Finding an Outlet

What do you do when you are so frustrated you literally want to scream or lay down and throw a good-old-fashioned-five-year-old-life-is-not-fair tantrum?  Especially when you have to be the role model?  The one who takes the high ground?  What do you do when you put your heart into your job and your audience does. not. care.?  

I had a student try my patience this morning.  I will not go into details but suffice it to say that I was not the person I want to be.  I managed not to raise my voice ~ let’s face it though, my voice is loud even in its “normal” volume ~ there was a very clear edge.   However, the number of curse words that were running through my head has me praying for forgiveness and a whole lotta patience even an hour later.  

This is not an isolated event.  Unfortunately, I find myself encountering situations like this regularly, almost daily.  And unfortunately, I find my ability to move forward lessening by each experience.  I have good kids.  I have great kids.  And I think what makes me the angriest is the fact that I allow students who do not care about education and who have so little respect for me and what I do taint the entire day.  I allow myself to be blinded to the kids who do care; and, once I get angry at myself, it escalates and turns into an exhausting cycle of the equivalent of running at full sprint toward the 60-year-old bricks that compose my house.  

Then there’s the irony with which most of my female friends might be able to empathize: as soon as one thing gets you that frustrated, everything you do sucks and nothing is good enough.  My house? It will never be clean.  My dog?  I need to do more training with her.  My family? I need to be better about calling.  Bible study? I need to spend more time with that.  My friends? I need to write a card for someone who’s struggling with a broken heart or a hangnail.  My diet?  yeah, well, let’s leave that can of worms closed up tight and on the highest shelf there is.

One would think this frustration could lead to productivity, but I do not know how to process my frustration.  I find myself wanting to cry.  I find myself wanting to imbibe adult beverages into oblivion.  I find myself wanting to curl up on the couch and watch reruns of Law and Order I know so well I could tell you who was guilty after the first 30 seconds.  I find myself wanting to surf Pinterest for hours to plan my next meal, house project, or otherwise become the proverbial ostrich burying her head in the sand.  

As I sit and type this, the sky is a glorious blue, there is a breeze blowing through my classroom, and several of those great kids I mentioned earlier are sitting here, quietly working, during my lunch.  I am trying desperately to think of some positive, or at least witty, way to sum up what I’ve been ranting about.... nope... I got nothing.  There are days like that, I suppose.  Days when it just isn’t neat and tidy but messy and tumultuous, a roiling of emotions.  I think my goal for the day is to let these words be the vent to the searing steam of my frustration.  Oh wait... shouldn’t I use that steam for some healthy vegetables for dinner?

Diverging

Robert Frost wrote a rather famous allegory about the consequences of the choices we make in life.  Many people read the poem as a celebration of taking the road less traveled, a road filled with independence, autonomy, and integrity.  While I agree with the concept and have worked hard at various times in my life to do just that (and been lazy at other times and took the easy way out), I do not read the poem that way.

While Frost recognizes the difference taking the “road less-traveled” has made in his life, he seems to wistfully wonder what might have been; after all, the poem is titled “The Road NOT Taken” (emphasis mine).  It is not so much regret that I read into his words but the contemplation of what other differences might have been had if he had taken the first road.

I think many of us find ourselves wondering about the same sort of thing, sometimes with regret over poor choices or with simple curiosity about where those divergences may have led.  For instance, I have often of late wondered why I chose my profession.  I do not know if it is because I am fifteen years into my career or if the type of children and/or people with whom I work have changed so very much in my tenure.  

I remember that first time in the woods, looking at the paths before me, at the ripe old age of 18 when I had to choose.  I wish I could say it was for altruistic reasons like inspiring the youth of America.  It was not.  Truthfully, I just wanted to be able to coach the sport I love, and teaching seemed to be the best way to do that.  It turns out that somewhere along that road, I fell in love with teaching.  This isn’t very surprising as teaching and coaching are so similar, but given that I didn’t have that passion upon embarking on this journey, I am pretty lucky that it worked out that way.

Lately, though, I seem to have fallen out of love with it.  I find that apathy is more the norm and that independent thought is something of the past.  Please don’t misunderstand: I have students who strive to learn and examine the deeper purpose of learning and living.  It is for them I come to school. It is, though, the others who make me question what the purpose of education is, why I chose it, what my purpose is when I once so clearly understood it.  

I do not regret the choices I’ve made, not even the truly toxic choices that took me to rock bottom.  It is because of them, and all of the healthy ones as well, that I am who I am today.  But I think about that other road, the one I didn’t take when I was 18.  Would I have the questions I have now?  Would I feel so inconsequential?  Or would I just have a different set of questions to examine, search, and define?  I tend to think the latter, but that wistful curiosity remains.

Swimming at the Bottom of the Sea

A former student messaged me today with a verse from a poem by John Donne ("Paradox" for those of you who would like to peruse).  I am used to former students emailing or facebooking or skyping with questions about assignments or seeking suggestions for some facet of life; this student, however, had read the poem for pleasure and was simply looking for thoughts about its meaning.  To say my English teacher heart was smiling is an understatement.

Anywho, in the exchange between my thoughts and his response, I began to think of how often I wax philosophical with my own friends or colleagues.  I have a few friends who are film geeks like myself, and we will debate the hidden meanings of a historical biopic or the everyday connection to the latest Lifetime movie.  Many of my friends are voracious readers, which of course leads to discussions about what's "good" literature (as defined by the reader or the canon - which, frankly, needs to get off its high horse and join the rest of us commoners) as opposed to candy-reads.  It's a rockin' time when these two worlds collide and we argue what should or should not be in the cinematic interpretation of a book, often in the midst of the movie while the people sitting behind us want to throw popcorn all over us and tell us to zip it.

Aside from that, I have had many a dialogue with friends and students, both current and former, about other life-stuff, like what love really is, how race and socio-economic class impact social status and the definitions of success, both faith and anti-faith, and myriad other subjects that can be found somewhere along the Laurentian Abyss.  A personal favorite was this quote from a friend: "Did you ever stop to think that when you are looking at the stars, you are actually looking back in time?"

When I think about all of these wonderful, engaging, challenging, labyrinthine conversations, I don't see a particular pattern of my thoughts or, thankfully, the same staunch stance on specific topics.  On the contrary, I have changed quite radically in my perspectives.  To me, it's not about the beliefs, opinions, or ideas so much as the willingness to share them and to consider others' beliefs, opinions, and ideas in genuine discourse.  To me, if I am able to do that, I can see a whole new world, sometimes dark and enigmatic, sometimes vibrant with foreign life.  It is an opportunity to visit a different ecosystem, one that does not require me to take up residence if I so choose but will forever influence how I see my own.