I would say that I owe my students an apology, particularly after spending the last hours helping my 13 year old work on his fucking Gubernatorial project in between helping the 10 year old work on his fucking triorama project in between, well, let's just say that no amount of obscenities will be enough to cover that portion of the program. But, I don't owe my students an apology because they are in college so I guess I don't feel as guilty. HOWEVER, if I ever go back to teaching high school or middle school English, I am never assigning another project. I swear it; make a copy of this and tape it to the fridge because it ain't happening. And, I hate the word ain't so you know I mean business. The project is actually a good one; interesting and relevant, but not for a 13 year old boy whose idea of a citizen's responsibility is wearing his helmet so that when he cracks his head open on the city street that the workers don't have to come and clean it up... then again, it keeps people employed so maybe he's on to something there. And, of course, I must factor in the fact that he has had over a month to work on it... ah, well, did I mention that I still have to carve the pumpkin... somebody help me.
Homework is a vile, unnecessary monkey on the backs of children and their families and I say families because it really is rare these days when a kid can sit down and do all of their homework in a timely fashion with no assistance. I mean, a fucking reading log? Please, I can't think of a quicker way to kill a love of reading than to have to write down how many minutes you read each day? This is why I don't keep weapons or hard drugs in my house. If I could find a baseball bat right now, I might just knock the window out (sighs in disgust). The mere thought that a worksheet will somehow help a child to want to learn something or to actually learn it? Where was the teacher educated? Prison? If I see another printout that asks a kid, What do you think about that? I am going to get my baseball bat. See, I have a kid who is marvellously verbose. Ask him to talk about a subject and pretend that you're interested and really, you'll be surprised. Ask him to write down his responses and forget it; might as well fail him right now. Sure, writing skills are vital; I'm preaching to my own choir right now, but I also think and I am not the only one who thinks this, but I think that there have to be and soon, alternative measures implemented to test the mastery of knowledge of students in any given subject matter. Everyone learns differently and there is no single measuring tool for assesment. Why would we have one anyway, I mean, in what field is anyone reviewed on their job performance in EXACTLY the same manner? I mean, sure engineers have to have a degree, they have to be able to compute and measure and blah, blah, blah, but don't those requirements come prior to being hired? After that, sure everyone has to show up on time, put in his/her hours and do their jobs but aren't they then evaluated on the basis of their individual projects or particular fields of expertise? Seriously, there is a minimum standard, but if your teepee doesn't have the right color cloth, can we honestly say that the kid hasn't "mastered" Social Studies or should they fail because their picture wasn't big enough? I guess I'm kind of arguing againt myself but I'm also looking at the possibility that not every kid is going to college. So instead of belittling them and constantly telling them how and why they are failing, why don't we, as educators, instead make an attempt to capitalize on what they do well and by virtue of that, use different methods to test their knowledge and understanding? Do you remember anything from 5th grade Social Studies? Do you want to? And I know the counter argument or the rebuttal, the system is broken, the classes are too large, teachers don't have enough resources, blah, blah, blah. Why don't we go back to the basics and eliminate all of this crap that just wastes time, frustrates everyone involved and instead of cutting and pasting, we have them speak more and write more and teach them how to love what they are studying instead of hating it. My kid is not dumb nor is he incapable. He struggles, he is lazy sometimes and he's bored. And I don't blame him one bit, well, I blame him for being lazy, but we're working on that.
The system is failing so why do we continue to do the same damn things that we did last year and the year before? You know why? Because it's easy and it doesn't require change and discipline and imagination. It's easier to rest on what you've been doing than to change it, even if that means that you might fail or it might fail, still, think about the possibilty that you might inadvertently encourage or inspire a student to want to think outside the box or want to study for a test or want to actually read on their own. Passion for something is underdeveloped in public schools and in the curriculum. Most of the work is boring and pointless and poorly taught. I'm tired of all the nonsensical bullshit and I'm especially tired of the students who show up in my classes and tell me that they've graduated from high school yet they can't pass a 7th grade level reading test. Where does the blame lie?
I admire anyone who steps in front of a class and who attempts to teach another human being something; it is a daunting task for the brightest and most creative people yet I have very little tolerance for the apathetic and those who literally sit on the past and who refuse to accept that whatever they are doing is NOT working. I'd respect them more if they acknowledged that and made a viable attempt to change it. It's one thing to feel like your hands are tied to a chair, but it's another thing entirely to choose not to struggle against those constraints. Apathy is a choice, not a predisposition. I take my share of the blame and the responsibility for my children and my students and so I expect the same in return. There should no longer be an idealogy that includes "teaching to the middle." Whatever has to happen, that train of thought has to change if all children stand a chance of survival in this fucked up system that we call Public Education. And don't even get me started on Special Education, I don't have time right now, I have to go and help with pages in a Science notebook.
Happy Halloween... yeah, okay.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Friday, October 29, 2010
Writing
Writing something down as a permanent means of expression is terrifying and... thrilling. Letting someone else read your words is much like letting them make love to you for the first time; you feel vulnerable and exposed and not completely in control. Sometimes it's hard for me to let other people read what I'm writing because it invites judgment and, frankly, I don't like to be judged. I can appreciate criticism and someone's informed opinions about most anything, but my thoughts in particular? Sometimes I cringe when I imagine another person walking through the storage bin of my ideas, reading, evaluating... difficult.
Did I ever tell you that I was the Homecoming Queen? Did I? Forgive me if I didn't for it isn't something that I share freely. The Homecoming Queen, really? I know, imagine how I felt? If you were to freeze frame a character from a movie that would be sum up the kind of girl that I was, it wouldn't be the cheerleader or the diva or even the pretty girl that read books in the corner of the library. Nope, I would have been the tomboy who got picked first in P.E. when someone needed a pitcher in baseball or a stopper in soccer or even a linebacker (if they were desperaate). I grew up playing sports or I didn't get to play at all and, I was the girl who wouldn't be caught dead in a dress. Well, I wore one to Homecoming, but I was almost 18 then... My point, and once again, I might have one here, is that I've always been a person who just kind of... is. You know, wrapped up in her own thoughts and kind of doing her own thing and for a long time I did care very much about what people thought of me because, again, I didn't and I don't, like to be judged. But I came to a point, not long after I was given my "title" when I began to develop a thicker skin and eventually, I learned that I really didn't care what anyone else thought. Over the years, that way of thinking has helped me get to a place where I can appreciate people for who and what they are, rather than what they are not. And, ultimately, I am in a much more positive place than ever before. I had a lot of fun in school and I miss seeing so many of the people who helped to shape my way of thinking and who shared some of my fondest childhood memories, but I visit them in a detached way, trying to implement those lessons that they've taught me in how I behave and in how I treat other people. I guess maybe that's why I love teaching so much. I get a rare opportunity to, sometimes just for a second, help someone else find their moment or, at the very least, I get to be a part of it.
I'm not the smartest teacher or the kindest mother. I'm not the most supportive friend or the best listener. But I keep trying to put myself out there, to laugh at myself and to understand that life isn't about making the right decisions, it's about getting to those decisions. Should I? and, will it be a crisis if I don't? Maybe, but I will have been honest with myself.
I had a moment tonight when I looked at something and my heart fluttered and you KNOW exactly what I'm talking about. That feeling of pure desire coursing through you that makes your thoughts fuzzy and your knees go weak. I don't know, I'm not sure exactly what happened, but when I saw it, I felt like I did the first time I posted something on here; moved beyond explanation. And I loved it. I want that feeling to happen every single day for the rest of my life. I'll keep looking...
So, writing, a real digression here and, as a writing teacher (sometimes), I understand how difficult it is to put thoughts down in a linear fashion; to try and carve out an idea that maybe isn't or wasn't your favorite to begin with. I know what it's like to stare at a blank screen and will the words to come together; unbelievably frustrating. But, like anything worth doing, when the words do begin to come, it's like the blood pumps just a bit quicker and your fingers take on a life of their own; the words begin to shape themselves and you become a mere bystander to the creation of a new piece. And then, you share it with someone else. Magical; writing really is an art form.
I never told you who my favorites are, then again, not many people ask. So, here's a reading list for you. As I type the titles, I can feel my pulse begin to quicken. I'd better type faster:
Edith Wharton's The Age of Innocence, Ernest Hemingway's The Old Man and the Sea,
Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird, John Steinbeck's The Grapes of Wrath, George Orwell's 1984, Daniel Defoe's Moll Flanders, Shakespeare's Othello and Macbeth, Maya Angelou's I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, William Faulkner's The Sound and the Fury, Elie Wiesel's Night, Toni Morrison's Sula, Gabriel Garcia Marquez's One Hundred Years of Solitude... and the list goes on. Ask me again in a year and I'll have more titles for you. You think I'm writing this to you, don't you? You're wrong, I'm writing it for you. Slipping the shirt off my shoulder, you read the words and you see just a little bit more as time goes on... complete vulnerability...
Did I ever tell you that I was the Homecoming Queen? Did I? Forgive me if I didn't for it isn't something that I share freely. The Homecoming Queen, really? I know, imagine how I felt? If you were to freeze frame a character from a movie that would be sum up the kind of girl that I was, it wouldn't be the cheerleader or the diva or even the pretty girl that read books in the corner of the library. Nope, I would have been the tomboy who got picked first in P.E. when someone needed a pitcher in baseball or a stopper in soccer or even a linebacker (if they were desperaate). I grew up playing sports or I didn't get to play at all and, I was the girl who wouldn't be caught dead in a dress. Well, I wore one to Homecoming, but I was almost 18 then... My point, and once again, I might have one here, is that I've always been a person who just kind of... is. You know, wrapped up in her own thoughts and kind of doing her own thing and for a long time I did care very much about what people thought of me because, again, I didn't and I don't, like to be judged. But I came to a point, not long after I was given my "title" when I began to develop a thicker skin and eventually, I learned that I really didn't care what anyone else thought. Over the years, that way of thinking has helped me get to a place where I can appreciate people for who and what they are, rather than what they are not. And, ultimately, I am in a much more positive place than ever before. I had a lot of fun in school and I miss seeing so many of the people who helped to shape my way of thinking and who shared some of my fondest childhood memories, but I visit them in a detached way, trying to implement those lessons that they've taught me in how I behave and in how I treat other people. I guess maybe that's why I love teaching so much. I get a rare opportunity to, sometimes just for a second, help someone else find their moment or, at the very least, I get to be a part of it.
I'm not the smartest teacher or the kindest mother. I'm not the most supportive friend or the best listener. But I keep trying to put myself out there, to laugh at myself and to understand that life isn't about making the right decisions, it's about getting to those decisions. Should I? and, will it be a crisis if I don't? Maybe, but I will have been honest with myself.
I had a moment tonight when I looked at something and my heart fluttered and you KNOW exactly what I'm talking about. That feeling of pure desire coursing through you that makes your thoughts fuzzy and your knees go weak. I don't know, I'm not sure exactly what happened, but when I saw it, I felt like I did the first time I posted something on here; moved beyond explanation. And I loved it. I want that feeling to happen every single day for the rest of my life. I'll keep looking...
So, writing, a real digression here and, as a writing teacher (sometimes), I understand how difficult it is to put thoughts down in a linear fashion; to try and carve out an idea that maybe isn't or wasn't your favorite to begin with. I know what it's like to stare at a blank screen and will the words to come together; unbelievably frustrating. But, like anything worth doing, when the words do begin to come, it's like the blood pumps just a bit quicker and your fingers take on a life of their own; the words begin to shape themselves and you become a mere bystander to the creation of a new piece. And then, you share it with someone else. Magical; writing really is an art form.
I never told you who my favorites are, then again, not many people ask. So, here's a reading list for you. As I type the titles, I can feel my pulse begin to quicken. I'd better type faster:
Edith Wharton's The Age of Innocence, Ernest Hemingway's The Old Man and the Sea,
Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird, John Steinbeck's The Grapes of Wrath, George Orwell's 1984, Daniel Defoe's Moll Flanders, Shakespeare's Othello and Macbeth, Maya Angelou's I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, William Faulkner's The Sound and the Fury, Elie Wiesel's Night, Toni Morrison's Sula, Gabriel Garcia Marquez's One Hundred Years of Solitude... and the list goes on. Ask me again in a year and I'll have more titles for you. You think I'm writing this to you, don't you? You're wrong, I'm writing it for you. Slipping the shirt off my shoulder, you read the words and you see just a little bit more as time goes on... complete vulnerability...
Thursday, October 14, 2010
A History lesson...
I didn't even know him. I remember hearing about him when he passed away so suddenly, early this year, but other than that, he could have been just another face passing me by in the hallway or around the campus. But after reading more about him and after taking a few minutes to see some of his work, I get the sense that his passion for "creating" isn't something that you got only by taking one of his classes. I get the impression that Neil Moss was a storyteller and through his sculpture, his art, the story continues...indefinitely.
It's interesting, the idea of art; the implications, the meanings, the mere intent of a shape or form... I've always been rather curious as to how and why things are the way that they are. I suppose that's why I spent so many Saturdays, as a kid, walking to the library. That world was somewhat unknown; outside of the familiar and the comfortable. Literature gave me a new language. It enabled me to consider the possibilities of thoughts that I'd never even so much as entertained before. Stories and poetry and novels introduced me to new ways of capturing my own imagination in the form of analysis and interpretation. I read, I make meaning, it becomes a small piece of who I am in that moment and then, it lingers...
I know virtually nothing about art, but because I've been fascinated with the how and why, the landscape that a piece of art offers is just too enticing to resist. Tonight, as I looked at Neil Moss's sculpture; his pieces and the colors, the edges and the shapes, I was reminded of how little one needs to actually know to appreciate a creation of beauty. Yes sure, it's a bowl or a teapot, but really, it's so much more than that. The meaning of each piece, for me, still comes from a place of why and maybe it always will, but here, it seemed to come from the choices that he made for each of the pieces that were displayed. Certain colors and textures and forms and even the size of the piece. It makes me wonder what went through his mind when he sculpted each one and how he decided on that particular color and why that size and then, I told myself that it didn't matter. The piece was beautiful because... well, it just was. And the colors were luminous on one of the vases... well, just because. And my favorite piece, the teapot with the two small cups... well, let's just say that it holds certain symbolism for me in my life.
I'm fascinated by the fascinating; by the unexplained and the inexplicable. Neil Moss's sudden death left many people reeling and, this exhibition, put on by the college, makes me hope that many people, more like myself, who are out of their comfort zones in the art world, will take off their shoes and step inside so that they can get a small glimpse of the kind of legacy that this man has left behind; in his work and in his students. He was a man who was admired and loved and maybe there is no better legacy than that. Maybe there is no other reason to consider art than to say it is admired and loved and it attempts to speak to us on its own terms, in its own language. Frustrating though that may be, it certainly makes for an interesting evening.
Lastly, when speaking with a student about this very subject; well, art and the development of an appreciation for it, I was reminded by how much I still have to learn about so many things. And I was reminded that an appreciation for something, for anything comes from a deep desire to want to understand; a soul searching if you will. Maybe I don't allow myself to consider art in the same way that I do music or literature. I suppose I don't have to know why it is the way it is. I suppose that, in the end, it really is all about perspective. I do know though that my students are an untapped well of information and experience that enriches my own point of view and for that, I feel very lucky. I'm sure Neil Moss would agree. Sleep well Professor...
It's interesting, the idea of art; the implications, the meanings, the mere intent of a shape or form... I've always been rather curious as to how and why things are the way that they are. I suppose that's why I spent so many Saturdays, as a kid, walking to the library. That world was somewhat unknown; outside of the familiar and the comfortable. Literature gave me a new language. It enabled me to consider the possibilities of thoughts that I'd never even so much as entertained before. Stories and poetry and novels introduced me to new ways of capturing my own imagination in the form of analysis and interpretation. I read, I make meaning, it becomes a small piece of who I am in that moment and then, it lingers...
I know virtually nothing about art, but because I've been fascinated with the how and why, the landscape that a piece of art offers is just too enticing to resist. Tonight, as I looked at Neil Moss's sculpture; his pieces and the colors, the edges and the shapes, I was reminded of how little one needs to actually know to appreciate a creation of beauty. Yes sure, it's a bowl or a teapot, but really, it's so much more than that. The meaning of each piece, for me, still comes from a place of why and maybe it always will, but here, it seemed to come from the choices that he made for each of the pieces that were displayed. Certain colors and textures and forms and even the size of the piece. It makes me wonder what went through his mind when he sculpted each one and how he decided on that particular color and why that size and then, I told myself that it didn't matter. The piece was beautiful because... well, it just was. And the colors were luminous on one of the vases... well, just because. And my favorite piece, the teapot with the two small cups... well, let's just say that it holds certain symbolism for me in my life.
I'm fascinated by the fascinating; by the unexplained and the inexplicable. Neil Moss's sudden death left many people reeling and, this exhibition, put on by the college, makes me hope that many people, more like myself, who are out of their comfort zones in the art world, will take off their shoes and step inside so that they can get a small glimpse of the kind of legacy that this man has left behind; in his work and in his students. He was a man who was admired and loved and maybe there is no better legacy than that. Maybe there is no other reason to consider art than to say it is admired and loved and it attempts to speak to us on its own terms, in its own language. Frustrating though that may be, it certainly makes for an interesting evening.
Lastly, when speaking with a student about this very subject; well, art and the development of an appreciation for it, I was reminded by how much I still have to learn about so many things. And I was reminded that an appreciation for something, for anything comes from a deep desire to want to understand; a soul searching if you will. Maybe I don't allow myself to consider art in the same way that I do music or literature. I suppose I don't have to know why it is the way it is. I suppose that, in the end, it really is all about perspective. I do know though that my students are an untapped well of information and experience that enriches my own point of view and for that, I feel very lucky. I'm sure Neil Moss would agree. Sleep well Professor...
Friday, October 8, 2010
Altruism
Maybe it's completely normal to feel this way and maybe it's supposed to come later in life; when you've learned to understand and accept what you think life is all about and how it is your time and your place to give something back to the world that has allowed you to be a part of it. All parts of it; good and bad. Maybe, as we age, we are given a more profound sense of how we fit into the scope of the big picture or if we even really fit in at all. I actually like to think that there are people who are "better" than all of us and they don't have to be the Mother Theresa's or the Gandhi's; they can simply be the people who walk by us and who continue to help others without any fanfare or rewards. They are the people who deserve the accolades, but who would prefer not to receive them. They are the people who I want in my life.
I know so many good, kind, generous human beings who give of themselves, selflessly; with their time and their money and even with their services. I know teachers who tutor students for free and I know physicians who travel and who give free medical assistance and advice. I know police officers who work with drug addicts on the weekends and I know a lawyer who mentors three, not one, but three at risk teenagers, on his weekends. I'd like to know more of these people and I'd like to have them tell me that it's okay to feel like you're not doing enough because I think that is the only time and the only thing that will motivate me and everyone else to get up off of their asses and do something that will make even the smallest difference in the lives of other people.
My brother and I were talking tonight and he said something that resonated with me because I've always thought the exact same thing about myself, "I've always been good at a lot of things, but never great at any one thing." So unbelievably true that it was like I had an epiphany right there at the gym. What would it feel like to be great at something? To have a natural talent and an ability that surpassed others in that field? I try to imagine what that would feel like and honestly, I can't because I don't have anything to compare it to. So, I settle for being good at things and the greatness will have to come from someone else. And, I'm okay with that. Being good at something is not the same as being mediocre; I like to think that it's a little bit more than that...
Somebody asked me today, "Why would you want to run a marathon?" and, the people who run with me, one in particular these days, would probably laugh and answer with me, "Because we can." It really is that simple. Put one foot in front of the other, set your mind, instill discipline and then, decide that you want to do it for something bigger than yourself; a cause that will move your feet for you, even when you don't want them to go anymore, even when you feel like you can't move your legs anymore. The cause will remind you why you are there and it will carry you across the finish. Running for charity; in particular, charities that are close to your heart, changes you forever. It has changed me forever and my perspective on life and on people and the further I run, the broader my perspective, my empathy and my desire to help people becomes. "Why would I run a marathon?" you ask? "Why wouldn't I?"
Two years ago this weekend, I began a marathon training program with AIDS Project Los Angeles; raise 1600.00 dollars and train for 8 months to run the LA marathon... I was 39 years old the beginning of that year and I was terrified. Mostly because I was forcing myself outside of my comfort zone but moreso because I knew that if I committed to it, I was going to have to do it. And so, the journey began. Biff, Arianna, Kevin and the other coaches and support staff told us that first day; 3 maintenance runs a week and a long run every Sunday. 4 times a week, that's it, guaranteed. And, of course, raise the money. Turns out, the training would be easier than raising the money, but no one said that it would be simple. In those eight months, there were many Sunday mornings that the alarm went off and I didn't want to go; I didn't want to drive all the way to Griffith Park and then subject myself to 18 miles or 20 miles or 23 miles, knowing full well that my back would hurt and I'd be exhausted for the rest of the day. There were nights when I was tired and busy and I didn't want to get on the treadmill or go to the track to do my "maintenance" runs. It would have been so much easier to sit my ass down on the couch and pretend that I'd done it. Easier, not a word that I like... So, I dragged myself into the car, or the gym or I threw on my shoes and off I went, reminding myself why I was doing it in the first place and telling myself, mostly when I wanted to quit, not to be such a fucking baby and to remember that there are millions of people suffering from a disease that, given the proper amount of funding and research, could be eradicated. And, I just kept running... all the way to the finish line... That first LA marathon; with Mark, Sarah, Ester, Tobie, Karen and Courtney was life affirming and ultimately, it changed my life and has every day since. I wish I could say that it gets easier to run, to set a goal and to accomplish it; that after that first marathon that anything seemed possible and it was, but frankly, that's just not the truth. The truth is, it's always hard, it's always a struggle, it's always a battle and it probably always will be.
So, as I prepare to go to New York and for a new marathon and for a new cause, I am trying once again to remind myself that I get to go and run, but I am doing it for a bigger reason than "Just because I can." This time, I set out by myself, to run my first 26.2 miler alone and I hope that there are more than a few moments during that race when I will remember why I signed up in the first place, why I flew 3,000 miles and why I think I can do it at all because there are many days when I think I can't. I let the doubt creep in and scare me into thinking that I won't finish, I won't reach the goal. That's human nature I guess, but not really something that the average person like me wants to be thinking about in a one shot situation like this one; when people are counting on you, believing in you to finish and to finish strong. So, I tell myself that I'm prepared and that every dollar raised is like a footstep in the direction of the finish line; I only need a couple thousand more to get there.
Maybe it isn't the proverbial finish line that motivates me; I mean, if I don't cross it, will I have failed? Or, is it really just the fact that I showed up, that I made the effort? I know what most people would tell me and I suppose that's reassuring. But ultimately, I need to know that the preparation was not in vain and that every time I stand in front of a class and preach about how it is "obtainable" and how they "can" succeed or every time I coach a game where I tell the players that it isn't about the score; it's about how well they worked together and how good the quality of the team play is that matters, that ultimately, I would be a hypocrite if I didn't recognize those things in myself and for myself when I set out to do something. Then again, maybe it just takes time to realize that.
I've had a lot of opportunity in my life. I feel like I've worked hard, but I've had support and people who love me and who believed in me and that carries you a long way in this life marathon. For those who haven't had that and for those who've had to live against insurmountable odds and with circumstances that at best could be defined as "minimal," all I can offer you is this; there are people who believe that change will come and who will strive to help acheive that change through donations and charitable work and that, someday, hopefully soon, there will be less disease and less heartbreak and less of the pain causing situations that take so much from people like you and me, who never deserve it, regardless of their circumstances. Maybe they just weren't fortunate enough to grow up in the United States or to have a parent or even, God forbid, to have enough food and water to get them through the day.
The next time someone asks you to donate to a cause that they support or that they believe in, consider doing it. There are reasons behind their asking you, in particular. And for as hard as you might think it is to find some extra cash, just think how hard it is for them to have to ask, on behalf of someone else. Tonight, before your head hits the pillow, ask yourself what you've done to better humanity in the past year? Ten years? Twenty? And then wake up tomorrow and sign up for a marathon... What have you got to lose, besides your fear and your apathy? See you at the finish line...
I know so many good, kind, generous human beings who give of themselves, selflessly; with their time and their money and even with their services. I know teachers who tutor students for free and I know physicians who travel and who give free medical assistance and advice. I know police officers who work with drug addicts on the weekends and I know a lawyer who mentors three, not one, but three at risk teenagers, on his weekends. I'd like to know more of these people and I'd like to have them tell me that it's okay to feel like you're not doing enough because I think that is the only time and the only thing that will motivate me and everyone else to get up off of their asses and do something that will make even the smallest difference in the lives of other people.
My brother and I were talking tonight and he said something that resonated with me because I've always thought the exact same thing about myself, "I've always been good at a lot of things, but never great at any one thing." So unbelievably true that it was like I had an epiphany right there at the gym. What would it feel like to be great at something? To have a natural talent and an ability that surpassed others in that field? I try to imagine what that would feel like and honestly, I can't because I don't have anything to compare it to. So, I settle for being good at things and the greatness will have to come from someone else. And, I'm okay with that. Being good at something is not the same as being mediocre; I like to think that it's a little bit more than that...
Somebody asked me today, "Why would you want to run a marathon?" and, the people who run with me, one in particular these days, would probably laugh and answer with me, "Because we can." It really is that simple. Put one foot in front of the other, set your mind, instill discipline and then, decide that you want to do it for something bigger than yourself; a cause that will move your feet for you, even when you don't want them to go anymore, even when you feel like you can't move your legs anymore. The cause will remind you why you are there and it will carry you across the finish. Running for charity; in particular, charities that are close to your heart, changes you forever. It has changed me forever and my perspective on life and on people and the further I run, the broader my perspective, my empathy and my desire to help people becomes. "Why would I run a marathon?" you ask? "Why wouldn't I?"
Two years ago this weekend, I began a marathon training program with AIDS Project Los Angeles; raise 1600.00 dollars and train for 8 months to run the LA marathon... I was 39 years old the beginning of that year and I was terrified. Mostly because I was forcing myself outside of my comfort zone but moreso because I knew that if I committed to it, I was going to have to do it. And so, the journey began. Biff, Arianna, Kevin and the other coaches and support staff told us that first day; 3 maintenance runs a week and a long run every Sunday. 4 times a week, that's it, guaranteed. And, of course, raise the money. Turns out, the training would be easier than raising the money, but no one said that it would be simple. In those eight months, there were many Sunday mornings that the alarm went off and I didn't want to go; I didn't want to drive all the way to Griffith Park and then subject myself to 18 miles or 20 miles or 23 miles, knowing full well that my back would hurt and I'd be exhausted for the rest of the day. There were nights when I was tired and busy and I didn't want to get on the treadmill or go to the track to do my "maintenance" runs. It would have been so much easier to sit my ass down on the couch and pretend that I'd done it. Easier, not a word that I like... So, I dragged myself into the car, or the gym or I threw on my shoes and off I went, reminding myself why I was doing it in the first place and telling myself, mostly when I wanted to quit, not to be such a fucking baby and to remember that there are millions of people suffering from a disease that, given the proper amount of funding and research, could be eradicated. And, I just kept running... all the way to the finish line... That first LA marathon; with Mark, Sarah, Ester, Tobie, Karen and Courtney was life affirming and ultimately, it changed my life and has every day since. I wish I could say that it gets easier to run, to set a goal and to accomplish it; that after that first marathon that anything seemed possible and it was, but frankly, that's just not the truth. The truth is, it's always hard, it's always a struggle, it's always a battle and it probably always will be.
So, as I prepare to go to New York and for a new marathon and for a new cause, I am trying once again to remind myself that I get to go and run, but I am doing it for a bigger reason than "Just because I can." This time, I set out by myself, to run my first 26.2 miler alone and I hope that there are more than a few moments during that race when I will remember why I signed up in the first place, why I flew 3,000 miles and why I think I can do it at all because there are many days when I think I can't. I let the doubt creep in and scare me into thinking that I won't finish, I won't reach the goal. That's human nature I guess, but not really something that the average person like me wants to be thinking about in a one shot situation like this one; when people are counting on you, believing in you to finish and to finish strong. So, I tell myself that I'm prepared and that every dollar raised is like a footstep in the direction of the finish line; I only need a couple thousand more to get there.
Maybe it isn't the proverbial finish line that motivates me; I mean, if I don't cross it, will I have failed? Or, is it really just the fact that I showed up, that I made the effort? I know what most people would tell me and I suppose that's reassuring. But ultimately, I need to know that the preparation was not in vain and that every time I stand in front of a class and preach about how it is "obtainable" and how they "can" succeed or every time I coach a game where I tell the players that it isn't about the score; it's about how well they worked together and how good the quality of the team play is that matters, that ultimately, I would be a hypocrite if I didn't recognize those things in myself and for myself when I set out to do something. Then again, maybe it just takes time to realize that.
I've had a lot of opportunity in my life. I feel like I've worked hard, but I've had support and people who love me and who believed in me and that carries you a long way in this life marathon. For those who haven't had that and for those who've had to live against insurmountable odds and with circumstances that at best could be defined as "minimal," all I can offer you is this; there are people who believe that change will come and who will strive to help acheive that change through donations and charitable work and that, someday, hopefully soon, there will be less disease and less heartbreak and less of the pain causing situations that take so much from people like you and me, who never deserve it, regardless of their circumstances. Maybe they just weren't fortunate enough to grow up in the United States or to have a parent or even, God forbid, to have enough food and water to get them through the day.
The next time someone asks you to donate to a cause that they support or that they believe in, consider doing it. There are reasons behind their asking you, in particular. And for as hard as you might think it is to find some extra cash, just think how hard it is for them to have to ask, on behalf of someone else. Tonight, before your head hits the pillow, ask yourself what you've done to better humanity in the past year? Ten years? Twenty? And then wake up tomorrow and sign up for a marathon... What have you got to lose, besides your fear and your apathy? See you at the finish line...
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