My Soul is Sound When I'm in My Hometown

"My Town," Buck-O-Nine

Thanksgiving Break is officially here. We're heading to my dad's ranch in a few hours, until Monday morning, and then I'm heading straight to Santa Barbara. I can't wait to be home...can't wait to meet the family's new dog, can't wait to walk on State Street with the perfect Christmas lights and smells and sounds, can't wait to have a beer at Brew House, a sandwich at Fresco, and a Blenders; extra vanilla. My siblings will all be home, too, which is awesome. My sisters, who are adorable and silly:

And my brothers, who...well, shave our family's cats in their spare time:

Another Autumn; A Traveler's Guide

"Summer Teeth," Wilco

Sometimes my job is excruciating. Sometimes my kids challenge my patience and push my limits and break my heart. There are kids I worry about, kids I get frustrated by, kids I get angry at, and kids I feel sorry for. But most of the time (and at the risk of sounding like a sappy cliche), teaching is such a reward. My students crack me up, make me proud, challenge my intellect, and amaze me every day. It's the week before Thanksgiving break, and I'm feeling pulled in a million directions, buried under thousands of essays, and utterly exhausted. I'm ready for a break. But then something like this happens: I come home from a run, and before I make dinner and dive into grading two class sets of independent novel assignments, I Google "East of Eden excerpts." Because I'm teaching it for the first time in the spring to my Honors sophomores, and I should probably, you know, read it before then. And this passage comes up as one of the first links:

Our species is the only creative species, and it has only one creative instrument, the individual mind and spirit of a man. Nothing was ever created by two men. There are no good collaborations, whether in music, in art, in poetry, in mathematics, in philosophy. Once the miracle of creation has taken place, the group can build and extend it, but the group never invents anything. The preciousness lies in the lonely mind of a man.

And now the forces marshaled around the concept of the group have declared a war of extermination on that preciousness, the mind of man. By disparagement, by starvation, by repressions, forced direction, and the stunning hammerblows of conditioning, the free, roving mind is being pursued, roped, blunted, drugged. It is a sad suicidal course our species seems to have taken.

And this I believe: that the free, exploring mind of the individual human is the most valuable thing in the world. And this I would fight for: the freedom of the mind to take any direction it wishes, undirected. And this I must fight against: any idea, religion, or government which limits or destroys the individual. This is what I am and what I am about. I can understand why a system built on a pattern must try to destroy the free mind, for that is the one thing which can by inspection destroy such a system. Surely I can understand this, and I hate it and I will fight against it to preserve the one thing that separates us from the uncreative beasts. If the glory can be killed, we are lost.

And then it really doesn't matter that I'm tired, and overworked, and underpaid. Because THIS is the stuff I get to read, and analyze, and share with other individuals on a daily basis. I get to make a living by enjoying and discussing Steinbeck. I get to hear kids respond to the epitome of masterpiece prose and intellectual stimulus. The essays and the dog-ate-my-homework-and-my-printer-broke excuses are totally worth it.

Just About the Break of Day

"Early in the Morning," Eric Clapton

Tamarack Beach; Dawn

Cause I like where I’m livin’ . . .
And I like what I do . . .
And I like what I’m seein’ . . .
When I’m lookin’ at you . .
I still like what I’m saying . . .
When I open my face.
I think I got the right feeling.
I think I’m in the right place.

-"The Right Place," Monsters of Folk

In Defense of Our Dreams

"Kings and Queens," 30 Seconds to Mars 

When Jimmy Buffett blasts the line: "Sometimes I wish I was back in my crashpad days, 'fore I knew what cash flow meant" into my iPod, I can certainly relate-- (unlike him, I'm sure). Everyday I see dozens of "For Sale" signs broadcasting the availability of a new condo or house, and sometimes I cringe at our current inability to seize upon the opportunity. There are lots of things I want to do before I die, and own a home (or a condo. Or apartment. Or a livable storage space) is one of the them. Other items I wish to someday check off my Bucket List:

• Raise a family. Can't wait. But not quite yet. 
  
• Memorize all the state and country capitals. So far, I'm done with the U.S. This, of course, makes me an excellent guest at parties.
  
• Travel to every continent. Except maybe Antarctica. I don't really have any desire to go to Antarctica. Andrew Denton said, "If Antarctica were music it would be Mozart. Art, and it would be Michelangelo. Literature, and it would be Shakespeare. And yet it is something even greater; the only place on earth that is still as it should be. May we never tame it." I agree with him. I like the idea that a pristine, hardly-touched piece of land still exists somewhere in this over-industrialized and under-appreciated world. I just don't need to go there to realize it.
• See U2, Rod Stewart, and The Killers live. I have to admit, I've been to lots of really great shows in my life. Aside from the hundreds (okay, dozens? My mom says I have an exaggeration problem) of punk shows I saw in college (as well the arbitrary slough of shows I saw in high school, like Third Eye Blind, Sugar Ray, Dishwalla, etc.) I've seen Dave Matthews Band (x2), Jack Johnson (x3?), John Mayer (x3?), Counting Crows, Ben Harper (x2), Black-Eyed Peas, Jason Mraz (x3), Steel Pulse, LOTS of country shows, and many others I'm blanking on right now. In terms of more "classic" type shows, I've seen Bryan Adams, Jimmy Buffett, Tom Petty, Garth Brooks, Madonna, and The Eagles (second row center! Better seats than Bill Walton!) BUT, there are still three bands left on my see-before-I-die list. 
• Write a book. It doesn't have to be published. It doesn't have to be read by all kinds of people. Really, it doesn't even have to be good. I just want to be able to finish it. 
• See Les Miserables live. Because I'm a little bit of a Showtunes fiend, I've been lucky enough to see a variety of live, professional performances: The Phantom of the Opera, The Lion King, 42nd Street (twice!), Mamma Mia, Aida, West Side Story, Newsies, The King and I, and of course Rent (x5...nothing can even come close). However, I've never seen Les Mis live, and it's something I've wanted to do for at least a decade. No matter how many times I listen to the soundtrack, I get goosebumps at the end of "Do You Hear the People Sing?"
  
• Cage dive with great white sharks. Trips leave from Ensenada; out to Guadalupe Island for five days. Cost is about $2,500-3,000, but Tim has friends on the boat, and can probably go as a crew member. I'm MUCH more afraid of spending five nights on a boat than I am of being in the water with a white shark...

I like that I don't quite know what's next for us. I like that my days, months, years--my life-- doesn't feel planned out, and I don't feel the need to adhere to a specific road map. Maybe we'll one day take our kids backpacking through Europe. Maybe we'll run a vineyard. Maybe we'll never own the two-story house with the spiral staircase that floats on the edge of my childhood fantasies. Maybe Tim's second car will be an ambulance. Maybe I'll still be teaching high school English in thirty years and loving it. There's so much possibility, hope, freedom, and beauty in the not-knowing. 

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in. 

-Anthem, Leonard Cohen
 

COMPLETELY IRRELEVANT/UNRELATED SIDENOTE: Sometimes I pretend not to notice Bailey peed in the house until rightbefore I go to work, which means I'm so sorry, but I don't have time to clean it up! I'm posting this here because I can: Tim doesn't read "our" blog, therefore it serves him right to miss out on my intermittent confessions.

We've All Got Scars as Big as Ours...

...A token for the pain we hide inside of us
Everyone's scared that somebody knows
You push it aside, yeah, that's how it goes
If you've ever heard a beating heart
A rhythm for the songs we're too afraid to sing
Nobody here is perfectly fine
A delicate frame, a fragile design

-"Nothing's Bigger Than Love," My Favorite Highway

I had three tough talks with three different kids today, outside of class time. Kids who are hurting. Lost. Angry. Afraid. Kids who are making poor choices and know it. Kids who feel like the world isn't on their side and they don't have anybody in their corner. And, honestly, it was really hard to discern care whether or not they could tell the difference between a "when" adverb and a "to what extent" adverb.  Needless to say, I've been thinking about these kids a lot today, and in turn it's made me think about how, so often, happiness is a simple choice. That's not to say I don't completely empathize with my students and strive so intently to make their lives richer and more promising, but I do think it's important for people, of all ages, to endeavor to make the conscious choice to let themselves be happy.

It's so easy to let the deconstructive words and thoughts seep into our reactions. So easy to let life's minor intricacies or delays twist and distort into downbeat, sometimes even destructive patterns of a day. Sometimes, it's such a choice to shape the way we remember a morning, a phone call, or a facial expression. Sometimes, I have to remind myself to focus on the good, and the improving, and the hopeful, rather than the fear and anxiety and regret. In Bless Me, Ultima, Rudolfo Anaya writes, "the tragic consequences of life can be overcome by the magical strength that resides in the human heart." And he's right. The abilities to react, interact, rebound, and choose are so uniquely human, but in order to experience this "magical strength," people must choose to open their hearts to happiness.

I think I do a pretty good job of looking at the glass half full. But sometimes, I know I worry too much. About school. And grades. And lesson plans. MLA format and concrete details. Seeing enough of my family. Of Tim's family. Tim's new job. Keeping in touch with friends. Forgetting to grocery shop. The cyst on Bailey's back. Getting a dentist appointment. Calling AT&T.

And it's then I have to stop. And take a breath. Because my life is a good one, and the (sometimes arbitrary) worries that cloud my mind vanish like stardust when I start thinking about everything I have to be thankful for. Like my health. And my family. And Tim. My friends. A job I love and still get excited about. Dense fog and hot chocolate on an early November night. The fact that Bud Light Lime now comes in a can. Our new fish tank. Living a block from the beach. Bocce ball in the park on a warm fall day. Knowing all the words to "We Didn't Start the Fire." SVU re-runs. Margaritas with extra salt. Running in the dark under the streetlamps, listening to the crashing waves. My students' jokes and laughter.

I can't "fix" all my kids. I can't be the glue or the puzzle piece or the duct tape that magically makes their hurt and frustration and sadness go away. I can't mend broken hearts or fill empty promises or erase spiteful words. But I can offer a listening ear and be a voice of reason. I can give encouragement and remind them that no matter who or what has ailed them on any given day, they are the sole people in charge of whether or not they choose happiness. And hopefully, that's enough.

“Happiness is like a butterfly: the more you chase it, the more it will elude you, but if you turn your attention to other things, it will come and sit softly on your shoulder…”

– Thoreau