Apple for the Teacher

Today I found myself in the only shop within walking distance of my office that I thought might sell me an apple. I did end up finding apples there, but it was a granny smith, certainly not my favorite kind.


I took a drink and an apple to the cash register, and while the man behind the counter was ringing me up, he asked if I was Hispanic. I told him no, and he went on to tell me that he thought I was, and that I look "mixed." Another woman working there laughed and assured him that I probably knew if I was or wasn't, and we all laughed about the fact that we're all mixes of something and it might very well be true that a little bit of Hispanic blood runs through my veins.

I left the store smiling. You know, the kind of smile you can't stop yourself from smiling. The kind of smile that feels like sunshine on a spring day or a hug from someone you love who also happens to be wearing a sweatshirt. I know I probably don't look Hispanic at all; no one else has ever told me that. But maybe my students are getting into my skin, maybe they're part of the glow that shows up in recent pictures.

I am in love with my students. While the transition to my job has been difficult, I am glad for it, because my time with my students has resulted in love for the people of Reading. I don't feel intimidated like I would have previously. I don't feel annoyed because of the reputation that comes with the name. I feel like some people living here just need someone to listen. I feel like some people living here have beautiful hearts, and some people just need a hand. I feel like I am in love.

I feel elated that somewhat might even think that I am "one of them."

And I feel like that was one of the best apples I've had in a long time.

Happy Monday

It's a great day here in Crazy Town.


I love Mondays.
Oops.Let me rephrase that.

I love the beginning of anything. I'm a fan of the beginning of a "new" month, week, year, project, or recipe. There's just so much possibility in the start of something new. (Am I being a little too sunny for a Monday morning? Please feel free to plug your ears and hum as necessary.)

One of the biggest lies that have tripped me up in life is, "oops. you missed perfection today, better start tomorrow." Somehow, I also bought into the idea that because I am not perfect, then the logical reasoning would be that I have failed. If I have already failed, I might as well continue "failing" (and also wallowing in my mistakes)and then give "perfection" another try tomorrow. It is this kind of thinking that kept me in a (clearly) unhealthy binging habit for 4 or 5 years.

What brought me freedom is the thought that I can make better choices at any moment. I can choose not to inhale an entire bag of chocolate. I can choose to react differently to situations that bother me. I can choose to have a better attitude. Every moment is new. Those moments may hold some carried-over consequences, but every moment is a chance to build on something different. Better. Maybe no one will notice right away when I choose to change my attitude from bad to good, but I know, and eventually, the new moments can become old. They can become the way things are.

So, I like Mondays. I love Mondays. I lvoe the possibilities of the next moment. Because they give my perfection-driven personality some freedom, some room to breath, some room to truly live. Right now, in this moment.

Yesterday's News

I was up too early yesterday. I laid in bed, giving sleep a chance to come. When it didn't, I was almost glad. I enjoy my mornings. The gym's not open yet, phone calls would not yet be appropriate, there's nothing on the schedule. There's just me, a cup of coffee, and my favorite cat snuggling in my lap.

Life often feels like chaos. It's the ball of yarn that ends up in extra stitches, a few holes, and a few mismatched patterns while I'm trying to knit it into a scarf. It's the dinner that wanders away from what I planned it to be when I thought I had all the right ingredients. It's the house full of old, ugly wall paper and stained carpets that I'm hoping will be transformed into something that feels like home in less than two months.

Of course, I could (and I do) fixate on the failed scarf, the imperfect meal. I could worry about how all of those upcoming home projects are going to get done while I'm still living life. I could fixate on my personal happiness and whether or not I'm successful. But when I do (and I do all of those things), I always miss what is really important. Perfection and success are concepts that often lack workable, concrete definitions, so for me, they always seem out of reach when I am staring at them, fixating on them, wondering if I can be found somewhere where they are. And happiness? Of course, I'm all for it. But it's an emotion that has its place in a healthy life, just like anger, disappointment, guilt, and excitement. So setting happiness as a goal is like setting surprise or excitement as a goal. Which leads me to believe that happiness is not really the goal we're setting when we say it is.

One thing I am hashing out in my own life is that discomfort is as much a part of a healthy, satisfying life as happiness is, and to wish it away in favor of a constant feeling of happiness is to miss part of what it means to be human and what makes the sweet times so sweet. I'm realizing that the parameters of failure and success have very little to do with whether or not things go as planned, or what everyone thinks of me, or whether or not I am at or above the status quo. There are times when it is important to sit through, live in, and not wish away uncomfortable situations. No one ever gets better at running or weight lifting or painting or anything by determining to remain within a comfort zone because pushing outside of it would be undeniably uncomfortable. No one improves that way.

Interestingly enough, when I embrace those ideas and let go of my former efforts of measuring success, I feel much freer to live out who I am, something no one else can do. And that feels good.