Breathe Easier

I have a collection of writings and magnets hanging on my refrigerator. Some are written by people I know, some by my own hand, and others by authors this crazy English-nerd would love to meet.  Each of the pieces represents a stirring or emotion, an inspiration, a reminder of who I want to be, who I am meant to be, and how I want to live.  I wish I could say that I read them on a daily basis.  After all, isn’t the purpose of displaying them to remind me?  Every once in a while, though, I do stop and look through them, but it is amazing how the minutia of every day life distracts me from the big stuff.

This Emerson quote has been one of my favorites for a long time, even though I don’t necessarily ascribe to all of it.  There are things beyond my control, such as winning respect or earning appreciation, and I am not entirely sure that those things rate high on my priority list.  The others, though, they very much speak to the person I hope to be.  

Everyone who knows me knows my laugh can be incredibly obnoxious and loud, almost embarrassingly so, maybe even to the point of irritation to those sitting at the next table or down the hall.  The good thing about being able to annoy people with an obnoxious laugh?  I know I am laughing often enough for them to hear it and laughing a lot.  And while the laughing seems to come more easily for me, the learning to appreciate beauty and leaving the world a bit better require more work.  I literally have to have entire conversations in my head to remind myself to take a deep breath and find the good - in the situation or in a person who might be driving my bananas.

It is the final element of Emerson’s definition of success with which I struggle the most, though the struggle is not so much with the desire to help others but rather the ability to recognize if I am in fact being helpful.  I am sure many people can relate to the days when we wonder if anything we do makes a difference to anyone.  My responses to these kinds of days can be one of two things: a deep sigh followed by a mental curling into the fetal position or a conversation with myself (or the walls - no joke, I do this), often out loud and often in front of people, that questions my sanity and/or purpose.  The former response is more of a defense mechanism while the latter is a release.  Mind you, it’s a comical release when I am in front of 25 students who think I have finally snapped and either want to avoid eye contact lest it be contagious or film it and upload it to youtube. 

I have had several encounters with former students in the past couple of weeks.  This is not so unusual as many of us keep in contact via social networking or occasional dinners; however, these most recent visits have touched my heart on a deeper level than usual.  Just last night, I had dinner with one former student who was recently working abroad.  It was delightful to listen to the tales of his adventures, and the pictures were plentiful and downright gorgeous.  Regardless of the fact that my students have graduated and moved on, it is still something quite special to see the wonderment they continue to have as they learn and discover life in the “real” world.  At the end of the evening, he gave me a souvenir he had brought back.  While that was touching in and of itself, when he told me that he had wanted to get it for me not because it was from another country but rather because he was thankful for me, for being able to talk with me at a crucial time in his life, this hyper-emotional trainwreck had to do everything in her power not to weep openly at the restaurant.  

A hand-carved piece ~ little did he know trees are my favorite!

It is his thoughtfulness that moves me to write this today.  It is his thoughtfulness that prompts me to share another story about a former student who truly inspired me this week:

I coached his twin sister through 6 years of volleyball and taught both him and her in their junior years of English.  Anyone who has or teaches children will understand when I say it with two simple words: Great. Kids.  A couple of years ago, on a trip to a beach, he dove over a wave and broke his neck.  Just like that.  In the briefest of moments.  Having kept in touch with his sister, I was able to witness his progress from afar: an initial diagnosis of an extreme level of paralysis that has since been broken down with the help of an amazing family and support system of friends as well as an indomitable spirit.  

Speaking with him and his sister this week during a visit, I glimpsed that spirit in seven words.  Seven profound words to humble me and inspire me simultaneously.  After sharing some of his favorite pastimes (rugby is a recent favorite) and favorite jokes (free drinks for the kid in the wheelchair?) and flashing back to when it happened, his sister said something about how silly he was in the hospital, even when he first woke up.  I marveled at that, aloud.  His response?

“It never occurred to me to change.”

Faced with what many people, I think myself included, would be unable to face without despair, this young man finds the humor in it.  When I would probably have railed at the unfairness of it all, wailing about everything I would now be unable to do, this young man looks for the things he can do and does so with wild abandon.  What possibly would have crippled my spirit left his completely unscathed and intact.  

I have been blessed with so many people who have touched my life, who have touched my heart.  Family, friends, students, colleagues, players, etc.  For them I am abundantly grateful. I hope I have shared how much you have meant to me at some point.  I hope you know that your presence has made me breathe easier in this life.  I also hope I can return the favor.