Wisps, clouds, and other forms of condensation

You know the voice. It's a small whisper that reaches the back of your mind: "Well that was pathetic. And you said that was your best shot?" Or how about the ever-famous "Really? That was stupid."

The mental picture I have of this enmity is as follows: green-tinted wisps that curl around the earlobe before caressing the ear canal and winding its way around each twist and turn before it finds residence in the brain. It's eerie and seductive. You know that whatever is going into your ear probably shouldn't be allowed entry, but surely the little misty thing isn't that bad...

That's how I see it. It's more cool if it's a mist rather than thoughts that refuse to leave me alone. As a perfectionist, every thing I do wrong is detrimental to my life. Well, maybe not that drastic, but hyperbole is a literary device for a reason. After a difficult day where I felt like that lessons failed or I wasn't clear for the students or I wasn't connecting with them, the wisps turn into puffs once they reach my brain. After sitting on my couch and putting my feet up for the day, the puffs of "voices" turn into billowing clouds. I'm pretty sure my roommates have seen the smoke seeping from my ears as I try to move on and accept my failures with a grain of salt. Too bad salt isn't known for its smoke-fighting capabilities.

It never occurred to me that teachers need encouragement, too, when I was in school. I sat in my desk, much like generations before me, and judged. "This teacher is so incompetent. They can't even grade papers consistently! What do you mean they watched TV while they graded? I wish I could get away with watching TV while doing homework! I hate when so-and-so writes on the board because it is never in chronological order!" Believe me, the judgment went on. Now that I'm the one in the pumps and slacks at the front of the room, I find that all these mistakes are easy to make. This may come as a surprise, but a student has to worry about one student. A teacher worries and grades and cares for at least 80 students every day. I guess it makes sense that they would make mistakes. When it comes down to it, the mistakes have more power than encouragement at times. One word of criticism has the potential to the great rating I received from my supervising teacher. How sad is that? It takes no time at all for my ears to look like an over-active humidifier. (You know what I'm talking about... the humidifier that looked like a miniature fog machine.)

It's coming. The end of the week and I am on the brink of sighing with relief. How does that work? How can someone become so focused on weekends? Maybe it's the lack of pressure to perform. Maybe it's the relief that you don't have to clean up your act for a little while so it's ok to have fog flowing from your ears. Putting on an "ok" face is hard and exhausting, especially for the sake of 80 students. This week has been good, don't get me wrong. I'm so thankful that I don't have to worry about leaving these students and starting all over, but I'm human, so I'm not satisfied. I'll figure that out eventually, but it's a process. Hopefully, I'll be able to stop looking like an humidifier. Verdict is still out on that one.

The fall break that wasn't and is yet to come

Feet pounding the pavement. Each impact brings accentuates the ache in the separation of muscle and bone. Arms moving rhythmically back and forth. Hands occasionally wiping the perspiration from the forehead. Earbuds wiggling their way out of ears as the feet continue beating the ground.

I could focus on these things, the wonder of the body and physical movements as I run through Upland on an autumn evening, but I think that would make the run longer. Instead, I decided to listen to the beats and the rhythm of whatever song my playlist selected until one of those earbuds fell out of my ear and I had to put it back in. Does anyone else have that problem?

I also thought about life and student teaching and then I realized that it was a gorgeous evening and I was witnessing the beauty of fall. The locals told me that the leaves were not going to be as pretty this year, due to the dryness, but I still find it beautiful. As I run through neighborhoods, I see giant looming trees of orange and red, colors that are not that common in Colorado. My tennis shoes crushed fallen leaves in their piles as I passed beneath the aging wood. It was spectacular. I wish I could run in autumn all the time!

After running through the neighborhoods, I decided to run around the Loop. For those who do not attend Taylor, the Loop is a sidewalk (ish) that circles campus. Normally, I avoid this running path because everyone does it: Runners, lovers, loners... everyone. But, this is Taylor's fall break, which means I could run it alone. So I did. And it was painful.

It was painful for a lot of reasons. At this point in a college career, people begin to feel nostalgia. "Oh man. I'm a senior. This is my last fall here at Taylor. Where will I be next fall? I'll never be able to walk/run the Loop like this again. This was my last..." Yeah, I won't keep going. You get the picture. Don't worry. I drowned out the soul-searching with Tiao. So, in the end, the Loop was painful because it reminded me that I'm not on Fall Break. It was painful because my shin splints are coming back. I know. World's smallest violin, right?

So, I don't have fall break this weekend. Big deal. I have fall break in one and a half weeks. Two days longer than the fall break my roommates got to enjoy. I'm looking forward to that, believe me. Although, before I numbed myself into a mindless body going through the motions of running, I remember thinking: I don't like taking breaks from my students. Adjusting back to being a teacher after a break is really hard! It's like reconstructing a Jenga tower after some moron just took out one of the foundation blocks: Doable but painstakingly slow. I would much rather not have a break. I'm serious. Weekends are all I can handle. As I continue teaching full time, I'm hoping I'll find the healthy balance... You know, where I look forward to breaks and I don't panic about the Jenga classes.

I've prattled long enough. I do have to say, this fall break of Taylor's has been nice and quiet, which is something I needed much more than time away from campus.

I hear you, I see you

My roommate and I say that to each other often, ever since we saw the first episode of this current season of the TV show "Parenthood." This could be a mantra for my life right now.

You want a reason? Well, I'll try to explain it to you.

Maybe you've heard this: Things are never as they seem. This phrase is easily comparable to "I hear you and I see you." Acknowledging the opinions and the presence of mind of another person is admitting that whatever you see is not what the other person sees. For instance, I might see a defiant attitude in a 7th grade girl and my father sees a girl who does not know where she is going to live in two weeks or if her mom's boyfriend is really gone. True story. Unfortunately, this girl moved a few weeks ago, but the storyline is the same.

My dad had to point out the other side of the situation to me. He had to say, "Bridget. You know why she was doing that, right?"

In my wisdom, I replied, "Of course! She doesn't have a consistent authority figure in her life and she is fighting me."

His reply reminded me of how we describe God... tenderly shaking his head and saying, "Oh Bridget. Don't you know that there is a whole world out there that you cannot fathom? This little girl, who is entrusted to you for a short amount of time, is probably struggling with somethings at home that you'll never know about and it's your job to reach her where she is at."

This is the part where I should have said to her, "I hear you and I see you."

That is what the human being wants, isn't it? To be seen and heard. To be loved and remembered.

In the flimsy walls of the French classroom, I can only acknowledge my students' backgrounds and attempt to hear and see each one, but I am not superhuman. In the emotionally packed walls of my life, it's hard to see and hear everyone. Again, I am not superhuman. I have fallen into the rut of believing I knew the intent and motive behind every action that ever affected me... like this past week. It took a gentle reminder...ahem... well, depending on your definition of gentle... to get my attention and realize I had narrowed my vision to my "blood circle," meaning as far as my arms can reach.

So, new goal to add to the ever-growing list: "Hearing and seeing people."

What your senses tell you

One of my friends remarked that she loves the smell of fall until she realizes that the smell is the smell of decaying leaves.

I love the smell of fall because I do not have a problem with the thought of decaying leaves. As horrible as it sounds, this remains true: death must happen in order for the new to come. Things must end so beginnings can happen. Leaves have to plummet to the ground to make room for the buds in springtime. This makes me wonder why people say they are turning over a new leaf. Shouldn't you just leave that poor leaf alone and choose a different one that doesn't need to be turned over?

Let me preface these thoughts quickly. I am not saying that one must be in unity with nature in order to know the deeper meanings of life. I'm not saying that your senses and emotions are to be trusted. I won't even go so far to say that you should be enjoying the smell of decay or be okay with the thought of death. Just take these thoughts as you will and do with them as you will.

As a college student, I am familiar with changing from season to season. I am not just referring to the results of the earth's rotation. Let me give you an example: Packing up the family car with clothing, shoes, school supplies, an oscillating fan, organizers, hangers, food, and trash cans crammed into a car for the journey to college that happens once a year. Then, once the fall semester ends, the student goes home for the Christmas season, where homework, late night donut and Polar Pop runs and questionable dining commons food do not exist. Next comes, for the Taylor student, a month where you can do anything: travel the world, take a dreaded class, or stay home. Then, back to Taylor to complete another semester. At the end, the small room is packed up, into yet another vehicle and the student speeds home for another stage of life. My point is that there is a constant rhythm of change. It becomes routine, yet we are unsettled by the facets that are unknown. For many, life is only known in 3 month increments. This is where I am. So what? I am not unique in my predicament, so why care?

I don't know why you care, but here's why I care to write it. As time whizzes past my ears with high-pitched squeals, I realize that I am not supposed to know what will happen, even a month from now. If I was supposed to have life figured out by now, I would. If I knew my perfect mate, I would have only had one boyfriend. If I knew where I was supposed to go after graduation, I would be working on finding housing. Case and point? I am not supposed to know. I am not supposed to manipulate the things of this world to ensure my feelings of safety and self-empowerment. Who am I trusting if I burst into the world, guns blazing and noise pouring from my mouth, noise that I think are comprehensive words? Myself. That is a pathetic thing.

How many people only trust only themselves to drive their beautiful new cars? Too many. Where did it say in the manual that the owner of the car has never made mistakes and never had an accident? I'm pretty sure that there is no such clause to be found. How great do you think you are that you will be the best caretaker of the car? Do you pride yourself into thinking the same thing about your life? Do you remember that you are just as flawed and fallen as all of humanity? Or did you forget that? You are not the ace. You are, at best, the kid in the back car seat. Sure, you know yourself, but there's a reason you're not the head honcho. It's because God makes you look like a Hot Wheels car in the Grand Prix.

What does all of this have to do with your senses? Well, here it is. Don't think that you know what a feeling means or that something is a sign from God unless you have been in constant communication with him. Just because the puzzles pieces seem to fit perfectly doesn't mean that they match the color scheme. If sin was obviously wrong, we would never have the problem of sinning. Things appear to fit but you don't know where God is, chances are he wanted something better for you. Let that pride die. Let there be room for your trust in God to grow while the old interpretations fade away and you seek more than just a feeling or some emotional high. Let your future be vague. Let go and, while you're at it, enjoy the smell of the decay.

Tell me a story

Last week, I went to a TPRS conference in Cincinnati with my supervising teacher. TPRS stands for "Teaching Proficiency through Reading and Storytelling." My supervising teacher told me a little bit about it, but she wanted me to have some more exposure to it and I'm so glad she orchestrated it.

After picking me up at 4:50am, we took off toward Ohio. I wanted to curl up into the fetal position and go back to sleep, but I wasn't sure if my supervising teacher would have approved. The car ride was fun and we made good time. We walked into the Comfort Inn off of the interstate and I felt a little out of place, but nothing more than a student teacher would feel at a conference full of seasoned teachers. There were other French teachers there, which was as encouraging as it was intimidating.

I won't bore you with the details of the conference, although it was not at all boring. We'll settle for the fact that I was inspired to do a little storytelling myself when I returned to my classroom the next day.

I plopped onto the couch and went through paper after paper, trying to outline a story that would interest middle schoolers and include level-appropriate vocabulary. After killing a tree, I thought I had a winner. I was excited and a little full of myself as I went to school the next morning.

It was not as easy as I thought it would be. As fun as it was, it was exhausting and I felt like I was botching everything. Naturally, I am a beginner with this method, so of course I wouldn't do it perfectly. I did discover that, after a few practice runs, I love telling stories to my students. The students love hearing them and participating. They come into class now asking me if there could be another story. They are also soaking up the French. I speak more French in my French 1 classes than in the upper level classes, which is crazy.

One of the stories went like this: There was a boy named Ed. He had a friend. It was Stuart Little. They both wanted hamburgers, but there was a problem and Stuart Little had to go to the hospital...because he didn't have a mouth. Ed then goes on a search all over the world to find a mouth for his friend and purchase 400 hamburgers. He bought a mouth from Dr. Frankensteina and then went to Russia to buy some hamburgers. The cashier became angry with Ed, so she threw 400 hamburgers on him, so now he had to transport all of these across the world, back to Stuart Little in Madagascar. He gave Stuart Little the mouth and then Stuart Little ate all the hamburgers.

Through TPRS, I have discovered another side of how I want to teach. I love being a little more crazy in front of the students and making them laugh. Their interest in the class has grown exponentially since I started telling stories. I have found a way to tell stories AND make people laugh at the same time! Hallelujah! Telling silly and crazy stories has made me so much more comfortable in the classroom and I love that feeling. It might also be the fact that I just completed my 8th week of student teaching, but I think I'm going to chalk it up to storytelling. It sounds better... which is what it's all about. Give the students something to laugh at, something to remember, something they can be a part of. I feel myself growing and looking eagerly at the future, even though I have no idea what is really going on outside of my lesson plans.