Multiple Mountains, or "Having It All"

I want to publish a novel.
I want to work in education.
I want to finish my MFA in Writing.
I want to get an MFA in Theatre.
I want to act.
I want to direct.
I want to have and raise children.
I want to travel.

And I want it all now.

First of all, I should acknowledge how awesome it is that I live in a time and place that all of these things are even available to me. For so many centuries, these things wouldn't have been possibilities for a woman. And so many of them still aren't, for so many people. So it would be obnoxious for me to not acknowledge the incredible levels of privilege I have. I'm a white, lower middle-class, college-educated woman living in the United States. So much is within my reach.

My problem is that I want to reach for all of it RIGHT NOW.

Jacob and I are in an interesting time in our lives. Jacob's waiting to hear from one more grad school before making a decision. I'm in the process of getting my MFA online. I'm getting acting work fairly consistently. We've got enough income to cover our bills, and we have some to spare most of the time. We're leaving our twenties behind and entering into our thirties. Many of our friends are still unmarried undergrads, and many others have 3 or more children and are well into their careers. We've been married for almost 6 years, but we know that it's not quite the right time for us to have kids. (Even though I'm keenly aware of the expiration date on my ovaries, and it stresses me the hell out. I'm trusting our timing, though.)

A while ago, I wrote a blog entry about Neil Gaiman's philosophy of always "moving towards your mountain"--making sure that everything you do is helping you move towards what you ultimately want to be doing with your life. And I still believe in that philosophy.

My problem is that I have, like, 8 mountains. And there are times in my life when I'm feeling pulled towards all of them at once. Which ultimately leaves me feeling a little paralyzed, since I inevitably sometimes have to move away from one mountain in order to move towards another. Sometimes they're not lined up neatly.

All of this is on my mind because of A) Jacob's grad school possibilities, and B) I have a possible job opportunity that would move me towards the education mountain, but away from some of my other mountains. And the education mountain is like, 90% ideal, with the possibility of becoming 93% ideal in the future, but it's not 100% ideal, and that's giving me pause, especially if it means moving away from other mountains. AND I'll still be pursuing the MFA in Writing mountain and the Acting mountain, too, and I'm a little uncertain about my stamina.

But I want all the mountains!

I decided a few years ago to remember that I can live my life on my terms...that I shouldn't ever blame my circumstances when I'm not getting what I want out of my life. There are times when you've got to make sacrifices, or put one dream on hold in order to pursue another. I'm just trying to decide whether or not to do that, and writing it out helps me make decisions. Especially when those decisions have deadlines. So here we are. Sitting in the Orem Public Library before rehearsal, blogging about life decisions and waiting to see if anything feels more solid as I type.

Confession: At the end of this blog entry, I'm not any nearer to making a decision. But I do feel a little bit less overwhelmed about it all. I feel like my vision is a little clearer, and I have a little more confidence in my ability to make my decision.

Thanks for coming along for the ride, I guess. I'm glad you've stuck around. I'll keep you posted on which mountain(s) I'll be focusing on.



photos by Steven Taschuk, Kamil Porembiński, Alper Çuğun, E M, Drregor, gwenole camus, Arild Storaas, Thangaraj Kumaravel, Henry Hemming. VIA Flickr

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Multiple Mountains, or "Having It All"

Hearty August

The Utah State Charter School Board, after a lengthy battle, has decided to close Alianza Academy. Parents now have to scramble to try and enroll their kids elsewhere. Parents and staff all got the news at the same time--the email was sent out at 11 pm Wednesday night. Most of us found out on Thursday morning. As of Monday, August 22nd, I will be unemployed.

Thursday was both the second day of school, and the second to last day of school.

I witnessed every variation of every stage of grief. One teacher spent the day blasting music and handing out chocolate milk. Another teacher spent the morning sobbing. I've seen tears shed by parents, teachers, and students alike. I've allowed a mother of three young children to hold my hand and pray for me and for everyone at the school. I had one parent take all their frustration and anger out on me over the phone.

One of the hardest things is trying to explain to the kids WHY we're closing. How do you explain to a 9-year-old the complexities of educational organization? How do you explain enrollment requirements and per capita spending and politics and appeal processes? You can't. You just have to say, "The state of Utah decided to close our school."

It's strange...I felt so scattered on Thursday. Normally, I'm so clear-headed at work, but all day I found myself thinking, "Wait...what was I going to do?" I would open a drawer and couldn't remember what I was looking for. Even writing this felt scattered. I held back tears all day, came home for a good cry and found I didn't have it in me. I took a three-hour nap instead.

I feel like someone's taken a book away from me and closed it, long before I was finished reading.

It's bizarre to try to balance the logistics and emotions of all of this. I need to call Lifetouch and cancel our school pictures appointment. I need to hug this student who is sobbing in the hallway. I need to finish drafting this list of recommended charter schools. I need to counsel this parent on what comes next for their kids. And what do I do with all of these files? Do I start taking things down from the walls? What will happen to all the paper and staplers and colored pencils?

I've never had a close family member pass away. Not someone I've known deeply. So I have no idea if this is an apt comparison. But that's what the closing of Alianza feels like. Like the death of a loved one. And in many ways it is.

Alianza was something special. I knew it the first moment I stepped foot inside. Over half of our students came from low-income families. Many of them have learning disabilities. Many of them are minorities. Many of them struggle with behavior and academics. For so many students, Alianza was a last attempt at schooling. I fear that these students will fall through the cracks in other schools...they've got to just hold on to the confidence we've tried to give them.

They learned at their own pace. They did Shakespeare. They did music. They went on field trips to ballet performances and hands-on science museums. They did meditation. They engineered problem-solving inventions. They made films and took photos. They organized activities and made them happen. They created and choreographed modern dance numbers. And the oldest among them was only 14.

I have witnessed students go from volatile and hostile to soft-hearted and quick to smile. I have watched kids who hated reading and struggled through every word grow into avid readers, eager to find out what happens next, and working out definitions on their own. Students that would be eaten alive at any other middle school found that they could make friends easily at Alianza.

Alianza did so much for so many, but I think its strongest legacy is one of belonging. That's what Alianza gave students and teachers and staff and families. That's what Alianza gave me. Alianza Academy gave those who were part of it a sense of belonging. It was this family. Last school year, our campus had about 12 staff members and a little over 100 students. Every teacher knew every student's name and disposition. It's small for a school...small enough to feel like a family. Like any family, we had hard days and good days. We cried and laughed and got frustrated and were inspired by each other. We learned to read each other like family members do--when so-and-so needed space, and when so-and-so needed a candy bar.

I think that's why this is so hard. It's watching this family get broken up. This family that brought out the best in every one of its members, and that gave each of its members a place to belong.

So maybe that's the legacy that each of these family members can carry into the rest of the world. They can reach out and help others find belonging. On Thursday, one sweet parent said to me, "I'm thinking of a garden. Right now, all you can see is the dirt, but with time, it will be full of fruits and vegetables and flowers. Remember that this change can lead you to better things."

That's what I keep trying to hold on to. The reminder that sometimes a big shift like this can open your life up to something else amazing. That, in the words of Aunt Eller, the sweet and tender in life come as you're hearty through the tough times.

So Alianza, thank you for everything. Thank you for helping me grow into a better, more mindful, more patient, and more caring person. Thank you for introducing me to every student, every teacher, every parent. You are all extraordinary star stuff.

all photos via Deseret News

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Hearty August

"New beginnings are often disguised as painful endings." - Lao Tzu

End of the year card from kindergarten. Oh my heart. 

School has only been out for 8 hours and I'm already unsure what to do with myself.

I spent the school day alternating between dancing and eating, so as to keep waves of sentiment from crashing over me. I've been counting down the days until summer vacation, and suddenly this morning, it occurred to me that I won't see these kids for MONTHS. They're all going to be HUGE in the fall. And some of them are graduating and going on to high school and I'm so proud of them but they won't be around to make me laugh and think and grow. WAAAAHHHHH!

Steve (the school's principal) was a wreck by 8:15 this morning, and I spent the entirety of 8th grade graduation pretending that I was a smiling robot, instead of on the verge of waterworks myself.

I think I'm too busy processing this ending to do much of anything else.

I mean, I've got all sorts of PLANS for the summer. Art Assignments, finishing the last edit of my YA novel, deep cleaning our apartment, going through our books (again), doing a bunch of organizing and prepping for next school year, rehearsing "Oklahoma!", visiting Rexburg, re-starting an exercise routine, finishing Personal Progress, etcetera etcetera etcetera. But I just can't bring myself to begin any of these projects at 8 pm on a Thursday evening after the last day of school.

Hell, I can't even bring myself to put away the groceries. I did buy them, though. So that's something.

Anyway, now that I'm alone with my nostalgia, I've discovered that I can't keep it at bay. So if you'll excuse me, I'm going to watch a movie and paint my toenails, because what else can you do on a day like this?

See ya in the fall, Alianza gang.

Alianza Staff on the last day of school, June 2014

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"New beginnings are often disguised as painful endings." - Lao Tzu

A poem, or "Public school is hell"

Hello!

I've been busy doing "Damn Yankees!" and substitute teaching, so the blog has been a little neglected. But today I was digging through some old poems and came across this one, so I thought I'd share. I wrote it while I was doing my substitute teaching back in 2012. I was focusing a lot on imagery at the time, and it's not my best work, but it kind of stood out to me today; I think because I've been spending time in public schools again lately. 

Dante’s Industrial Kitchen

Steam rises
in ephemeral bursts
mushrooming out from the
heinous, Dante-esque mouth
of the automatic dishwasher.

A school cafeteria is full of medieval hell-mouths.

Dirt is fed into it on a conveyor belt
and with every hiss and puff of super-heated steam,
trays come out clammy and sanitized from the other end.

A middle-aged woman
with outdated pants and keys on a lanyard in her pocket
stacks the trays with no expression.
Her feet hurt. This is her job.
Her non-slip shoes make sucking sounds
as she steps through soapy puddles
to the sink.
Rubs her red-cracked hands on a paper towel
and begins stacking trays again.

The kids with IEPs
walk from the dishwasher to the sink
and back again
like the tigers in city zoos
who have developed obsessive-compulsive disorders
in the absence of higher stimulation
walking back and forth and back and forth
repeating a task they are destined to repeat.

And there are all these kids,
standing in line.
The tills fill up as we
perpetuate the illusion of them walking
in empty and coming out full.
They check their phones and stare into space and
talk to each other but not to the girl whose shoes are too big.
They stand with the rain from the courtyard
on their shoulders,
the heat of the room making steam to rise
in ephemeral snaking columns.



(In a shameless bit of self-promotion, if you're interested in more of my poetry, I have a published book of it! You can buy it here, or on amazon.com. Or if we're friends and I see you regularly, I've got a dozen copies or so I can give out--just ask.)

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A poem, or "Public school is hell"

"And you can only wear your hair in a ponytail once a week..."

Today was my first day in a high school classroom in almost two years. It was…okay. Classroom management was less than ideal, but what the hell is a substitute supposed to do? It’s not like we know anything about the established rules or discipline procedures. It’s not like we have any real power to enact consequences. After class got out today, I immediately googled “substitute teacher classroom management tips.” I’ve got a handful of good ideas to try. I’m choosing to mark this day down as a learning experience.

But here’s something that was kind of awesome. I was reminded that artistic people are, in general, an accepting group. Drama kids are a welcoming group. I was subbing an acting class, and (classroom discipline aside) it was kind of awesome. I saw every shade of hair color, including blue, green, purple, and orange. I saw Betty Page bangs and lipstick, and boys with Steelers jerseys. I saw piercings and heard people walk in with a cheerful, “I’m here and I’m queer!” I saw boys with long hair and girls with short hair. I saw fat kids and kids with learning disabilities and kids with no concepts of personal space. And no one was left out. I saw kids who would be eaten alive in any other class be EMBRACED, literally and figuratively, in that drama room. I love that. That’s beautiful to me.

And it was a good reminder as Jacob and I find our footing here in Utah.

I’ve never felt like I could “fit in” anywhere except for a drama room, or a theatre (or at home). Even places that should be welcoming haven’t always been. (Young Women’s group, circa 1998, anyone?) It’s like…okay, I read this YA novel a few months ago called This Song Will Change Your Life, and it’s awesome. The main character in it has trouble making friends among her high school peers. At one point, she says:

“I feel sometimes like…there are all these rules. Just to be a person. You know? You’re supposed to carry a shoulder bag, not a backpack. You’re supposed to wear headbands, or you’re not supposed to wear headbands. It’s okay to describe yourself as likable, but it’s not okay to call yourself eloquent. You can sit in the front of the school bus, but you can’t sit in the middle…There are so many rules, and they don’t make any sense, and I just can’t learn them all.”

I’ve spent most of my life feeling exactly the same way. I could sense the rules around me, and sometimes pick up on them, but either I didn’t actually get it, or it was always too late. I was wearing baggy t-shirts until 2001, even though I think they went out of style around the early 90s. But I can’t be sure, because I could never pick up on the rules in time. I’d figure out one day that everyone around me was wearing button-down shirts from The Gap. So the next school year, when we went school shopping, I’d get a button-down shirt. But by that time, everyone was wearing graphic t-shirts from Hot Topic.

But the stupid thing is that as a teenager or young kid, if you’ve been marked as a pariah, it doesn’t matter if you follow the rules or not. If you’re the kid with bushy eyebrows and a button-down shirt from The Gap when Hot Topic is the new thing, you’re “not cool.” And if you notice, and you DO get your shirt from Hot Topic, by then, you’re just trying too hard.

(I know I’m bringing up a lot of angsty stuff from my childhood here, but this stuff sticks with you, man. I’m trying to embrace my vulnerability and say something important, so stick with me.)

There were also times, apparently, when I thought I was accepted and actually wasn’t. When I was fourteen or so, maybe fifteen, I went to Girl’s Camp. We’d just moved to a new ward and I didn’t really know many people, maybe one or two girls. But we had this fun cabin and an AWESOME leader, and I spent most of that week feeling pretty good about the new friends I was making. But towards the end of the week, the one girl I knew pretty well said something while we were sitting along in the cabin. I don’t remember how it came up, or her exact words, but she said something to the effect of, “Well, so-and-so and I were talking about how you’re kind of the odd one out, that like, you don’t really have any friends in our cabin, like no one in our cabin really likes you.” (In retrospect, what a bitchy thing to say.) But more than being hurt at her saying such a mean thing, at the time I felt a wave of confusion. I was disoriented because “not having any friends, not being liked, being the odd man out” was news to me. I had been completely unaware that I was still “not cool.” I thought I was making friends, connecting to people, having fun. The fact that I could be so incorrect was shocking to me. It’s a revelation that mystifies me to this day.

But it’s also an event that I still think about. When I am thrown into a new situation, especially. If I was so unaware then, is it possible I could still be just as ignorant now? Do these friendly acquaintances actually not like me? Are we not actually friends? It’s made worse when, Mean Girls style, I see people act friendly towards people they’ll say later that they can’t stand. THEN HOW DO I KNOW YOU’RE ACTUALLY BEING FRIENDLY TO ME? You could just as easily turn around when I leave and say I drive you crazy. It’s certainly possible that I don’t belong…she’s so much prettier than I am, he’s so much better-looking, she’s so much more stylish, he’s so much funnier. I mean, I think the last joke I made was a pun based on ancient scripture. I prefer trees to blockbuster films and I love jigsaw puzzles. I’m obsessed with Ancient Aliens and Star Trek: TNG. I’ve had some of my clothes since I was a sophomore in high school, which was roughly thirteen years ago. I HAVE ADULT ACNE, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD. This is the epitome of uncool.

And it’s true that there has been the occasional drama geek that has noticed this and treated me with disdain for it. But I think about every single close friend I have today, and here’s the thing. Every single one of them I met because of theatre. Our friendship solidified on stages and in acting studios. On the nasty couches that all acting classrooms have. In the tech booth. In the Dairy Queen after improv shows. My husband and I met while playing husband and wife in a One Act play. Annie and Sarah and Jordan and the whole gang from Rexburg all came about because of “Comedy of Errors” and “Crazy for You” and every other show in between. Carrie and I became friends in 2004 when we did a final scene in Acting I together (which we almost failed because we would just talk instead of rehearse). I can’t even begin to name how many other friendships were born because we all just followed our bliss.

Because sometime around 2002, right before my senior year of high school, I decided that if I couldn’t figure out the rules, if I couldn’t follow them, I’d just be myself. I’d follow my own rules. I had spent so long trying to fit in where I didn’t even belong. And I had loved theatre my whole life anyway. So I auditioned for “Little Women” in my high school drama department and never looked back.

So I guess what I’m saying is, find your tribe. Find your people. Follow your passions and be yourself and you’ll find the group of people who will embrace you for it. And if all else fails, join the drama kids. We’ll take just about anybody.

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"And you can only wear your hair in a ponytail once a week..."