Today, I’m testing out Diane’s Flower Exercise: A Shorthand For Life with 11 of Colorado’s most enigmatic educators. I’m fairly certain it will work exactly as Diane explains in her book:
a simple tool for all ages for creating, exploring and problem solving.
To read more about Diane’s book and our story read the past two posts on this blog.
Calling Diane, a month after our first meeting, was more stressful than calling your crush to invite them to the prom. My palms were sweaty and my heart was pounding harder and louder than a high school drum line. In the few moments between pressing send and her picking up, my thoughts swung wildly between doubt and excitement. Thankfully she remembered me and we agreed to meet for a second time at the same coffee shop the following week.
Pulling in to park, I looked up to see Diane trepidatiously walking into the cafe. My heart quickly reminded me this meeting had nothing to do with sharing the list of to-do items I had mentally compiled to crowdfund the publishing of this women’s book but rather the woman herself. This was going to be a practice in listening and being present, two very hard things for this fast talker and forward-thinker. As I walked in, we instantly caught each others eyes and embraced in a hug for the first time, no awkwardness, just pure and appreciative love. She quickly said this meeting worked out perfectly as she had just received free acupuncture at the clinic next door as part of her treatment for breast cancer. I could see she felt vulnerable and might have said that too quickly as her glances went down, up again, and then down once more. I, just as quickly, shared that two of my aunts had had breast cancer and I was thrilled she was to the acupuncture stage as that meant good things. Yes, she said, she had been in remission for a few months. We moved to a corner of the cafe, as there was an understanding now that this conversation was going to be deeply personal.
Diane pulled out her only copy of her book and handed it to me. A more symbolic move than I could have imagined. The book itself was professionally bound like the readers I used to buy in college, a bright yellow card stock front with no more than 100 coil bound pages . As she ran me through her incredibly simple yet deeply relevant walk-in-the-woods metaphor, I took a mental note of the date on the front page, 1998. Doing my math I realized this was a 15 year dream in the making. At a pause I asked her about this. What came next was a heart wrenching story of a woman scarred by childhood abuse and subsequently a lifetime of mental illness and poverty. Meeting a man at the age of 19 and trying to build a family untouched by the scars of days past. Moments of scattered wins, mostly around education, only to have it torn apart by her husbands cancer and then her youngest succumbing to suicide. Listening to her story I felt my own historical pains start to boil up, she saw this, and she masterfully engaged us in the healing power of sharing openly and with no judgement or comparison. One can only imagine the thoughts of the people sitting next to us as they knowingly listened in to an atypical pair of women blubbering on and on about family, farms, libraries, hospitals, and death.
What we found that day in our stories was a shared triumph, one of writing, a knowing connection, and love for people. It strikes me now as I recount this event that Diane is even more powerful than I first thought, as she had the ability to not write what would be a memoir along the lines of The Glass Castle but of a life paradigm that can be used with the youngest of children or oldest of men to empower, heal, and connect. My conviction to grant this woman’s wish is now even stronger, my doubts of finding the money as my own savings seep away to a sabbatical, gone. Diane told me towards the end of our meeting that she always knew someone was going to show up and take her book from her, that in doing so it would release her and she could be free for the first time in her 72 years of life. She states some of her intentions here beautifully,
It has taken over 20 years since the nest fell to nearly complete my own healing and to write this book. Over time I began to see rhyme and reason in life–something entirely new from the chaos I had always lived with in my mind. When I felt I could not go on another day I would say, I have to take all the needless pain our families suffered and turn it into good to give others; most especially the children and the broken, a simple, wholesome way to understand and work with life to bring good to themselves and those around them.
This is me bringing good to Diane, continuing to fulfill on a promise and finding my own next dreams in the process. In the coming days Diane and I will be revisiting the hiking trail that her genius idea showed up on as well as preparing for the crowdfunding campaign. If you would like to be an early supporter or have a service you think we might be able to use please get in contact with us. I might even record the shy giggle Diane gets every time I call to tell her of a new persons support, like that of GoMighty, as payment.
In late last December I met a very special woman at a coffee shop in Boulder, CO. Her name is Diane. It was the first time my heart spoke clearly to me and I actually dared to listen to it. Something was driving Diane’s heart that day as well, as after living in Boulder 72 years it was the first time she stopped in that particular coffee shop. This is the beginning of our story.
I walked into that coffee shop in a hurry, I was late returning my carshare and for meeting a dear friend who was due downtown any minute. I quickly ordered, impatiently waited for my chai, and was halfway out the door when an unfamiliar voice popped into my head that said, “Stop! Sit down. Drink your coffee here.” This was not the voice of judgement or reason I continually hear in the back of my head and often choose to disregard. It was a different voice, one much gentler and more certain. So I listened. Scanning the coffee shop I found the only seat left next to an older woman who had her purse and gloves placed perfectly on her table next to her barely sipped upon drink. She seemed to be waiting for something, yet that something was not happening. So I said hello and asked her if it was always this cold in Boulder. We engaged in pleasant and safe conversations around the weather and places I should visit prior to leaving Colorado in a few days. I shared my background as a teacher and how appreciative I was to have such a beautiful state to relax and recuperate in. Then we both went silent. These pauses I am used to, any good teacher knows how to wait through them, knowing that the best stuff comes from the most pregnant of waits. I heard her take a deep breath in, a courageous breath no doubt. She asked if she could share something with me, something sacred. Taking in my own deep breath I said, “of course” and drew a large, warm, comforting smile on my face to ease her noticeable fears.
Diane proceeded to tell me of a book she had written. A book for children. With each detail she shared her energy rose and her excitement became contagious. She talked of a walk in the woods and of a metaphor for life surrounding that walk. I followed her every word intently, all concept of my time constraints vanished. As she wrapped up her description this powerful, yet small, older woman, laid down a wish, one I’m sure she knew I, being the person that I am, could never turn down. She wished, “that all the children of the world could read her book and spread the message” of peace. She asked if I could share the book with my own students and I sadly told her I no longer had a classroom of my own, however I did have ideas of how to get it published. As my brain turned on to the possibilities Diane raced to write down all the ideas I spouted out on a 3×5 card she dug out of her purse. Once again I heard my heart speak and again it told me to slow down. I looked up and realized I was speaking a language foreign to a lady who was not of the internet age. Crowdfunding and Facebook must have sounded like Latin and Greek to her. So I took a deep breath and got present to who she was, asking her a few questions to ease her overwhelm. I also asked if we could meet again, once I returned to Boulder in a months time. She agreed and wrote out her address and phone number on another 3×5 card telling me if I called I needed to shout my name and number as she was deaf as a bat. As I got up to leave Diane grabbed my hands in hers, looked deep into my eyes and told me that I had given her hope again, that this world was a better place with people like me in it. Me, hope, and the world, all in the same sentence. I had to turn away as I was afraid my tears might scare her away, my emotions so raw I feared she would see right through my well intentions.
As I returned to my car the tears streamed down my face as I made a personal promise to follow through on this story. My heart knew something that day and screamed so loud that ignoring it was not an option. It knew that an old lady with a book and a wish needed a young women with drive. It also knew that the young women needed someone to believe in her once again and it found that person sitting patiently and perfectly at a coffee shop.
Sharing this story outside my inner circle is the start to following through on that promise. I’ve met with Diane again and talked to her, loudly, numerous times on the phone. In the coming weeks I’ll be sharing more of our story and subsequent walk through the woods.
The concept of time is a hard one for me. As a forward-thinking person it naturally occurs as if I have very little of it. My response? Spending hours organizing and creating to-do lists only ever to complete 1/3 of what I wrote down on them plus completing an entire additional list of things that pop up along the way. It creates a cycle, no matter if I’m on sabbatical or working 70 hours a week, of not feeling accomplished. That somehow I could have done more and then that’s what I typically do, more. A former boss used to chide that I was a DTM’er (doing to much’er) another coworker told me I was like a hummingbird, I never stopped moving. I’m sure if you asked any one of my ex’s they’d roll their eyes and agree wholeheartedly with them both and add in some choice adjectives to describe this constant state of motion. Then there are also the times where I’m so overwhelmed that I just can’t do any of it. Those are the low times, the times when I’m hardest on myself for wasting what little time I think I do have on doing absolutely nothing, a la streaming Netflix.
Until recently I’ve tackled this issue from the stand point that I haven’t been organized enough. I’ve utilized various to-do list tricks, from switching between written to online organizers to grouping tasks by topic and breaking each down to their smallest denominator. The week I used the app Evernote, which synced all my lists to my phone, personal, and work computer ended up being the shortest week of my life. It’s comical now to look back on the pressure cooker environment I created for myself and the industry designed to support it.
What I’ve realized is that all these lists, these things I HAVE to do, have just been distractions from what my heart wants. Organizing is a tool my head created to keep me coming back to it. As I told my personal coach, organizing is like the monthly (sometimes more) meal at McDonalds that I binge on. The smell and thought of french fries brings me in, I feel ecstatic while eating those cheeseburgers, and then crash, big time, feeling physically ill and emotionally sick from the splurge of it all. I’d much rather be living a metaphor that has a good feeling in the end, like a long run or mountain hike. This is the challenge over the coming weeks. To reshape, restructure and let go of my addiction to organizing my time and the belief that there is no scarcity of it.
For those of you who do not know the work of Studs Terkel, you should. He was an oral historian who interviewed people from all walks of life surrounding some heavy hitting societal topics. He published these interviews in books with titles like, Working, The Hard Times and Hope Dies Last. Through those books and his weekly radio show he must have talked with tens of thousands of us, giving all of our voices an outlet outside of a written line on Facebook, Twitter, or even a blog like this.
The animated short below from Story Corp, an organization formed out of the same mold as Studs, pays tribute to that voice.
It lends itself nicely to the topic of connection, as our voice, and subsequently our language, is our biggest tool to connecting with others. An article from this past Sunday’s New York Times digs into the science behind connection, arguing that if you don’t use it, you lose it. Additionally, that the more connected you are the healthier you are. This KQED article, even links connection to learning and creativity.
To honor Studs and our own Vagal Tones, I challenge you to say hello to a stranger today. Look up from your Driod while riding the bus and engage with the person sitting next to you. If you are like me, you’ll most likely find yourself talking with a 75 year old man about his beloved China. He might be unkempt and notably different but suddenly you’ll realize that he is singing to you one beautiful song from the movie that he watches every day at noon. And although the entire bus is silently staring, the two of you have entered a space of understanding, a knowing, that the world is more easily managed when you can connect like this.
I found this book, Speeches That Changed the World, while teaching World History to sophomores at Branham High School almost seven years ago now. I rarely bought books back then, opting for the plethora of free resources on the internet to enhance my teachings. The free cd of recorded speeches made this purchase a must, as getting to hear the voices of Churchill, Roosevelt and MLK, Jr was a rare intellectual treat for this girl, who as a teacher heard her own voice far too much.
Last night, I returned to this book and read the speeches of those not named in California’s designated World History book, the ones I was forced to skip over when teaching.
In doing so, one such speech tugged at my intellectual heart-strings. That of Clarence Darrow. A defense lawyer known for his work on the Scopes “Monkey” trial. Here, he stands out more for his defense of the Sweet family in Detroit in the mid 1920’s. Even more intriguing is that the following excerpt is just one segment of a seven-hour closing statement to an all white jury.
“Now gentlemen, just one more word, and I am through with this case. I do not live in Detroit. But I have no feeling against this city. In fact, I shall always have the kindest remembrance of it, especially if this case results as I think and feel that it will. I am the last one to come here to stir up race hatred, or any other hatred.
I do not believe in the law of hate. I may not be true to my ideals always but I believe in the law of love, and I believe you can do nothing with hatred.
I would like to see a time when man loves his fellow man, and forgets his colour or creed. We will never be civilized until that time comes.”
The Law of Love presided with the jury returning a not guilty verdict within four hours. A reminder that if the Law of Love can ring true during the height of the Jim Crow era in the middle of the quickly growing and still turbulent city of Detroit, it can ring true now.
This morning, the first day of spring, I found myself in a strangers backyard. Bending and breaking dead branches and stuffing them into bags. In an act of financial desperation I had signed up for one of the many new errand outsourcing sites popping up to put a few extra dollars in my ever decreasing bank account. Coming ill prepared with no gardening gloves and then finding my hand closer to dog remains than I ever want to come again I had a moment. You know, the one that goes, “what the f*%# am I doing” with an exclamation point over the question mark type of moment. At that same time I happened to be tackling a large branch with the homeowners shears and snapped the shears, not the branch, in half. There went the $40 I was getting paid to do the job, and yet, I laughed as a memory of the last time I willingly did yard work popped in my head. I was 7, maybe 8, raking leaves, while my sister watched. Somewhere in there I swore at a leaf and the next thing I knew my mouth was being washed out with not only soap but tabasco as well. The operant conditioning worked on my wanting, or lack thereof, to do yard work, not so much on my swearing. That being said, I won’t be signing up for yard work on that site again. In fact, I’m having a hard time even rectifying that I might have taken a job away from a person that does yard work for a living in the first place.
What I will be doing is continuing on this path of reclaiming my creativity through, what I have deemed, a self-prescribed sabbatical for as long as it takes. Although my savings are nearly gone (talk about reclaiming creativity, they were supposed to run out in January) I will not be seeking a full-time gig back in education until my heart is healed and my creativity reclaimed. There is not one ounce of doubt in my mind that when I am ready to return I will be a stronger leader, teacher and entrepreneur than I ever was before. And that the creative journey I’ve been on will skyrocket my work to ensure that every student from preschool through college has the opportunity and skills to find and follow their passion(s) in life. It’s here that I’m following in the sabbatical footsteps of Joseph Campbell and more recently Seth Godin and Stefan Sagmeister and have put all trust into my heart and intuition for this journey.
I’ve also been quiet the last few months, hibernating during the first real winter I’ve ever experienced in my life. Sharing only with my inner circle and downgrading some aspects of my life while upgrading others. That doesn’t mean I have rested on my laurels. In fact, I’ve been doing the exact opposite. In the coming weeks, I’ll be re-designing (hopefully through my new knowledge of coding) this site to showcase some of the creative projects I’ve been working on, highlight my learnings, and share observations that people, or at least I, never saw while living a faster pace lifestyle. I’ll also be writing about the part-time gig’s I’m taking up to pay my living expenses. Starting with cleaning the rental house of an eccentric and really cool writer/gypsy, tutoring 8 Vietnamese students English, and even running those errands for you 9-5ers through this particular outsource site.
With that I’m also asking for your support. I’m asking you to invest and trust in this new type of educational path, one costing far less than the PhD a few have suggested. I am fully aware it is not traditional. I need you all and want you on this journey with me. I will flounder and at times I might fail. I might take a year or a few months as I pick up one project or idea, play with it and then put it back down. I’m asking for you to believe in me and the zillion ideas that I have and that someday one (or more) of those ideas will burn bright in this world. Sharing and connecting with people gives me energy. Sharing takes me out of my head and allows me to get to the heart of all matters which, the past few months have proven, opens more doors than my mind ever has.
Shine on.
For awhile now I’ve contemplated what to do for my birthday which happens to land this year on the once in a lifetime 12-12-12, just a few days out. As a person who dances freely between being an extrovert and introvert my plans have gone from 12 days of Animal House style partying to ignoring the entire affair. Through much contemplation I’ve decided to intentionally plan some key activities and events that meld those two competing sides of myself together into a day that honors who I am, what I do and what inspires me year round. I’m still taking suggestions for event #12. So the question is, what else should I do to celebrate my 35th year of life? What’s missing from the list?
1. Write a love letter to my grandmother
2. A random act of kindness
3. Make a wish at 12:12 on 12/12/12
4. Attend a class at Skillshare
5. Rock climb
6. Call an old friend
7. Cook a new meal from scratch
8. Watch the meteor showers
9. Break a rule
10. Go on a walk/hike
11. Do nothing/sit in silence for 15 minutes
12. (Leave your suggestions for #12 in the comment section).
And yes, you read that right, I am 35 feisty years old and still taking life just a tad too seriously.
EducatingUS 