I sit here, listening to President Obama talk about the tragedy that struck Boston on this past Monday, the tears begin to flow down my face. Although common enough, my response, it is not one to be analyzed or evaluated, it is simply a response to both the lack of humanity and the over abundance of humanity that is shown in moments like these. 9/11, Sandy Hook, Boston...
All of these events and others, have hit us hard; they have hit me hard. "It's personal" President Obama repeated and, as I wipe my eyes and continue to listen, I am struck by how those two words explain it all: my response, my sadness these past few days and the wonder at the people who have stepped forward to help. There have been so many moments, so many stories that have emerged the past few days; the instances of grace, of kindness, of love. It moves me beyond words. I have not been able to articulate how "personal" the bombing at the Boston marathon was this past Monday. I still don't feel as though I can wholly express the sentiment and the pain correctly, but I think, as I scroll through the numerous text messages asking if I was in Boston, that the pain is beginning to dissipate amidst the realization and the recognition that the beauty of humanity that was shown on Monday supercedes the pain and the tragedy and the spirit of the marathon in all of us overpowers any sadness that we most certainly still feel in our hearts.
Beauty is everywhere, that is true. But for me, beauty is found most in purity. Selfless acts of random kindness, smiles and that indomitable strength that picks us up and shows the best of who we are after these horrific events. We pick ourselves up and we move forward, despite the pain, despite the hatred, despite the loss; we are resilient, we are one. What makes humanity and Americans truly great is this strength. In the moment when we want to turn away so as not to see the horror, instead we turn toward, to see if we can help. We move toward what hurts us most. And that, to me, is beauty. That is what a marathon and those who run, those who volunteer, those who cheer... is all about.
Thursday, April 18, 2013
Thursday, April 11, 2013
Why Not?
I've had millions, no thousands, no, well, maybe a few people ask me or say to me, "Hey Yvette, why don't you write a book?" or, sometimes, it has been, "Why don't you blog every day?" To which I simply reply, "I don't know," but really, I do know. I don't do either for the same reason that I don't lose the last of the perpetual baby weight or why I don't run every day or, why I don't take the laundry out of the washing machine before it dries in there and sticks and then I have to wash it all over again. I don't because I don't fucking feel like it. I know, can you hear the quarter drop? Swear jar...
Get ready for a shocker, well, for those of you who know me, you are already nodding as your eyes move left to right, I am an unmotivated person. Shocking, I told you, not so much. When I want to do something or if I am inspired to do so, I often kick ass at it. I mean, I'm not the best, but I get that mother fucker done (Quarter #2, hang on). Most people could and do say the same, but the thing is, for me, it really doesn't make sense because to do something that you LOVE to do and then to get better at it, as in, maybe to do it professionally, requires discipline and, of all of the things that I am NOT, disciplined ranks right up there with tactful.
I don't like boundaries, I don't like parameters and I definitely don't like being told what to do. I have an extremely difficult time with people for whom I lack respect or admiration and if one of those happens to be an authority figure to whom I have to report, I really have a problem. I liken my approach to life, work, family, hobbies and all of the other minutiae of daily life in much the same way; if I feel like doing it, it gets done and if I don't, then the machine grinds to a halt. You can clearly see how this philosophy interferes with the possibility of success or, basically, for having a clean car, a walked dog and graded papers returned on time. For these, I refuse to blame ADD or some other "diagnosis" of which I have yet to be made aware. But, I do acknowledge that as much inspiration that is needed to write, there is even more discipline required. Therefore, sometimes the blog takes a vacation...
I have, over the last two years, written several "pieces" of which I would never allow another human being to peruse. I have written these for me, for my own peace of mind and, I think I would violate every tenet of every philosophical ideology that has ever meant anything to me by putting them out into the universe for other people to judge. And for those of you who say, "I'm not judgemental, I won't judge you," excuse me for a second and let me just call Royal Bullshit (#3) to that. In my experience, however brief and unimportant, I have learned that when people tell you they "aren't" something, you can probably look on the tag and find that they not only came from that department but that they were the "top of the line" model. If that makes not sense, think of the axiom about the worst chefs always screaming the loudest that their food isn't cooked properly when they go out. AND if that doesn't make sense then... well, I got nothing else.
I would like to write a book and I have some ideas but I'm not so good with the follow through. I like to drown myself in an idea until only the tips of my bleached blonde hair sticks up through the quicksand and THEN, I move on to the next thing. It may be a bag of opened Cheetohs or watering the already browning lawn or it may be wrestling with the 6 year old and then, the idea gets tossed aside and I wait for another one to strike and then another and then another and so on. It's pretty non-productive but it generally suits the blog format so there you go. Writing, as I tell my students frequently and, as I've stated before, is so very personal, so intimate. Even when I read fiction, I find myself asking so many questions about the writer and during the reading of a novel process, I almost always start doing research on the author. It fascinates me to think that a writer like Shel Silverstein could simultaneously write killer children's books and write for Playboy at the same time. I love that the muse comes in all shapes and forms and that it strikes when it will, well, when she will. It makes writing new and fresh, creative, provocative and worth waiting for.
I always told myself that if I ever did write a book and publish it, if possible, that it would be for some reason other than just to do it. Not so much as a bucket list thing, or a money thing, or a success thing. Those "things" don't interest me; instead, I like to think that writing a book and publishing it could make another ripple in the pond, you know, add something to the universe that is worth saying. I wouldn't want to be just another "spine" on the multiple virtual shelves that line bookstores everywhere. I'd want to write something that made my children proud to have me as their mother, something that wouldn't embarrass them or make them misunderstand my intent. Until I can do that, until I come up with a story that best represents the way of thinking that spins around inside my head, I'll pass... I love the idea, I just don't always know how to make it become a reality, other than to slave away at the keyboard and that, I'm not willing to do, yet...
I had an amazing 5th grade teacher; actually, I was very lucky to have had many excellent teachers, especially in Elementary school, but this particular teacher, Carol Holdsworth served as an inspiration to me throughout my college years and even now. She was just starting to teach when she came in as a long term "sub" for the teacher who had gone out that year and she would continue to teach for many years. Actually, I believe that she was still teaching up until a few years ago. Regardless, the thing that struck me about Carol then was that she always seemed to come up with interesting and fun activities for us to do, both in and out of the classroom. We made tee pees and had international pen pals, we had an awards ceremony where we were recognized for the quirky and silly characteristics about each of us that most people wouldn't consider "unique," maybe more of an annoyance really. I received one for being the "most talkative girl with the funniest laugh." 33 years later and that little piece of paper is still taped into my scrapbook. We played games of Nation that lasted as long as we could and she NEVER, not once that I could remember, ever told us that we had to stop when we were in the middle of something. We worked at each activity with fervor and she gave us the time and space to grow in that intensity, in that joy of the moment. I dug our class picture out last week; it was buried in a plastic bin with a ton of other mementos from elementary school and as I was glancing at the photos and the names, another fascinating fact came to mind. Out of all of the kids in that class, I STILL actually speak to 14 of them, either through every day contact, email, facebook, Christmas Cards, phone calls... and, one of them has remained a very close friend to this day. That says a great deal about the bonding process that year, about the inspiration and the motivation that came from the joy and love of learning that Carol fostered in each of us. I use that example because it reminds me of what happens when I get on the computer to add another post to this blog. I never plan it out. Sometimes something struck me that day and when I begin to strike the keys, the idea just takes over. Other times, there are multiple ideas that overlap and sometimes, it is a struggle to say what I really mean, think, feel without sounding like a bumbling idiot.
I guess what it really comes down to is akin to the notion that sometimes you just don't feel like talking. Sometimes I just don't want to have that conversation, even if it is with a close friend or a family member and although it is perceived as rude or insensitive, I can't help it and I just won't do it. I love to write because there are things in life that are hard for me to say out loud. I have no problem saying them if need be, but it can be excruciating for me. Again, for those who know me, this may not SEEM to be the case, but it is. There is so much that I would like to say, both positive and negative, about so many things and people, about events and even, about myself, but, like certain parts of our lives, some ideas have to be kept private, stored in the deepest, darkest recesses of my mind and of my heart. When the muse strikes, I will share and sometimes it may be incoherent and sometimes, there may be a glimpse of what could eventually become more. Whichever way the writing continues to take me, one thing that I know for sure, it has given me wings. Thanks Carol and wherever you are today and for the rest of your life, I hope that you know that those wings were first cut from the mold that you helped design... Goodnight.
Get ready for a shocker, well, for those of you who know me, you are already nodding as your eyes move left to right, I am an unmotivated person. Shocking, I told you, not so much. When I want to do something or if I am inspired to do so, I often kick ass at it. I mean, I'm not the best, but I get that mother fucker done (Quarter #2, hang on). Most people could and do say the same, but the thing is, for me, it really doesn't make sense because to do something that you LOVE to do and then to get better at it, as in, maybe to do it professionally, requires discipline and, of all of the things that I am NOT, disciplined ranks right up there with tactful.
I don't like boundaries, I don't like parameters and I definitely don't like being told what to do. I have an extremely difficult time with people for whom I lack respect or admiration and if one of those happens to be an authority figure to whom I have to report, I really have a problem. I liken my approach to life, work, family, hobbies and all of the other minutiae of daily life in much the same way; if I feel like doing it, it gets done and if I don't, then the machine grinds to a halt. You can clearly see how this philosophy interferes with the possibility of success or, basically, for having a clean car, a walked dog and graded papers returned on time. For these, I refuse to blame ADD or some other "diagnosis" of which I have yet to be made aware. But, I do acknowledge that as much inspiration that is needed to write, there is even more discipline required. Therefore, sometimes the blog takes a vacation...
I have, over the last two years, written several "pieces" of which I would never allow another human being to peruse. I have written these for me, for my own peace of mind and, I think I would violate every tenet of every philosophical ideology that has ever meant anything to me by putting them out into the universe for other people to judge. And for those of you who say, "I'm not judgemental, I won't judge you," excuse me for a second and let me just call Royal Bullshit (#3) to that. In my experience, however brief and unimportant, I have learned that when people tell you they "aren't" something, you can probably look on the tag and find that they not only came from that department but that they were the "top of the line" model. If that makes not sense, think of the axiom about the worst chefs always screaming the loudest that their food isn't cooked properly when they go out. AND if that doesn't make sense then... well, I got nothing else.
I would like to write a book and I have some ideas but I'm not so good with the follow through. I like to drown myself in an idea until only the tips of my bleached blonde hair sticks up through the quicksand and THEN, I move on to the next thing. It may be a bag of opened Cheetohs or watering the already browning lawn or it may be wrestling with the 6 year old and then, the idea gets tossed aside and I wait for another one to strike and then another and then another and so on. It's pretty non-productive but it generally suits the blog format so there you go. Writing, as I tell my students frequently and, as I've stated before, is so very personal, so intimate. Even when I read fiction, I find myself asking so many questions about the writer and during the reading of a novel process, I almost always start doing research on the author. It fascinates me to think that a writer like Shel Silverstein could simultaneously write killer children's books and write for Playboy at the same time. I love that the muse comes in all shapes and forms and that it strikes when it will, well, when she will. It makes writing new and fresh, creative, provocative and worth waiting for.
I always told myself that if I ever did write a book and publish it, if possible, that it would be for some reason other than just to do it. Not so much as a bucket list thing, or a money thing, or a success thing. Those "things" don't interest me; instead, I like to think that writing a book and publishing it could make another ripple in the pond, you know, add something to the universe that is worth saying. I wouldn't want to be just another "spine" on the multiple virtual shelves that line bookstores everywhere. I'd want to write something that made my children proud to have me as their mother, something that wouldn't embarrass them or make them misunderstand my intent. Until I can do that, until I come up with a story that best represents the way of thinking that spins around inside my head, I'll pass... I love the idea, I just don't always know how to make it become a reality, other than to slave away at the keyboard and that, I'm not willing to do, yet...
I had an amazing 5th grade teacher; actually, I was very lucky to have had many excellent teachers, especially in Elementary school, but this particular teacher, Carol Holdsworth served as an inspiration to me throughout my college years and even now. She was just starting to teach when she came in as a long term "sub" for the teacher who had gone out that year and she would continue to teach for many years. Actually, I believe that she was still teaching up until a few years ago. Regardless, the thing that struck me about Carol then was that she always seemed to come up with interesting and fun activities for us to do, both in and out of the classroom. We made tee pees and had international pen pals, we had an awards ceremony where we were recognized for the quirky and silly characteristics about each of us that most people wouldn't consider "unique," maybe more of an annoyance really. I received one for being the "most talkative girl with the funniest laugh." 33 years later and that little piece of paper is still taped into my scrapbook. We played games of Nation that lasted as long as we could and she NEVER, not once that I could remember, ever told us that we had to stop when we were in the middle of something. We worked at each activity with fervor and she gave us the time and space to grow in that intensity, in that joy of the moment. I dug our class picture out last week; it was buried in a plastic bin with a ton of other mementos from elementary school and as I was glancing at the photos and the names, another fascinating fact came to mind. Out of all of the kids in that class, I STILL actually speak to 14 of them, either through every day contact, email, facebook, Christmas Cards, phone calls... and, one of them has remained a very close friend to this day. That says a great deal about the bonding process that year, about the inspiration and the motivation that came from the joy and love of learning that Carol fostered in each of us. I use that example because it reminds me of what happens when I get on the computer to add another post to this blog. I never plan it out. Sometimes something struck me that day and when I begin to strike the keys, the idea just takes over. Other times, there are multiple ideas that overlap and sometimes, it is a struggle to say what I really mean, think, feel without sounding like a bumbling idiot.
I guess what it really comes down to is akin to the notion that sometimes you just don't feel like talking. Sometimes I just don't want to have that conversation, even if it is with a close friend or a family member and although it is perceived as rude or insensitive, I can't help it and I just won't do it. I love to write because there are things in life that are hard for me to say out loud. I have no problem saying them if need be, but it can be excruciating for me. Again, for those who know me, this may not SEEM to be the case, but it is. There is so much that I would like to say, both positive and negative, about so many things and people, about events and even, about myself, but, like certain parts of our lives, some ideas have to be kept private, stored in the deepest, darkest recesses of my mind and of my heart. When the muse strikes, I will share and sometimes it may be incoherent and sometimes, there may be a glimpse of what could eventually become more. Whichever way the writing continues to take me, one thing that I know for sure, it has given me wings. Thanks Carol and wherever you are today and for the rest of your life, I hope that you know that those wings were first cut from the mold that you helped design... Goodnight.
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