Ice-Skates and ADD: New Year's Resolutions

I leave a hairbrush and box of cheerios in my car.
3 out of 5 work days require stop light primping, which has been reduced to wrestling hair back into a 4 day old bun while trying to get a fistful of cheerios into my mouth. I used all my sick days by October. I have worn a long swimsuit cover up as a dress at least twice this past month and have yet to open the hamper holding my weather appropriate clothing hostage. I have attempted to implement an 11 o' clock bedtime since September, yet still find myself waking up six minutes before I have to leave, and sorely disappointed that my morning cocktail of Synthroid and diet coke doesn't actually wake me up. I bought a blender and make a weekly Whole Foods trip to buy spinach, chia seeds, and pea protein, but can't bring myself to actually make, let alone drink a green smoothie. I obsess over the 2 teachers who have made it their life mission to put the art program on school improvement agendas and send me Pinterest suggestions. I find myself grappling with whether or not I should succumb to their incessant demands for George Washington stamp art in order to please them. But then I remember the last time I worked this hard for acceptance... I was 12... I compromised my curls in order to obtain the "Britney" falling victim to a flat iron's fiery jaws of hell. 6 inches of hair gone... Personal pedagogical beliefs and hair length are not to be reckoned with.


As I toe the line between hot mess and dedicated teacher, I rationalize I must be dedicated, seeing as I have compromised hygiene, nutrition and sleep in order to do this job. Whether or not I spend hours cursing students under my breath as I painstakingly remove the thumb tacks they hid in my sponges, or the fact that I call them "diva-snaps" to their faces is irrelevant....

As January is the month of personal inventory mixed with a touch of Seasonal Affective Disorder and hints of despair, I have spent a fair amount of time taking well lit selfies and wondering what I am doing with my life. Although in years past wearing swimsuit cover ups and unwashed hair for days might be evidence of my thriving in an artistic frenzy, this is not presently the case. I have gotten lost. Over the past few weeks I have reviewed all the usual resolutions women make in order to feel more like "themselves." Perhaps if I were to give up sugar...maybe if I exercised frequently...when I get more sleep...if I socialize more... As I reviewed the staples of the self care bible, I didn't find much more than myself sliding knee deep into a pit of shame and consumerism...


What part of me had I lost this year? As trite and perhaps nauseatingly sweet as it may be, I came to an inspirational meme like conclusion. In all my efforts to help young people realize their creative potential, I stopped creating, and more importantly I stopped listening. I might be a stick a gum drop up your nose, annoyingly idealistic, millennial gypsy, but, I wholeheartedly believe when you dedicate yourself to being a maker you are in touch with the divine. As I forsook my own need to do what I love, I couldn't hear where I needed to be or what I needed to do. I have spent many years researching, teaching and crusading for the transformative impact of making. Art changes people for a myriad of reasons. There is beautiful and astounding evidence to support the neurological, chemical, physiological and social benefit of being a creator. For me, above all, being a creator reminds me of a divine heritage. It reminds me I am made up of the molecules of majesty. It brings me closer to a loving God, giving me glorious glimpses of him and my infinite potential as a creator.

“You must write, and read, as if your life depended on it.” -Adrienne Rich

This year, I resolve to read, write, and make as though my life depended on it, for surely it does. 

A letter for Dave

Over a decade ago I met Dave Chalk. Before meeting him I was repeatedly told two things about him, the first being that he was winningly hilarious and the second being that he had cancer. Dave was indeed funny, and to this day I laugh at his family's frequently told anecdote about his being lost at 5 years old and then found singing "Play that funky music white boy" while dancing a top a table!

Dave and I knew each other mainly through our older sisters being dear friends, in many ways he was not more than an acquaintance. However, Dave's example was often the very thing I would draw strength from when I grew afraid. Dave knew fear. Dave knew fear in ways that most of us will never experience a mere fraction of. Despite enduring almost 12 years of uncertainty and perpetual suspense, he remained fearless. I wrote this letter to Dave over two years ago during the week of the Boston Marathon bombing. It was a time when I was particularly afraid and I continued to remember a principle he had taught me many years prior. Dave contributed invaluable certainty to my faith and I am eternally grateful and indebted to him for the profound witness he was to me at a crucial juncture in my life.

Here is what I wrote:

Dear Dave,

First allow me to apologize, this message is perhaps many years overdue. I fell asleep last night thinking I needed to write it and woke up again this morning with the same inclination. I have always admired you. I have always marveled at your perseverance and optimism. I think about you every time I go in for a scan and must anticipate results. I think about what it must be like to be asked to live though hearing "that" diagnosis on more than one occasion. I think about the endurance of always living in suspense...I shrink at the thought. I know for me it isn't helpful to be told "I don't know how you do it" or "I couldn't do it," so even though both things are true that isn't what I want to say. What I want to say is that whenever I am faced with my moments of suspense, my mind turns to you and your experience. I wonder who you are, were and will be. I wonder who you must be to be entrusted and burdened by such an experience. I have been profoundly grateful over the years for my association with Melissa and one of the reasons I am is for the passing moments I have had in your presence. There is a profound witness in your presence and at times it has solidified my faith and influenced my life in ways I don't even know how to give words. There is something unique about you and I would argue it has little to do with your cancer. I have met my share of cancer patients and survivors, I have felt the impact of cancer on my own life, growth and perspective. I know that once cancer enters anyone's life it shapes their narrative, and whether they want it to or not, it becomes one of their main identifiers. Though your story has inspired me greatly, it is not your diagnosis, or even perseverance or survival that has made your mark on my life.

This past week in Boston has been very discouraging and terrifying. I don't remember a time when I felt more afraid. It has been hard to process the trauma in the Harvard space. There are theories and discourses, artworks and vigils, panels and psychiatric services, yet nothing feels as though it really addresses it. I have been overwhelmed to say the least. My faith has been pushed this year in ways I had not before encountered, especially this past week. However somewhere in the swirl of my fears and anxieties, an experience keeps returning to my mind. I was reminded of when you and your companion came over for dinner toward the beginning of your mission. After dinner you asked to share a thought and recited The First Vision. To this day I can hear your voice and every inflection. I can remember exactly where I was sitting. I cry every time I am reminded of this experience. The witness you bore is among the most sacred experiences of my life. It was one of two occasions in my young life where I felt I truly received a witness of that event. Reflecting upon that moment has brought me back to my core and faith in more of my midnight moments than I could ever count.  Had you not borne witness to me on that profoundly miraculous day, I would not have made it! I would not have made it through this past week if I had not been blessed to remember the experience. Thank you! Your testimony has influenced mine for a lifetime. I will always be grateful to you. May heavens blessings be with you, and may you receive answers to your prayers for being an answer to mine and many.

Much Appreciation,

Lindsay

Schooled: Life Lessons from the First Year in the Classroom

Its that time of year.

The time when half your wardrobe has been overtaken by plaster and Modpodge... the time when you don't protest when your students request to climb the cabinets...the time when the bottles of dry shampoo you have busted through outnumber the times you have actually showered...the time when breakfast consists of a string cheese and a Dr. Pepper…the time when your car has become a combusted piñata of crap and craft...the time when your greatest life ambition is to take off your bra and stare aimlessly at a wall...the time when Canadian television programs become an indulgent Netflix past time…the time when you complicity play Pandora in your classroom and don't even notice when the melodic innuendos explicitly emerge…the time when posts on Pinterest seem to be sounder pedagogy then any of the reading you slaved over in grad school…

You guessed it. 

One month until the end of school!

Working with elementary students one month before summer is akin to trying to herd cats. Your will to provide structure in the classroom *evaporates into a mist not dissimilar to the powder remnants of your dry shampoo. (*Side Note: I am not sure dry shampoo goes through a process of evaporation…but I am sure one of the classroom teachers will soon ask me to incorporate the changes of matter into my art curriculum so I better find out quick!) 

Though I have been teaching in various capacities in differing venues for several years, this was my first official year in the classroom. At this juncture most teachers, especially in a public school, are frantically taking inventory of what their students retained as doom's day has now arrived and standardized testing will soon commence. But for me, teaching the "frilly," un"ass"eable subject of art, I get to spend my time ruminating on not only how my students developed, flourished, discovered, dared, and created but also how I did. Here is what I have learned... if I can muster the energy to think about anything beyond whether or not I remembered to put on clean underwear or turn the curling iron off. Not that the curling iron is a frequent issue seeing as we previously established my hair (life) has been reduced to a perfect concoction of dry shampoo and top knots… 

1. I learned not to be so self conscious.

 I learned the real implications fixating on my imperfections could have on my ability to nurture. The beginning of this year I would catch myself bristling as one of my Kindergartners ran to embrace me. The height of a five year old stacked up next to my almost 5' 10 frame put them smack dab in the folds of my stomach or the ample provisions of my buttocks. Instead of taking the opportunity to receive and reciprocate their outpouring of love and affection, I would grow embarrassed that they were feeling the rolls of my stomach. On occasion, my younger students would notice my right eye and ask me what had happened. Instead of taking the time to explain to them everything that had happened to my eye had led me to them and instilled me with the passion to teach and create, I would quickly dismiss it. Instead of telling them that the discrepancies they noticed were there because of courage, perseverance and a will to survive, I would simply grow terribly embarrassed and obsess over whether or not the differences had become significantly more obvious. I would avoid sitting right next to them as it seemed this is when they noticed the most. I created distance over a question that was rooted in genuine concern and curiosity and avoided giving the answer that is my most beautiful, cherished story. Rachel Naomi Remen explains this exquisitely, “Wounding and healing are not opposites. They're part of the same thing. It is our wounds that enable us to be compassionate with the wounds of others. It is our limitations that make us kind to the limitations of other people. It is our loneliness that helps us to to find other people or to even know they're alone with an illness. I think I have served people perfectly with parts of myself I used to be ashamed of. ”  Kindergartners don't notice the rolls in your stomach. They don't immediately classify you as "strange" or "other." Worrying so much about how we appear or what standard of beauty we fruitlessly strive and fail to live up to deprives us of our ability to truly be present.  The world will not be changed by the contours of your stomach, your vision cannot be clarified through an Instagram filter, there is zero impact to be made in this self deprecating spiral. The world is transformed through our nurturance. It is transformed through our ability to receive and reciprocate love.  Fixating on any endeavor that impedes our ability to nurture will ultimately rob us of everything that is genuinely beautiful and praiseworthy. 

2. Collaborating can only succeed through the telling of stories. 

The bulk of my job involves working with classroom teachers to integrate art into their core curriculum. This means I teach close to 30 different classes and have to collaborate with every teacher in the school.  At times this has led to some serious creative differences. Occasionally this has led to complaints from certain teachers. And across the board this has led to bounteous amounts of frustration and confusion on my part. About half way through this school year I stumbled on a research study developed by a doctoral student at the Harvard Ed. School. The study explained that while collaboration was now a routine part of the majority of most educator's practice, a minute percentage actually found it effective. The study went on to explain that the key to collaboration was rooted in two questions. 1."What led you to education?" 2. "What is your vision for education?" Or more generally, "what brought you here and where are you going?" I decided to subtly incorporate this into my practice. I made efforts whenever I could to both share my own vision and casually inquire about theirs. I noticed immediately after hearing my story some of the most skeptical teachers softened to the arts and I softened to them. Almost organically, an increased ease sprung from asking two questions. I have since learned that sincerely seeking to know where someone is from and where they are going changes everything. It has the capacity to turn strangers into friends, apprehension into communication, and frustration into clarity. 

3. Every child (adult) is an individual that has to be served through a commitment to flexibility. 

In grad school I romanticized and theorized about all the wonderful things I would incorporate into my teaching and all the abominable things I would avoid...Then one day... I woke up and realized I was knee deep in abomination! The lesson I prepared worked with 3 out of 4 of the first grade classes but bombed with this last class I presented it to. I lazily proceeded rather than choosing to reevaluate my plans. In absolute exasperation I called out a student in front of his peers. I refused to pull out additional materials for the project beyond what I initially set out because I feared the additional clean up. I heard my voice sing-song "One, two, three, eyes on me" repeatedly throughout the day. I found myself loosening the reins on my commitment to differentiate. 

Teaching stretches you beyond anything you ever could have conceived. It is mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausting. However, taking shortcuts in absolute desperation and exhaustion ultimately only cheapen the experience. I have had to learn this year how weariness can become a slippery slope to rigidity and there is no one size fits all when it comes to learning even when you measure impeccably. Just with anything in life you have to be teachable, flexible and amenable to course correction. You have to see people as individuals, learn their stories and do your best to help provide the conditions where their creativity and self efficacy can flourish. 

I am not always the most teachable person so I am grateful fate so serendipitously led me to a "teachable" profession. 

This month I will celebrate my 8 year remission mark from cancer in addition to surviving my first year in the classroom! I am not going to lie, I think the latter may have been harder;)

The Last Gypsy

"So I said, "I don't wanna be alone forever. 
But I can be tonight
I don't wanna be alone forever
But I love gypsy life
I don't wanna be alone forever
Maybe we can see the world together"

A few songs played on perpetual repeat every time I rode in a car with George. Most recently "Gypsy" by Lady Gaga became a top favorite. There was a specific way in which George would sing " I don't want to be alone forever, but I love gypsy life." George had a magnificent voice and every song he sung is now cataloged as a poignant swan song. In my mind, when I hear him sing,  I hear these few lines of "Gypsy" most clearly. He sang them earnestly and honestly as though he was proclaiming his deepest desire.

Grief is many more things than I anticipated. As a child, my siblings and I would have to play a game at the end of each day called the "mad, sad, glad game." We would each identify something that had transpired throughout our day which had caused us to be mad, sad, and glad. I was trained early to be an excellent identifier of emotions, especially my own. There have been few occasions where I have not known how to name how I was feeling. The grief I have experienced over losing George is hard to name. It identifies itself as everything from Lady Gaga lyrics to sermons. It manifests itself in the remnants of bath salts, given to me by George for my birthday, now crushed to powder in every crevice of my purse. It manifests itself in my unwillingness to remove it, as every time I open my purse I can smell him. As surprised as I have been by my sorrow, I am likewise taken aback by my joy for my favorite gypsy. There are moments when I feel guilty for rejoicing. When I feel this guilt, I am shortly thereafter struck by the reminder that we can only grieve for what we have once rejoiced in. I also rejoice in knowing my grieving means my dear gypsy, George, is rejoicing, as he is no longer a nomad, and has found a home.

This year has come with many changes, not all of which I welcomed easily. I am a cleaver. I resist change most adamantly. New Year's resolutions are all about what we plan on acquiring or eliminating from our lives. This year I am taking inventory of the areas in my life where I could be a bit more of a "gypsy" and the areas where I can reside more in a sense of "home" or being settled.

1. I will be a gypsy in the classroom. I will be willing to move through ideas, approaches, and changes more fluidly. I will challenge myself to be more flexible as a teacher and encourage flexibility and creativity in my students.

2. I will be a gypsy in my own creative practice. I will make more art for myself, and push myself to try new mediums.

3. I will be a gypsy with new people. I will allow myself to move out of my comfort zone in order to meet unique, interesting and inspiring people.

4. I will be a gypsy when considering next steps. I will not put limitations on where I'd be willing to move or apply.

5. I will be at home in my relationships. I will strive to be more generous with those I love, and more willing to accept their limitations as well as my own.

6. I will be at home in my job. I will enjoy each day more and not get so caught up in the day to day hiccups. I will focus most on my relationship with my students, and do my best to engender them with confidence, a willingness to take risks and empathize.

7. I will be at home in my faith. I will be more willing to share my beliefs and express a greater abundance of love. I will be bold about my belief in God and his hand in my life.

8. I will be at home in my body. I will not disparage it. I will refuse to be aware of my "good" angles and I will accept the changes that have come to it this past year.

At George's funeral the concluding speaker reminded us of George's ability to live the second commandment effortlessly. George had an uncanny ability to love his neighbor. The speaker encouraged us to not only love our neighbor but to make efforts to likewise recommit ourselves to the first commandment of loving God more.

Grief is a nomadic process. You never feel completely at home in any given emotion. It is a place where one does not want to sit still. Loss in many ways is what creates gypsies. There have been moments when I have not wanted to sit still in all of this. However, when the stillness catches me, I find myself in awe of the renewed and deepened love I have for my friends and family. I find myself in awe of a more consecrated faith and sacred commitment to God.

George Bernard Shaw wrote, “There are two tragedies in life. One is to lose your heart's desire. The other is to gain it."

The most beautiful things we acquire, and precious things we lose, all come with painful tutoring and shaping. The ultimate battle is learning to recognize the junctures requiring more movement and those that ask for stillness. My ultimate hope for my 2015 is to better understand when to run and when to stand still.

Top 10 most Codependent Love Songs of the past 20 years

With some embarrassment, I must admit I went through a bit of a Bieber phase. On one occasion, I  absentmindedly failed to cover my tracks and left a cd in my mother's car. A couple days later she made the comment that she had listened to the album all the way through and had concluded popular music while undeniably catchy (she too had become a belieber in a mere 48 hours) was likewise incredibly codependent. Since this point I have listened carefully for codependency. Though we often give chick-flicks and the CW television network the brunt of our aggression for coloring our view of what love should look like, it has come to my attention that the songs crowding every airwave from the time I was little needs to shoulder a bit more of the blame.
Codependency is not love.
This seems an impossible truth for many of us to grasp, so might I present my guide to the top 10 most codependent love songs of the past 20 years.

Let me preface this by saying, I quite enjoy many of these songs, tremendously! Which may be a problem beyond my One Tree Hill addiction...

1. "How do I live without you?" By Leann Rimes

“How do I live without you?
I want to know, How do I breathe without you?
If you ever go, How do I ever, ever survive?
How do I, how do I, oh how do I live?”

Apparently Leann figured out how to live without her 14 year old boyfriend. Also, perhaps Leann's life support view of love was not particularly conducive to her relationships later in life… She is now more notorious for her infidelity than her bangs or insane talent…

2. "As long as you love me" By the Backstreet Boys

“I don't care who you are,Where you're from
What you did, As long as you love me”

Actually, background checks are imperative in contemporary courtship…

3. "As long as you love me" by Justin Bieber

“As you love me we could be starving, we could be homeless, we could be broke”

Hate to break it to you Justin, but financial stress is the primary cause of divorce nowadays…

4. " I love you always forever" by Donna Lewis

“I love you always forever, Near and far, closer together

Everywhere I will be with you, Everything I will do for you

I love you always forever”

Stalking is about as cute as the crop top Donna is sporting throughout the video. Offering to do everything for someone is as unsettling as early nineties music videos.

5. "Call me maybe" By Carly Rae Jepson

“I'd trade my soul for a wish, Pennies and dimes for a kiss”

It is indeed crazy Carly. Make good investments and keep your soul. 

6. "Always be my baby" by Mariah Carey

“You'll always be a part of me, I'm part of you indefinitely

Boy don't you know you can't escape me, Ooh darling 'cause you'll always be my baby

And we'll linger on, Time can't erase a feeling this strong, No way you're never gonna shake me”

Watch out Nick Cannon…

7. "She will be loved" by Maroon Five

“I don't mind spending every day, Out on your corner in the pouring rain”

Code for: I currently am unemployed…

8. "I have nothing" by Whitney Houston

“Stay in my arms if you dare, Or must I imagine you there

Don't walk away from me… I have nothing, nothing, nothing

If I don't have you”

Appropriate words for Kevin Costner? Maybe… Bobby Brown? …

9. "No Air" by Jordin Sparks and Chris Brown

“But how do you expect me, to live alone with just me

'Cause my world revolves around you, It's so hard for me to breathe

 Tell me how I'm supposed to breathe with no air, Can't live, can't breathe with no air”

Attention ladies, Chris Brown is not a viable source of oxygen…

10. " Unconditionally" by Katy Perry

“Unconditional, unconditionally, I will love you unconditionally

There is no fear now, Let go and just be free, I will love you unconditionally”

While this concept is good in theory, one must always have conditions when it comes to Russel Brand, or John Mayer…