I See You

Anyone else out there feeling vulnerable?

Coronavirus, and not knowing for sure what's next or right or reasonable in preparing for, preventing, and managing it, is our new shared, global, collective anxiety.  COVID-19 has also become part of the greater preexisting web of things we worry about, while expanding and exposing our already tender underbellies.

Quarantines and social distancing and closed schools and businesses are conspiring to keep us apart for our own good.  And yet, we need one another.  Because underlying This Big Worry are all the other stressors and circumstances, short- and long-term, big and small, which existed before and many of which will still be around after Coronavirus has peaked and then waned.

Maybe it's Daylight Savings.  Lack of sleep?  Elections.  Tragedy.  There's menopause.  Cancer diagnoses and treatments.  College applications, acceptances, and rejections.  Grades.  Finances.  The stock market.  Depression.  Parenting.  Providing.  Trying to make a doctor's appointment.  Your child's behavior.  Being a good __fill in the blank__.  Death in your family.  Fear of death in your family.  Taxes.  The news.  Accidents.  Social media.  Anxiety.  Report cards.  SAT tests and scores.  Being responsible; is this what it means to be responsible?  GPA.  Insurance.  Deferred maintenance.  That pit in your stomach. Your children. The Joneses. Marriage.  Dating.  Your appearance.  Driving.  Climate change.  Being left out or feeling left out or FOMO.  Natural disaster. Your to-do list.  Your job?  Mortgages, or rent.  That thing you said. Also that thing you didn't say.  Your carbon footprint.  Panicking...or not panicking?  Your parents' health. Missing your parents.  Your relationship with alcohol. Someone else's relationship with alcohol.  Your relationships.  Do you need therapy?  Therapy.  Passwords.  Travel.  Real ID. The DMV.  Copays. Aging.  Being dead. Suicide.  Living up.  Being there.  Being there when you can't be.  Nutrition.  Clean water.  Regret.  Wildfires.  Preparedness.  Helping others.  Doing your part.  Maintaining perspective.  Being aware.  Not overreacting. Putting your phone down.  Laundry.  Doing enough.  Organic food.  Charitable contributions.  Forgetting.  Animal rights. Violence.  Retirement.  Healthcare.  Job performance.  Balanced meals.  Landfills.  Recycling.  Faith.  Teenagers.  The cost of oil.  War.  Feeling accepted.  Feeling seen.

Vulnerabilities are normal and natural and every day; they accentuate our humanness and connect us with others.  They're why we innovate and why we experiment and create; they're why we write novels and poetry and plays and songs and make music and paint and sculpt and reach out and act courageously and help and represent others.  Sharing our vulnerabilities and connecting with others' fears and insecurities helps us feel less lonely.

Our vulnerabilities can also spotlight our least desirable tendencies; they're why we manipulate and hoard and judge and fear our neighbors and develop addictions and point fingers and lash out and isolate ourselves.

And we're all vulnerable right now in our new shared reality.  Social media posts would suggest that we are asserting or seeking validation that our own approaches to current circumstances make the most, best sense.  Despite our links to experts' advice and testimonials, most of us don't really know the actual best way forward.  So we muddle through, collectively, along both parallel and intersecting paths.

At the height of his own fearfulness, Scaredy Squirrel, a Master Paranoiac and Overreactor, fell out of his seemingly safe tree sanctuary and serendipitously discovered he could fly.

But it's not a great time for us to venture forth into the Great Unknown.  We are likely to be having to hunker down (or up in our trees) soon with our nut supply and a limited view.

If elbow bumps are the closest safe contact, hugging and helping become rare gifts.

And that's why it's more important than ever to poke our heads out of our trees, acknowledge one another from a safe distance, and share more than our excess toilet paper, as our other struggles appear to recede in significance in the face of this pandemic.

Because Coronavirus isn't our only reality.  It's not our only vulnerability.

I see you, parenting a child with disabilities.  I see you, cutting corners to make ends meet.  I see you, in charge of making the tough calls in times like these.   I see you, unable to visit elderly loved ones.  I see you, worried about a family member's mental health.  I see you, mourning the death of your parent(s).  I see you, minimizing your own stress while maximizing your availability for others.  I see you, wondering if you/he/she will graduate.  I see you, worrying about test results.  I see you, struggling to speak up.  I see you, researching resources to help yourself or someone else.  I see you, wondering if anyone notices.

I see you. 

I see you, trying hard every day.

Acknowledging the journeys of others, unfolding before us even from a distance, might be what keeps us best connected in these unprecedented but also normal times.

I see you, searching for meaning.  Whom can you help be and feel seen?

Commencement Speech 2018

Yesterday was likely the last time I'll deliver a high school graduation speech for a while! I am making elementary school my new professional home.

It was my honor to deliver the keynote address for the Class of 2018 last night:

Dear Class of 2018, thank you for inviting me to speak with you and our guests tonight.

We are going to start with a little experiment. I am going to say some words, and you are going to listen and pay attention to what you hear.  

Yanny.

Laurel.

Jenny.  

Laurel.

Maybe you heard me say Laurel.  Maybe you heard Yanny.  I sneaked a Jenny in there too, in deference to the fact that many of you will start calling me that at about 9:00 tonight if you haven’t already.  

Recently, the internet introduced us to this Yanny/Laurel sound file, and mysteriously, most of us could only hear one of those words when it played.  This prompted an online debate reminiscent of the photo of the famous dress that circulated in 2015, which people declared to be either blue and black, or white and gold.  We now know that hearing Yanny or Laurel depends on the frequencies your particular ears hear, and the color of the dress is related to how your brain processes ambient light.

When I was a teenager I copied quotes from song lyrics I thought were deep or relevant or really spoke to the devastating romantic moment I was going through, and I would share them with my best friend who was like, you listen to the lyrics?  I listen to the guitars.  My mind was kind of blown.  To me songs were mostly about their meaning.  To her, they were about music.  We were both listening to Oingo Boingo and hearing different parts.  

So what I find fascinating about our reactions to these internet debates about words and dresses is our absolute certainty that what WE perceive is the THE RIGHT ANSWER:  “It’s Laurel, and the rest of you are crazy,” “the dress is blue.  There is no white.”  WHY is it  so shocking to be confronted with evidence that we see and hear things differently from one another?   After all, there are people who like pineapple on pizza and who enjoy the smell of gasoline, and who can even walk on burning rocks without flinching.  Some of us are warm tonight, and others are cold, and you cannot tell someone they’re not cold. We see, hear, taste, smell, and feel things differently.   We also find different things beautiful, and funny, and gross, and sad, as well as easy and difficult.  We believe differently too. 

Thank goodness, by the way.  I enjoy having friends with houses of different styles and colors and eating dishes other people cook and I’ve appreciated YOUR unique approaches to fashion and differing preferences and viewpoints and influences.   I’m urging us to move beyond it HAS to be Laurel, it’s ONLY EVER a white dress, Crocs are universally ugly, and peanut butter and pickle sandwiches can never be good.  How about a different approach, like OMG, you love crocs?  Please tell me more about this affection you have for wide plastic shoes!  And then, we listen intently instead of shaking our heads in an inability to understand and ACCEPT that some people enthusiastically rock crocs.  Last week my daughter asked me to put diced apples in her tuna sandwich and I was like ewww, okay.  And then I was hungry, and there was extra tuna, and I tried it.  You guys.  This could be a new thing, like chicken and waffles, or bacon with maple syrup.  

We could stop replaying the Yanny and Laurel loop in search of hidden syllables (or to prove ourselves so very right about what we hear), and instead seek to understand one another a little more--how others’ backgrounds, experiences, and influences affect THEIR RESPONSES to the world and how things makes them feel--so often differently from ourselves.  I believe that’s one of the valuable lessons from Anthony Bourdain, who found no cuisine, from a villager’s daily porridge to the most expensive dish at a high-end restaurant, unworthy of his exploration and our attention.  Similarly, he valued the stories of the people he met, both humble and famous, and championed the challenges and contributions of dishwashers and executive chefs alike--as all essential members of culinary teams who feed us.  

Ms. Bice and I talked recently about how critical it is for everyone, regardless of age and experience, to feel they have stories to tell worthy of others’ ears.  She and your teachers have obviously had the purpose of teaching you, but the essence of that purpose has been to prompt and elicit your OWN analyses and understandings of what you’ve heard, read, seen, and experienced.  Our jobs are made joyful by the fact that WE KNOW your stories already matter, and that they’re important and instructive.  

We have much to learn from generations before and after us, if we don’t condemn them for lack of relevance or experience.  We are watching the elders in our society grow in understanding that high school students can be the greatest experts on topics which affect them most acutely, and when they speak up and demand to be heard.  Millennials are teaching our parents and my generation that money is best spent on experiences vs. things.  It’s wise to to befriend and consult older folks, too, particularly as you cross thresholds of life--we elders can empathize and share our own experiences of self doubt, of loves lost, of career pivots, and generally make you feel like you can get through, too, as we have before you.  

Class of 2018, you’ve already demonstrated the depth of your awareness and ability to listen carefully and perceptively not only to each other, but to members of your community.  You’ve paid attention.  It’s  a quality of this class we admire and celebrate.  You’ve honored contributions of all types of people who’ve supported you through your recognitions and recent notes of gratitude to teachers, coaches, youth group leaders, tutors, office staff, security guards, administrators, and substitute teachers.  

And on this journey we’ve all shared together students, staff, and families, we’ve listened to one another debate, play, sing, shout, joke, lecture, present, recite, whine, plead, argue, laugh, cry, apologize, and congratulate.  These are all sounds of being human, recognizable no matter what frequencies our own ears hear.  I’m grateful you and I were human here at CHS together.  Graduates, keep your eyes and ears and minds and hearts open, seeking to understand more about this rich, diverse, and fascinating world you’ll help shape.  Thank you, and love you all. 

Happy to Have a Happy Mother's Day

Since last Mother's Day, our third daughter, Tootsie, joined the family.  By now most of you know the saga of Tootsie--born two months early across the country, and with meningitis.  Tootsie and I spent six weeks together in a Boston hospital apart from Husband and Big and Middle Sis.  But the truth is, after a fairly speedy recovery from her infection, Tootsie was pretty good to go. Throughout the ordeal, we were fortunate on many levels, benefiting from the care of incredible health care professionals in an amazing hospital, the overwhelming support of family and friends, and a lack of related long-term health issues.  Today, you would never know our bouncing baby girl was a preemie.

Because this was my third go-round with pregnancy and childbirth, I knew to watch myself for signs of baby blues.  I figured I was particularly susceptible at this point in my life, with a new job and already busy household.  Returning to a recently purchased home with a fragile newborn and two daughters who missed their mom added a few variables.  But I had no idea how difficult things would be.

While this Mother's Day morning I woke up cheerful, loved up my girls, did a load of laundry, went for a jog, and enjoyed brunch with my family, mere months ago, in the throes of serious post-partum depression and anxiety, I struggled to get out of bed each morning.  Now that I'm reunited with Myself, I have the perspective to appreciate how scary post-partum depression can be for a normally happy, confident woman and her family.

I feel it's important to acknowledge how many women enter into what is universally considered the blessed state of motherhood with the monkey of PPD on their backs--a monkey accompanied by Fear, Lack of Confidence and Motivation, Guilt, Self-Loathing, Malaise, and Search for Meaning, among other unwanted guests.  The challenges of parenthood are great enough without attempting to mother from the bottom of a well.  Sitting among first-time mothers in my therapy/support group, I wondered if I would have had more children if I felt the way I did this time after our firstborn.

I am well enough now to know I would do it all over again.

But the journey back to rational thinking and happy days felt long and hard (and necessitated work on myself I'd never felt compelled to do in 42 years), and I suspect I will always keep an eye trained on myself and my vulnerability to overwhelm.

Whatever the causes of PPD--hormonal, societal, circumstantial, genetic--it's important we are mindful of the mamas out there. It's easy for those of us missing infants and rocking chairs to exclaim to new mothers that these are the best of days and aren't you just so in love?  I was always in love.  But I was also wide-eyed and paralyzed by a sense that everything was Just Too Much to Handle.  Thankfully, perceptive family members and friends began throwing out lifelines as I floundered.

We've got to continue to ask new and experienced mothers probing questions, offer help and support, and be persistent about seeking professional care when there's concern.  I was told a million times that the best mother is a healthy one.  I was told a million times it would get better, and a thousand times I didn't believe it.  But I am a happier, healthier self than I was six months ago, and I love being a mother more than ever.

Happy Mother's Day.  This year, I am not taking the "happy" for granted.

Wrestling with Worries

Right before bed, Big Sis summoned me for a private conference.  "I've been worrying," she shared.  We hopped onto my bed together, as is our custom when she needs to talk. 

"I'm worried about bombs and poison gases, Mom.  I mean, what if something like what happened in Boston happens here?  How do you know it won't?  We're learning about the chemicals in water and I'm thinking about how our water could be poisoned, and I can't get it all out of my mind..."  Her anxieties issued from her in a gush. 

I don't know it won't happen here, sweetheart.  I can't promise you it won't.  But I can reassure you that kindnesses in our world are more likely than terrible things.  And while we live every day with the knowledge that accidents happen and sicknesses happen and pain is part of our experience, births also happen, and celebrations, and beauty and wonderfulness are all around us. 

A few more trips from her bedroom for reassurance followed, until we finally sent her back to bed with an assignment to think of a baby girl's name for each letter of the alphabet. 

We're all worried these days, aren't we, though we each feel it and wear it and express it in different ways?  Our daughter, prone to apprehensions and anxious wonderings, was bound to come to us with Boston-inspired concerns and questions.  She devoured a copy of The Hunger Games over spring break, a book I'd hoped she would wait to read, with its poisonous berries and...everything else.  Being displaced right now, between old house and new and on an extended vacation at Mammom's and Bampa's house, provides another source of instability.

I watch my own reactions to news and personal circumstances closely.  Pregnancy--even simply embarking on the journey of parenthood by attempting to conceive or adopt--means stepping onto a landscape of uncertainty and unknowns, new frontiers of hope and worry.  I mark the hurdles:  heartbeat on ultrasound, first trimester completed, negative screening results.  But there's no point of earned complacency in parenthood and life, only comfort in acknowledging the risks and joys associated with vulnerability. 

Disasters and tragedies aren't required to provoke our anxieties--all we need is a convenient temporal basket for our worries.  Moving, and a new house, have been ripe fodder for my over-active imagination at 3:00 AM.  I pictured the deck on our house as higher than it really is, the hillside steeper, with guests tumbling into the canyon in the event of a collapse.  Upstairs windows might be easy for children to fall from.  The canyon could be a nesting ground for rattlesnakes.  Would our house be easy to burglarize?

And then I remembered this week we'd momentarily forgotten to be afraid of North Korea.

So much randomness and unpredictability inspires the desire for us to exert controls on identifiable and accessible areas in our daily lives.  I could put locks on the windows, install an alarm system, forbid the kids from exploring the canyon.  But the worries would only reinvent themselves, seep through cracks in the door frames like poison gases.  There aren't enough sandbags to guard against uncertainty.  And somewhere along the bucket brigade we stop living how we truly want to, with chin up and eyes on the birds twittering on the fence, on the sunset, on the horizon.

So we hold hands, snuggle on the bed, reassure, and resolve.

We're working on managing our fears and anxieties over here.  How about you?  How have worries surfaced?  How do you balance caution with embracing wonder and vulnerability?

P.S.  a shout-out to Jewel, whose song "Hands" made it into the iPod shuffle on my jog this morning, with timely lyrics:

"If I could tell the world just one thing

It would be that we're all OK

And not to worry 'cause worry is wasteful

And useless in times like these

I won't be made useless

I won't be idle with despair..."

Family Action Plan 2013

At the playground a week ago, just after new year, a friend shared that someone she knew was creating a categorized life plan.  Having an avid interest in the Strategic Planning process (which we follow for goal setting for our school district, site, and programs), I was intrigued, particularly by the notion that our entire family could be involved. 

I happen to love charts; one year we made a Family Goals Chart and we currently have a Family Chores Chart on the fridge (with illustrations generously provided by Big Sis).  This year, with the structure of various categories in mind, I started thinking of verbs that might guide our decision making and planning for the year, like "give,"  "learn," and "visit." 

And thus our Family Action Plan was born:

On Monday night at dinner we filled in the chart together.  We decided "visit" was for people (so many we want to see this year!) and "go" for places; in the margin we wound up adding "do" because there were some actions that didn't quite fit the other verbs. 

One of my favorite categories is "try," where we have "grow watermelons, asparagus, and strawberries"; "golfing"; and "Thai food."  The "make" list will be fun to refer to on rainy or unscheduled days.  The "fix" category helped us prioritize home repairs, and "buy" to identify some worthy investments, like a new bike for Big Sis and a computer that works properly. 

 

 

I'm thinking my personal action plan might include "read," "clean," "give up," "accept," "start," "finish," "acknowledge/thank"...

How are you structuring your goals, plans, and dreams this year? 

The Gift of Candlesticks

We watched Les Miserables today, and oh, I cried, probably more than I did when I saw the musical on Broadway in 1988.  We emerged from the theatre red-eyed and wrecked.  This, I thought, is what the Greeks had in mind with catharsis.  It felt kind of good to sob for something not immediate and real right now, but images of oppression and reminders of the oft-futile nature of war made my mind wander to Syria and gang rape in India.  I've been thinking of the story all afternoon, rife with examples of what it is to be human.

I carried a glimmer of the hope promised in the film's poster out with me, too.  When Jean Valjean is offered food and refuge in a parish shortly after his release from two decades of imprisonment, he betrays his host by stealing silver from the church before he flees.  Police capture him and turn him over to the Bishop, who claims that the silver is not stolen, and that Valjean had, in fact, forgotten the candlesticks and adds them to his sack.  After the authorities leave, the Bishop admonishes Valjean to use his bounty to make an honest man of himself.  

The unexpected generosity and grace of the Bishop is passed on by Valjean, who refuses several opportunities to kill his dogged pursuer, the Inspector Javert.  Javert, though, is immune to paying it forward, never himself showing mercy for Valjean, and barely redeems himself by the end of the work.

I recognized Valjean's gift from the Bishop as one we have the choice to give, too.  It requires a complete selflessness and utter lack of desire for vengeance.  The Bishop, after all, could have manifested a defensible righteous indignation; smugness at his guest's predicted behavior; at the very least, grave disappointment.  Instead he offers kindness and opportunity, without any way of knowing or need to confirm that the silver will be well spent by Valjean (versus, say, on drugs).  The bishop's gift requires true gift-giving spirit:  that which demands nothing in return, that which looks past any notion that gifts are earned or deserved.

I am thinking of the ways we can pass the candle in our daily lives:

Cheerfully refusing to engage with road rage.

Declining opportunities to be locked in battles of wills:  giving in because it's the right thing to do, even if it means letting someone feel like she's "won." Everybody wins when we let go.

Biting a lip instead of biting back.

Resisting envy and the judgments which accompany it about who has or gets what, and whether they need or deserve it. 

Offering generosity in the form of compliments, attention, and favors to those who most challenge the giving parts of ourselves.

Acknowledging the wisdom and value in views and beliefs that aren't our own.

Doling out random acts of kindness. 

Practicing forgiveness.  Letting go of grievances and grudges.  Accepting someone else's burden. 

Here's to more candlesticks circulating in 2013.

The Illusion of Control

My thoughts aren't far from the families and staff of Sandy Hook Elementary and community of Newtown, Connecticut. 

How we react to tragedies like these is so informed by our own experiences, backgrounds, baggage, and circumstances.  Because I work at a school, my initial responses to events that involve schools, including my own, are generally informed by my position as vice principal:  responsibility for the safety and well being of staff and students, plans for care for affected students and staff and messaging to parents and the community, anticipation of changes to our own safety procedures and protocols. 

So my own feelings are deferred.  I've learned to not be surprised when my emotions don't surface as others' do.  It wasn't until I was at the kitchen counter talking with my mom about those parents in Connecticut, who had to leave their children lying at the school when they went home Friday night, that I wept.

We're talking at school about normalcy and safety and learning and routines and comfort and support.

We're talking as parents about discussing this with our children and protecting them and letting them go and what if what if whatifwhatifwhatif and there but for fortune go we. 

We're talking as a nation about guns and mental health and communication and you should and you shouldn't and good and evil and innocence lost and what will we do next. 

But what we're all talking about is control.  What we can control and what we can't control and what we wish we could.  We will try to wrestle something down to the ground now because we think we failed to do just that on Friday.  In times of uncertainty, helplessness, and insecurity, we assert controls. Gun control, access control, parental control, information control, innocence control, freedoms and restrictions control all at the same time.  We want to be the ones in charge and we want someone to take charge, and honestly, it's all confusing.

We're considering reasonable next steps to increase our children's safety, and trying to avoid overreacting.

A friend of mine asked on Facebook, "Parents, do you ask if there is a gun in the house when your kids go on playdates?"

A great question, because it reminded me of a time when I was nine years old, playing at a friend's house, and that friend told me her dad had a gun.

"Really?" I asked.  "Yep," she answered.

My memory tells me that my buddy reassured me the rifle was unloaded as she retrieved it from under her parents' bed.  I have no memory of her parents' whereabouts, but I remember thinking that my parents told me NEVER EVER to play with guns and though I was a fairly enlightened child, I went ahead and ran around the house in giddy thrill, chased by my friend and her brother and That Gun.  That I was ever near a gun was a secret I kept from my parents, because guess what:  I would not have been allowed to play with that friend at her house ever again. I'll never know what other outcomes were possible from that scenario, only that I walked away unscathed. 

And that I played with a gun despite knowing it was dangerous and I was forbidden to do so. 

That question, "Hey, do you have a gun in your house?" also reminded me of my friend whose husband learned there are ways to deter potential sexual predators from targeting your child.  Because the likelihood that the person who victimizes your child is someone you know, experts suggest front-loading adults who care for your child with a statement explaining that your child is aware of his/her body and has had conversations with parents about healthy boundaries. My friend's husband had frank, sometimes awkward discussions with friends and parents of his children's friends about his daughter's safety in their homes. 

I ask myself if I have the guts to be so bold--do you?

And where else might I be a little lax, too trusting, or holding on too tight?  Are our windows locked every night?  Are my children in the right car seats, every time; do I own the safest car?  Do I have parental controls on the TV and computers?  Am I choosing the correct developmental stage for solo bike rides around the block, walking to school alone? 

Ultimately I rely on gut and decisions that help me sleep a little more assuredly at night.  But my head hits the pillow knowing no amount of bubble wrap, practical precautions, or exertion of my controls amidst the uncertainty protects my children from the potential of random chance or determined and dangerous deviants. 

I sleep with gratitude and sadness tonight, wishing rest and peace for the residents of Newtown, Connecticut. 

List: Not-So-Serious Stresses

1.  Stall Stress:  When there's no toilet paper...and it's too late.

2.  Dress Stress:  When you're trying something on that is too tight, and you can't easily get it off.  You start sweating and wriggling and doubling over in the dressing room.  By the time you're safely out of the article of apparel, you're genuinely afraid of it. 

3.  Store Stress:  When you get to the cash register and:

a) realize you don't have your wallet, or
b) your credit card is rejected, or
c) you have to write a check and hold up the line.

Another version:  When you have a full cart of groceries and a tantrumming child you've threatened to carry out of the store.  It's so hard to abandon those groceries; it's so hard to endure the stares and sighs. 

4.  Stylist Stress:  When your haircut starts looking bad, but it's too late to say something, so you struggle to maintain small talk with your hairdresser whilst cringing inwardly. 

5.  Sent-Message Stress:  When you're pretty sure you just sent that email/text to the wrong person. 

6.  Steering-Wheel Stress: When you're lost, and your navigator's directions to "turn west" so don't help because you've made 13 turns in 10 minutes (and it's dark or high noon).

7.  Stain Stress:  When you spill coffee on your shirt and then blot it with a wet towel and now you have a coffee stain bordered by a water stain and the compulsion to explain it to everyone you encounter.

Similar:  Blemish Stress

8.  Lost Keys Stress:  Self-explanatory.

Similar, in needing no explanation:  Doctor's Appointment Stress.

9.  School Stress:  So many options!  Pick one.

10.  Sunday-Night Stress:  When you can't enjoy part of the weekend because it's Monday Eve. 

Add your own, friends!

What I Learned Today: Constraint Breeds Creativity

This morning at our school's staff development, we rotated through three different teachers' classrooms to sample their instructional approaches.  It's my favorite form of staff development, as teachers are invariably inspired by experiencing what their colleagues do with students, and it's free and easy. 

I was volunteered to "hold fire" in the chemistry class as we learned about combustion:

But that wasn't necessarily the most exciting part.  We learned that our woodshop teacher is not so much running a "shop" as a studio. 

The first thing he asked us to do was design a table using pencil and paper.  Then he collected our sketches and displayed them.  Like his students, he noted, most of us drew rectangle tables with four legs. 

His curricular challenge is to move his students beyond the "rectilinear," and move his course beyond the board-and-glue birdhouse. One way he disrupts students' thinking is by creating profiles of potential users for their tables.  When Mr. H asks his students what kind of table they'd design for a 16-year-old girl who uses a wheelchair and lives in an igloo, he inspires intriguing results.

This is because, he shared, constraints breed creativity. 

We see this all over, but I don't always appreciate how rules, restrictions, and limited resources arouse ingenuity, innovation, and beauty.  People living in small houses find creative ways to store stuff.  Reality cooking and fashion shows provide contestants with similar ingredients and materials, but the resulting products demonstrate the work of distinct, imaginative minds.  Cities and buildings find ways to use pockets of space, walls, and roofs. 

Back in the day, MacGyver showed us how to jury rig cabbages and shoelaces into lifesaving devices. 

It's sort of what I was trying to demonstrate to Big Sis with her spelling sentences:  we are often more motivated by tasks with a restricting challenge. 

Our world will increasingly benefit from this kind of thinking outside the rectangle, particularly as we grapple with increasingly limited resources, sharing of space, and the challenge of reconciling our natural environment with new technologies. 

Mr. H showed us slides of students with their tables of varying shapes and sizes and functions.  And in the back of the room, we could see the skateboard decks they were designing. 

Another day I'm proud to be an educator.

Black Friday, Move Over for "Make Something" Day

Last year on the Friday after Thanksgiving we took some friends up on their offer to visit their house for "Make Something" Day.  We ate and crafted and had a truly wonderful time with neighbors.  Alas, at the end of the summer, our friends moved to the East Coast.  And though I wasn't prepared to host a neighborhood party this Black Friday, I was determined to shun the malls--and even online shopping--and embark on a creative project with the girls.

We knew we would want to share our made goods.  But what could we make that wasn't sweet, which capitalized on resources already available, and that others would appreciate?

Succulent bowls:  we have a surplus of ceramic bowls and planters (from good causes!), plus, we could hit up two local businesses for the soil and plants we needed.  We stopped by the awesome flower shop where Cousin Travis works, and our favorite nursery/landscaper friend's neighborhood outpost.

While I set up our succulent assembly line, the girls launched independent projects:

Little Sis painted and tiled a wooden box

Big Sis sculpted oven-bake clay "charms"

Then, together we put together twelve little planters to deliver to neighbors and friends.

Re-purposed container, soil, plants, rocks, and glass "stones"

Complete with a note explaining our mission.

Little Sis hand-wrote twelve of these!

Here's where I admit we could use a new computer (ours keeps shutting down at inopportune moments), and I'm sure I'd be tempted by deals to be had on flat-screen TVs (we still have a box).

But today, we had a great day despite their absence.

Happy Leftovers (and Make Something) Day!!

List: Final Thoughts on TEDx

Here are a few of the exciting new technologies and ideas being developed by presenters at last weekend's TEDxYouthSanDiego conference:

1.  You can actually own a 3D printer for as little as $1200, which uses drawings to produce 3-D models in plastic (or other materials).  One of the speakers is researching the regeneration of organs from cells, using 3D printing to create a soluble sugar frame for blood vessels within them.  He uses a hacker space to share ideas and developments with people worldwide who collaborate on this lifesaving project, meant to lessen our reliance on organ donors for those in need of transplants.

2.  Jim Mumford is building green roofs and researching new ways to bring more plants inside buildings (plant wall/air filtration systems) to improve air, aesthetics, and quality of life.

3.  Rocio Ortega is a freshman at Wellesley College who is championing girls' education through organizations such as Girl Up and Global Girls.

4.  David Carroll is developing a kind of felt pouch that charges cell phones using nanotechnology.  He made a shirt that charges phones, but the military is borrowing it right now.

5.  Caroline Heldman spoke on the objectification of women observed that men are "being sold that they are sexual subjects (in control), and women are objects.  Moreover, boys are raised (by society) to view their bodies as tools for mastering their environment, while girls are raised to see their bodies as projects to continually work on.  What if we raised girls to view their bodies as tools for mastering their environment?

6.  Alex Day, YouTube phenom, chronicled the saga of his success, explaining that he really wanted to achieve something he didn't know how to do.  But, he pointed out, not knowing how to do something doesn't affect one's burning desire to do it.  Go for it.

7.  Charity Tillemann-Dick sang an aria for us, and then revealed she'd had two lung transplants.  She paid homage to her doctor, who told her that doctors are meant to make safe choices when it comes to patient care, and "we're measured by outcomes." But, her surgeon confided, he measures himself by whether or not he did what he felt was the right decision for his patients.  She's a result of courageous medical care, and generous folks who donated their organs (not to mention her own amazing talent and determination).

8.  Daniel Wilson challenged us to consider what a "bionic human" is anymore, with so many of us with replaced hips, prosthetic limbs, and even neural implants.  He didn't shy away from asking us to consider how society will respond to the possible "advantages" provided by body technology--Oscar Pistorius was allowed to compete in the 2012 Olympics with prosthetic limbs, but what about next time?  What does it mean to 'level the playing field', anyway?  Questions we will increasingly grapple with as new technologies develop.

9.  Representatives from the Right to Play organization encouraged the notion that games and play help learning and community building.  They train educators across the globe in their methods, which transform schools, kids, and communities.

10.  Finally, Esther Earl's father spoke to us about the importance of life, even in grief.  He lost his daughter Esther to cancer when she was only 16, but, he argues, life is the most significant part of life, not death.  Make it so, he  urged his young audience.

Party with Yourself for Life

When we and our students arrived at TEDxYouthSanDiego yesterday, we were given goody bags with a pen and notebook inside for taking notes.  I knew ahead of time that I'd want to write down memorable quotes and ideas, and when they discouraged use of devices in the theatre, I went to town with the little notepad.

The concept behind TED (technology, entertainment, design) Talks is the power of "ideas worth spreading"--the notion that sharing ideas provides the potential for seeds to germinate, people to collaborate, and exciting innovations to change the world.

I'm spreading the ideas I wrote in my notepad with you here.  Click the video links to watch--you'll be glad you did.

We watched two videos by Jason Silva; the first was "The Biological Advantage of Being Awestruck," in which Silva explains that our senses of awe help us survive.  Feeling awe increases our sense of well-being.  I know this to be true because when I behold a breathtaking natural setting or witness or hear goosebump-inducing moments of human kindness, generosity, or insight, I feel both in awe and really good about myself and our world.  I love that someone is sharing the idea that awe is important.

Silva's other film (watch it to see how excited this man gets about riffing on deep thoughts), "Radical Openness," encourages the "free exchange" of ideas, so that ideas can "have sex" (via Matt Ridley) and spawn new ones.  "Imagination allows us to conceive of delightful future possibilities...and pull the present forward to meet (them)..."  Silva's wonderings about what would have happened if oil paint hadn't been invented by Van Gogh's time or musical instruments by Beethoven's era made me think about all the people whose creativity might have gone one leap greater with new technologies.  Nevertheless, the evolution of ideas spurs generations of awesome innovations forward.

Three Lego designer/builders spoke to us about why they chose their jobs and how Lego workshops function.  One of the women was an art major, but added film to her degree because she "wanted to create worlds."  Now she designs Minilands for LEGOLANDs worldwide.  The designers explained that they remind themselves to "think outside the brick" with the saying "Studs Not on Top."  SNOT supports the notion that Lego doesn't always stack vertically--many constructions feature sideways stacks, too--think about that for a minute! They left our students with the advice to "find your support team and the right state of mind to build your future."

Derek Siver's video "Leadership Lessons from Dancing Guy" struck a chord.  He demonstrates that it's the "first follower" of a goofy guy dancing in public who transforms that "lone nut into a leader."  We see that the new followers tend to emulate the first followers versus the original leader; the groundbreaker may have thought of it or done it first, but his first followers actually create the movement.  Siver reminds us to "nurture" our first followers "as equals," because "leadership is over glorified."  I interpreted his message as advice to be on the lookout for opportunities to be first followers for leaders with a really good idea or positive movement waiting for the crowd to take notice and mobilize.

Amidst each of four speaker series, a man promoting a free meditation movement (in prisons, for example),  led us through brief, simple meditations.  He urged us to work on changing our own minds versus trying to change forces beyond our control, and we marveled at how much better we felt when we only closed our eyes, focused on breathing, and let our minds wander for a few minutes.  "Who made you feel better?"  he asked us, pointing out that since we are always with ourselves, it's quite convenient to help ourselves have better days.

Which reminded me of speaker Grant Korgan's words to our youthful audience:  "You are the person you get to party with for life, for better or worse.  Choose positivity.  Love.  And push on."  Korgan, paralyzed in a snowmobiling accident, trekked to the South Pole after two years of physical therapy, urging himself over and over to "push on for just ten more feet."  We all have ten more feet in us.

The photo is blurry, but message is clear

No Place Like Home

I spent today at TEDxSanDiego with our principal and a group of inspiring students from our high school.  We joined 400 other youth from all over the county and a bevy of provocative artists, musicians, inventors, scientists, and heroes.

One of the most memorable speakers of the day for me was Andrew Slack, founder of The Harry Potter Alliance, a non-profit determined to mobilize young people to support missions of equality and equity worldwide.  Slack believes that "the story of the orphan and the empire has the power to be a gamechanger in the story of humanity and how we see ourselves as human beings."

Because we, like Andrew Slack, can all identify with orphan-heroes and their noble quests.  His speech was a plea for us to remain undaunted, and join forces.

Slack cited a long list of narratives which subscribe to the 'Orphan vs. Evil Empire' archetype, including The Wizard of Oz, Star Wars, Superman, and of course, Harry Potter, explaining that the protagonists all face obstacles.  But the walls they encounter tend to have literal or figurative secret doors waiting to be found.  Slack acknowledged that the problem is that many of these doors "are very good at hiding."

Harry Potter, he reminded us, was just a "boy who lived in a cupboard who hoped that somewhere over the rainbow there was someone" who valued him.  The sadness we carry--the orphan parts of ourselves--can be the "doorway to a loving world."

He described a Jewish saying which observes that the mundane "routines of life can block the radiance of the world," urging his young audience members to indulge in daydreams and fantasy, which are not escapes "from the world, but invitations to go deeper into it."

Finally, Slack explained that reaching out, bonding, and establishing interconnectedness, "makes us not orphans, but siblings...who...from Gaza to Jerusalem...sleep together as a family of heroes under one sky, and we are home.  And, there is no place like home."  He finished his talk with a slide of the earth.

I was agape at this man's ability to link his personal story to popular literature to archetypes to a call for global service, like a nerdy young professorial rock star.

Just the kind of human I hoped would be speaking to and connecting with our students.

Here's his talk at another TEDx event:

Oops, Green Monster Does It Again

I often remind the girls in my care--my high schoolers, my daughters--that feelings like anger, insecurity, and envy spawn bad kinds of behavior.  Particularly between women.

I point out that while they often come from very dark places, those emotions are normal.  It becomes, however, our responsibility to identify when we're feeling them, determine their origins, and work through our anger, insecurity, or envy.  Or Think Very Hard before acting upon them.

Most hurtful emails; most damaging Facebook and Twitter posts; most passive-aggressive and petty acts stem from that Green Monster Envy or her cousins Jealousy, Covetousness, and Insecurity.  Most spontaneous bitchy behavior, in fact, can be traced back to those demons. 

And while none of us is immune, the hope is that we've learned to manage the monsters sometime between middle school and middle age. 

And yet, we've got the Real Housewives reality TV series to demonstrate that adult women can behave like sixth graders. 

Oh, and there's Paula Broadwell.

See, it wasn't exposure of her extramarital affair that brought her down.  It was that she had to go and send anonymous "harassing" emails to a woman she perceived as competition, asserting, in effect, "You'd better back off my (ex-)man."  And because they were "anonymous," an investigation ensued. 

Let the wincing commence. 

We do dumb and hurtful stuff when we're infatuated and obsessed (like have an affair), but we often do forehead-smackingly lunatic stuff when we're jealous and insecure (like write "anonymous" emails from multiple fake accounts).  Paula needed a friend to talk her down from the keyboard, at the very least. 

Nevertheless, I think many of us could own up to some ugly behavior birthed by envy. 

Okay, I will start.

It was sixth grade.  I had a hopeless crush on a guy who paid me no mind except when he was making fun of me and my friends in a way only middle school boys can (and I and my friends endured the mistreatment in a way only middle school girls can).  I knew deep down that this was destined to be unrequited love, but I was reassured by the fact that though he wasn't "going out" with me, he wasn't "going out" with anyone else I knew either. 

But then came Sixth Grade Camp.  Sixth Grade Camp is a rite of passage in our parts.  It involves spending a school week in the mountains with sixth grade peers from your school and Another School.  The "Another School" in question back in 1982 brought a girl who within a day purported to be hot for my love interest.  And I knew this because girls from both schools slept in a huge room of bunkbeds together, and my friends told me they heard her friends say that she liked him. 

I clearly remember the moment when a pack of my buddies approached me with this news, pointing out the girl in question, over yonder, and awaiting my response. 

A mild but territorial outrage tinged with green envy crept over me.  But I also felt safe among my "supportive" peeps, and emboldened by the independence of being at sleepaway camp.

"She's kind of a dog,"  I offered. 

And then the next part happened.  Either one of my friends told her or one of her friends the gist of what I said, or one of her friends overheard me.  All I know is that soon enough, I was surrounded by a group of her peeps, who were accusing me of calling their girl a "rag." 

"I did NOT call her a 'rag'," I asserted confidently, while sheathed in a cold sweat, relieved that one factual lapse saved me from lying, at least. 

"She wants to fight you," they added.

"Well...I didn't call her a rag..." I repeated, weakly, and walked away, in search of my friends. 

And that was that, as far as I recall.  I have vague memories of sanding a piece of Manzanita wood and being freaked out by counselors' ghost stories.  But mostly I remember that I spent most of Sixth Grade Camp living down that I acted like a mean girl and got called out. 

So, that was a low point.  In retrospect, I am so very glad I couldn't text or tweet or post my thoughts about that girl.  Because I might have. 

And though the scandal in Washington (and Virginia and Florida and North Carolina) is a hot, hot mess (the latest:  emails with shirtless photos from an FBI agent??  That poor choice is inspired by another kind of age-old monster...), there's something we should all recognize, amidst the snickering and judging: 

You can be valedictorian AND homecoming queen AND fitness champ AND Harvard grad AND bestselling author AND...Still.  Feel.  Insecure.

Whatever it takes for us to love ourselves a little more, or enough, it sure isn't having an affair with a four-star general.

It's an elusive elixir, and I hope Holly Petraeus has quarts of it in stock. 

Braised Pork Paired with Peach Pilsener

Once upon a time, a dear, dear friend brought some Sam Adams Cherry Wheat beer over to my house. First, I'm kind of an omnivore with a willingness to try stuff, and second, the cherry beer was also known as "Free Beer," so it tasted exceptionally good to me that evening.  I'm sure I expressed appreciation for the beer, and for my friend, whom I love. 

Somehow, though, fruity beers made their way into a conversation at a neighborhood gathering some time later, and I was outed for loving them.  It was that little awkward moment where I could have disavowed all enthusiasm, like a high schooler might loudly exclaim, red-faced, "What?  I am SO NOT a Justin Bieber Fan!" but truth is, though I prefer IPA, I won't deny an offer of Raspberry Hefeweisen. 

But here's the deal.  I've been to a party or two now where a helpful host has bought some fruit beer "just for you, Fer."  Another generous friend saved the bottles of fruit beer (someone else brought to their house) just in case I come over. 

It's time to come clean about fruit beers and Fer:  there's just too many other tasty beers to drink. 

I was in a teacher's classroom today admiring his socks (yep, that's how we evaluate teachers at our school), and then realized I've complimented his socks before.  He admitted to having a "socks thing."

"It all started one Christmas," he explained, "when I put socks on a few too many gift lists."  The socks keep coming.  And he rocks them. 

Another teacher mentioned that she's awash in rubber ducks since once offhandedly remarking on their cuteness.  Her dad now makes it a mission to find one for her every time he travels. 

The third colleague in the room has a problem with braised pork, and the problem is that too many people think it's his favorite food.  People push the pork at family dinner parties; they make extra Just For Him.  He doesn't have the heart to let them down, so he chokes it down. 

The climax of the conversation occurred when our extraordinary-sock-sporting friend admitted he also went through a Thomas Jefferson Phase.

"I think you already know that I can be obsessive.  I was really into Thomas Jefferson." He shrugged, "Now I have about five books about Thomas Jefferson, which other people gave me, on my shelf."

I've been to the homes of people who whisper  a little too loudly that they have a penchant for pigs, baskets, shot glasses, angels, or old license plates.  Sometimes we grow out of our interests (though I wish I still had some of my Miss Piggy paraphernalia), but the world won't let us forget them.

One of the teachers predicted better results by expressing great interest in things like expensive wine, or cash. 

"You know me!" he joked, "I really appreciate a pricey Pinot!  And I collect it, you know, in case you have any cases lying around." 

Socks, fruity beers, rubber ducks, braised pork, Thomas Jefferson:  from which fan club do you need to unsubscribe yourself?

List: Election Musings

1.  Heading to bed knowing who our next President is. 
2.  Heading to bed wondering if Proposition 30 will pass, and if we'll lose another two weeks of school for our kids. Shame on you, state.
3.  Heading to bed suspecting that we will continue to exercise the death penalty in California, despite my vote to the contrary.
4.  Heading to bed unsure if GMOs are bad or good or a little of both.
5.  Heading to bed wishing I'd taken government class in high school and trying to remember how that requirement was waived.
6.  Heading to bed sympathizing for the "only one person" in Little Sis's class who voted for Mitt Romney in her 1st grade class election.  Tough to stand alone.
7.  Heading to bed cringing at my Facebook feed.
8.  Heading to bed wincing at Big Sis's soccer teammate's comment as we walked to the car after practice, about Mitt Romney hating Mexicans, and reminding myself that people's perceptions are their realities.
9.  Heading to bed celebrating more states valuing individuals' rights to marry regardless of gender. 
10.  Heading to bed hoping that things will get better, better, BETTER for human beings over the next four years:  locally, nationally, globally. 

Dear Soccer Parents, Chill Out

In my spare time this semester, I am coaching Little Sis's Under-8 Girls' Soccer Team.  Despite how much I love coaching, it's the other thing besides parenting that makes me most insecure.  I have the enthusiasm and willingness, but I always wonder about my coaching skills and also Am I Subbing Out My Players Equitably.   Pondering this can keep me up at night; that's just how I roll. 

I have to remind myself that I am not judging Big Sis's soccer coach, and not just because I know him and he's my friend.  I am truly just grateful that he is willing to take on the task (as well as 10 fourth graders), and impressed that, under his leadership, his players go out and understand positions and make and save some goals. And more importantly, have fun. 

I imagine that the parents of my players feel similarly:  Supremely thankful that I, and my BFF/assistant coach, are willing to run around for an hour every Thursday afternoon with goofy, sometimes completely wackadoo under-eight-year-olds and make stuff up, such as drills and games called "Coach Says," while parents watch from lawn chairs.  An hour of soccer practice, by the way, is a Long Time, even with 15 minutes of stretching at the beginning and another 20 of scrimmaging at the end. And breaks for water and shoe-tieing and injuries.

Also, it's hard to reach back to one's own rec soccer days to remember cool and fun drills.  So even though this is my third year "coaching" soccer, I attended a soccer coaching clinic in September because my insecurities hadn't abated.  I learned a lot at the soccer clinic, but mostly I hurt my knee.  An injured knee is one thing it's clear I will take away from this soccer season.  While the soccer season appears to have taken running away from me. 

And yet, I don't resent the coaching or the clinic or the practices.  I continue to love them so much that I didn't even think before I responded to the email asking for coaches to volunteer for the all-star tournaments.  I didn't even think about the fact that Neither of My Daughters Will Be Playing on This Team of All-Stars I Will Coach.  This is because Big Sis plays Under-10, and Little Sis is...not so much an all-star. 

But here's what I do resent:  today we received the league "Bad Sideline Behavior" email.  The Bad Sideline Behavior email must be an annual inevitability, because I have seen various versions of it over my five-year career as a Soccer Mom.  The Bad Sideline Behavior email is directed toward the non-coaching, non-volunteering parents of soccer players under the age of 12, and it says, basically, Stop Acting Like an Asshole.  Stop Acting Like an Asshole in Front of Your Children.  Stop Yelling at Volunteer Coaches and Refs and even your own kids.  The email actually does include a part about, if the system  makes you so angry, go ahead and volunteer and fix it. 

Haha!  That part surely makes people angry, because people don't like to quit complaining and fix things.  In general, they don't.  Election Day tomorrow will prove that.  I know some portion of my Facebook feed will be moving to Canada on Wednesday, which is not exactly fixing things. 

But, just like the Facebook post I saw today which says, "'I changed my vote for President based on your Facebook post',  said no person ever," emails exhorting people to stop being jerks are similarly futile.  And I know this because That Email Does Not Apply to Me.  If it doesn't apply to you, you feel guilty about it and write back and say I am so sorry did you mean me?  If it does apply to you, I imagine that you get in your car and flip off the next Slow Driver you meet on the freeway.  Or write a trollish comment in response to an online article.

But what scares me is that if it applies to you, you're quite possibly my neighbor, the parent of my kid's friend, a seemingly otherwise rational person who loses her shizzle when she approaches the soccer pitch.  Something about the ubiquity of this youth sport makes everyone entitled to "coach" and "ref" and judge soccer, though only a portion of adults have played it.  The fact that there is a reality show for Toddlers in Tiaras, which highlights outrageous stage parents, and not for "Kiddoes in Cleats," suggests that parental passion on the soccer sidelines is acceptably mainstream.  Aggressive Yelling Dad and Screamy Mom seem to show up every Saturday.  My BFF refers often to Oakland rec soccer, where they had to declare "Silent Sidelines" because of overly exuberant parents.

I get some of the passion, parents; I have had to temper my own "Go go go go gogogogogogogogo gooooooooooooooooo," which is white noise to our children who are either already gooooooooooing or not likely to get up and go at all despite all exhortations.  As a coach, I've learned that talking excessively to my players on the field raises the likelihood they're looking at me and not at the ball (a few key plays missed that way!).   

So we've got to calm down, folks.  We've got to save some of this outrage and passion for human rights abuses and miscarriages of justice more consequential than a 13-year-old ref's bad call at a U-10 game. 

I can't help but wonder if we made the parents of the opposing teams' players get out and play one other for two five-minute halves, we'd humble our fans and quite possibly knock the hot air out of them before the kids play.   

Save profanity and disgust and censures and tantrums for pro sports and the players and coaches paid to endure good and bad press.  They've even got security guards at those games. 

Spare the kids and volunteers, willya?

The Night of the Dudus

A recent conversation about "domestic" iguanas escaping into the trees of Santa Barbara and geckos living on the walls reminded me of a night in Kenya I will never forget: The Night the Termites Came to Town.

It's only fair to directly quote the journal I kept during my year living and teaching in Kenya:

Friday 8th November (1996)

Monday was "Attack of the African Rain Dudu" night--the little-known sequel to Hitchcock's The Birds.  During an afternoon conversation, Bharti [my tough Indian landlady] offhandedly joked and said we'd all eat at my house tonight, and I said, "Fine!" (but there's a Murphy's Law in play whenever Bharti, consummate Indian wife and mother, is around: that I will look stupid and do things wrong). I tried making focaccia [Kenya-style], and didn't follow directions [duh].  My spaghetti sauce was blah.  I even almost ruined the noodles.

In the midst of preparation for my guests, it began raining hard, and big flying bugs materialized near the kitchen window. Soon, there were multitudes coming through a crack at the side of the window. I wisely thought, I will open it, and let them fly out.

Yikes!  So many flying, flapping buggies were in my face and hitting the wall and then crawling around as I shrieked and hit them with a curtain and avoided squishing them underfoot,. I found even more in the living room and hallway, pouring into my porous house. It was an insect invasion like no other I had experienced.

In a flash of inspiration, I figured out they were attracted to light, and I turned on the outside bulb and extinguished all lights inside. I opened the front door, and many flew out.

The ones remaining appeared to lose their wings, crawl around, hump each other, and inexplicably disappear. Their wings, however, were ubiquitous. I joked with my fourth-grade students the next day that I could have stuffed pillows with dudu wings.

"You should have fried them up and eaten them, Miss," a student offered. "They taste like peanut butter."

Which might have been better than the spaghetti I served my guests that night.   

That they were "dudus" and tasted like sandwich spread were the only details offered by my students about these winged invaders. [I learned later that these were your garden-variety termites, the ones who build admirable mounds above ground. Here is a similar account of Termite Horror from a San Diego Zoo conservation program specialist]. 

It's not unusual for me to find an errant dudu wing tucked in an journal or bag I used during my time in Kenya...

"Nina Leven"

If there are novels you should be coincidentally reading when the anniversary of 9/11/2001 falls, Billy Lynn's Long Halftime Walk is surely among them.  It's a mirror held up to reflect our--ordinary citizens'--varying gratitude, mourning, horror, reverence, anger, determination, confusion, naïveté, patriotism, nationalism, globalism, fear, pride, bemusement, admiration, cluelessness, authenticity...the panoply/amalgam/juxtaposition/contradictions and oxymoronic American-ness of us in the wake of tragedy and in honoring our servicepeople.

What is the right thing to feel and say and do when faced with what we struggle to understand? We are united in wondering, and in not wondering and therefore freely feeling and doing and saying. How very American of us just to express ourselves, beautifully and offensively and gracefully and clumsily because we can.

Thank goodness (and our founders) for that, and for authors like Ben Fountain, who offer few apologies and more truth about who we, and our soldiers, are.

"You can't see some of the things we've seen and not think about the big questions.  Life, death, what it all might mean."

We are still learning.

What Should Matter in This Election (and Always)

Human dignity.

I'd like to propose that supporting human dignity serves as a guiding principle in prioritizing policies and spending in our society.

And then, because we are not the only living beings relying on the resources of our planet, I suggest we consider the health and welfare of local and global ecosystems as well.  The dignity of my children and their children's children depends on it.

In education we often plan curriculum by envisioning the desired outcome first and then planning "backwards":  designing a map of the journey to achievement from a beginning.  Imagining that our society's goal is to produce and sustain dignified, self-sufficient, healthy and contributing individuals, we can also imagine what our society needs in place to promote such citizens.

Supporting human dignity starts with our youngest citizens, infants.  Or, perhaps, it starts with our citizens who are pregnant or potentially pregnant.

It's a huge responsibility to feed, grow, nurture a human.  Understanding that there may be No Greater Responsibility (nor greater influence than parenting on the fellow humans with whom we occupy space), supports for parents and the potential parents among us is a priority.

The more unplanned, unhealthy pregnancies there are, particularly if choices to discontinue unwanted pregnancies are limited, the more Big Government we need.  Babies born to unprepared, unhealthy people or families invariably need assistance or interventions  Adoptions require regulation and management.  Children awaiting adoption or whose parents are temporarily deemed unfit need foster care.  Foster families and adopted children often benefit from additional resources.  Government provides these services.

First, let's acknowledge and dignify human sexuality and promote healthy, safe options for both expressing sexuality and preventing pregnancy.  Education dignifies.  We should continue look for more ways to promote healthy bodies and minds.  Let's nurture young people to respect their own and others' bodies and see themselves as beautiful inside and out.

Speaking of education, I think we should acknowledge that educating our citizenry is only second to parenting in Great Responsibilities, and it deserves being treated as such in terms of attention and resource allocation.  The path to dignified, independent, self-sufficient, and healthy adulthood runs right through classrooms.  With the goal of fostering independence, critical thinking, and ingenuity, schools should continue to develop programs that assist young people in determining how to both sustain themselves and contribute to a functioning society.  Whether or not graduating high school students plan on post-secondary education or work, we ought to be laying the foundations from preschool on, increasing the number of courses and pathways designed to match student interests and talents with the jobs and careers relevant to a changing society.  That means more partnerships and internships with industries and opportunities for young people to be actively involved in their communities while in school.

We had a long summer, the kids and I.  Cuts to education in the form of furloughs mean shorter school years for all of us.  I traveled and camped with them, took them to museums and beaches.  But as I signed my girls up for summer camps, swiping my credit card and signing checks for enriching experiences at the zoo, park, and pool during weeks when I worked, I couldn't help but think of families with fewer resources, whose children were likely stuck at home with parents either working or not working in this flailing economy, languishing in the heat, hanging around the block and buying soda and chips from the corner store.  I began to think that long summers aren't so healthy for all families and children. 

We need more affordable programs and childcare so the families we implore to get off welfare and get a job have an incentive:  earnings that exceed the cost of babysitters and camps.  On the flip side, opportunities offered for children to exercise and maintain math, literacy, and critical thinking skills.  Opportunities to build things and be creative.   Opportunities to be productive, independent, and proud. 

Coincidentally, look what a bunch of kids in Minnesota did at a creative summer YMCA camp:  an homage to Hot Cheetos and professionals collaborating with kids to encourage creative expression, group projects, and culture.  More of this, please. 

Let's keep working to make college affordable and meaningful.  Let's invest more in community colleges and career/technical/vocational programs which result in job placements.  Let's do our best to make healthcare affordable and accessible for all. 

Let's dignify the struggles of those working to overcome addictions, mental illness, and homelessness with programs that foster safety, independence, and self-sufficiency.

Let's dignify the relationships of adults who love each other and recognize their marriages. 

Let's dignify aging citizens by providing resources for them and the families who support them. 

Let's reach across party lines and agree on some key things that matter (I think it's possible!).

While I fear months of vitriolic campaign ahead, I am remaining hopeful. 

As I've written before, "I recognize my sense of well being as highly affected by the well being of those around me." 

Call me selfish, but I'm going to vote with that in mind.