The Eventual End and Real Beginning of My Story

It’s probably realistic and true for me to say that I’ve been thinking about death, fairly consistently, for the last two years. I’m sure if you were one of the people who sees me every day, this would be surprising. I don’t really talk about it. Death is a deep down thing.

But it’s not even what you might first imagine. I don’t live gasping for air in the fear of ‘what if’ in the middle of the night. My faith in Jesus is all wrapped up in this, and also a very logical side of living in the physical present. Which is what people must do. They must, every day, get up and breathe in and out and do the next thing. Even when they wonder. Even when they’re in incredible pain. At least after the initial shock. Life goes, which can be, sometimes simultaneously a great relief and offense to the pain.

I don’t necessarily wonder all of the time how I will die. I think that is so beyond where I am, and that is the sort of thing that can let in some fear and ruin you. And honestly, since I am alive, the process of death, and my own, is so far away it doesn’t feel like my own storyline. That part of my life belongs to God. And what He knows that we don’t.

While the Coffee Brews

Sometimes in the morning, when I have just woken up and I am waiting for the coffee to brew, I will take out a little book that I own called ’14,000 Things to Be Happy About’.  At some point in my life, during the summer away from teaching I am sure, I looked through the entire thing.  And I underlined the things that really actually did make me happy.  Not what everyone else likes.  Not what they prefer or tell me about or wonder about. 

Just me.    

Jams

It’s the time in winter when I’ve resorted to playing ‘Survivor’by Destiny’s Child, just to be old-school inspired. Every year, without fail. I always forget I do this until it's here. I know it’s about a break up, but it can be about the rest of life too. Obviously. (No current break up to speak of. Thankfully.)

The only embarrassing part was that nearby students could hear the music through my headphones when I really cranked it. Sorry, friend-who-is-teaching-in-my-classroom-but-loves-that-song-too. (She understood. They clearly didn’t. They stared at me like they had never seen me before. Paradox of perception, I am sure. Whatever, kids.) But there are worse things to be inspired by besides ‘Cuz my momma taught me better than that’.

Responding to loads of technical e-mails? Defiant teenagers angsty about winter weather around every corner? Surprise mid-week car repairs? Destiny’s Child. Works every time

Two Things

#1

I do this thing in life where I mull over the big things for a long time. Despite my many words, it's under the surface.  And then one day I surprise everyone (and myself) and make a decision seemingly out of nowhere.  And I'm committed and it happens very fast.  And it's good.   

That just happened.  I'm moving. 

In a few months I am moving.   Not quite yet.  But being like this again, doing life like this, made me once again think about how weird life is with its timing.  It stretches on and on, this apartment search, and then one day I find something, and I give these new people a deposit and they become my new landlords.   I have been thinking about moving. For a while.

Thoughts on Life

As of late, life has gone by so quickly, and I have been so mired in two things.  Grading.  And the perspectives of 14 year olds.  And both have exhausted me.
  

I could hear it in my voice yesterday as I was teaching.  A little bit of an edge that, by 1:30, was harder and harder to hide.  The winter pep fest rounded it out at the end of the day….I stood against the wall and I could see the introverts in the crowd wilting…just like me.  But then it was suddenly 4 pm and school cheer had been had and I stood in the hall and said good bye to the mass of students leaving for the bus.

Blissful, adolescent-less, weekend. 

I slept so hard last night that I could barely remember shutting the place down.  Last I checked, it was 7:45.  Then it was morning.  And it’s at that point that I really look around and see how much this job sometimes requires.  Teachers give and give and give and  I am about spent.  It is definitely past time to stop and take care of myself too.

Let me tell you, middle school is its own beast.  It is not like high school or elementary school or college.  I like where I am, but the sampling of conversations in the last week are telling.  They remind me that I need a break. 

Eighties, Nineties, and Today

I have great hope for a snow day tomorrow. 

This hope is immediate and unfettered.   Every time I get like this, I remember that if we did have school, I'd be an adult and get over myself and not miss out on a good day in front of me.  But I think you can be really boring if you don't hope for this great fun surprise every once in a while too. 

Hope hope hope. 

I think I am at a point in life where I'm beginning to feel old.  Or just 'not that young' anymore.  This is subtle, and not something that alarms me very much.  But I can feel the change. 

Despite the Cold

Lately around here it has been cold, cold, cold. Hello, obvious.  It’s winter.  But I mean the cold that gets into your bones, and sort of gets to you unless you deal with it.  It feels very obvious to me that seasons are important and there are times you go through things.  You don’t go around them, you go through them.  So says Robert Frost.  Spring is coming but it’s not yet here.  It’s not time. 

It feels like life is lately a very slow story.  It’s not time for lots of things.  Yet.  This morning I thought about this, and how much I am feeling it.  And then I thought about how fast a life goes.  And that sometimes, on other days, I am shocked that people only live 80 years in this great big world.  And not everyone does.  And how sometimes that feels ok and sometimes it just doesn’t.  It’s that reckoning with ‘aliveness’ that I am talking about. 

  Culture suggests fast is better.  But I guess this morning I am kind of grateful for slow stories.