How the best band built the best version of me

Tuesdays at Two Writing Teachers!

What if the kids are bored? What if the other staff members don't like it? What if I don't do a good job? What if nobody wants to come back? What if... I take a deep breath and glance back at the awesome picture I put on my title slide. It's one of my favorites, with me as squad leader in the middle of a proud hats-off during my last year in the OSU Marching Band. I glance out across our club members, half-glad there aren't too many and half-wishing there were more today. I think back to my colleague's encouraging reply after I'd sent him my slides yesterday. Okay. Go.

A few minutes later, blood is pounding through my body as hard as when I dove so deeply into creating my slides this weekend that several hours somehow disappeared. I can feel the rush of marching again as I explain how every incredible moment in uniform was built on innumerable hours of diligent, intense, relentless practice. How every roar of the crowd came from countless choices of intentional discomfort and sacrifice: 2-5 hours a day, every day, all summer, repeatedly executing precise fundamentals with militaristic precision. In the heat. In the rain. When I was exhausted. When I was sore. When I wanted to sleep in. Analyzing every movement with a running checklist in my brain. Starting every time with the most basic elements of posture and in-place movements, even when I could have done them in my sleep, because I didn't want to do anything on default. Woody Hayes said that "you're either getting better or you're getting worse," and I wasn't about to get worse.

I run my fingers over the now-taped-up spine of my old spiral notebook and brush its coarse, battered cover against my palm before I pass it to a student. The E-7 notebook. Covered in quotes to inspire myself on the hard days and filled with precious tidbits of feedback from the mentor who would go on to become one of my best friends. My journey to earning the spot reserved for the best marcher in my row, to make sure that I wouldn't get complacent, to keep myself truly getting better every day. Just holding it gives me shivers, 15 years later.

All those hours on the field, devouring feedback after every drill, scrawling notes before jumping back on the line and snapping back to attention for more. Conversations with my friend about hard work, courage, leadership, and life, as we built the trust that was so essential for my growth. The determination with which I cut up the descriptions from our fundamentals packet and rewrote his feedback under each section to study, memorize, and turn into a mental checklist that ran through my head every time I marched. Back straight, horn straight, eyes ahead, legs up, toes strained downward, march "to the wall", don't dip shoulder, don't flash early, relax neck, throw head back, slam back down,  tense shoulders, "hit the table", don't dip, snap leg up...

It's surreal to stand in front of a classroom now, so far removed from those days, and see colleagues and students flipping through those tattered pages. I feel like they can finally see who I am, now that they can see where I came from. This is what I mean when I say I'm hardworking. This is the culture of challenging support, trust, and accountability that I dream of recreating in my classes and in our school.

"Did you guys see what it takes to become the elite of the elite?" the colleague in charge of our club jumps in. He starts to tie my ideas to his hopes for our future discussions and gives me a fist bump, and my blood and breath begin to find their way back to a normal pace.

"I can use this with my classes, right?" As we scurry to class, one colleague excitedly waves the planning worksheet I led the group through.

"I was starting to write up something as you were talking, and then you had it made for us!" another colleague declares. "And wow, those old notes of yours... how do you even learn how to take 22 1/2 inch steps?!" We giggle as I try to explain using maximum toe point to train your muscles to hit the yardline precisely with the ball of your foot every 8 steps. "I think we should keep checking in with our plans all year!" she continues, and I feel hope floating from my toes to my curls.

Wrestling with writing

Day 28 of 31 at TWT!

I didn't feel like writing tonight.

Part of the beauty and necessity of writing when you are a teacher of writers is grappling with that feeling and realizing what it means to overcome it. I love writing. I may struggle with other parts of my identity, but I'm undoubtably a writer.

And if I, a writer, sometimes don't feel like writing, how much stronger and more frequent must that feeling be for students who don't see themselves as writers? If I, a writer, must sometimes dig deep, battle the voice that just wants to read or watch tv, and drag myself onto the blank screen to wrestle with writing as work (instead of joyful word play or an inspired flow of ideas), how much deeper must they have to dig? How much harder is their battle? How much more like work does it seem to them?

In my class, we do so much work with reflection and goal-setting. At this point in the year, my students have set goals, imagined outcomes, anticipated obstacles, made plans to overcome them, and reflected on their progress so often that those routines practically run themselves, especially with the help of my squad leaders. (In fact, we could be in danger of losing meaningfulness to monotony, but I hope those ideas become habits they internalize and use throughout their lives.) But that emotional battle of choosing discipline over default, of making yourself do the work even especially when you don't feel like it, of taking the conscious step to stare your obstacles in the face and force yourself to use one of your plans... that's the real key. There's nothing that I could possibly teach them that could be more important than how to chase their dreams with the relentless ferocity required to beat back the voice in each of our heads that tempts us to give up, give in, or just take the easy way out.

Usually, when I don't feel like writing, it's because I'm overly tired or "out of ideas". Tonight, I'm worn out but I have plenty of ideas... I just don't feel like writing about any of them! Squads in my class? I have 3 separate drafts already started about that, but I don't feel like diving into that on Spring Break. Running? I've been writing about that a lot lately. Sweetie? Ditto. Way too much. The hard stories? Nope. Not those. Not ready yet. Maybe not ever. Certainly not on Spring Break. Friendship? Two drafts sitting about that too, but I'm just not feeling the one, and the other is for farther down the road, if ever. 

Increasingly discouraged, I scroll through my list of slicing ideas. Everyday moments, special memories, a post based on a mentor post I've saved? Ehhhhhh.

I could write about not wanting to write... Been there, done that. But it could be fun... But I've done it. More than once! But I could put a different twist on it! And really, it's so good to reflect on that feeling for my kids! Maybe. It IS the biggest thing I'm feeling right now...

I start to go through my blogging routine: open a draft, go to the call for slices, drop the image in, add the tags I know I'm going to use. These familiar motions are like stretches before running. My brain is warming up to the idea of writing. I could focus on the teacher perspective. Ooh, and I could tie it into R-Factor! I could link to those old posts about this feeling...

I dive into my "writing" tag, looking for a couple of old posts I know I wrote a few years ago. My brain snaps awake as I realize there are more than I thought: an inner battle from not being prepared, a reflection on persistence, my two conflicting voices, and writing even when it's tough. And sprinkled in between, so many joy-filled posts celebrating the power of writing and how much I love it. Aw, I forgot about that! I almost get lost down a wormhole of rediscovering pieces of myself that I'd forgotten, and end up just closing the tab with the tag before I end up past bedtime with a half-finished post.

Over an hour later, I realize that I've somehow found my way to the writing zone: adding and revising sections, using the thesaurus, playing with formatting, body tense and eyebrows furrowed as my fingers try to keep up with my flying thoughts. How did I get here? By talking myself into sitting down to write. By reminding myself what I'd gain if I did. By choosing not to listen to the easy way out. By starting to go through the motions that would lead to writing. By doing the work.

I want my students to wrestle and win, too. With writing, with schoolwork, with life. This is why I write, why I teach, and why I open myself up as an example to them.

Named and noticed

Tuesdays at Two Writing Teachers!

Head up. Shoulders back. I check my reflection in the tinted windows. Do I look like a runner? Come on, legs! Don't slow down.... Oh gosh. This is hard. Just keep going. Ok.... 1 lap. Focus on this 1 lap. Then another. 1 at a time... Head up. Breathe. Don't let form break down. Another window-reflection-check. Go, legs!... Oh gosh, look at that guy. He's like, a real runner. How many laps is he doing? I wish I could run like that... Last year, I was running a mile in under 9 minutes. When can I run a mile again? People must think I'm so out of shape, running these little bursts of laps with breaks, and my dumb fat belly... Nope. Stop. Look how strong I'm getting! I'm getting so much stronger!... Here we go. Eyes ahead. Head up. Come on.

Then, the sweet-settling cooldown walk: That was hard. Good-hard. Look at me. Sweat-pouring stretches and cool-gulping mouthfuls of water: Yep, just the right kind of good-hard for now. Bounding down the stairs: Way better than sitting at home. Adjusting the seat and pinning the right weight into place: I'm going to get there. Just keep pushing. Furrowed brows, steady weights swinging: Just keep going. Just a little more. Better every day.

"Are you a trained runner?" This gray-haired man's admiring tone jerks my brain out of its workout-sharp, so-clear-it's-almost-empty focus-void.

"Umm?" My eyes briefly dart around to see if he's talking to someone else. "No? Not really?" I ran middle-school track for two years, very slowly, awkwardly, and poorly? I have never excelled at anything athletic in my life, except marching band? I'm just a band girl?  

Clearly, my stammering, startled confusion takes him aback. "I'm not trying to be smart or anything, really! I was just watching how smooth you were running, and I thought, 'Wow, she has to be a trained runner!' You're one of the smoothest runners I've seen around here!"

"Oh! Wow! Um, thanks! I mean, my dad was a runner, and I kind of learned from him. I've been trying really hard! Thank you!"

And just like that, the remaining tendrils of doubt and discouragement release their hold on me. He noticed me, and thought I was doing a good job? He noticed so much that he had to come up and say something, when he doesn't even know me at all? He thinks I'm a real runner?! I feel like I just found out that I'm actually a superhero! 

I guess I could have told him that I was in the OSU Marching Band for 5 years, and that helped me develop an acute awareness of my posture and movements, coupled with the determination to relentlessly analyze my performance and find ways to improve. I could have told him that the R-Factor conversations my favorite new colleague has brought to our school have reinforced that old drive and analysis while also challenging me to examine my focus and self-talk to develop a more positive growth mindset.

Trained runner? No. Trained marcher and thinker? Definitely.

I could have also told him that I only started running seriously a year and a half ago, and that since then I've had to stop completely and start over, twice, due to the hardest personal tragedies I have ever gone through, within less than a year. I could have told him that the past three years have been the most challenging of my life, for way too many different reasons, and that even though the simple difficulty of running gives me power and clarity, I'm also tempted to quit almost every week.

"Runner?" Not if you mean a competitive athlete who's been running for years, which is what I'm tempted to think it means. Runner, as in a person who runs, just like a writer is a person who writes? Yeah, but it takes some work to make myself believe it.

But I didn't tell him any of that. I just smiled and savored his words all evening. And three days later, when I ran again. And every time I've run, over the past three weeks, ever since. I run, and now my brain says: Smooth! I look like a trained runner! Eyes ahead. Head up. Strong legs. Keep it up, Smooth Runner. 

Identity is powerful. Feedback is powerful. Specific, timely feedback that builds an identity is life-changing. And when it's a surprise, it goes straight to your heart with even more force.

How much better would our classrooms, our schools, our world be if we all acted a little more like random rec center guy? If we slowed down enough to notice each other? To figure out what's special and point it out? To honor what someone else is striving for by naming it? Let's search for opportunities to say, "Hey, I noticed your hard work. It was awesome because (specific observation). It made you look like a real (identity construct)."

This is what we all need to RISE.

Head up. Keep going. Better every day. 

My Brooks make me feel like a real runner, too! <3

Forgetting

Tuesdays at Two Writing Teachers!

I forgot it was Tuesday. Writing day. Slice of Life day!

I don't feel like writing. I'm tired and stressed, and because I forgot what day it was, I forgot to be thinking about writing all day. I forgot to roll writing ideas around in my head as I showered, walked down the hallways, and drove to and from school. I forgot to notice the wispy, glittering hints of writing ideas half-hidden all around me. I forgot to start giving myself pep talks, to remind myself why I write, to sweep out the dark corners of my brain and make room for writing.

So, at 7:30, when I begrudgingly pull my laptop out of my bag and settle onto the couch, committed to keeping my assigned appointment with myself, I am not in a writing mood. I am like a kid staring down a pile of homework.

Strong Jennifer and Frazzled Jennifer start to argue:

If I don't write tonight, I'll have to tell my students next week that I didn't even come close to my goal... again!

But I don't have anything to write about...

Yes, yes I do! Dumb excuse! I have a whole list of writing ideas in Evernote!(scrolling through list of ideas)

  Nope. Not that one, too much work. Nope, not that one, not in the mood. Nope... Nope... Nope... None of these are any good. 

Oh hush, yes they are! There are so many great ideas in there!

Well, all the good ones are too much work. Or they don't match my mood right now.

How about a slice about not wanting to write?

But I've done those before! Who wants to read another one of those?!

Let's put a new twist on it! I can think of a new twist! Besides, they're great for showing kids!

But I'm so sleeeepy! We just finished the first nine weeks! I could take a break this week...

No! No more breaks! It's only part of one evening! There are plenty of other breaks in the week, and if I start writing only when I feel like it, I won't do it nearly enough! I'm forever telling kids how sometimes we have to work even when we don't feel like it! 

But, you know, that one extra stressy thing... IMPENDING DOOM! (gritted teeth and tightness in my neck, for extra drama)

Oh, come on, it's not even that bad. Just one dumb thing. It will almost certainly turn out better than I imagine. And not writing is not going to help. In fact, not writing will make me feel worse! 

Yeah, ok, I know, totally right. But... sleepiness! Snuggly couch! 

If I start right now, I'll have time to relax afterwards! And then I can really enjoy the relaxing, instead of feeling annoyed and guilty that I didn't write when I had the chance!

Oh fine. Here we go. I suppose we can do a new "I don't want to write" one...

(Fingers clicking.
Brain spinning.
Words flying.
Writing.
Playing.)

See, that wasn't so bad, right? Actually pretty fun? And how about this proud, STRONG feeling?!

That's what I don't want to forget.

Joy, love, and strength

Tuesdays at Two Writing Teachers!

"Let's watch Mommy now!" The little blonde girl tugs at her toddling brother's hand as their mom lines up in the lane beside me. "Ok honey," her husband mutters in her ear, "let's see what you've got left: one more lap!" She takes off like a tightly coiled spring let loose: smooth and powerful.

She doesn't look like a mom. She looks like a runner.

I'm halfway through my run, and this family has been my adorable entertainment since I got to the track. I've seen both parents run serious laps, the dad run with the little girl, the mom push the toddler in the jogging stroller, the boy toddle along beside the mom, and both kids run/toddle behind the dad. Together, they absolutely exude joy, love, and strength.

"Go, Mommy, go!" Over my shoulder, the girl and boy are jumping up and down as their mom rounds the last curve. "You can do it! Just a little farther! GO MOMMY!!!"

Little Sweetie is at home in bed, but I hear her little voice in my head and run a little harder. In a few years, that could be her, watching and cheering for me, knowing that her mommy works hard to be strong. Knowing that she is part of a family who treasures joy, love, and strength.

I pound down the straightaway and head into my last two laps, watching Blond Runner Family pack themselves into their SUV. Their giggles fade into the lengthening shadows and the track fills with its usual serenity. I let my mind drift open and absorb everything I love about running outside.

Bright white lines cut cleanly through the soft murkiness of dusk. Tree silhouettes stand like giant heads of broccoli against the fiery brushstrokes of sunset. Crickets and cicadas trill soaring songs that rise and fall against the stillness. A refreshing breeze swishes across my skin, chilling the beaded drops of sweat before they can run into the rivulets of summer. And in my pumping legs and arms, tight muscles strain to learn new strength.

As the shadows threaten to overtake the red rubber entirely, I push my shoulders back and kick it around the last turn. I just have to grin as my legs and arms launch me towards the finish line. Look at me! I've come so far! The unassuming middle school bleachers are empty, but cheers ring in my head. Go Mommy! 

Little Sweetie will be watching, and she will know joy, love, and strength.

She already loves to look up to me!

one little word 2016: strong

Tuesdays at Two Writing Teachers!

CONNECT.
DELIGHT.
SPARK.
LOVE.

4 little words.

4 years of reflection, observation, and determination.
4 years of having a simple, powerful, and positive way to keep encouraging myself to improve my life throughout the year.

In class today, my students and I read about the history of New Year's Resolutions, and we learned that January is named for Janus, the Roman god with two faces who could look backward and forward at the same time. That's exactly how I felt as I chose my word this year: I found my word by looking to the past year and the upcoming one together. 

Becoming a mom has helped me take control of my life in a way that I was never able to do before. I wondered how I'd ever do it all, when my life had always been so consumed with work. How could I ever be a good mom AND a good teacher at the same time?! But through lots of hard work, I have found that balance I could never make myself achieve... by learning to take care of myself. I've learned that the only way to be my very best self is to refuse to ignore my self-care. And magically, I'm solving that great puzzle of who I am.

I'm proud to announce my fifth "one little word", my word for 2016: STRONG! 

created on my iPad with Drawing Desk and Font Candy!
I decided to use a color scheme that would remind me of seeing the sky.

This year, my students are joining me on the "one little word" journey, and I wrote the rest of this post in front of them over the course of my classes today.

I resolve to be mentally strong. 
I will write on my blog every Tuesday. I will read at least 5 days a week. I will practice my Spanish by reading, writing, and speaking in Spanish as much as I can! I will speak in Spanish to my baby often. I will use relaxing strategies to stop worrying. For example, if I start to worry, I will go for a walk, look out the window, listen to music, or cuddle with my baby! I will focus on positive thoughts by noticing all the beauty and blessings around me and being thankful. I will continue to reflect on my life and my teaching to find the best ways to improve myself.

I resolve to be physically strong. 
I will do hard exercise (running, elliptical machine, or lifting weights) at least 2 days a week. I will also take my baby for a walk at least 1 other day a week. I will drink plenty of water. I will only drink pop 1 time a week. I will make healthier food choices with more fruits and vegetables.

I resolve to be emotionally strong. 
I will continue to love deeply by showing my family, my friends, and my students that they matter and I care about them. I will work to create special memories with my baby, my husband, and my parents. I will challenge myself to try new things, push myself out of my comfort zone, and be brave to work for what I believe in. I will forgive others and strive to understand their points of view. I will try not to take setbacks or criticism too personally, while still holding on to the insights my sensitive nature gives me. I will encourage myself and give myself the grace I give others, instead of being too hard on myself when I'm not perfect. I will give myself a break sometimes, and be ok with that.

I will be STRONG.

Strong

Tuesday writing fun at Two Writing Teachers!

Thin white lines beckon, stretching out and curving

away 

                                                          and back again

across the expanse of sunset-red-orange rubber.

My feet grip the ground with extra excitement.

My legs tense in anticipation. 

Chin up. Eyes forward. Numbers. Lines. Breathe. Push.

Go.

Shoes springing

pound pound

muscles reaching

pound pound

shoulders back

pound pound

mind clear

pound pound

shadows stretch

pound pound

soaring through 

pound pound

cool air

pound pound

breathe breathe breathe breathe.

In the distance, 

getting larger 

and then disappearing

over my shoulder, different masterpieces:

scattered, brilliant blazes of orange, red, yellow

brilliant against a backdrop of greener, more patient friends

all reaching toward a cerulean sky so clear

if I could jump hard enough, I could dive 

right up

and in.

heart pumping 

pound pound

almost there

pound pound

lines and numbers getting closer

pound pound

I can do it

pound pound

keep pushing

pound pound

breathe breathe breathe breathe.

Tensing muscles, filling lungs, extra spring, new life:

Everything I've got.

Kick it.

Feet fly over the numbers.

Gulping air

arms up

walking legs stretch, satisfied.

Nothing left, but everything gained.

Bright eyes, clear mind, energy flowing.

Alive. Strong.

It's been too long.