for me. Wish me luck in Nineveh, folks. I'm going to be there a while.
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
Monday, March 24, 2014
Pre-Digital Footprint
In one of my roles at work, I serve as a mentor to a group of students that are challenged to think about issues of character. This semester's focus is on technology and character, with a close eye on social media. This week, students were asked two questions:
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I have this box in my house. It's filled with hundreds of old black and white photos from my grandparents, some as far back as their newlywed days. I've flipped through the photos more times than I can count. These discussion questions of digital footprint have my thoughts drifting back to when they were young. What footprint did they leave behind?
If I went digging, and I mean really intensely digging, I bet I could find published, public records of these two grandparents. Their birth, marriage, death records. Major purchases. Their number listed in the phone book. Their address in the church directory. Perhaps my papa's business got some local press in the paper. They were not invisible. Their existence left a footprint in the world.
And that box of photos is filled with the happiest of memories. Their first house together. Dinner parties. A new baby. Vacations. All with perfect hair and clean rooms and pretty dresses and happy people. The documented portions of their lives were by no means accurate representation of the lives they lived. They had to have had bad hair days and naughty kids and years where the money didn't allow them to take trips.
So what's the difference? Sure, the medium is different. I couldn't really Google them, per se, like you could Google me. My photos, looking just as put together and accomplished and well traveled as theirs did, aren't in a box. They're in a cloud. My records aren't buried on microfiche. They're floating about it bits and bites online.
The most significant difference as far as I can tell is how the information is transmitted. How and how far. The photos in the box only get seen by the people I show them to. My photos get seen by anyone with adequate Googling ability. Their address was in the church directory. Mine can be found on whitepages.com. When one of them needed to call their second cousin's husband Morty, who picked up Grandma's scarf at a family reunion, they simply asked their sister, who called her cousin, who looked in a notebook, and found Morty's number. If my second cousin Amber picks up my scarf at a reunion, I simply search her name and town to come up with her number. If an employer wanted to know what Grandma was really like before giving her the job at the meat processing plant where she once worked, he called a reference, and that's all he knew. Unless she was in the paper that week for reckless driving. Now, employers, like everyone else, Googles us, finds us on Facebook, looks for our tweets.
Papa could have published an opinion piece in the paper every week if he wanted to. He could have showed their family photos to everyone who would have stopped to see them. He could have chosen an unlisted phone number or opt out of the church directory. They controlled the footprint that they left. And so do we. But for us, the options are far greater. The reach, much farther. The access, much easier. But we still control it.
I'm not opting out of Facebook anytime soon. My blog and other public displays of my existence on this earth will not be shut down either. These records I'm leaving behind aren't really bad or scary or dangerous. They're just new forms of old footprints. And just as I relish those happy black and white photos of my grandparents, I hope that the footprint I leave behind for my grandchildren brings them joy too. I don't want to be invisible in the world. I leave my footprint for the next generations. And in our world, that footprint just happens to be digital. Who knows what it will be for them.
- What is your digital footprint? In other words, where have you left significant digital traces online?
- What picture would this paint of you? Do you feel this would be an accurate representation of your "self"?
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I have this box in my house. It's filled with hundreds of old black and white photos from my grandparents, some as far back as their newlywed days. I've flipped through the photos more times than I can count. These discussion questions of digital footprint have my thoughts drifting back to when they were young. What footprint did they leave behind?
If I went digging, and I mean really intensely digging, I bet I could find published, public records of these two grandparents. Their birth, marriage, death records. Major purchases. Their number listed in the phone book. Their address in the church directory. Perhaps my papa's business got some local press in the paper. They were not invisible. Their existence left a footprint in the world.
And that box of photos is filled with the happiest of memories. Their first house together. Dinner parties. A new baby. Vacations. All with perfect hair and clean rooms and pretty dresses and happy people. The documented portions of their lives were by no means accurate representation of the lives they lived. They had to have had bad hair days and naughty kids and years where the money didn't allow them to take trips.
So what's the difference? Sure, the medium is different. I couldn't really Google them, per se, like you could Google me. My photos, looking just as put together and accomplished and well traveled as theirs did, aren't in a box. They're in a cloud. My records aren't buried on microfiche. They're floating about it bits and bites online.
The most significant difference as far as I can tell is how the information is transmitted. How and how far. The photos in the box only get seen by the people I show them to. My photos get seen by anyone with adequate Googling ability. Their address was in the church directory. Mine can be found on whitepages.com. When one of them needed to call their second cousin's husband Morty, who picked up Grandma's scarf at a family reunion, they simply asked their sister, who called her cousin, who looked in a notebook, and found Morty's number. If my second cousin Amber picks up my scarf at a reunion, I simply search her name and town to come up with her number. If an employer wanted to know what Grandma was really like before giving her the job at the meat processing plant where she once worked, he called a reference, and that's all he knew. Unless she was in the paper that week for reckless driving. Now, employers, like everyone else, Googles us, finds us on Facebook, looks for our tweets.
Papa could have published an opinion piece in the paper every week if he wanted to. He could have showed their family photos to everyone who would have stopped to see them. He could have chosen an unlisted phone number or opt out of the church directory. They controlled the footprint that they left. And so do we. But for us, the options are far greater. The reach, much farther. The access, much easier. But we still control it.
I'm not opting out of Facebook anytime soon. My blog and other public displays of my existence on this earth will not be shut down either. These records I'm leaving behind aren't really bad or scary or dangerous. They're just new forms of old footprints. And just as I relish those happy black and white photos of my grandparents, I hope that the footprint I leave behind for my grandchildren brings them joy too. I don't want to be invisible in the world. I leave my footprint for the next generations. And in our world, that footprint just happens to be digital. Who knows what it will be for them.
Thursday, March 20, 2014
On the Freedom of Facebook
I will preface this post by saying that I fully realize that by posting my opinions here, on a public blog, I am acting with a fair level of hypocrisy. This is not a holier-than-thou message, but it is a judgement of sorts, a judgement of appropriate versus inappropriate behavior online because it seems to me that we have lost the ability to tell the difference.
I find myself wondering lately what goes through people's minds when they post things to Facebook. What goes through my mind? As a rarer than most poster, I feel like what I post is about as random as my life in general. A quick perusal of this year's posts so far, my posts have included a few photos of random happenings in life (coffee, an event or two, engagement photo) and some random updates about workouts, weather, work, a few birthday messages to friends. And sometimes I wonder if even that has been too much. It's not overly exciting. They don't mean much. To me, this is sort of the equivalent of making small talk with someone you haven't seen in a while because for the most part, it is indeed small talk with people I nearly never see.
Recently, I have been witnessing more and more Facebook freakouts. Many of the posts I read are not small talk with acquaintances but rather deeply personal and directed updates about breakups or family members, not so subtle passive aggressive messages, and even intensely personal medical procedures/updates. There are hurtful, uncomfortable, painful things being published out there for all to see, and to what end?
Now, we need to pause here again to note that I realize that this blog is not so different from a Facebook status update. And if you dig through its pages, you will find deep hurts revealed amidst various reflections and personal details of my life. So I get it. It feels good to get things out of your brain, off your chest, and into the universe.
But there is a level of responsibility that comes with public domains like Facebook, like this blog, that is being forgotten and perhaps eliminated completely. And the deterioration of this responsibility is being considered, I think, something it is absolutely not: freedom. There is no more freedom in Facebook than there is standing face-to-face with your dearest loved one, a random stranger, your grandmother. In fact, I would argue that there is actually much less freedom in these virtual lands of limitless reach because what you share is not being shared in the closeness of friendships, the personalness of family, the trust of your grandmother. It's not just going out to one person or an elevator full of people you'll never see again. You're sharing irreversible, unerasable information with an endless list of friends, acquaintances, family, strangers, friends of friends...
Facebook's repercussions are not just about what you're saying about yourself out there to the world. Certainly there are many avenues of self expression that are just as public as a Facebook status. Facebook's repercussions are about those that your messages are reaching. Words have power, and in a medium like Facebook, the reach of that power is extreme and unfathomable. Harsh or cruel words for loved ones, embarrassing moments of good friends, passive aggression, words of hate, rumors...there is simply no room for this level of irresponsibility. Not behind closed doors, not on a street corner, not on Facebook. Take responsibility. Man or woman up. Problems with people should be dealt with with people. Not with the public. Please stop using Facebook as a medium of harm and turn it into something beautiful. Use Facebook for good, for uplifting those around you, for making the world a little better place. It's your responsibility.
I find myself wondering lately what goes through people's minds when they post things to Facebook. What goes through my mind? As a rarer than most poster, I feel like what I post is about as random as my life in general. A quick perusal of this year's posts so far, my posts have included a few photos of random happenings in life (coffee, an event or two, engagement photo) and some random updates about workouts, weather, work, a few birthday messages to friends. And sometimes I wonder if even that has been too much. It's not overly exciting. They don't mean much. To me, this is sort of the equivalent of making small talk with someone you haven't seen in a while because for the most part, it is indeed small talk with people I nearly never see.
Recently, I have been witnessing more and more Facebook freakouts. Many of the posts I read are not small talk with acquaintances but rather deeply personal and directed updates about breakups or family members, not so subtle passive aggressive messages, and even intensely personal medical procedures/updates. There are hurtful, uncomfortable, painful things being published out there for all to see, and to what end?
Now, we need to pause here again to note that I realize that this blog is not so different from a Facebook status update. And if you dig through its pages, you will find deep hurts revealed amidst various reflections and personal details of my life. So I get it. It feels good to get things out of your brain, off your chest, and into the universe.
But there is a level of responsibility that comes with public domains like Facebook, like this blog, that is being forgotten and perhaps eliminated completely. And the deterioration of this responsibility is being considered, I think, something it is absolutely not: freedom. There is no more freedom in Facebook than there is standing face-to-face with your dearest loved one, a random stranger, your grandmother. In fact, I would argue that there is actually much less freedom in these virtual lands of limitless reach because what you share is not being shared in the closeness of friendships, the personalness of family, the trust of your grandmother. It's not just going out to one person or an elevator full of people you'll never see again. You're sharing irreversible, unerasable information with an endless list of friends, acquaintances, family, strangers, friends of friends...
Facebook's repercussions are not just about what you're saying about yourself out there to the world. Certainly there are many avenues of self expression that are just as public as a Facebook status. Facebook's repercussions are about those that your messages are reaching. Words have power, and in a medium like Facebook, the reach of that power is extreme and unfathomable. Harsh or cruel words for loved ones, embarrassing moments of good friends, passive aggression, words of hate, rumors...there is simply no room for this level of irresponsibility. Not behind closed doors, not on a street corner, not on Facebook. Take responsibility. Man or woman up. Problems with people should be dealt with with people. Not with the public. Please stop using Facebook as a medium of harm and turn it into something beautiful. Use Facebook for good, for uplifting those around you, for making the world a little better place. It's your responsibility.
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
Engagement Treasures
There's something to be said for treasuring every phase of your life to the extent that one can, but let's be honest that some phases of life are more treasurable than others. For instance, I'm not so sure that I will look back and be able to state with certainty that I treasured my dissertation writing phase of life. I hopefully can at least say I survived it, I muddled through it, I, um, accomplished it. I doubt I will say I treasured it.
And hearing of and even in some cases witnessing horror stories of engagements, I'm not so sure that three months ago I would have put being engaged on the to-be-treasured list. However, half way through this business, I must say I am having far too much fun.
There are just certain things that one only EVER gets to do while engaged. I had never really thought of this before, but lately, this is becoming really apparent. Beside the obvious fact of getting to plan a wedding and all the details that come with it, there are tons of other things I feel like I am experiencing, discussing, and learning in this special period of life.
I get to experience the excitement of getting engaged over and over each time someone finds out. New girlish squeals abound, and we all dance around and hug and smile. This also sometimes happens between Derrick and I when we realize how many days or weeks we have left to go before life together begins (okay, so he doesn't squeal and dance about, but I usually do). I have been able to discuss many things I did not expect to discuss with anyone. Amongst my closest friends, topics of, ahem, marital bliss have come up more times in the last two weeks than my entire life previous. It's strange and delightful. And enlightening. And I feel like I have learned so much about myself, my impending wifehood (wifery? wifeishness?), us, our strengths and gifts and how those somehow come together in one house and one life together.
I am so very glad for the choices we have made. I would not have wanted a longer engagement than six months no matter how wonderful this treasured time is because, let's be honest, the real treasure awaits me after the engagement - my husband. But I am so glad that I get the gift of a cherished, treasured engagement that is sure to be followed by a cherished, treasured marriage.
And hearing of and even in some cases witnessing horror stories of engagements, I'm not so sure that three months ago I would have put being engaged on the to-be-treasured list. However, half way through this business, I must say I am having far too much fun.
There are just certain things that one only EVER gets to do while engaged. I had never really thought of this before, but lately, this is becoming really apparent. Beside the obvious fact of getting to plan a wedding and all the details that come with it, there are tons of other things I feel like I am experiencing, discussing, and learning in this special period of life.
I get to experience the excitement of getting engaged over and over each time someone finds out. New girlish squeals abound, and we all dance around and hug and smile. This also sometimes happens between Derrick and I when we realize how many days or weeks we have left to go before life together begins (okay, so he doesn't squeal and dance about, but I usually do). I have been able to discuss many things I did not expect to discuss with anyone. Amongst my closest friends, topics of, ahem, marital bliss have come up more times in the last two weeks than my entire life previous. It's strange and delightful. And enlightening. And I feel like I have learned so much about myself, my impending wifehood (wifery? wifeishness?), us, our strengths and gifts and how those somehow come together in one house and one life together.
I am so very glad for the choices we have made. I would not have wanted a longer engagement than six months no matter how wonderful this treasured time is because, let's be honest, the real treasure awaits me after the engagement - my husband. But I am so glad that I get the gift of a cherished, treasured engagement that is sure to be followed by a cherished, treasured marriage.
Wednesday, March 12, 2014
On Inexperience (or Giant Training)
This morning, in a one-on-one meeting with a colleague, I was faced with a number of suggestions. A little brief context for what it's worth: I am responsible for developing and implementing two courses on campus, both of which have either taken a slow wander of the initial path or leapt off the path on purpose. Add into that the receipt of a grant, some new texts and tools to implement, and you've got one mighty challenge on your hands.
The initial suggestion was that I pull together a committee to get clarity on the direction that the courses should be going in order to get the framework settled. Again, a little context: we already did that once, and I generally loath writing by committee. I expressed these things in response and was met with yet another suggestion: you create the framework, then present it to the committee.
The suggestion was probably valid enough save for one thing. The committee of folks that would be pulled together have more years of experience as individuals than years I have been alive. They were the founders, more or less of the courses. I consider them to be the few and mighty that stand in a place of high honor and respect. Doesn't it all seem a little backwards? To send me, who is currently gaining some of her first experiences in the faculty world, into a room of giants with my ideas of what their course should look like? I think people around here exceptionally overestimate my abilities.
But by the time I got back to my office, something started to sink in a little bit. People are indeed overestimating my abilities, putting me in risky positions of responsibility, directly in the shadows of the giants...because they trust me to do it. And upon further inspection of the idea, is there a better way to learn and grow as a professional than that? These giants are giants in their own rights, but they are caring, nurturing, safe giants who, just maybe, are working on raising up another giant in their midst.
This particular juncture of my career life is incredibly rich and stuffed full of blessings that until today I was viewing as something equivalent to burdens. I couldn't understand why anyone would want a young-ish, inexperienced professional, still in the throes of her training and education, to take on things that looked like department head work, like experienced teacher stuff, stuff meant for those who have been around the block. But these challenges, these new experiences, these shadows-of-giants encounters are indescribably valuable blessings that are, in fact, preparing me for gianthood.
So, does it make any sense for me to prepare and present something to the ones that really were the founders of the great things I'm a part of now? Certainly not. Will I accept the responsibility as giant training? With deep appreciation and joy. No longer will I quiver in the shadow of the giants, worrying about every little thing, attempting not to be seen or heard. Instead, from their shadows, I will look up, watch closely, accept criticisms, and allow myself to grow. How thankful I am for the giants around me who care little that I am not yet standing among them. How grateful I am to be given the opportunities to live in their shadows.
Time to get back to work. There's giant training coming.
The initial suggestion was that I pull together a committee to get clarity on the direction that the courses should be going in order to get the framework settled. Again, a little context: we already did that once, and I generally loath writing by committee. I expressed these things in response and was met with yet another suggestion: you create the framework, then present it to the committee.
The suggestion was probably valid enough save for one thing. The committee of folks that would be pulled together have more years of experience as individuals than years I have been alive. They were the founders, more or less of the courses. I consider them to be the few and mighty that stand in a place of high honor and respect. Doesn't it all seem a little backwards? To send me, who is currently gaining some of her first experiences in the faculty world, into a room of giants with my ideas of what their course should look like? I think people around here exceptionally overestimate my abilities.
But by the time I got back to my office, something started to sink in a little bit. People are indeed overestimating my abilities, putting me in risky positions of responsibility, directly in the shadows of the giants...because they trust me to do it. And upon further inspection of the idea, is there a better way to learn and grow as a professional than that? These giants are giants in their own rights, but they are caring, nurturing, safe giants who, just maybe, are working on raising up another giant in their midst.
This particular juncture of my career life is incredibly rich and stuffed full of blessings that until today I was viewing as something equivalent to burdens. I couldn't understand why anyone would want a young-ish, inexperienced professional, still in the throes of her training and education, to take on things that looked like department head work, like experienced teacher stuff, stuff meant for those who have been around the block. But these challenges, these new experiences, these shadows-of-giants encounters are indescribably valuable blessings that are, in fact, preparing me for gianthood.
So, does it make any sense for me to prepare and present something to the ones that really were the founders of the great things I'm a part of now? Certainly not. Will I accept the responsibility as giant training? With deep appreciation and joy. No longer will I quiver in the shadow of the giants, worrying about every little thing, attempting not to be seen or heard. Instead, from their shadows, I will look up, watch closely, accept criticisms, and allow myself to grow. How thankful I am for the giants around me who care little that I am not yet standing among them. How grateful I am to be given the opportunities to live in their shadows.
Time to get back to work. There's giant training coming.
Saturday, March 08, 2014
Moving Out and Moving On
As Derrick and I draw nearer to our marriage (three months to go!), I have found myself to be far more reflective amidst all the pragmatism required for the wedding and life-together details that must be sorted out. The practical, detaily things that must be approached have begun to morph, each expanding and grabbing hold of more meaning than I originally allowed them. The process has been somewhat overwhelming, but I also revel in the joy, the contemplation, and the anticipation that come with all of these reflections.
As a gift of sorts to Derrick before our marriage, I offered to move out of my home and then work together to move into our home. Now, for those unaware, "my home" and "our home" happen to be the same house. It makes the thought of moving out far more foreign and bizarre. At first, even Derrick suggested that it was simply too much work and not necessary. He liked where the furniture was and how the kitchen was organized. For the last almost two years, he has been able to make sense of the space as we share it on a part-time basis. But the problem with this arrangement is and really always has been that there is a "his" space and a "hers" space, divided by 90 miles and many weekdays apart. And in three months' time, that division will be gone. The miles, the days, the separate spaces simply will no longer exist.
Early on in recognizing that this transition would indeed take place (I mean, that is one of the reasons we're getting married after all), I began to realize that in my mind, my home would always be just that - mine. Not ours. It would be my place with a sudden influx of a bunch of other stuff and clothes and shoes and gear that I'd have to find a corner or a box for. I even caught myself making comments to that effect. And I realized that this would not be a one-and-done matter where problems would simply solve themselves as we settled into "my home." No, it would fester. It would forever be a point of contention as long as we stayed in "my home."
The only solution was to move out, to break the bonds of comfort I have built within the sturdy walls, the familiar arrangements. But beginning the process of moving out has done something far greater than creating a space for the both of us. As I open closets whose sole purposes have been to hide away former pieces of my life, to stockpile my history...as I touch and handle parts of my life that have been stored away, boxed up with a fair amount of permanence, I begin to see my stuff in a different light.
Prom dresses and internship uniforms. A thousand t-shirts from nearly every campus block party, program, and trip. Elementary school doodles and graduation tassels. Love notes and journals. These are the pieces that make up my history, that are placeholders for the memories created with every experience. Although some of these act as relics, archeological artifacts that will elicit the giggles of our future children and grandchildren someday, much of the stuff I had once treasured and moved with me from place to place suddenly seemed far less significant. The physical pieces weren't what kept my history together.
So together, Derrick and I opened countless boxes, chuckled at old photographs, sorted through what I thought were the things that crafted my history, and boldly proclaimed much of it trash. And in those moments, there was no sorrow, no lament of the loss of all of my stuff. It was more like liberation. A moving on of sorts. A clearing away of unnecessary things to make room for all that is to come.
These days, "my house" is beginning to feel a little more like "a house" as we strip away the many things that I once was sure were my treasures. As the closets and the cabinets empty one by one, it really does look like someone is moving out. And someone is. Moving out and moving on. From "my home" to "our home." A transformation that could not have happened any other way, but that symbolizes so much more than just two spaces coming together. Two lives are coming together, ready to face whatever is to come. Together.
As a gift of sorts to Derrick before our marriage, I offered to move out of my home and then work together to move into our home. Now, for those unaware, "my home" and "our home" happen to be the same house. It makes the thought of moving out far more foreign and bizarre. At first, even Derrick suggested that it was simply too much work and not necessary. He liked where the furniture was and how the kitchen was organized. For the last almost two years, he has been able to make sense of the space as we share it on a part-time basis. But the problem with this arrangement is and really always has been that there is a "his" space and a "hers" space, divided by 90 miles and many weekdays apart. And in three months' time, that division will be gone. The miles, the days, the separate spaces simply will no longer exist.
Early on in recognizing that this transition would indeed take place (I mean, that is one of the reasons we're getting married after all), I began to realize that in my mind, my home would always be just that - mine. Not ours. It would be my place with a sudden influx of a bunch of other stuff and clothes and shoes and gear that I'd have to find a corner or a box for. I even caught myself making comments to that effect. And I realized that this would not be a one-and-done matter where problems would simply solve themselves as we settled into "my home." No, it would fester. It would forever be a point of contention as long as we stayed in "my home."
The only solution was to move out, to break the bonds of comfort I have built within the sturdy walls, the familiar arrangements. But beginning the process of moving out has done something far greater than creating a space for the both of us. As I open closets whose sole purposes have been to hide away former pieces of my life, to stockpile my history...as I touch and handle parts of my life that have been stored away, boxed up with a fair amount of permanence, I begin to see my stuff in a different light.
Prom dresses and internship uniforms. A thousand t-shirts from nearly every campus block party, program, and trip. Elementary school doodles and graduation tassels. Love notes and journals. These are the pieces that make up my history, that are placeholders for the memories created with every experience. Although some of these act as relics, archeological artifacts that will elicit the giggles of our future children and grandchildren someday, much of the stuff I had once treasured and moved with me from place to place suddenly seemed far less significant. The physical pieces weren't what kept my history together.
So together, Derrick and I opened countless boxes, chuckled at old photographs, sorted through what I thought were the things that crafted my history, and boldly proclaimed much of it trash. And in those moments, there was no sorrow, no lament of the loss of all of my stuff. It was more like liberation. A moving on of sorts. A clearing away of unnecessary things to make room for all that is to come.
These days, "my house" is beginning to feel a little more like "a house" as we strip away the many things that I once was sure were my treasures. As the closets and the cabinets empty one by one, it really does look like someone is moving out. And someone is. Moving out and moving on. From "my home" to "our home." A transformation that could not have happened any other way, but that symbolizes so much more than just two spaces coming together. Two lives are coming together, ready to face whatever is to come. Together.
Saturday, March 01, 2014
Update on the Update Addiction
I've been somewhat hesitant to write an update of my previous blog post because, well, it seems that posting it would indicate I have failed my mission. But after over a week of trying to make some adjustments, there have been a number of things worthy of reflection.
The rules, or perhaps guidelines, I had set for myself were not particularly complicated, but for me some of them seemed like a stretch. Close the perpetual feeds like Facebook most of the day, use one browser window at a time; limit notifications of the far too many email accounts that I have and when I check them; leave the phone away in meetings, meals, and face-to-face conversations; and TV is not a white noise device.
I tackled the too-many-email accounts-and-notifications issue first. After work last Friday, I set to the task of changing all of the notifications in my phone. I turned all notification buzzing or sounds off. Not wanting to be completely oblivious, I did leave the blinky light option on for now. This is a process after all, right? As a bonus though, I attempted to eliminate one email address completely by unlinking all of my Google Drive files from one of my Gmail accounts.
The act of turning the buzzing off was far more freeing than I anticipated. Usually, when my phone buzzes, I immediately turn on the screen, view the email, decide whether to keep it or eliminate it, then turn off the screen. That sounded really efficient until I realized that the phone may buzz 30-40 times a day. A DAY! And each time, a distraction from whatever I was doing. Now, when my phone buzzes maybe twice a day, it's usually a phone call or something actually of value. The rest of my day enjoys its new found freedom from the buzzing.
The web browsing habits were not so instant gratifying, however. I immediately decided to close the multiple browsing windows and keep Facebook and Twitter closed while at work, but a funny thing happened. Although the screen was empty, the physical habits remained. As I attempted to read an essay for curriculum preparations this week, after about every paragraph, I would find myself instinctively glancing at my screen. EVERY PARAGRAPH?! That's a lot of interruptions for there being nothing to look at! After a week without multiple distractions on screen, I actually find that I am still doing this. These distracted habits run deep. But I am determined. More work on this to come.
Other deeply entrenched habits remain as well, but they are seeming easier to navigate. Once home from work, my phone screen is perpetually checked, just to make sure I didn't miss anything important. I still really want to do this, but I have found that the ever so simple solution of putting the phone away in it's case has pretty much solved this. I don't have the desire to check it if it's not out in front of me, tempting me to glance just one more time. I am pleased with this tiny glimpse into freedom. This same philosophy has kept my phone away at meetings, at meals, and in face-to-face conversations, and frankly, people have noticed. And that tells me that my distractions where not only distractions to me, but they were actually creating distractions for others around me. Wow. How clueless I truly was.
TV was also a simple fix. I've never really been that in love with television. I just don't find most of it entertaining. But sometimes I did think that it made a nice white noise machine, as if surly I could study better or be more productive with it on. Duh. No. Turing it off has allowed me to really focus again, letting my brain soak up words on a page or in my project rather than the babbling words from some redundant sitcom or sports announcer.
It came up in our book club in the last meeting we had that one reader wished that Nicholas Carr would have suggested a solution, a how-to guide to fixing all of our technology-distraction woes. And true, there was no 12 step program to follow tucked in the appendix of the book, but I don't think that means that Carr has not suggested the solutions we all know exist. The truth is, we all know that we can't escape the Internet world, lest we decide to become Amish or live on a deserted island somewhere. It's too big, too pervasive, too convenient, and too necessary to how we all now live. But we can control it. In the days of Google Now and Siri, services that claim to understand and really know you... In the days of notifications and multitasking and background noise and hyper-connectedness, we still have choices to make. We can choose to fall victim to it all, letting in envelope our lives, our days, our work, and our brains. Or we can choose to take control back, to put limits on our technology, to think clearly and uninterrupted, to be quiet and still, to find balance.
I really think that is the solution. That is the how-to guide. It doesn't look the same for all of us. Some are deeper in the tech trenches than others. Some are more addicted, committed, controlled than others. But we all can take a look around us, a good hard look, and choose what is really, honestly helping us and what is actually hurting us.
You won't find me in a bonnet and buggy anytime soon. I do not intend to ever become Amish or a cave dweller or disappear on some deserted island. I appreciate many of the good and wonderful things that internet technology has given me. But I do have full intentions of keeping my brain. My relationships. My love of adventure and fresh air and clear thoughts. I choose less multitasking. Less notifications. Less Pavlovian screen glancing. It's a process and a journey, and I am excited to continue on it quietly and undistractedly.
The rules, or perhaps guidelines, I had set for myself were not particularly complicated, but for me some of them seemed like a stretch. Close the perpetual feeds like Facebook most of the day, use one browser window at a time; limit notifications of the far too many email accounts that I have and when I check them; leave the phone away in meetings, meals, and face-to-face conversations; and TV is not a white noise device.
I tackled the too-many-email accounts-and-notifications issue first. After work last Friday, I set to the task of changing all of the notifications in my phone. I turned all notification buzzing or sounds off. Not wanting to be completely oblivious, I did leave the blinky light option on for now. This is a process after all, right? As a bonus though, I attempted to eliminate one email address completely by unlinking all of my Google Drive files from one of my Gmail accounts.
The act of turning the buzzing off was far more freeing than I anticipated. Usually, when my phone buzzes, I immediately turn on the screen, view the email, decide whether to keep it or eliminate it, then turn off the screen. That sounded really efficient until I realized that the phone may buzz 30-40 times a day. A DAY! And each time, a distraction from whatever I was doing. Now, when my phone buzzes maybe twice a day, it's usually a phone call or something actually of value. The rest of my day enjoys its new found freedom from the buzzing.
The web browsing habits were not so instant gratifying, however. I immediately decided to close the multiple browsing windows and keep Facebook and Twitter closed while at work, but a funny thing happened. Although the screen was empty, the physical habits remained. As I attempted to read an essay for curriculum preparations this week, after about every paragraph, I would find myself instinctively glancing at my screen. EVERY PARAGRAPH?! That's a lot of interruptions for there being nothing to look at! After a week without multiple distractions on screen, I actually find that I am still doing this. These distracted habits run deep. But I am determined. More work on this to come.
Other deeply entrenched habits remain as well, but they are seeming easier to navigate. Once home from work, my phone screen is perpetually checked, just to make sure I didn't miss anything important. I still really want to do this, but I have found that the ever so simple solution of putting the phone away in it's case has pretty much solved this. I don't have the desire to check it if it's not out in front of me, tempting me to glance just one more time. I am pleased with this tiny glimpse into freedom. This same philosophy has kept my phone away at meetings, at meals, and in face-to-face conversations, and frankly, people have noticed. And that tells me that my distractions where not only distractions to me, but they were actually creating distractions for others around me. Wow. How clueless I truly was.
TV was also a simple fix. I've never really been that in love with television. I just don't find most of it entertaining. But sometimes I did think that it made a nice white noise machine, as if surly I could study better or be more productive with it on. Duh. No. Turing it off has allowed me to really focus again, letting my brain soak up words on a page or in my project rather than the babbling words from some redundant sitcom or sports announcer.
It came up in our book club in the last meeting we had that one reader wished that Nicholas Carr would have suggested a solution, a how-to guide to fixing all of our technology-distraction woes. And true, there was no 12 step program to follow tucked in the appendix of the book, but I don't think that means that Carr has not suggested the solutions we all know exist. The truth is, we all know that we can't escape the Internet world, lest we decide to become Amish or live on a deserted island somewhere. It's too big, too pervasive, too convenient, and too necessary to how we all now live. But we can control it. In the days of Google Now and Siri, services that claim to understand and really know you... In the days of notifications and multitasking and background noise and hyper-connectedness, we still have choices to make. We can choose to fall victim to it all, letting in envelope our lives, our days, our work, and our brains. Or we can choose to take control back, to put limits on our technology, to think clearly and uninterrupted, to be quiet and still, to find balance.
I really think that is the solution. That is the how-to guide. It doesn't look the same for all of us. Some are deeper in the tech trenches than others. Some are more addicted, committed, controlled than others. But we all can take a look around us, a good hard look, and choose what is really, honestly helping us and what is actually hurting us.
You won't find me in a bonnet and buggy anytime soon. I do not intend to ever become Amish or a cave dweller or disappear on some deserted island. I appreciate many of the good and wonderful things that internet technology has given me. But I do have full intentions of keeping my brain. My relationships. My love of adventure and fresh air and clear thoughts. I choose less multitasking. Less notifications. Less Pavlovian screen glancing. It's a process and a journey, and I am excited to continue on it quietly and undistractedly.
Thursday, February 20, 2014
Confessions of an Update Addict
I proclaimed to the world all of the benefits of being a natural multitasker, an efficient researcher, a connected friend through the wonderful means of this thing called the internet. Have you followed the local news channel on Twitter? You can get all the headlines first! Did you see the update from So-and-So? Can you believe it? Have you seen the viral video about goats on a steel ribbon?! Oh, hang on a sec, I just got an email...a Facebook message...a text... Sure I can shop for camping gear while writing my dissertation. Why not shop on Etsy while talking on the phone? Woot just posted a new sale!
I didn't realize, or maybe refused to acknowledge, what was happening to me. And as I ignored it, it got worse. The addiction grew and grew until I was blinded to the fact that I had a problem at all. But I do have a problem. I'm an update addict.
Facebook scrolls numerous feeds of mostly useless things my "friends" (anyone I've ever met, basically) are doing. Twitter feeds me news headlines, professional conversations, and Instagram photos. Google provides me with an endless supply of material to peruse on literally any topic I can think of. Shopping sites tease me with sales that last for minutes. I have five different email accounts, all of which fill with junk, promotions, and the occasional message from someone I know. And all of this happens all day, everyday, non-stop.
And there I sit, at my desk at work, with the phone laying face-up in plain site so that I am ensured to never miss an indicator light, buzz, or reminder. And on my screen at any given time, you can find seven or eight or maybe a dozen different web browser tabs open, some with work items, but most with other feed-based, update style stuff. Day after day, I wonder as 5:00 nears, what did I really get done today? Some days the checklist gets knocked down significantly. Some days, not a single task gets finished completely. I come home, crack open my laptop, phone beside me of course, and eat my dinner with the TV on. I chip away at tiny fragments of my dissertation, but the kitchen stays a mess, the laundry doesn't get done, and I usually go to bed far too late.
The pervasiveness of the internet has invaded every element of my life, and frankly, it has changed almost every element of my life. It changes my behaviors, my productivity, my focus, the very way that I think. My entire life has become a series of distractions caused by a series of endless updates. And I probably would have gone on believing that this distracted life was both normal and beneficial, had it not been for my enjoyment of the frequent UD faculty/staff book clubs.
The past few weeks we have been diving into a book called The Shallows: What the Internet is doing to Our Brains by Nicholas Carr, and today chapter seven stopped me in my tracks. First of all, know that I recognized after the first few chapters that I was a poster child for whom this book was probably written. Being on the younger end of the book club participants, there were many things that I resonated with and even unabashedly proclaimed as advantages in my life over the other viewpoints presented. I was tech savvy, could research quickly using software and search tools, I could multitask and not get overwhelmed, I didn't need to carry a pile of books because reading on screen is normal....
But then there was chapter seven. In this chapter, Carr goes from merely stating the facts about what the internet provides and how users interface with it to digging into studies about what all of this updatedness is really doing to our brains. Study after study noted that the more distracted a person was, be it with links, related searches, scrolling text updates, the less they really took in and retained. In fact, just the style of the internet with its myriad of updates and look-over-here's in and of itself causes the brain to constantly try to shift gears when darting from one thing to the next. And that little place between your short and long term memory, known as working memory, only typically has so many gears that it can deal with. The constant distraction of a distraction-based medium has actually rewired our brains to think differently in order to deal with all of the constant inputs. The result? Diminished recall and retention of information and lost time and efficiency in deep thinking and concentration to name a few. And making matters worse, this brain behavior is often rewarded, driven by the fear of missing out on something important or the excitement that comes with finding information on nearly anything when you need it.
And suddenly, things are starting to make sense. My lack of productivity at work, especially this semester, my slower than desired dissertation pace, all the email accounts and blinky cell phone notifications and tabs on my web browsers, and... I have rewired my brain. And not for the better. I have given in to the temptation of the update at the expense of my memory, my concentration, my focus. I have opted for distractions as the focus, and those distractions have thrown me in a landfill of other distractions, each vying for my eyes, my brain, my time.
Luckily, the brain is not developmentally unidirectional. If things can be learned, they can be unlearned. If the internet has rewired my brain, then control of the internet can rewire it again. This will not be an easy task. It will mean conquering an addiction so pervasive in my life, I was ignorant to its existence. But it is time. It's time to shake free of the distraction world, at least in part, and regain the world of focus.
Here's what I believe I can reasonably accomplish and commit to attempting indefinitely:
(To give you an idea of just how tough this commitment will be, during the typing of this post, which took just over a half an hour, I have checked or posted on Facebook at least six times, turned on my phone screen twice, looked at Twitter twice, checked for new emails once, and have eight tabs open in Firefox. Tough doesn't even begin to describe what I'm about to face.)
I didn't realize, or maybe refused to acknowledge, what was happening to me. And as I ignored it, it got worse. The addiction grew and grew until I was blinded to the fact that I had a problem at all. But I do have a problem. I'm an update addict.
Facebook scrolls numerous feeds of mostly useless things my "friends" (anyone I've ever met, basically) are doing. Twitter feeds me news headlines, professional conversations, and Instagram photos. Google provides me with an endless supply of material to peruse on literally any topic I can think of. Shopping sites tease me with sales that last for minutes. I have five different email accounts, all of which fill with junk, promotions, and the occasional message from someone I know. And all of this happens all day, everyday, non-stop.
And there I sit, at my desk at work, with the phone laying face-up in plain site so that I am ensured to never miss an indicator light, buzz, or reminder. And on my screen at any given time, you can find seven or eight or maybe a dozen different web browser tabs open, some with work items, but most with other feed-based, update style stuff. Day after day, I wonder as 5:00 nears, what did I really get done today? Some days the checklist gets knocked down significantly. Some days, not a single task gets finished completely. I come home, crack open my laptop, phone beside me of course, and eat my dinner with the TV on. I chip away at tiny fragments of my dissertation, but the kitchen stays a mess, the laundry doesn't get done, and I usually go to bed far too late.
The pervasiveness of the internet has invaded every element of my life, and frankly, it has changed almost every element of my life. It changes my behaviors, my productivity, my focus, the very way that I think. My entire life has become a series of distractions caused by a series of endless updates. And I probably would have gone on believing that this distracted life was both normal and beneficial, had it not been for my enjoyment of the frequent UD faculty/staff book clubs.
The past few weeks we have been diving into a book called The Shallows: What the Internet is doing to Our Brains by Nicholas Carr, and today chapter seven stopped me in my tracks. First of all, know that I recognized after the first few chapters that I was a poster child for whom this book was probably written. Being on the younger end of the book club participants, there were many things that I resonated with and even unabashedly proclaimed as advantages in my life over the other viewpoints presented. I was tech savvy, could research quickly using software and search tools, I could multitask and not get overwhelmed, I didn't need to carry a pile of books because reading on screen is normal....
But then there was chapter seven. In this chapter, Carr goes from merely stating the facts about what the internet provides and how users interface with it to digging into studies about what all of this updatedness is really doing to our brains. Study after study noted that the more distracted a person was, be it with links, related searches, scrolling text updates, the less they really took in and retained. In fact, just the style of the internet with its myriad of updates and look-over-here's in and of itself causes the brain to constantly try to shift gears when darting from one thing to the next. And that little place between your short and long term memory, known as working memory, only typically has so many gears that it can deal with. The constant distraction of a distraction-based medium has actually rewired our brains to think differently in order to deal with all of the constant inputs. The result? Diminished recall and retention of information and lost time and efficiency in deep thinking and concentration to name a few. And making matters worse, this brain behavior is often rewarded, driven by the fear of missing out on something important or the excitement that comes with finding information on nearly anything when you need it.
And suddenly, things are starting to make sense. My lack of productivity at work, especially this semester, my slower than desired dissertation pace, all the email accounts and blinky cell phone notifications and tabs on my web browsers, and... I have rewired my brain. And not for the better. I have given in to the temptation of the update at the expense of my memory, my concentration, my focus. I have opted for distractions as the focus, and those distractions have thrown me in a landfill of other distractions, each vying for my eyes, my brain, my time.
Luckily, the brain is not developmentally unidirectional. If things can be learned, they can be unlearned. If the internet has rewired my brain, then control of the internet can rewire it again. This will not be an easy task. It will mean conquering an addiction so pervasive in my life, I was ignorant to its existence. But it is time. It's time to shake free of the distraction world, at least in part, and regain the world of focus.
Here's what I believe I can reasonably accomplish and commit to attempting indefinitely:
- I will not leave my Facebook and Twitter feeds open all day long. And I will not check them on my phone throughout the day. These feeds can be checked before work, right after work, and if need be, at lunch time. Right now they are continuously open and cause perpetual distractions as I'm working.
- I will use one browser tab at a time at work and while dissertating. Bookmarks and web addresses can be retyped if I want to get back to something. I can only think of a few rare situations that using more than one tab was actually useful (viewing two spreadsheets or copying and pasting text from one source to another, perhaps).
- I will not check my other email accounts throughout the day at work, in church, while out and about (say, shopping), or during face-to-face conversations with people. My phone vibrates right now every time I get an email on any of my five accounts. Thus, I check the emails each time one comes in. That could reasonably be 30-40 times a day or more.
- During meetings and meals, I will leave my phone away. No one needs to get a hold of my that badly, and no update is as important as the meeting I'm already in or the sustenance I put in my body.
- The TV doesn't really play nice with any other productive thing, so it will be left off unless I decide want to do nothing but watch TV.
(To give you an idea of just how tough this commitment will be, during the typing of this post, which took just over a half an hour, I have checked or posted on Facebook at least six times, turned on my phone screen twice, looked at Twitter twice, checked for new emails once, and have eight tabs open in Firefox. Tough doesn't even begin to describe what I'm about to face.)
Wednesday, February 12, 2014
Becoming a Better Teacher
I will confess that I often struggle in my role at the university. As an anomaly caught between two worlds, I find myself identifying with faculty as well as with my co-middle managers in the administration. The beginning of this term has me reflecting on my teaching abilities as a faculty member.
After a month or so of procrastinating the task, last week I finally started unsealing the envelopes that held the student evaluations for the course that I coordinated for the first time this fall. Perhaps I knew to some extent what they might say, and perhaps I already knew that I wouldn't want to see the feedback.
As a fairly new professor with only a few classes under my belt, I was tasked with developing an entirely new course, one in which 36 other instructors were strung along at my bidding, trying to implement the curriculum that I placed before them. At the time of the tasking, due to the rushed timeline mainly, I didn't really stop to think how daunting something like this might actually be. I didn't consider that the instructors wouldn't like some of it or that the students wouldn't dig into the content. I just frantically pulled together lectures and discussions, readings and writing prompts, mostly as we went along, hoping that it would be met with some level of success.
And then I opened that first envelope.
Students were asked what their favorite part of the course was, what they felt they learned the most about, how they identified with the materials and lectures, and what they would change if they could. And boy did students respond. After about the 400th evaluation, I could read no more. I was heart broken and defeated. And I was pretty sure that I never wanted to go in front of a group of students again. I had failed them, and they were disappointed. I showed my true colors of an unprepared, inexperienced novice of an instructor that no amount of bluffing or exuded confidence could mask.
After some time with this crushing blow, and a few meetings with supervisors that offered a much more experienced perspective, I started reading through the evaluations a second time. This time, I took me out of the equation. I filtered the bratty, snide remarks aimed directly at me, and really read what the students were saying. And what I read the second time started to amaze rather than burden me.
Most students could identify something that they liked about the course. It may have been the comfy chairs in the auditorium, but it was still something. Many students could identify a specific topic or lecture that they enjoyed because of how it spoke to them or how they interacted with the material. Nearly everyone could identify something that they actually learned something about. And almost everyone felt invited into a community of peers and instructors, noting discussions, informality, openness as key traits to that community. A few students indicated that they wanted to dig deeper, to learn more, to discuss more about certain topics.
Let's be honest, most of the evaluations were definitely negative. But as that inexperienced novice of an instructor, I can choose to view these one of two ways: 1) They hated me and and I'm a bad teacher that isn't worthy to stand in front of students ever, or 2) There are lots of ways that I can improve this course and my teaching to further reach and impact students' lives. Frankly, I prefer the latter. As it turns out, teaching experienced can only beget teaching experience. I was blessed with certain traits, gifts, and abilities that allowed me to gravitate to the field I am in, but it is only with hard earned years of training, critical evaluations, and intentional improvements that I can really become a better teacher.
I didn't leave the university after all of those bad evaluations which means that I will once again be given the opportunity to develop a curriculum, work with other faculty, and attempt to reach into students' lives with information and knowledge that the university believes to have value. Bad course evaluations are not a weapon. They're a tool. The ability to tell the difference and use them appropriately is what will make me into a better teacher.
Now, where's my textbook?
After a month or so of procrastinating the task, last week I finally started unsealing the envelopes that held the student evaluations for the course that I coordinated for the first time this fall. Perhaps I knew to some extent what they might say, and perhaps I already knew that I wouldn't want to see the feedback.
As a fairly new professor with only a few classes under my belt, I was tasked with developing an entirely new course, one in which 36 other instructors were strung along at my bidding, trying to implement the curriculum that I placed before them. At the time of the tasking, due to the rushed timeline mainly, I didn't really stop to think how daunting something like this might actually be. I didn't consider that the instructors wouldn't like some of it or that the students wouldn't dig into the content. I just frantically pulled together lectures and discussions, readings and writing prompts, mostly as we went along, hoping that it would be met with some level of success.
And then I opened that first envelope.
Students were asked what their favorite part of the course was, what they felt they learned the most about, how they identified with the materials and lectures, and what they would change if they could. And boy did students respond. After about the 400th evaluation, I could read no more. I was heart broken and defeated. And I was pretty sure that I never wanted to go in front of a group of students again. I had failed them, and they were disappointed. I showed my true colors of an unprepared, inexperienced novice of an instructor that no amount of bluffing or exuded confidence could mask.
After some time with this crushing blow, and a few meetings with supervisors that offered a much more experienced perspective, I started reading through the evaluations a second time. This time, I took me out of the equation. I filtered the bratty, snide remarks aimed directly at me, and really read what the students were saying. And what I read the second time started to amaze rather than burden me.
Most students could identify something that they liked about the course. It may have been the comfy chairs in the auditorium, but it was still something. Many students could identify a specific topic or lecture that they enjoyed because of how it spoke to them or how they interacted with the material. Nearly everyone could identify something that they actually learned something about. And almost everyone felt invited into a community of peers and instructors, noting discussions, informality, openness as key traits to that community. A few students indicated that they wanted to dig deeper, to learn more, to discuss more about certain topics.
Let's be honest, most of the evaluations were definitely negative. But as that inexperienced novice of an instructor, I can choose to view these one of two ways: 1) They hated me and and I'm a bad teacher that isn't worthy to stand in front of students ever, or 2) There are lots of ways that I can improve this course and my teaching to further reach and impact students' lives. Frankly, I prefer the latter. As it turns out, teaching experienced can only beget teaching experience. I was blessed with certain traits, gifts, and abilities that allowed me to gravitate to the field I am in, but it is only with hard earned years of training, critical evaluations, and intentional improvements that I can really become a better teacher.
I didn't leave the university after all of those bad evaluations which means that I will once again be given the opportunity to develop a curriculum, work with other faculty, and attempt to reach into students' lives with information and knowledge that the university believes to have value. Bad course evaluations are not a weapon. They're a tool. The ability to tell the difference and use them appropriately is what will make me into a better teacher.
Now, where's my textbook?
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
On Weddings
First of all, let me promise you here, before you roll your eyes, that the next six months will not be filled with wedding planning updates and bridezilla-style rants (oh, did I mention I got engaged on the 23rd?). But I feel that I do need to establish a firm stance on what I've observed and witnessed in my first week of betrothed life.
To modern American culture, I give a big Screw You! A lovely close friend of mine sent me a engagement care package with a few bridal magazines in them, and I also received "the wedding box" from Derrick's aunt, and inside that box was a wedding planning book. I quickly became disgusted by both the magazines and the book and now understand more than ever why divorce is so prevalent in our society. Midway through the wedding planning book, full of great tips on invitation wording, time lines, sticking to budgets...smack in the middle was a whole chapter on losing weight before the big day. Um, what? Why? What does this have to do with wedding planning at all? The fact that this one day, eight hours or less really, is so flippin' important that we must calorie count and schedule extra workouts to get the perfect bod for all your family and friends and new hubby to see, is completely insane! How about we do those things irrespective of a wedding date because we want to be healthy! Not because we want to slim down for a day. Ugh. Not only that, but the bridal magazines and google image searches make it utterly impossible to have the "perfect" wedding day for normal oafs like me. The women in those magazines are so airbrushed its a wonder they still look human, and every page is filled with fantasy images of romantic gazebos strung with yards of whimsy fabrics and delicate lights followed by honeymoon ideas that would drag most new couples directly to bankruptcy. How did we get here? What happened to the church basement reception? The celebration amongst friends? More importantly, what happened to the marriage?
In conversations about wedding planning so far, my most common response to just about any question has been, Oh, I don't really care. The reason? Because I hate that this is what weddings have become. I hate our culture for forcing us to try to live out impossible dreams spending every penny we have on one day with little attention paid to what happens on day two or week two or year two of being wed. Now don't get me wrong, all of this firey wrath toward our culture's misdirection of matrimonial magic will not somehow lead to a schlumpy, jeans-and-t-shirts wedding. We will throw a nice party. We will bring together all of our family and friends, and we will eat, drink, dance, laugh, hug, cry, and party epically. But we do it because the life that follows the day is worth the celebration not because the celebration somehow defines the life that follows.
We will have good food and drink to share but not because I want to flaunt the fact that we can afford it but rather because with that much celebrating, people will get hungry and need to eat. We will have good but somewhat unusual music because it represents who we are and the things that we love and share. We will have close friends and relatives stand with us not to show off how cool we are and how many friends we have (have you seen that trend recently with the 12+ attendants - silly) but because they are dear to us and we want them close by when we seal one of the most significantly life altering decisions of our lives. The rest? Well, the rest I really just truly don't care that much about. I'm sure there will be decorations and lights and details and personal touches that will have to be added in, but they won't define the day, and they certainly won't define our lives together.
So screw you society requiring weddings to be just so to be "right". And screw perfection and pomp and tying tiny little bows on hundreds of invitations and giveaways and programs. And screw matching fonts and pantone color numbers and identical shoes and dresses and suits. My attention is focused on the fact that Derrick and I will be married rather that just get married.
To modern American culture, I give a big Screw You! A lovely close friend of mine sent me a engagement care package with a few bridal magazines in them, and I also received "the wedding box" from Derrick's aunt, and inside that box was a wedding planning book. I quickly became disgusted by both the magazines and the book and now understand more than ever why divorce is so prevalent in our society. Midway through the wedding planning book, full of great tips on invitation wording, time lines, sticking to budgets...smack in the middle was a whole chapter on losing weight before the big day. Um, what? Why? What does this have to do with wedding planning at all? The fact that this one day, eight hours or less really, is so flippin' important that we must calorie count and schedule extra workouts to get the perfect bod for all your family and friends and new hubby to see, is completely insane! How about we do those things irrespective of a wedding date because we want to be healthy! Not because we want to slim down for a day. Ugh. Not only that, but the bridal magazines and google image searches make it utterly impossible to have the "perfect" wedding day for normal oafs like me. The women in those magazines are so airbrushed its a wonder they still look human, and every page is filled with fantasy images of romantic gazebos strung with yards of whimsy fabrics and delicate lights followed by honeymoon ideas that would drag most new couples directly to bankruptcy. How did we get here? What happened to the church basement reception? The celebration amongst friends? More importantly, what happened to the marriage?
In conversations about wedding planning so far, my most common response to just about any question has been, Oh, I don't really care. The reason? Because I hate that this is what weddings have become. I hate our culture for forcing us to try to live out impossible dreams spending every penny we have on one day with little attention paid to what happens on day two or week two or year two of being wed. Now don't get me wrong, all of this firey wrath toward our culture's misdirection of matrimonial magic will not somehow lead to a schlumpy, jeans-and-t-shirts wedding. We will throw a nice party. We will bring together all of our family and friends, and we will eat, drink, dance, laugh, hug, cry, and party epically. But we do it because the life that follows the day is worth the celebration not because the celebration somehow defines the life that follows.
We will have good food and drink to share but not because I want to flaunt the fact that we can afford it but rather because with that much celebrating, people will get hungry and need to eat. We will have good but somewhat unusual music because it represents who we are and the things that we love and share. We will have close friends and relatives stand with us not to show off how cool we are and how many friends we have (have you seen that trend recently with the 12+ attendants - silly) but because they are dear to us and we want them close by when we seal one of the most significantly life altering decisions of our lives. The rest? Well, the rest I really just truly don't care that much about. I'm sure there will be decorations and lights and details and personal touches that will have to be added in, but they won't define the day, and they certainly won't define our lives together.
So screw you society requiring weddings to be just so to be "right". And screw perfection and pomp and tying tiny little bows on hundreds of invitations and giveaways and programs. And screw matching fonts and pantone color numbers and identical shoes and dresses and suits. My attention is focused on the fact that Derrick and I will be married rather that just get married.
Sunday, December 01, 2013
Stress Isn't Sexy
Let me just preface this post by saying stress happens. Trust me, I'm one of the first people who can, from first-hand experience, justify this being said. There are just times when freakouts, tears, meltdowns, and all out wig-outs are perfectly warranted. However, as a general rule, I have come to learn that this should not be, well, the general rule. Here's my probably skewed, far-too-closely-removed, just-been-there-just-done-that perspective on stress from both the internal and external view.
To those suffering from acute amounts of stress and the mismanagement thereof (and I speak as a recently recovering stress-addict myself), stress is not a badge of honor. Now, I know what you're about to say (because I've said it). I don't 'honor' stress! I know you don't. I didn't think I did either. But whether or not you actually consciously think/say it or not, here's the logic.
Stress is hard.
I'm stressed because I have so much to do.
I have so much to do because someone has entrusted me with all of it.
I must be pretty good at things to be entrusted with so much.
I will do all of the things because I know I can.
I am stressed because I do all the things.
Stress is hard.
Do you see what I did there? There is no fatal flaw in this logic necessarily. In fact, perhaps all of those things are true. But somewhere in there, sometimes, maybe even just a little, there's a hint of pride that slips in there. Something like, the stress is good because it results from me being good at things and people trusting me, therefore I should be stressed. And that, friend, is honoring your stress which may result in you wearing it with a little pride.
Stress has more to teach us than this, though. Stress does not control you. And your response is naturally (again, because it has come out of my own mouth), But I can't change my situation. Or, My job is doing this to me. Or, If I don't do this, it will fail. The objects of your stressful life are merely that. Objects. Or maybe people or time or a situation. And if they are only that, then they are, indeed changeable, avoidable, or fixable. Now before you launch into an all out less-than-logical-because-it's-emotional argument with me, I get it. I understand how you feel and I know why you're thinking what you are. But I am not the Pollyanna, puppies-and-rainbows, be joyful in all things girl you're thinking I am. In fact, more often than not, I describe myself as an ambitious worst-case-scenarioist at best. But here's the deal. If you're ever going to find a way to live a lower stress life, you're going to have to change the way you think about stress and who you consider to actually be in control here.
A very valuable word should enter into your vocabulary: no. You may have a lot to do. People see this and ask you to do more because you're pretty good at doing stuff. You think you can so you say yes. And then you're more stressed than you were before. Sometimes things just have to give. For me, blogging primarily fell by the wayside as I floundered away in my stress. Some relationships took a hit. Some of the quality of my work began to get shaky. Because I could not, in fact, do it all. Enter the glory of the word no. By saying no to coordinating the office gift exchange, I have freed up an hour or so to, say, write this blog entry. By saying no to staying late at work one night a week, I can workout instead. By saying no to an exciting offer to work on the next big visionary project at work, I get to spend an extra night with Derrick. By saying no to obsessing over timelines, I allow for the flexibility that is required sometimes when working with others. Each time I say no, I find something that I can say yes to. Priorities begin to shift, productivity and quality in many cases goes up, and I am free of the weight that comes with being the woman who can do all of the things. This is control, folks.
One more lesson from stress for the road: Stress isn't sexy. That's right. I said it. When you're stressed, people honesty don't know what to do for you. They don't know how to help you. And in most cases, there isn't any actual way that they can. But they try. They let you rant on the phone, hug you when you cry, wait patiently to get to see you on your mega-stressed terms. It's no fun. It makes them feel bad. It makes them consider keeping their distance. It makes them walk on eggshells to try not to make it worse. Your stress has the potential to harm and change others. For some of you, this news is more stress inducing than reducing in this moment. Now again, there are times that you just need someone to lean on, and there will be times that people you know will need you. But when you always choose to live in high-stress mode, you're not sexy.
It's time we take a good look at our lives, and realize that stress is not honorable, uncontrollable, or good. It harms you, it harms others, and it can serve as an awful ugly addiction that we refuse to believe can be managed. But it can, and it must be. I have started by making small choices here and there to take back control. Some of them were easy. Some of them have challenged me to rethink everything. But I'm starting to feel sexy again, as if I can be someone that acts more like a people magnet than repellent. And I feel like I know who's in control here, and it's not my job, my dissertation, or my travel schedule. And I know that stress cannot be linked to pride. Doing all of the things does not make me a superhero. It just makes me cranky.
So here's to a low-stress, high-choice, sexy December that I intend to enjoy to the fullest.
To those suffering from acute amounts of stress and the mismanagement thereof (and I speak as a recently recovering stress-addict myself), stress is not a badge of honor. Now, I know what you're about to say (because I've said it). I don't 'honor' stress! I know you don't. I didn't think I did either. But whether or not you actually consciously think/say it or not, here's the logic.
Stress is hard.
I'm stressed because I have so much to do.
I have so much to do because someone has entrusted me with all of it.
I must be pretty good at things to be entrusted with so much.
I will do all of the things because I know I can.
I am stressed because I do all the things.
Stress is hard.
Do you see what I did there? There is no fatal flaw in this logic necessarily. In fact, perhaps all of those things are true. But somewhere in there, sometimes, maybe even just a little, there's a hint of pride that slips in there. Something like, the stress is good because it results from me being good at things and people trusting me, therefore I should be stressed. And that, friend, is honoring your stress which may result in you wearing it with a little pride.
Stress has more to teach us than this, though. Stress does not control you. And your response is naturally (again, because it has come out of my own mouth), But I can't change my situation. Or, My job is doing this to me. Or, If I don't do this, it will fail. The objects of your stressful life are merely that. Objects. Or maybe people or time or a situation. And if they are only that, then they are, indeed changeable, avoidable, or fixable. Now before you launch into an all out less-than-logical-because-it's-emotional argument with me, I get it. I understand how you feel and I know why you're thinking what you are. But I am not the Pollyanna, puppies-and-rainbows, be joyful in all things girl you're thinking I am. In fact, more often than not, I describe myself as an ambitious worst-case-scenarioist at best. But here's the deal. If you're ever going to find a way to live a lower stress life, you're going to have to change the way you think about stress and who you consider to actually be in control here.
A very valuable word should enter into your vocabulary: no. You may have a lot to do. People see this and ask you to do more because you're pretty good at doing stuff. You think you can so you say yes. And then you're more stressed than you were before. Sometimes things just have to give. For me, blogging primarily fell by the wayside as I floundered away in my stress. Some relationships took a hit. Some of the quality of my work began to get shaky. Because I could not, in fact, do it all. Enter the glory of the word no. By saying no to coordinating the office gift exchange, I have freed up an hour or so to, say, write this blog entry. By saying no to staying late at work one night a week, I can workout instead. By saying no to an exciting offer to work on the next big visionary project at work, I get to spend an extra night with Derrick. By saying no to obsessing over timelines, I allow for the flexibility that is required sometimes when working with others. Each time I say no, I find something that I can say yes to. Priorities begin to shift, productivity and quality in many cases goes up, and I am free of the weight that comes with being the woman who can do all of the things. This is control, folks.
One more lesson from stress for the road: Stress isn't sexy. That's right. I said it. When you're stressed, people honesty don't know what to do for you. They don't know how to help you. And in most cases, there isn't any actual way that they can. But they try. They let you rant on the phone, hug you when you cry, wait patiently to get to see you on your mega-stressed terms. It's no fun. It makes them feel bad. It makes them consider keeping their distance. It makes them walk on eggshells to try not to make it worse. Your stress has the potential to harm and change others. For some of you, this news is more stress inducing than reducing in this moment. Now again, there are times that you just need someone to lean on, and there will be times that people you know will need you. But when you always choose to live in high-stress mode, you're not sexy.
It's time we take a good look at our lives, and realize that stress is not honorable, uncontrollable, or good. It harms you, it harms others, and it can serve as an awful ugly addiction that we refuse to believe can be managed. But it can, and it must be. I have started by making small choices here and there to take back control. Some of them were easy. Some of them have challenged me to rethink everything. But I'm starting to feel sexy again, as if I can be someone that acts more like a people magnet than repellent. And I feel like I know who's in control here, and it's not my job, my dissertation, or my travel schedule. And I know that stress cannot be linked to pride. Doing all of the things does not make me a superhero. It just makes me cranky.
So here's to a low-stress, high-choice, sexy December that I intend to enjoy to the fullest.
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
The Forgotten Post
I started this post over a month ago, when I apparently had a few spare moments to reflect on life. But then I promptly forgot I had started it. I literally just posted my traditional birthday-ish post when I found this. I didn't want to just leave it behind., so I present to you, the forgotten birthday post.
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It's usually around this time of year that I get a little reflective of the year gone by. What have I done with the 365 days since the celebration of my birth last year? What has this year done to me? And what is in store for next year? But first, let's look back.
If you'll recall, last year on my 29th birthday, I christened the year as the "Year of Go!" I wasn't sure why I had to dedicate it as such. It just felt appropriate. We can take a quick look back at the "Year of Go!'s" origins here.
Now that the "Year of Go" is drawing to a close, I've started to think back over all of the things that the year brought my way...the lessons learned, the accomplishments accomplished, the joys and challenges...
A few things have happened:
There are seasons. This season of going is not and cannot be a permanent state of being. There are many other seasons to come. Embrace each one to the extent that you can while you're in it. Strangely, there are always things you'll miss about the season before as you settle into a new one.
The condition of one's home is inversely related to the amount of one's responsibilities. Three jobs, a dissertation, a garden, a boyfriend, a few loyal friends...one messy house. Though I still find myself apologetic about the crumbs on the kitchen floor or the loose hairs everywhere in the bathroom, I am a little less cautious about allowing people in to discover it. Stacks and piles prove that someone is living a life in there. Pillows on the floor show that someone actually uses the couch for something sometimes. Shoes by the door display movement and activity. This is real life. And I've got real life all over my house right now.
Natural is okay. You don't have to be made up to go to Target. Stores accept you in flip flops and workout shorts. No one notices (or at least no one mentions) when you stop styling your hair everyday. In fact, let the record show that I recall blow drying my hair about twice this year. In the last year! Prior to that, there were about as many days in any given year that I would not have done my hair.
---
I feel that this post is a little lacking. I'm sure at the time I originally wrote it, I had far more lessons that I felt I had learned. But tonight, I'm content to just be, lessons or not. If I come up with more lessons from the year, perhaps I'll share them at another time. Until then, celebrate on, friends.
---
It's usually around this time of year that I get a little reflective of the year gone by. What have I done with the 365 days since the celebration of my birth last year? What has this year done to me? And what is in store for next year? But first, let's look back.
If you'll recall, last year on my 29th birthday, I christened the year as the "Year of Go!" I wasn't sure why I had to dedicate it as such. It just felt appropriate. We can take a quick look back at the "Year of Go!'s" origins here.
Now that the "Year of Go" is drawing to a close, I've started to think back over all of the things that the year brought my way...the lessons learned, the accomplishments accomplished, the joys and challenges...
A few things have happened:
I fell in love with this guy... Our first few months, we mainly just fought, but during the "Year of Go", we learned a lot about each others' hearts, how we communicate, where our passions lie, how we express ourselves. We calmed the heck down, learned to really talk, and grew closer together. Now we're pretty much inseparable...except for the 95 or so miles between us.I've learned a few things:
I gained a second family. Something funny happens when you fall in love with a person. You get his whole family, too. Adventures with the Ward family are never in short supply. And we continue to navigate the waters of work and personal lives intersecting, but I think of them as family. And depending on the situation, occasionally get introduced collectively with "the kids" which always makes me smile.
I got a new job. I was given the title Director of the First-Year Experience at UD. This would have been a far greater gift in the beginning had it been a stand alone position. I don't think anyone around ever really realized how difficult it would be to keep two full-time student activities positions and a new position all moving forward at the same time.
I finished coursework at Edgewood. I am now ABD and am working crazily to finish drafting my dissertation proposal. It seems crazy that another year has gone by, but it seems really crazy that a nearly three-year journey is hopefully soon to be ending.
There are seasons. This season of going is not and cannot be a permanent state of being. There are many other seasons to come. Embrace each one to the extent that you can while you're in it. Strangely, there are always things you'll miss about the season before as you settle into a new one.
The condition of one's home is inversely related to the amount of one's responsibilities. Three jobs, a dissertation, a garden, a boyfriend, a few loyal friends...one messy house. Though I still find myself apologetic about the crumbs on the kitchen floor or the loose hairs everywhere in the bathroom, I am a little less cautious about allowing people in to discover it. Stacks and piles prove that someone is living a life in there. Pillows on the floor show that someone actually uses the couch for something sometimes. Shoes by the door display movement and activity. This is real life. And I've got real life all over my house right now.
Natural is okay. You don't have to be made up to go to Target. Stores accept you in flip flops and workout shorts. No one notices (or at least no one mentions) when you stop styling your hair everyday. In fact, let the record show that I recall blow drying my hair about twice this year. In the last year! Prior to that, there were about as many days in any given year that I would not have done my hair.
---
I feel that this post is a little lacking. I'm sure at the time I originally wrote it, I had far more lessons that I felt I had learned. But tonight, I'm content to just be, lessons or not. If I come up with more lessons from the year, perhaps I'll share them at another time. Until then, celebrate on, friends.
The Year of Go Up and Went
Faithful followers (the few of you there may still be after a more than six month hiatus), there are a lot of things that are hard for me to believe.
It's hard to believe that another year has gone by, as marked by my recent milestone birthday.
It's hard to believe that I abandoned all personal writing to make room for writing of a more academic type.
It's hard to believe how very blessed my life is in every way.
This past weekend was such an amazing reminder of so much. I spent time looking into the eyes of the man that is shaping my dreams and future. I ate amazingly delicious foods. I ran and ran hard. I enjoyed the beauty of the great outdoors. I enjoyed not one, but two wonderful families. I sipped coffee and wine. I laughed. I cooked. I slept in. It. Was. Wonderful.
Year 29 was deemed the Year of Go. And boy did it ever. I blinked and it was gone. It came with a fair amount of good and bad. I was stressed. I was happy. I procrastinated. I rushed. I traveled. I wrote. I didn't hesitate. I didn't overthink. (At least I tried not to overthink.) Overall, it was a pretty good year. But it is gone. Fitting for the Year of Go, I think.
Year 30's name is Celebration. It's time to change gears. The Year of Go was about as fast I could have imagined it to be. Celebration will be different. It's not about going, pushing limits, or accomplishing lots of things. Celebration is about, well, celebrating. Stopping to intentionally cheer on life in all situations. It's about throwing a party for receiving advisor approval to send in some required paperwork for your dissertation. It's about an extra latte on the days that meetings go better than intended. Throwing up your hands in praise when you get a phone call from a loved one. Laughing at a bad joke. Encouraging others. Drawing loved ones in close. Hugs.
There may be bad days in Celebration. Even in bad days though, certainly there is something worth celebrating. Each day. But there will be many good days. And those will be fully celebrated, on purpose.
So, let's celebrate together, shall we? Let's encourage each other. Let's bring light to each others' lives. Let's love and cheer and laugh and hug and enjoy every single moment. That's the year of Celebration. Time to celebrate.
It's hard to believe that another year has gone by, as marked by my recent milestone birthday.
It's hard to believe that I abandoned all personal writing to make room for writing of a more academic type.
It's hard to believe how very blessed my life is in every way.
This past weekend was such an amazing reminder of so much. I spent time looking into the eyes of the man that is shaping my dreams and future. I ate amazingly delicious foods. I ran and ran hard. I enjoyed the beauty of the great outdoors. I enjoyed not one, but two wonderful families. I sipped coffee and wine. I laughed. I cooked. I slept in. It. Was. Wonderful.
Year 29 was deemed the Year of Go. And boy did it ever. I blinked and it was gone. It came with a fair amount of good and bad. I was stressed. I was happy. I procrastinated. I rushed. I traveled. I wrote. I didn't hesitate. I didn't overthink. (At least I tried not to overthink.) Overall, it was a pretty good year. But it is gone. Fitting for the Year of Go, I think.
Year 30's name is Celebration. It's time to change gears. The Year of Go was about as fast I could have imagined it to be. Celebration will be different. It's not about going, pushing limits, or accomplishing lots of things. Celebration is about, well, celebrating. Stopping to intentionally cheer on life in all situations. It's about throwing a party for receiving advisor approval to send in some required paperwork for your dissertation. It's about an extra latte on the days that meetings go better than intended. Throwing up your hands in praise when you get a phone call from a loved one. Laughing at a bad joke. Encouraging others. Drawing loved ones in close. Hugs.
There may be bad days in Celebration. Even in bad days though, certainly there is something worth celebrating. Each day. But there will be many good days. And those will be fully celebrated, on purpose.
So, let's celebrate together, shall we? Let's encourage each other. Let's bring light to each others' lives. Let's love and cheer and laugh and hug and enjoy every single moment. That's the year of Celebration. Time to celebrate.
Thursday, April 11, 2013
A Little Less
I've spent much of the last few years asking for more. More money. More responsibility. More dwelling space. More garden. More education. And I know beyond a doubt that there are seasons for more. And in the past five or so years, I've learned a lot about living with more. In fact, I feel like as I asked for more, God blessed me more. That is not to say that I asked for more money and He handed me excesses of cash, but rather if I wanted more responsibility, more work, more education, the avenues presented themselves clearly in order to receive more.
But humans have physical limitations. Oh, do we. And this spring semester, perhaps for the first time in a long time of asking for more, I have reached my limits. I work like crazy with a job filled with important responsibilities. I participate faithfully in the discipline of church and leadership there. I am nearly finished with my doctoral degree but have a dissertation to get writing. And I have a loving boyfriend who I adore. But, truth be told, I'm tired. With five weeks to go in the semester, I wonder how it's all going to fit, even for five more weeks. And in reality, it probably doesn't all fit.
So, my heart cries out with a different prayer, this time not for more of all of the things I've prayed so fervently for, but maybe a little less. For the first time I've really felt called to serve in ways that look like less even if they're really not. And for the first time, I think I'm starting to understand why. In my quest for more, I have actually had to experience less of many things along the way. Less relationships, less time for people I love, less community involvement, less personal reading, less physical activity, less reflection and prayer. These things are things God calls us to in life, taking care of our bodies, our hearts, and our beloved. And in my muchness, I have allowed these things to wither. Which has my whole person withering.
In order to experience more, perhaps for a while I need to ask for less. It's a concept that I hope I can move toward even in a busy season of life filled with muchness that can't be avoided for a short time. God blesses our hearts even beyond what we can know how to ask. And even through the stress and busy and muchness, He has blessed me with perhaps a bit of wisdom to feel the permission to ask for less. And hopefully I will soon learn that less really is more.
But humans have physical limitations. Oh, do we. And this spring semester, perhaps for the first time in a long time of asking for more, I have reached my limits. I work like crazy with a job filled with important responsibilities. I participate faithfully in the discipline of church and leadership there. I am nearly finished with my doctoral degree but have a dissertation to get writing. And I have a loving boyfriend who I adore. But, truth be told, I'm tired. With five weeks to go in the semester, I wonder how it's all going to fit, even for five more weeks. And in reality, it probably doesn't all fit.
So, my heart cries out with a different prayer, this time not for more of all of the things I've prayed so fervently for, but maybe a little less. For the first time I've really felt called to serve in ways that look like less even if they're really not. And for the first time, I think I'm starting to understand why. In my quest for more, I have actually had to experience less of many things along the way. Less relationships, less time for people I love, less community involvement, less personal reading, less physical activity, less reflection and prayer. These things are things God calls us to in life, taking care of our bodies, our hearts, and our beloved. And in my muchness, I have allowed these things to wither. Which has my whole person withering.
In order to experience more, perhaps for a while I need to ask for less. It's a concept that I hope I can move toward even in a busy season of life filled with muchness that can't be avoided for a short time. God blesses our hearts even beyond what we can know how to ask. And even through the stress and busy and muchness, He has blessed me with perhaps a bit of wisdom to feel the permission to ask for less. And hopefully I will soon learn that less really is more.
Wednesday, March 06, 2013
"Suck it up."
Today, I was being whiny. Well, actually the last few weeks I've been sort of whiny. I struggle some days with the routine that I've created for myself. Wake up early, work really hard, study really hard, go to bed late. Lather, rinse, repeat. Lately, as I've struggled to maintain such a routine, I've found myself getting increasingly down. Just tired. Just wanting a change of pace.
Sometimes when we get this way, we maybe need to be this way for a while. It's our person's way of notifying the brain and the heart that something isn't quite right, that a change is necessary. And after getting it all out, or making a real change, we feel better. Life gets brighter. We break routine and move on.
Sometimes when we get this way, God chooses to give us the "suck it up" talk. Well, maybe He doesn't actually use the words "suck it up." I don't remember seeing that exact phrase in the Bible anywhere recently. I feel like today I received a clear "suck it up, Lindsey," moment. Do I have a lot on my plate right now? Yes. Is the routine generally not a lot of fun? Maybe so. Did I ask for this life and the career and the school and the relationships that are all happening at once? Yes. Did I ask for even more than this? Yes! And why did I ask for more than this? Why did I ask for a crazy, tight, ridiculous, busy life filled with love and learning and working and helping? Because my heart knew it was me. Tonight, I received one more thing, one more thing that I specifically asked for, that I took specific action to receive, that I moved toward not away from. And it's my time to decide. Do I really want more? Or am I going to be a whiny baby that wants less? Less than what I'm capable of, less than what my heart craves?
This is exactly what the Year of Go is all about. Not about pushing myself to the limits of human ability and sanity (though there's certainly enough of that, too). It's about being grateful for what I've been given. About pursuing opportunities then not running away from them when they actually present themselves.It's about not over-thinking, not over-whining, not fearing, not questioning... Just going. Sucking it up. And going.
I've made my choice. I'm not a little girl. I'm not an incapable, inexperienced, inconsistent wild flailer, freaking out at every little thing. I'm a professional. I'm good at what I do. I can handle more than I am handling now. And I invite it. Deep breath, it's go time.
Sometimes when we get this way, we maybe need to be this way for a while. It's our person's way of notifying the brain and the heart that something isn't quite right, that a change is necessary. And after getting it all out, or making a real change, we feel better. Life gets brighter. We break routine and move on.
Sometimes when we get this way, God chooses to give us the "suck it up" talk. Well, maybe He doesn't actually use the words "suck it up." I don't remember seeing that exact phrase in the Bible anywhere recently. I feel like today I received a clear "suck it up, Lindsey," moment. Do I have a lot on my plate right now? Yes. Is the routine generally not a lot of fun? Maybe so. Did I ask for this life and the career and the school and the relationships that are all happening at once? Yes. Did I ask for even more than this? Yes! And why did I ask for more than this? Why did I ask for a crazy, tight, ridiculous, busy life filled with love and learning and working and helping? Because my heart knew it was me. Tonight, I received one more thing, one more thing that I specifically asked for, that I took specific action to receive, that I moved toward not away from. And it's my time to decide. Do I really want more? Or am I going to be a whiny baby that wants less? Less than what I'm capable of, less than what my heart craves?
This is exactly what the Year of Go is all about. Not about pushing myself to the limits of human ability and sanity (though there's certainly enough of that, too). It's about being grateful for what I've been given. About pursuing opportunities then not running away from them when they actually present themselves.It's about not over-thinking, not over-whining, not fearing, not questioning... Just going. Sucking it up. And going.
I've made my choice. I'm not a little girl. I'm not an incapable, inexperienced, inconsistent wild flailer, freaking out at every little thing. I'm a professional. I'm good at what I do. I can handle more than I am handling now. And I invite it. Deep breath, it's go time.
Monday, February 25, 2013
I'm glad I didn't know you then.
As we sit around the living room at Derrick's parents' house, the conversation turns to work. It usually does with three of us working at the same institution. Talk casually turns to history, great bosses, and personal experiences throughout our short history at UD. A flood of memories come rushing through my brain as we talk, and in my usual far-too-candid way, I recount memories of a different time, a different me when I was younger, louder, bolder, and I was sure "right-er". Memories of me yelling at coworkers, of slammed doors and planned escape routes, of plots of hostile takeovers. These stories came forth as if I was reading a fiction novel aloud.
"I think I'm glad I didn't know you then," she says. Annalee always has a way with honest words. Then, with a little more reflection she added, "It's sort of amazing that you didn't get fired."
It is sort of amazing. The department was in turmoil, relationships were frayed, we were all overworked, under-appreciated, and dealing with more stress that any one year should throw at you. And in the middle of it all, there I was. Yelling, throwing fits, slamming doors, sneaking around, deliberately disobeying. I played the newbie card a lot ("I didn't know. I'm new still."). I played the arrogance card a lot ("I'm right, you're wrong. Deal with it."). Looking back, I wonder who that person was. Where did she come from? How did she get that way?
Times have changed. People have come and gone. And somehow, five years later, I'm still here. And somehow, I've changed. In the growing up and the growing old, I have not completely lost my fire, and the propensity for the occasional tantrum still lives in my belly. I have not completely grown wise, as the shoulder angel and demon still whisper arguments of proper behavior and decisions in my ears. I have not completely figured it all out yet. In fact, perhaps the opposite has happened - the older I get, the less sure I am about how I right I might be.
I look back on many a chicken scratch tucked away in old notebooks, unpublished blog entries still in draft form hidden from view, and the memories of what seems now like a former existence altogether. And one theme sticks out. Grace. Oh the grace of patient coworkers, of caring bosses, of family and friends around me. I could have been beaten into submission, snuffed out of power and privilege, left to learn lessons on my own in the cold corners of the harsh world. But I wasn't. Somehow, I was nurtured. I was cared for. I was encouraged. I was given second (and third and fourth) chances.
Part of me wants to erase the ugly bit of personal history. Part of me wants to sweep it under a rug or hide it in a dark closet. I wish it wouldn't have happened that way. "I'm glad I didn't know you then," cuts to a person's innermost parts because I can't separate the Lindsey of then with the Lindsey of now. But God's grace is lavishly evident in my life, shown through the people all around me, through the second chances, through the growing, and forgiveness, and relationships, and joy. Without the past as it was, I can't exist as I am. And with that knowledge, I can humbly own my history, even though it wasn't pretty or pleasant, because without it God might not have started growing me. And grow me He has, and is, and will. I bear His image, though imperfectly, and mostly through the lens of grace, and through the growth that only a good and loving God can provide.
"I think I'm glad I didn't know you then," she says. Annalee always has a way with honest words. Then, with a little more reflection she added, "It's sort of amazing that you didn't get fired."
It is sort of amazing. The department was in turmoil, relationships were frayed, we were all overworked, under-appreciated, and dealing with more stress that any one year should throw at you. And in the middle of it all, there I was. Yelling, throwing fits, slamming doors, sneaking around, deliberately disobeying. I played the newbie card a lot ("I didn't know. I'm new still."). I played the arrogance card a lot ("I'm right, you're wrong. Deal with it."). Looking back, I wonder who that person was. Where did she come from? How did she get that way?
Times have changed. People have come and gone. And somehow, five years later, I'm still here. And somehow, I've changed. In the growing up and the growing old, I have not completely lost my fire, and the propensity for the occasional tantrum still lives in my belly. I have not completely grown wise, as the shoulder angel and demon still whisper arguments of proper behavior and decisions in my ears. I have not completely figured it all out yet. In fact, perhaps the opposite has happened - the older I get, the less sure I am about how I right I might be.
I look back on many a chicken scratch tucked away in old notebooks, unpublished blog entries still in draft form hidden from view, and the memories of what seems now like a former existence altogether. And one theme sticks out. Grace. Oh the grace of patient coworkers, of caring bosses, of family and friends around me. I could have been beaten into submission, snuffed out of power and privilege, left to learn lessons on my own in the cold corners of the harsh world. But I wasn't. Somehow, I was nurtured. I was cared for. I was encouraged. I was given second (and third and fourth) chances.
Part of me wants to erase the ugly bit of personal history. Part of me wants to sweep it under a rug or hide it in a dark closet. I wish it wouldn't have happened that way. "I'm glad I didn't know you then," cuts to a person's innermost parts because I can't separate the Lindsey of then with the Lindsey of now. But God's grace is lavishly evident in my life, shown through the people all around me, through the second chances, through the growing, and forgiveness, and relationships, and joy. Without the past as it was, I can't exist as I am. And with that knowledge, I can humbly own my history, even though it wasn't pretty or pleasant, because without it God might not have started growing me. And grow me He has, and is, and will. I bear His image, though imperfectly, and mostly through the lens of grace, and through the growth that only a good and loving God can provide.
Tuesday, February 05, 2013
Embracing Adulthood: Sharing Lessons I Learned the Hard Way
Today, I had a heart-to-heart with a few students, and as I was talking to them, I found myself pausing, thinking, "Am I talking to a younger me right now?"
I started listening to myself, really listening to what I was telling these young women in my office. And after they left, I sort of chuckled. The very things I was telling them were the very things that others had told me only a few years before. I envisioned myself in similar situations as these young women faced and realized that I would have probably handled things how they had just a few short years ago. But now, there's the whole new perspective that I view the world with, a new attitude, maybe even a thin layer of wisdom that keeps me from repeating (most of) the mistakes of my youth.
A year or two ago, I found myself in this place that I didn't really want to be. Not quite young but not quiet grown up. Not quite wise but not really a fool. Not quite mature but not completely immature either. I watched the real grown-ups around me making even-keeled decisions as I flipped out, remaining calm when I wanted to shout. As I made mistakes, stumbled and staggered through the not-quite-adulthood I had found myself in, I grew more and more frustrated just wanting to be "there", arriving at full, mastered adulthood.
Today, I'm still certainly not the sage, calm, even-keeled adult that I dream of one day becoming, but my how I've grown. And continue to grow. Today was just such a clear reminder of that, that it's time to embrace the wisdom-seeking adult that I'm becoming. I guess sometimes it takes a little-you in front of you to show you how not-so-little you are.
I started listening to myself, really listening to what I was telling these young women in my office. And after they left, I sort of chuckled. The very things I was telling them were the very things that others had told me only a few years before. I envisioned myself in similar situations as these young women faced and realized that I would have probably handled things how they had just a few short years ago. But now, there's the whole new perspective that I view the world with, a new attitude, maybe even a thin layer of wisdom that keeps me from repeating (most of) the mistakes of my youth.
A year or two ago, I found myself in this place that I didn't really want to be. Not quite young but not quiet grown up. Not quite wise but not really a fool. Not quite mature but not completely immature either. I watched the real grown-ups around me making even-keeled decisions as I flipped out, remaining calm when I wanted to shout. As I made mistakes, stumbled and staggered through the not-quite-adulthood I had found myself in, I grew more and more frustrated just wanting to be "there", arriving at full, mastered adulthood.
Today, I'm still certainly not the sage, calm, even-keeled adult that I dream of one day becoming, but my how I've grown. And continue to grow. Today was just such a clear reminder of that, that it's time to embrace the wisdom-seeking adult that I'm becoming. I guess sometimes it takes a little-you in front of you to show you how not-so-little you are.
Monday, February 04, 2013
Finding the who-I-am in the what-I-do
I have entered an interesting season in this Year of Go, a season of discipline. This semester is gearing up to be one of the most challenging of my life, but I look ahead with confidence that what needs to be done can get done.
Am I going to be working a lot of hours? Undeniably. Am I actually going to be working two, maybe three peoples' jobs at some point? Certainly. Am I going to still be a full-time doctoral student working on both a content course and the beginnings of a dissertation? Hopefully. Will I move a few professionals from multiple office spaces to a new office home? Sure thing. All the while making students, faculty, and staff members believe that my job and life is easy? *Breaking a sweat now* but sure. And making sure to continue to pay attention to the few shreds of relationships I have left? I will, yes.
My coping mechanism for this monster ahead of me? Discipline. I think there are probably many ways to handle such a year. Some people would drop commitments right and left. Some people would may run away. Or curl up in the fetal position in a dark corner somewhere. I am trying to be proactive. A new schedule is emerging that will define my life pretty distinctly in the next six months or more.
6am-alarm
7am-homework
8:30am-work
12pm-lunch
12:30pm-homework
evening-run, homework, personal reading
10:30pm-get ready for bed
11pm-sleep
Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
I've also given up watching television. Let's face it, I'm generally not all that entertained anyway when it's on. It's expensive. And it's a HUGE time suck. Gone. And, for some reason, I've added a few additional disciplines: personal reading and a running class.
I was asked yesterday, "What are you learning through all of this new-found discipline?" and at the time, I didn't really have a good answer. But today, on the drive home, I think I realized what I was learning: who I am and what I'm made to do. This may sound a bit lofty and somewhat ridiculous. What could I possibly learn about who I am through a crazy season of overcommitment and military-like precision? Our lives are defined by the what-we-do of everyday. The what-we-do forms us into who we are. When we consume our time with junk TV and violent video games, those things become a part of who we are. When we fill our time with volunteer work, hobbies, work, beautiful music, the great outdoors...the what-we-do forms the who-we-are. This season, intentionally or not, is shaping who I am becoming. I don't know how exactly to articulate the who-I-am just yet in relation to the what-I-do, but at the very least, I know that this is fueled by an unquenchable passion to love God and love people. And the what-I-do of everyday, the constant alarms and meeting reminders, the book clubs, the homework, the time put into it all, is creating a better me for God's glory.
Bring on the discipline, the structure, and the fullness. I rejoice in the opportunity to learn who God has created me to be and what He's created me to do through this journey. And now, my alarm says its time to get ready for bed. 6am comes around pretty quickly.
Am I going to be working a lot of hours? Undeniably. Am I actually going to be working two, maybe three peoples' jobs at some point? Certainly. Am I going to still be a full-time doctoral student working on both a content course and the beginnings of a dissertation? Hopefully. Will I move a few professionals from multiple office spaces to a new office home? Sure thing. All the while making students, faculty, and staff members believe that my job and life is easy? *Breaking a sweat now* but sure. And making sure to continue to pay attention to the few shreds of relationships I have left? I will, yes.
My coping mechanism for this monster ahead of me? Discipline. I think there are probably many ways to handle such a year. Some people would drop commitments right and left. Some people would may run away. Or curl up in the fetal position in a dark corner somewhere. I am trying to be proactive. A new schedule is emerging that will define my life pretty distinctly in the next six months or more.
6am-alarm
7am-homework
8:30am-work
12pm-lunch
12:30pm-homework
evening-run, homework, personal reading
10:30pm-get ready for bed
11pm-sleep
Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
I've also given up watching television. Let's face it, I'm generally not all that entertained anyway when it's on. It's expensive. And it's a HUGE time suck. Gone. And, for some reason, I've added a few additional disciplines: personal reading and a running class.
I was asked yesterday, "What are you learning through all of this new-found discipline?" and at the time, I didn't really have a good answer. But today, on the drive home, I think I realized what I was learning: who I am and what I'm made to do. This may sound a bit lofty and somewhat ridiculous. What could I possibly learn about who I am through a crazy season of overcommitment and military-like precision? Our lives are defined by the what-we-do of everyday. The what-we-do forms us into who we are. When we consume our time with junk TV and violent video games, those things become a part of who we are. When we fill our time with volunteer work, hobbies, work, beautiful music, the great outdoors...the what-we-do forms the who-we-are. This season, intentionally or not, is shaping who I am becoming. I don't know how exactly to articulate the who-I-am just yet in relation to the what-I-do, but at the very least, I know that this is fueled by an unquenchable passion to love God and love people. And the what-I-do of everyday, the constant alarms and meeting reminders, the book clubs, the homework, the time put into it all, is creating a better me for God's glory.
Bring on the discipline, the structure, and the fullness. I rejoice in the opportunity to learn who God has created me to be and what He's created me to do through this journey. And now, my alarm says its time to get ready for bed. 6am comes around pretty quickly.
Thursday, January 24, 2013
Embracing Adulthood: Coloring within the Lines
Recently I asked for some honest feedback on a project I was working on. And I got it. The feedback was, sometimes you just need to color within the lines. For those that know me well, you know that I'm not your usual perfectly colored picture in a neat and tidy coloring book. I'm more liked ripped out pages plastered all over the wall after being doused with color going every which way. Well, maybe parts of me are like that.
Lately, I've been observing those that don't necessarily color within the lines. And I've realized something. Generally speaking, this coloring outside of the lines is not so positive. In fact, most of the time, the color that falls outside the lines is viewed as inappropriate, maybe a little crazy, a little out of line. Generally, even though not positive, I think it pretty harmless most of the time. But the thoughts that people think of those that frequent beyond the borders with their crayons are not the thoughts I want people thinking of me.
What I've learned over the last few weeks is that there is a time and a place for everything. And knowing the difference makes one at least appear wise. Failing to know the difference creates the appearance of a fool.
In my personal life, I think it sometimes okay to act or look a slight fool. I don't love to make that a guiding principle, per se, but I think it's okay there. To giggle at something that only I think is funny. To stop dead in my path just to watch a bird go by. To be spontaneous or slightly unpredictable. All of these things are perfectly fine and perfectly outside the lines. But to blurt out thoughts in a meeting. To write an inappropriate or strange letter (in anger or even-keeled). To be the true lose cannon making unpredictable decisions. These are the professional colorings that end up outside the lines that I want desperately to avoid. My professional coloring book needs to be neat, tidy, appealing, perhaps even predictable in order to be truly wise.
This week, I have some very important professional writing to do, and though I want to stand out, to be unique, I do not want to be foolish. So, I will create something within the lines. Not to be cookie cutter, bland, or completely usual, but to be, or at least appear to be, what I hope people see in me as a professional: wise.
Lately, I've been observing those that don't necessarily color within the lines. And I've realized something. Generally speaking, this coloring outside of the lines is not so positive. In fact, most of the time, the color that falls outside the lines is viewed as inappropriate, maybe a little crazy, a little out of line. Generally, even though not positive, I think it pretty harmless most of the time. But the thoughts that people think of those that frequent beyond the borders with their crayons are not the thoughts I want people thinking of me.
What I've learned over the last few weeks is that there is a time and a place for everything. And knowing the difference makes one at least appear wise. Failing to know the difference creates the appearance of a fool.
In my personal life, I think it sometimes okay to act or look a slight fool. I don't love to make that a guiding principle, per se, but I think it's okay there. To giggle at something that only I think is funny. To stop dead in my path just to watch a bird go by. To be spontaneous or slightly unpredictable. All of these things are perfectly fine and perfectly outside the lines. But to blurt out thoughts in a meeting. To write an inappropriate or strange letter (in anger or even-keeled). To be the true lose cannon making unpredictable decisions. These are the professional colorings that end up outside the lines that I want desperately to avoid. My professional coloring book needs to be neat, tidy, appealing, perhaps even predictable in order to be truly wise.
This week, I have some very important professional writing to do, and though I want to stand out, to be unique, I do not want to be foolish. So, I will create something within the lines. Not to be cookie cutter, bland, or completely usual, but to be, or at least appear to be, what I hope people see in me as a professional: wise.
The "Year of Go" is...Going.
I'm just about three months into the "Year of Go", and I just need to take a few minutes to ponder the following question: Is this year real?
I just got home from 11 days in Key West, Florida, in the middle of an Iowa cold snap in January. I spent those 11 days traveling, teaching, and experiencing life with students in a subtropical location crammed full of every possible type of adventure thinkable. And although the trip wasn't perfect, it was sort of surreal. I mean, think about it. The university now only allowed me to go on an all expenses paid trip to Key West, they actually PAID me to do it! Sure, there were plenty of responsibilities. I had to teach history lessons, go running daily with the students, encourage participation and fitness, watch presentations, and help make travel arrangements, but come on. It just doesn't seem right. And though technically I agreed to go before the Year of Go began, it definitely fits into the Go theme just fine...especially because I have spring orientation day tomorrow at work followed by a drive to Madison, class on Saturday, and the rest of the weekend with Derrick. Meh, that's what the Year of Go is for, right?
Continuing on the Go theme, this weekend you may find me cross country skiing if it snows a little more; next week begins a new semester at UD filled, undoubtedly, with surprises, long hours, and many new opportunities; and in early March you'll find me representing UD at a conference discussing vocation on college campuses around the nation. Later on in the year, I'll be juggling a few new and some old extra job responsibilities while discovering my dissertation topic, and perhaps just for some added excitement, inquiring about a new professional opportunity. Oh, and I'm planning on trying my first (and hopefully second and third) triathlon race, maybe doing another half marathon, and taking a running class.
Overwhelmed? Nah. Who needs to be overwhelmed? This Year of Go is turning out to be quite incredible. As long as I cut out stuff that wastes my time (TV is the first thing to go), keep up with adequate sleep (it's almost bedtime already!), and continue to count my blessings everyday, then there's nothing to fear, no need to panic. In this Year of Go, all I need to do is...Go!
I just got home from 11 days in Key West, Florida, in the middle of an Iowa cold snap in January. I spent those 11 days traveling, teaching, and experiencing life with students in a subtropical location crammed full of every possible type of adventure thinkable. And although the trip wasn't perfect, it was sort of surreal. I mean, think about it. The university now only allowed me to go on an all expenses paid trip to Key West, they actually PAID me to do it! Sure, there were plenty of responsibilities. I had to teach history lessons, go running daily with the students, encourage participation and fitness, watch presentations, and help make travel arrangements, but come on. It just doesn't seem right. And though technically I agreed to go before the Year of Go began, it definitely fits into the Go theme just fine...especially because I have spring orientation day tomorrow at work followed by a drive to Madison, class on Saturday, and the rest of the weekend with Derrick. Meh, that's what the Year of Go is for, right?
Continuing on the Go theme, this weekend you may find me cross country skiing if it snows a little more; next week begins a new semester at UD filled, undoubtedly, with surprises, long hours, and many new opportunities; and in early March you'll find me representing UD at a conference discussing vocation on college campuses around the nation. Later on in the year, I'll be juggling a few new and some old extra job responsibilities while discovering my dissertation topic, and perhaps just for some added excitement, inquiring about a new professional opportunity. Oh, and I'm planning on trying my first (and hopefully second and third) triathlon race, maybe doing another half marathon, and taking a running class.
Overwhelmed? Nah. Who needs to be overwhelmed? This Year of Go is turning out to be quite incredible. As long as I cut out stuff that wastes my time (TV is the first thing to go), keep up with adequate sleep (it's almost bedtime already!), and continue to count my blessings everyday, then there's nothing to fear, no need to panic. In this Year of Go, all I need to do is...Go!
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