Revisiting the Scale

Scale:  a calibrated system of measurement

We have myriad scales with which we measure ourselves: it may be in comparison to someone else, an index that tells us where we fall in a group, a physical device to measure weight or height, a musical spectrum to measure pitch, a ranking system, etc.  That we fall where we fall on such scales isn’t the problem.  A number is a number.  The problem arises when the numbers are assigned a value or worth.  

Don’t get me wrong: worth and value are important.  It is necessary for people to seek these things.  I think that we, as a species, find life’s meaning in the value or worth of the people we love and the things we do.  Unfortunately, though, I am afraid that many of us do not determine the value or worth for the numbers; we let others do that for us.  Sometimes we do this because we do not know or haven’t learned as much about a subject as others, so by default, their definition of value trumps our own.  Sometimes, it is the social construct of the scale, etched into our brains through repeated images and words by the media that defines the value.  And sometimes it is those we love who determine the standards of the ideal.  Rarely, so rarely, is it the individual who examines the scale and assigns worth.  Even less frequently does one create his/her own scale altogether.

Measure:  a standard unit of quantity or quality

My own struggles with scales began long ago (see my last post), and what started as a clash of calories in versus calories out has since morphed into an internal war that has defined me in ways of which I was never quite aware until recently.  Quite simply, it boils down to works.  If I work hard enough at something, to erase an imperfection, to strengthen a weakness, to be flawless, I will have worth.  I know millions of others get where I’m comin’ from; in fact, Alanis Morrissette wrote some awesome lyrics and Janice Mirikitani composed a powerful poem that say it much more eloquently than I.  

Each of us has something about us that we believe holds us down or back or outside of some perceived value in an imposed measurement system.  For a long time, at least in my mind, I thought that something has been my weight.  However, over the past couple of months as I have navigated the tempests of depression and the squalls of weight loss, I have come to realize my issue isn’t just about weight but about achieving somebody else’s definition of worth.  

Quality:  value; worth

I’ve never had a deliberate conversation with myself about my own definition of worth.  Sure, I have adopted certain criterion I know are good: honesty, loyalty, empathy, compassion, faith, the ability to celebrate the moment, the ability to appreciate the blessings I have been given, the ability to laugh - a lot - as well as the ability to cry.  These have all come to me through my awesome family, friends, and experiences, though some of these weren’t-so-awesome.  Still, I have yet to consciously define what I deem worth.

I am not going to preach about how I’ve had some sort of epiphany and I suddenly celebrate all the wonderful things my body does, like play the game I love so much or allow me to live a full life, which it does.  My struggle with that scale may never end.  I am hoping, though, that I can now start to create my own scale and that I can recognize that others’ might well be very different than my own.  My hope is that in my pursuit of my own definition of worth, I can be cognizant of using my own scale rather than those established by others.  My hope is that my scale will be something I use to measure my growth and not to diminish someone else.  Let’s face it: most of us do enough diminishing of ourselves.

Living to Scale...

Several years ago, I participated in the National Writing Project.  It was an intense six-week course of writing in which I really began to discover my voice.  While I wrote many pieces in that time, there has been one that has been on my mind a lot lately.  When I pulled it up and re-read it, of course I wanted to revise, but I think the words we give to our thoughts hinge on our experiences.  I have had a slew of experience since originally penning this, so my plan is to revisit these thoughts and feelings in a later post.  Until then, the original:

Living to Scale

My sixth grade teacher told me I looked great one day, after I’d dropped two pant sizes.   Finally, I was adequate…    

That god-awful scale had an orange plastic base with a white dish on top to hold the food being measured and weighed.  Its box was ripped and falling apart from taking it out and putting it back at every meal and snack.  Mom would be at the sink, washing vegetables and meat for hers and my sister's meal while I had to weigh each portion of my own before they were cooked, the Weight Watchers book open so I knew how much I was allowed.  

I remember tiny lines on the metal at the front of the scale, measuring my spirit at every hash.  I remember the red slit dropping lower as the dish, filled with my self, rested on top.  I measure perfectly to the line, never drop too low, never put more of me in that scale than it could handle.  I could always be lighter, but never, never heavier; no more than six ounces of fish, or whatever the magic number was, all the while praying I was losing more this week than last.  If my prayers are answered, Mom will be so proud; everyone will be so impressed.  

The grass opened up to a big hill on those weekly treks for weigh-in at my aunt’s house.  Every blade meant a calorie to me, one more to burn off in that ten-minute walk.  I wondered how much Pepsi I could afford if I took the long way instead.  Every tree pointed accusingly at me.  

“How many calories did you have today?  Everyone will know when you step on the scale!”

And the scale never lied; it was brutally honest.  

“Only two pounds this week?  You were doing so well before!  You’ll have to make sure that red gash stays afloat this week.  Less fish and chicken, definitely less rice.” 

Funny how I always feared the bloody gash dropping too low on my scale, but rejoiced when I was lower on my aunt’s.    

No one else I know weighs their food.  No one I know has to lie on their mothers’ beds, listening to Madonna and rolling a rolling pin up and down on their bellies while their sisters watch to time them and make sure they are actually doing it. Does anyone else have their Valentine’s Day candy hidden from them?  

But the trees couldn't care less, and the blades of grass, weary from my steps, were tired of hearing it.

Another trip to my aunt’s for the weekly weigh-in, like a god-damned heifer, only instead of a blue ribbon for growing, they celebrate me dwindling away.  

A good Good Friday

In the Christian faith, Good Friday seems paradoxical.  I mean, how can someone call a day that saw the Son of God hang from two pieces of wood, nailed through his hands and feet, stabbed, spit on, mocked, and slowly die, and this after being beaten, lashed, and forced to carry the pieces of wood on which He would hang to the Place of the Skull, good?  It is rather remarkable to wrap the brain around: that such tearing of flesh, so many excruciating moments of unimaginable pain, would be the life-giving blood for us all.  To say I am grateful for this Good is almost insulting because the word grateful is so pitiful to describe what I feel.  And it pales in comparison to what I am about to share.

I had a pretty amazing day today.  Technically, because of Good Friday and Resurrection Sunday, every day is pretty amazing.  So perhaps a better way to word it is to say that today added many more drops to the ocean of grace He has given me.

Counting my blessings today, in no particular order:

~ I got over a stomach bug and was able to move around and see people I love.

~ I had lunch with an awesome friend who encourages me, trusts me enough to share with me, and makes me laugh like few people can, especially about myself.

~ I have a brother-in-law willing to sacrifice a beautiful afternoon to visit a car dealership and go through the haggling that makes me want to jam pens in my ears.

~ I had dinner with four generations of women in my family.

~ I have a sister who shares a secret language and can communicate with a glance.

~ I have a 92-year-old grandmother who is spunky as all get-out.

~ I have a mom who wants me to call when I get home to be sure I am safe.

~ I have a stepdad who wants to come help me make my home better, again.

~ I have a niece whose work ethic, passion, and sense of humor delight me.

~ I have another niece whose curiosity, faith, and cleverness also delight me.

~ I had a conversation with a former student who made me crazy when we first met, made me laugh like crazy once we learned how to get along, and makes me proud, proud, proud to this day.

There are so many blessings I can add, so many people and experiences, that transcend today.  The amazing thing is that the Lord knows I am broken, deeply flawed, and profoundly weak, and He gives me so much, just in one day.  One day just under two millennia ago, and one day today.  

By His wounds we are healed.

Anchored

“A heavy object attached to a rope or chain, 

used to moor a vessel to the sea bottom.”

In its truest purpose, an anchor holds a boat or ship in place, keeping the vessel steady despite the currents of the waters in which it resides.  This is true in both the serene times, when the sun dances in diamond brilliance while the water beneath reflects the crystalline blue of the sky, as well as the turbulent times, when the heavens darken, the thunder rolls, the waves roil, and the lightning rents the clouds in a jagged radiance.  The purpose of an anchor is to hold the vessel fixed from the influences that might push it off its course.

How many times have the currents pushed us off course?  Pausing in contentment in where we are in our journeys, it might be weeks or months before we realize those gentle waves of satisfaction have pushed us miles from the original trajectory.  We don’t notice because the sun is all shine with nary a cloud in the sky, and it is the lightest of breezes that brushes our cheeks.  Or, conversely, we are focusing on bailing the brine that has washed over the hull, trying our best to simply stay afloat.  By the time the skies clear and we can catch our breath, the tempest has not only thrown us miles off course but we struggle simply to find our bearings.

Something happens, though, when we are anchored.  When we have both felt loved and given love, when we have soul-searched and committed to who we want to be, we develop one.  Some anchors may hold more strongly than others, depending on the strength of love we’ve experienced, and some may move some when a truly powerful typhoon hits, but once we have them, these anchors give us the stability we need so when we do get jostled about by life’s storms or distracted by the sunlight, we have a connection to where we want to be.  

There are many days when I sit back and try to view the world objectively, and on those days, more often than not, I am frustrated and saddened by it.  I see the way we are treating each other, the callousness, the disregard, the selfishness, and sometimes the brutality.  To be clear, I am not just talking about the nightly news or reading through the Associate Press app.  I am talking about what I see first-hand in the world, whether it be between strangers or between people I know.  

It occurs to me that much of this happens because so many of us are not anchored, in love or faith or hope.  They disregard others: they lack the compassion and empathy that can hold us steady.  They care only about their own satisfaction and care nothing for those who might be hurt in the process; they have no mooring on which to hold.  These aren’t always people who have had the awful childhood or traumatic events that have interrupted or inhibited the forming anchor.  Sometimes, these are the people who choose to cut loose from the weight.  

This makes me wonder, though, as more and more people choose to do just that.  If we are severed from that which braces us, I see more and more wreckage drifting to the bottom of the sea because it is getting more and more crowded out there, crowded with those careening out of control both by choice and by circumstance.  If you think the damage will only be to those ships, you’re wrong.  As the wreckage decays, the toxins will continue to seep out for generations to come.

I am thankful for those who anchor me; I hope and pray I provide that stability and security for you as well.

Which hope we have as an anchor of the soul, both sure and stedfast, and which entereth into that within the veil;  ~ Hebrews 6:19

Classroom Advice for Life

Note: I am thinking of making this a rather large poster for my classroom next year.

How to Succeed in Room 105
0r, How to Not Suck at Life

1.  Be prepared.

This means so much more than bringing the physical necessities, like books, paper, pencils, and pens.  Yes, you will need to bring those, but there are mental tools you need to bring to every situation as well.  Are you ready to listen?  Are you ready to challenge yourself?  Are you ready to try?  

2.  Be reflective.

Listen carefully: life is not about the points.  Let me repeat that: life is not about the points.  If you are only worried about someone else’s evaluation of what you are doing, you are missing the big picture.  What matters is what YOU think about it.  Are you learning the process?  Are you mastering the skills?  What can you do better?  What are your strengths? 

3.  Be respectful.

There is more than one source of learning and support in my class, so being respectful isn’t just about me.  Being respectful means listening with an open mind to suggestions and ideas from peers AND the teacher.  Being respectful means holding yourself in regard high enough to realize that your education is your responsibility.  Being respectful means treating the people and things in your environment with consideration and the awareness that you are not the center of the universe.

4.  Be passionate.

Even if you have to fake it, be passionate in what you do.  I guarantee you will get more out of class, out of any activity, if you find something within to pursue with passion.  There will be times you will love what you have to do and times when it’s a yawn.  We are only guaranteed a finite number of days: snoozing through things without finding the  good stuff seems like an awful waste of time.

5.  Be humble.

Humble doesn’t mean thinking you suck at life.  Humble means being aware of your areas needing growth.  Humble means being aware that you do need to grow.  Humble means you know that everyone has different strengths, and some people may be stronger at some things than you are, and you have an amazing opportunity to learn from them.  Humble means not putting yourself above anyone or anything else.

6.  Work hard.

My motto is: you get out of it what you put into it.  In other words, if you want to get something out of my class, out of school in general, and/or out of any pursuit in life, you have to put something in to it.  The more you put into it, the more you will get out of it.  This is how the universe works.  Even if you don’t like the plot of the book we’re reading, understand that you are learning thinking skills that are vital, so focus on what you’re getting out of it.

7.  Collaborate.

If there is one skill you absolutely need to master not only for class but before you embark on your journey into the world, it is the ability to work with others.  Let me tell you, there will be times when you would rather bang your head repeatedly against a brick wall with rusty nails protruding from it for a week straight than work with a particular person, but you will have no choice.  Learning how to be patient and compromise or a tactfully strong leader will pay off in dividends, especially when you find the good folks who share the same passions and beliefs with whom to work. 

8.  Think outside the box.

Problems usually have more than one way to solve them if only we are able to step back and see it from all sides.  Especially today, there are a wealth of tools at our disposal to attack writing an essay, collaborating on projects, or planning a big event.  Take time to know the resources you have, like who you could talk to about what topics, the capabilities of the technology to which you have access, the materials that surround you.  If you know them, you will know how to use them.

9.  Encourage others.

Newsflash: life ain’t always easy.  In fact, sometimes it can be just plain overwhelming or downright debilitating.  These are the times when a friendly note or hug or pat on the back can mean the difference between a complete meltdown or the ability to just keep swimming.  Work on being the one who gives that encouragement to those who need it.  You will be surprised at how much being a blessing for someone else will lift your own spirits.

10.  Man up.

There are so many things that influence who we are and who we are becoming, but, and I need you to listen closely, we are responsible for what we choose to do with those influences.  It doesn’t matter what Johnny did before you hit him or that Lisa was cheating, too.  It doesn’t matter that fourteen cars were speeding past you when the police pull you over.  It doesn’t matter that Tyler can ace the test without studying.  You are the one who must deal with the consequences, both bad and good, of the choices you make.  Sometimes, there are no second chances because life doesn’t owe us a blessed thing.  So when you make a choice, own it, and accept the consequences.  They will make you stronger.

Ghostbusting

The movie Poltergeist terrifies me.  It doesn’t matter that it’s been years since its release or that I am no longer eight-years-old: it is terrifying.  For those of you unfamiliar with the premise of the movie, and its subsequent sequels, a collection of supernatural forces, a.k.a. ghosts, basically thirsts for the “life force” of a young girl, Carol Anne, and haunt, terrorize, attack the family in an attempt to assume control of her to serve their purposes.  

There are two scenes in the films that I recall most clearly.  The first involves a clown doll that Carol Anne’s brother had.  The ghosts animate the doll, whose arms grow long enough to wrap around his throat in an attempt to strangle him.  Couple this scene with the fact that my grandmother collected clown figurines, and this chica had a real hard time going into Gram’s basement where they lined the shelves, staring evilly at the passersby.  The second scene comes in the second film, when sweet, blonde, white-nightie-clad Carol Anne, hugging her stuffed animal, answers a child's phone that has just rung of its own accord.  She turns and says, in what is frankly one of the creepiest voices ever, “They’re back.”  

This scene came to mind last night whilst I was lost in a reverie.  Anyone who is goal-oriented, competitive, or conscientious (or all of the above) understands this: there is an inner monologue that drives us to achieve said goals, beat the competition, and/or live with integrity.  This narration has the power to uplift: “You can do this.” “Take a deep breath and take it one day at a time.”  This can be the difference between running the last lap, finishing first, or, my personal favorite, deciding to avoid going to Target on a Sunday because payday is three days away.  However, there is a dark side to its power because as much as it can uplift, it can pull out your legs from beneath you just as easily; perhaps more so.

As I sat last night pondering various things, a sadness began creeping up. This in and of itself is not such a big deal, but those of you who are familiar with my story know I have been struggling with depression and have recently been greatly helped by medication.  Last night, though, as the sadness flitted spectre-like through me, I suddenly heard it: the voice in my head, the nasty one who points out my shortcomings and flaws, my failures and mistakes, the one who harps and harps, the one who ignores the innumerable blessings in my life, the voice was back.  

A year ago, I probably would have succumbed to it; thankfully, because of the medication, I could now hear it and recognize it for what it was.  I got up and did a workout, as there ain’t nothin’ like endorphins to banish those old ghosts.  However, as I was stepping through my workout, escaping the whispering tendrils of negativity, I started to wonder about its origin.  From where does it come?  And what prompts us to allow this apparition pervade our thoughts and linger in the heart?

For some it is brain chemistry and others the ectoplasm of harsh critics or traumatic events.  It may even be a combination of both.  I wonder, too, what others do to combat their particular phantoms.  I mean, I know there is a wealth of information on the web; I know there are thousands of books.  I guess I wonder more about what the people I know do to fight the ghosts, not because it will necessarily work for me but because I want to be able to help them with the fight.  

There is another 80s film springing to mind, at the end of which the city of New York is covered in white sugary goo from the recently destroyed Stay Puft Marshmallow Man that had been wreaking havoc.  I think it’s important to let people know when the ghosts are spewing their green slime.  One can never have too many proton packs to banish them.

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.