The Narrative of Rejection

As a writer I should be comfortable with the idea of rejection. Yet somehow it always catches me, picks me up, and slams me on the floor. I lose my breath for a minute, or hour, before regaining consciousness. It is not the rejection per say, but the narrative that I create surrounding that rejection. I cannot simply accept the rejection as is, a statement that I would not fit into the environment in which I believed I would fit. I instead create the backstory, it is not only the employer, the publication, or the friend rejecting me, it is the greater community at large which does not feel as if I am worthy. I become the martyr in my own play, hated by all and on the path to ruin and homelessness. This narrative creation within my egomaniacal conscious mind can be harnessed for good as well as evil however. That backstory in which I recently indulged can be used as fodder for a short story. I can watch myself cycle through the stages of grief and rejection, of wallowing in self-pity and then meditate, have a smoothie, and sit down to write. I can cultivate gratitude for my amazing life, as it is at this very moment (minus the deer flies and humidity) and sit down to write a post. A close friend of mine says that "rejection is God's protection," and I wholeheartedly agree with the sentiment (when I am not in the midst of being rejected). I have been ignoring that small voice inside that is telling me to write, to rest, to explore creativity, to pray, to hang upside down and then nap. I am attempting to fit my square pegged self into a round hole and wonder why I get stuck. So dear reader (or mom), I come to you rejected. But also relieved that the narrative did not play out, and that I can now head to Amazon.com and purchase a Gopro because I have an idea which is filling me with giddy anticipation. More on that soon!
 

Writing Hiatus

It has been a busy year. I finally landed the perfect job, and spent the last 9 months learning the ropes, preparing curriculum and teaching high school students some of my favorite books, The Canterbury Tales, Othello, The Hound of the Baskervilles, in addition to some modern short stories and poetry. So I haven't been writing.

Summer is winding down, and I am now preparing for a new school year. I have been itching to write, have been jotting down ideas and thinking through posts, but for some reason I have not taken the time to sit down at the computer, login and write. Writing brings me pleasure. Writing helps me to sort out any issues that arise, it helps me to put life into perspective, to make sense of the world and my reactions to the world. But, I have not taken the time to sit down and write. Why? Writing is something that helps me to make sense of a chaotic world and I choose to put it off. I will do it another day. Maybe chaos is just too comfortable. Maybe I don't want to see my part in a Facebook argument, or really look at how I could use a little dose of humility. Maybe I don't want to confront my negative mind.

So this post is my statement to the world (or the couple of people who will read this). I need to write. I do not necessarily need to write the next great American novel. I just need to write this post, insert a picture of the porcupine munching raspberries in my backyard, and hit publish. I need to start, after a long time of putting it off. Hiatus Over.

Beginner Mind

It has been a long time since I have sat down to write; my fingers miss the rhythm of the tapping on the keyboard and my mind misses the meditative state that writing induces. It is a blustery Saturday in the Berkshires; the snow is still piled up in the backyard, but Spring birds have started their morning symphony. All is well.

I have not taken the time to write, I have not given myself the space to prattle off a poem, or even just a few lines, lines that someday will transform into a story, a post, or even just a note to myself. I have been too "busy," rushing about my day, working and commuting while squeezing in runs and yoga and shopping and bill paying and time with my partner. Too often, what is really important, what really brings me joy, those activities are stuffed into a drawer. Out of sight, out of mind. If I were to go back, to read my previous blog posts, I would undoubtedly find a post similar to this one, following months of silence. What is really important to me today? Do I make the space in my day to nurture those things? Probably not.

It is National Poetry Month. Yes, it is already April 4, but I remember last year on April 1 I made the vow to create one poem per day. I upheld that vow and was left with 30 poems, some corny, some nonsensical and a few that made me smile. The act oif creating as a daily practice is intensely powerful. It is within the act of caring for my self and my soul, that I find God. It is within the intersection of self-care, silence, and creativity, that my Higher Power exists.

So right now I gaze at the sun-streaked sky, the balsam pines swaying in the wind, the snow disappearing, and oak leaves floating across bare ground. It is in this moment that I am grateful, for the desire to put my fingers to the keyboard and the space and time to do so. 

Returning to Center: What To Do When My Practice Derails

I have not been writing. I can feel the deep loss of this important part of my daily spiritual practice. Three weeks ago I started a temporary job in my chosen field, which will last until Christmas. I have been underemployed for a few years now, so the position was welcomed and it has proven to be an amazing opportunity. I work with people I respect and have support in learning my craft. The only caveat? A long (hour and half each direction) commute. Before this job, I would wake up early, go for a five mile run, and head to work. I would then come home, maybe another short run or yoga class. Now I am waking at 3:45am to run a quick two miles and leave my house by 5:30. The days are shortening and daylight savings time has begun. My schedule has been disrupted and I am experiencing intense exhaustion. Three hours a day in the car has begun to wear on me, and the resulting illness derailed the daily spiritual and physical practices which have kept me centered and, for the most part, serene. My job now is to get back on track, which includes taking a few moments a day to write. My problem is, that if I cannot do something completely, I do not even begin. So today I am here, with a cup of tea and the blank page. I do not have to write a novel, I just have to write a paragraph. Disruptions are part of life; we change jobs, go back to school, experience loss or fall sick. Getting back into the rhythm of routine is nearly impossible for me, but must be done before I succumb to the negativity that plagued my life years ago, before embarking on a spiritual journey.

As I write this post I am reminded of the opening lines of the Divine Comedy: Midway in the journey of our life / I came to myself in a dark wood / because the straight way was lost (Inferno 1, lines 1-3). Dante writes that it is the "journey of our life," not my life. First, I am not alone, we all get lost, off track, or derailed. But just because the straight path is lost to us, we are still someplace, even if it appears to be dark. It might just be that the straight way is not the path I should be walking, and I need to get lost for a bit, in order to focus on my surroundings. What has the past three weeks taught me? First: I adore teaching and I adore teaching teenagers. Second: I am wrapped so tight in my habits and routines that any time I stray from the path, I lose serenity. I am not well practiced in the art of navigating through change. In the Comedy, Dante, after finding himself in the dark wood, continues on, even though he did not know how he had gotten to that place. He takes a rest, and continues on the path, although he is ultimately thwarted by three vicious creatures. It is only when he accepts the help and guidance of Virgil, that he is able to continue. Albeit he continues on a different journey, one that will result in the writing of one of the most important pieces of literature.

What can I learn from my favorite writer? Certain daily practices may have been derailed, and it may seem a wee bit bleak, but if I reach out and accept the help and guidance of others, I might be able to find a different way. I know that in the past when I was trying to figure out how to juggle my undergraduate work with commuting and raising a child, I only had to ask for help and my schedule smoothed out. The first step in resolving this unrest, is to ask for Divine guidance. Breathe in, breathe out, pray, take a nap, and begin again. My one paragraph has become three, and I already feel as if I am returning back to my Self.

Accomplishments

I am pleased to announce that Crescendo Chorus has won the prestigious Alice Parker Award. Two movements of a piece I wrote, along with composer Cheng-Chia Wu, were part of the winning repertoire. Hearing my words sung by a thirty person chorus was enough of an honor, but I am so happy to hear that the chorus has received recognition.
http://worldclassmusic.org/crescendo/About%20Crescendo/chorusamerica_award.htm

What's Eating You?

"If something is eating you, you got to find a way to use it," said the art teacher from the movie  Speak. This got me to thinking about just what is eating me (because something is) and how I can use it. 

So I have been sending out resumes for the career field I chose since February of 2011, and proceeded to spend 120,000$ on the education needed for said career. It is now March of 2014 and, countless resumes and cover letters and "no thank yous" later, I am still searching. Now granted I am not the only one, and English majors are a quarter per dozen (inflation,) and I know that I would have a job if I was, say a Physics major with a minor in biochemistry. I also know that "rejection is God's protection." But I am also tired of not being able to support myself. So that is what is eating me. So how can I use this frustration / anger / uncertainty / apathy that is beginning to eat away at my stomach lining? Create something would appear to be the answer. As a writer my impulse is to grab a pen and create a sonnet, or possibly a haiku. But I also know that mucking around in the bog of complex emotions won't get me far. I have prayed, I have shared, I have knit hats, I have written poems and blog posts. The act of creating is cathartic, but if a tree falls in the woods, does it make a sound? If the resulting creation is not shared or read or seen, does it exist? 

Today a motivational speaker / life coach came into school to speak with students in our internship program. He talked about just how much we really don't know about the world and how there is a perfect career path for all of us. He had us break down what we loved about our jobs (the students, their internships) and what we don't want in our workplace. He went on to explain that sometimes we can find meaningful work in the unexpected places. I want to be a teacher, but if I were to break that career down into pieces, I would need work that involves teaching, collaboration, creating and connecting the dots. It would involve working with young people (not too young) and it would be a new adventure everyday. I would have autonomy and creative license, I would use my research skills frequently and I would have opportunities for reading and writing. Now a classroom teacher is one way to go. But maybe I am missing something. Maybe in that space of limbo I am meant to cast a wider net. Maybe the frustration / anger / uncertainty / apathy is lurking for good reason. I don't know. But I know that I don't know and I guess, just for today, that is enough.

Cheater Cheater Pumpkin Eater

I work in a high school and have been particularly disturbed by the prevalence of cheating. It seems as if it is the norm rather than a last minute "I forgot my homework" decision. What has become of our culture that the end product has become more important than the learning process? Look at our assessment practices, today we test for answers rather than the creative or learning process. Students are trained to fill in bubbles rather than come up with creative solutions to problems. Teachers are boxed in, required to teach to a test rather than teach for growth. And teacher's pay and evaluations are based on these tests. The whole system is geared to create a cookie cutter workforce that does not think for itself. This culture of cheating plays right into a system that values scores rather than learning. Dewey would turn over in his grave if he could. I am sometimes paralyzed by sadness as I watch papers being exchanged, answers being found online, or Google translate popping up on a phone screen. It is a moral dilemma. How does one teach students the process of good decision making if they are learning how to fill in bubbles? As I sit here writing this post two students just walked by my seat in the library. One said, "it's cheating," the other said, "it's being smart." In my day if one were a cheater cheater pumpkin eater, one was ostracized  Today it is smart. Who knew. Guess we get what we give. I will go back to being sad now and hope that our future generations will work toward the abolishment of standardized testing.