to know people

"Mrs. Sanchez, can we listen to music?"

I am a substitute teacher the majority of the week. This is the first question I receive after introducing myself, taking roll, and explaining the days agenda. My answer is always: "Yes, you may listen to music. However, your work is your priority." What follows is an explanation. "You and I are entering into an agreement. The terms of the agreement are: If I see you use their phone to text, take pictures/videos, watch YouTube videos, play games, scroll though Facebook, Instagram, and/or snapchat, or even become too concerned with your next song choice, it's mine the rest of the period. Got it?" This works. They agree to the terms. I am not a tyrant but a benevolent overlord. I know what middle school and high school students are made of. I know some will struggle to keep their side of the agreement. When I see a potential problem, I direct an imposing gaze their way, I tap the paper in front of them, I ask them if they need help. If it persists, I stick out my palm. They let out a weak whine. "But..." or "One more chance..." I say nothing. They hand over the phone. It is mostly a non-issue.

The last weeks of school prove more difficult. Occasionally, teachers do not leave material to teach or enough creative, engaging work to keep students actively involved. They OK use of phones for free time. So, when students have completed their assignments I say "Yes, okay, fine." The noise level tapers but it is not the dense silence of diligent students.

One day, I looked around and counted. 26/31 students on their phones. 2/31 were still working. 3/31 were chatting.  These students were creating bonds with and through an inanimate object.

I have never been great at friendship. Personal interactions are wrought with anxiety. I wonder what to say. What do people talk about? How do they tell stories and jokes? Am I too serious? lacking in wit and humor? Do I lead a truly boring life? With the prevalence of sharing our lives through pictures and video, I am troubled. I see friends creating bonds with strangers or acquaintances or sustaining bonds with friends over a hashtag or new snapchat feature. If I don't follow you will I not know you?

We live busy, disconnected lives. Distance and commutes play a role. It all seems like a good way to connect. I'm not sold. I want to know people. I don't think these apps are the way to knowing or sustaining or living. But we spend time (the stuff of our lives!) thinking about them and scrolling and crafting our next post. It troubles me.

margins

We did some weeding on the 4th. We don't have a backyard but we have ever-growing, unmanageable piles. Unused lamps and unhung art - gifts, hand-me-downs, thrifted. Books - pages that once (or never) piqued our interest. Space in a one bedroom apartment is limited and though I can justify saving item after item (ahem, memory after memory. hoarder!), I also excel at purging. Thanks, mom. We made new piles and decided what to store, donate, and toss. The only stack of books lining the perimeter of our bedroom is functional, acting as my nightstand. A tremendous victory. More empty floor space, less to take in - visually, mentally. Relief and ease.

In college, we had a professor who took students out to coffee. He spoke with them about their soul and their routines because there really is no difference. His words were trusted because, we all sensed, they were born out of a rich inner life that took courage, discipline, and humility to cultivate. He had lived well and continued to do so. I wrote down every word he said. I read over my notes often. Wisdom. They are in a white ikea box, sitting in our garage. I am not sure I will ever throw them away (hoarder!). One afternoon he spoke about margins. Papers have margins to organize information. Papers have margins to make information easy to see and understand. They are a breath of fresh air to the eyes, necessary. Artists would probably say white space. Musicians would say rests. Orators would say pauses. Margins bring clarity to the stuff that fills. Our lives should have margins and, yet, they don't. We schedule and plan and fill even our in-between-moments with distraction and absentminded activity. But we must be diligent in keeping the margins clear. So, we did some weeding.

yesterday

mom here, elise -
your young heart,
and it,
      and us,
                  I
am made of,
      will become yesterday,
      dear

determined still,

illumed face of a child,
golden -
lit by prayer
lit by thanks
he reaches over the sand
      candle impossible to place
                                    too long
                                    too dangerous
      determined still, to do as he sees

concerned hand of a Mother,
reaching -
hand at his elbow
hand at his wrist
She steadies his efforts
      helps him to pray
                       to thank
                       to join in
      determined still, to fulfill all doing and seeing

the answer

You start with good intentions and high hopes.
But then you slice your finger on the mandolin and eat brie instead of bell peppers.

I have the gift of maiming myself in the kitchen. My noble efforts in domesticity sometimes end with a punctured thumb or slightly shortened pinky finger. I use sharp utensils daily. I strain to be attentive. But when working a mandolin, there is a groove, a tempo that one eases into. My pinky nail quickly brought that to an end. The bell peppers are still sitting on the counter and my pinky is wrapped tightly in two band aids. I refuse to look at it until I see my husband tonight.

He says I didn't get hurt enough as a kid. It's true. At age six my dad took off my training wheels. He said he wouldn't let go. He did. "It's the only way to really learn." Well, I pedaled into the ground and scrapped my knee. Pain, I decided, was not for me. Avoiding similar outcomes, I steered clear of sports and risky activities. I broke my pledge once and paid for it. Volleyball. 7th grade. Braces. The ball hit my lip. I was left with a smiling row of bleeding canker sores. In high school, I signed up for beginning dance twice in lieu of PE. No balls, no equipment.

I started this year with goals and, like all human beings, have struggled in keeping them. Consistency is no small feat. I could blame competing items on my agenda or a new schedule. I could blame my exhaustion at the end of the day and the necessary naps I take to remain humane. The answer is many things. A strict schedule and flexibility. Grace and trying again. Rightly ordering my life. Feeding intention with work. Nourishing hope with daily attention.

2016

cheers to the new year.

routinize life. study. pray. read. write. sing. stretch. move. listen. sweep. vacuum. launder. practice all things, especially silence. take cset. interview. begin credential process. pen letters. explore neighborhoods. revel in friendships. extend goodwill and kindness. share stories. be a consistent presence in the lives of others. consider beauty. buy plants. watercolor. sew. make things with hands. affirm the physical. light candles. fast and feast. cook new recipes. improve old recipes. feed friends and strangers. be baptized. celebrate two years of marriage. "transform all that exists into the paradise of God."*


*fr. thomas hopko