Ant Lion

I walk too fast. talk too fast. drive to fast. I typically have multiple tasks going on at the same time (right now I’m writing and cooking simultaneously :/ ). I finish my boyfriend, Larry’s sentences as if I really know what he’s about to say (I don’t). When we are out together he often asks, “Hollee, did you see that?”, “Did you notice…?” (I don’t).

I’m typically in a rush – good ole’ New York City rush. Sure, I get a lot done and I’ve done a lot over the years but maybe, just maybe (no,definitely) it is time to slow waaaay down and just listen, observe, sit and wait.The ant lion sits and waits.

The ant lion digs its funnel underground and then waits patiently for the vibrations of an unsuspecting insect.  It achieves by waiting. The only reason I know about the ant lion at all is because my father noticed the almost imperceivable funnels around the foundation of his house.  He showed them to me along with the print out of his research about this creature. I was amazed at both. (I never would have noticed the funnels in the soil and I instantly realized that I am missing a lot of stuff.)   

How does one hone observation skills so acutely that even the smallest thing is noticed (the proverbial princess and the pea). Better yet, how does one become more patient and just feel comfortable waiting.

I rarely wait. Sensing my hamster-on-the-wheel, got to have it all now mentality Larry asked me to stop, sit down, think and pray and I did –and I need to do it more often. I want to slow myself down so much so that I can  just wait and perceive changes in the atmosphere, changes in direction, moves of the spirit. It’s by slowing down (being still even) that I will be elevated beyond anything that I’ve experienced before. It’s by slowing down, listening, observing, waiting and praying that I will understand and achieve the purpose that God has for me.

I’m done cooking and I’m done writing for tonight.

 

Ant Lion

I walk too fast. talk too fast. drive to fast. I typically have multiple tasks going on at the same time (right now I’m writing and cooking simultaneously :/ ). I finish my boyfriend, Larry’s sentences as if I really know what he’s about to say (I don’t). When we are out together he often asks, “Hollee, did you see that?”, “Did you notice…?” (I don’t).

I’m typically in a rush – good ole’ New York City rush. Sure, I get a lot done and I’ve done a lot over the years but maybe, just maybe (no,definitely) it is time to slow waaaay down and just listen, observe, sit and wait.

  The ant lion sits and waits. The ant lion digs its funnel      underground and then waits patiently for the vibrations of an unsuspecting insect.  It achieves by waiting. The only reason I know about the ant lion at all is because my father noticed the almost imperceivable funnels around the foundation of his house.  He showed them to me along with the print out of his research about this creature. I was amazed at both. (I never would have noticed the funnels in the soil and I instantly realized that I am missing a lot of stuff.)

How does one hone observation skills so acutely that even the smallest thing is noticed (the proverbial princess and the pea). Better yet, how does one become more patient and just feel comfortable waiting.

I rarely wait. Sensing my hamster-on-the-wheel, got to have it all now mentality Larry asked me to stop, sit down, think and pray and I did –and I need to do it more often. I want to slow myself down so much so that I can  just wait and perceive changes in the atmosphere, changes in direction, moves of the spirit. It’s by slowing down (being still even) that I will be elevated beyond anything that I’ve experienced before. It’s by slowing down, listening, observing, waiting and praying that I will understand and achieve the purpose that God has for me.

I’m done cooking and I’m done writing for tonight.

 

The Best Lawn (I mean, Life)

AND THE WINNER OF THE BEST LAWN IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD GOES TO… Wait. I sold my house today. The house where my twelve year old daughter spent twelve years of her life. The house that I loved. The old house with the sump pump held together by a coat hanger and duct tape. The house that housed annual, ‘Back to School’ parties, ‘Say Hello to Spring’ parties, memorial day/birthday parties, halloween/birthday parties, Cafe Hollee, book clubs, and focus groups for years and years. It was the family gathering place before church with a built in china cabinet that was used to store not chinaware but – art supplies. It was the old house with a garden and a trampoline.

It is not my house anymore but it will always be my house. I’m thankful that a loving family now lives there-one of my closest friends, in fact. She is rebuilding her life and the old house with the Irish Green shutters is a huge part of that.

As for me, I live in a house in a different time and place with the man I love and who loves me right back. I love this house also. This small house with a trick drawer and a backyard gate that you have to leverage just  to be able to latch it properly. This house holds family dinners (where we pull toothpicks to see who gets to wash dishes), group hugs, veggies from the garden, Cinco de Mayo parties, Fun Fridays complete with loud R & B music from an actual record player, exuberant games of Spades and Corn Hole and lots of family and friends coming in and out.

Yes, this house shakes a little when the one certain guy drives down the street with his music blasting.  The captain of the neighborhood association recently remarked on our lawn (which seems to have done a 180) – “you know, there is a prize for the winner of the best lawn in the neighborhood”.

Well, I’m not trying to get a prize for the best lawn. I’m trying to get a prize for the best life. As I admire at my vegetable garden and water the lawn, I think to myself- I am rebuilding my life and this small house is a huge part of it.

Looking at the beautiful hibiscus that showed up in my kitchen last night – a loving gift from a loving man, I am affirmed of this very fact.

 

Resiliency part 2

The process of relocating back to the South was a bold move in faith and hope. A way to push myself out of my comfort zone-a way to free float off the cliff instead of being constantly afraid of falling off the cliff. A paradigm shift, if you will, a model for risk-taking, an effort to learn how to nurture. An effort to find true happiness personally and professionally. It was an Oprah moment.

The process of starting over (which is now what I realize this move to be) was debilitating. The emotional/psychological/intellectual insecurity that came with the job search and rebuilding relationships was more overwhelming than anything I have experienced thus far in my 44 1/2 years of life and I am a STRONG BLACK woman with an amazing resume and deep, lasting friendships.

The process of moving was much, much, much more difficult than I can even articulate. With these experiences, I fell into the role of victim and lost a bit of my internal fire each day. It is really difficult to remain hopeful and to even project hopefulness when nothing is seemingly going your way.

My old dispositions of strength, vitality and warmth turned into seemingly new dispositions of despair, fear and insecurity. Back up against the wall, body sprawled out on the floor, weeping, I decided to pay attention to the church ladies and cry out in my car; give thanks, ask for help to move myself out-of-the-way. “Let it go”,  I kept screaming. “Get rid of it! You are better than this!”

I networked, drove all over multiple cities chasing leads, Skyped with my professional coach (she needed to do some pro-bono work:), exercised with a running club, planted a garden and decided to keep pushing forward. I garnered two part-time jobs which I love (one school-based, one university-based), started a consulting company, ran a 10K and deepened my most important relationships. Whew.

There are still days when I cry and wonder what’s next (but I haven’t cried right before an interview in a while . However, there are so many more days where I say, “it is what it is and that is/is not for me ” and I move on feeling strong, confident and hopeful. I just pray that I never forget the lessons learned from having this incredible and difficult experience. I feel as though I’m going to be even better than before. Amen and thank you to my wonderful support system and to me – for continuing to get back up with God’s help).

 

Is there freedom in death?

Is there freedom in death ? Not for the person who dies but for the person who lives.

I vividly remember a student in my 4th grade class more about 15 years ago. This student was a sad, sad girl. It always seemed as though she carried her sadness way down on the inside and only used her half of a smile to camouflage something untouchable. Even in her laughter on the playground, or when constructing some fabulous building in the block area with cantilevers and everything, this student was weighed down by something. Perhaps not by anything tangible– just a weight light as air and heavy as water which seemed to be everywhere and nowhere in her soul.

She wore dark colors, long hair always out and straight down her back, usually not combed (she would tuck it behind her ear throughout the day). She was friendly and worked hard and was (can I still say this word?- smart). really smart. I remember riding  bikes in the neighborhood park one sunny day and her mom rode up to me on her bike and asked me to please take care of her daughter. I remember thinking that this was the first time that I had seen both the mother and daughter happy in a way that you just cannot fake.

A few days later, the mother committed suicide (hanged herself in her bathroom). I don’t remember if the daughter was the one to find her but I do remember the preparations to sit Shiva. Yes, there was crying and disbelief and numbness which lasted as it should.

However, I clearly remember the day when I noticed that the student started to wear bright colors and laugh a hearty, lively laugh from deep down in her gut and I couldn’t help but think if she found freedom in death. It is a horrible thing to say, to write, to even think but I tell you, the little girl no more than 7 or 8 began to transform right in front of me. Was something released with the passing of her mother? Is that even possible? Did she begin to experience a sense of normalcy without  her mother? (My hand are trembling and my heart is beating fast as I even dare write this).

I’ve thought a lot lately about a dear friend of mine who recently lost her father. He had medical challenges, as well as Alzheimer’s. This friend, my sister is an amazingly mature soul with a strong sense of self and selflessness. She is the nucleus of a family with a husband and two children (plus a nephew that she is raising) who were all adept at locking the cabinets and the refrigerator and even parts of the house. I watched her juggle her work schedule since someone had to be with her father at all times. She came to work, did her job expertly, smiled with a slight reserve that you’d only know about if she decided to let you know that she spent the better part of her life caring for and worrying about her father. In fact, she came to meetings as her activist self; strong, determined, focused and calm but with a great worry that she carried under her professionalism and her harried, complicated schedule of caring for her father.

Now he is dead. Will she experience some type of freedom in his death? Am I just being naive and saying things that should not be said or thought about. Of course, he is her father and she loves him deeply but I wonder what life will be like for her now. The African priestess who wore white for a whole year as the embodiment of her beliefs and connection to a higher power. Will she experience some sort of freedom in death? Is this even possible?

 

Valentines on the Bus

So many levels of energy come and go in waves on the bus as it traverses the city. In fact, the ride goes through cycles just like love, just like life. Cycles of stillness and silence, of unbridled laughter, of confusion and deep thoughts as the world seems to fly by the window. But, in all of this, you can count on the bus to turn left right there and the driver to stop to rest over there. There is something comforting about that-about moving and resting in the River City.

A man reading Nietzsche, another asking for directions to City Hospital-clearly fuzzy thoughts and movements to match. Both riders receiving the same cordiality from the driver and passengers. Everyone is just who they are on the bus.Shouts of Happy Valentine’s Day as riders board. Men with balloons taking up multiple seats, a lady with a red coat and pink gloves trying to get her crumpled up dollar into the slot (yes, with her gloves on) -after all, it’s Valentines Day on the bus in the River City.

A baby swatted for crying, another lulled to sleep by the bus. Driver humming Christmas songs and raising a fist in solidarity to comrades on other Valentines’s Day busses in the River City.

I could have ridden on that bus with my Valentine all night.

 

Twin Dispositions: Resiliency and Tenacity

Does resiliency and tenacity run in families? How does one cultivate this? What does a parent do when it is not apparent?

During a warm evening last month, I decided to take my 11-year old daughter roller skating on a whim. The evening quickly became frustrating for both of us as she was not able to get up after falling. She simply refused to skate saying that she felt stupid and that she was not a good skater. As I skated around the rink under the disco lights singing…and falling, I couldn’t help but wonder why she couldn’t do the same thing. What was happening in her mind that would not allow her to get up? to try? to admit that she had to practice and then go practice?  Why wasn’t she acting as a resilient and tenacious child?

What makes some children push through challenging situations and others become paralyzed by it? How did this happen to my child? 

As I was skating around the rink, trying to show my daughter how much fun I was having and coaxing her to skate with me, holding onto the wall, with another child, anything to get her out on the floor, I thought of the notion of resiliency, fear, and learning.

I was reminded when my daughter was 7 and she began to complain that she didn’t enjoy reading and “wasn’t good at it”. This confession hurt me to the core as a parent and teacher. I shook my head in disbelief thinking: ‘You mean you don’t want to read’. Of course you know how to read. I’ve been reading to and with you since before you were born. Did she mean that she did not want to try more complicated texts? I was flabbergasted and scared that my child was not resilient in the face of what proved difficult or tenacious enough to conquer the difficulty, or not enough of a learner to do either.

I decided to start a book club with 3 friends and their daughters, in order to provide a social purpose for reading since my daughter was not reading for her own enjoyment. I used her strengths as a social child to fit reading in. This idea paid off and four years later we are still reading amazing books and having amazingly complex conversations as a group. At 11, she has just begun to read books independently and take pride in reading faster and more books than me.

Still, my daughter defaults more often than not to pleas of, “I can’t” and “it’s too hard” and “ I just don’t want to, Mom”. This disposition was extremely distressing to me as a teacher who prides herself with instilling in students a sense of being a learner (of loving the learning process).  It was if my own child was afraid to embrace a learner-stance. How could this happen?  It was as if it learning and fear of failure was a weakness not to be exposed rather than an opportunity to learn. Sadly, as a parent, I saw her peers advance in school and on the soccer field even though my daughter had comparable skills and experiences (at least in the beginning). As she continued to shelter her skills and not ‘take on’ anything challenging, she slipped further behind and then couldn’t adequately compete.

Our relocation to a different state seemed to provide her with a way to reinvent herself. She agreed to go to honors classes (something that she refused to do in our old town). However she still did not display the level of resiliency and tenacity that I would like to see as both a parent as an educator. She does enough to get by in school, nothing more. I’ve been bothered by her lack of with-it-ness and often wonder how much I can push her as a parent and as a teacher.

To my surprise, at 11 years and 6 months of age, she started to complete homework with her friend. They Skype and sometimes, they even ask me to help them with their math homework among giggles. Sensing an opening, I decided to go for broke and force Danielle to work at something that she cares about. Singing. I forced her to go to choir practice. During the first practice, I had to threaten and drag her down the aisle (while people watched)…that is not a good sight in a church. She pouted and folded her arms the whole time and I couldn’t help but think that everyone was thinking, “Who is this grumpy kid and who in the world is her mother?” I felt so uncomfortable that wanted to take her home and say, “you win”…but I didn’t. I stuck with it.

The second practice wasn’t much better. She was stiff and looked miserable in the choir loft and I couldn’t help but think- ‘she won. I can’t force her to try’… but I stuck with it and so did she. I sent her the songs over email and found that she was practicing in her room over and over again. She was working through something challenging.

As if by osmosis, she came home from school and said that she needed to start preparing for soccer tryouts. She put on her shorts and started exercising. She asked me to take her out running in the park to help her build her stamina. (This is progress in that she actually asked me to help her with something.)

She seems to be trying and working through experiences which are difficult and to which she has a goal. This is a very different disposition that what I have experienced with her over the past several years.

Perhaps she needed time and something to really care about. 

Perhaps she needed a mother who would not give up on her. 

Perhaps she needed a teacher who would give her space to grow.

Perhaps she was a learner all along but had a different timeline than what I wanted as a parent.

Tenacity is imperative if she is to achieve anything worth having. However, being resilient and being able to get up after falling on roller skates is the biggest life lesson of all.

 

 

 

Resiliency

I’ve been thinking a lot about resiliency lately–What it takes to keep pushing for and at the exact same time, wait for the yes, when all you are getting is nos and not yets. What it takes to repair a relationship with the one partner that you’ve waited for your whole life. What it takes to get back up on your roller skates when you fall, even when you think the whole world is looking at you.

 

I’ve been battling myself for my resiliency and I finally feel like writing again.

 

I’ve often felt outside of the milieu of people who felt defeated and survived the feeling. How did they survive anyway? Would I survive when it was my turn? Everyone gets at least one turn, right? Did I have enough resiliency to go to the brink of desperation and fight my way back psychologically, emotionally, physically, intellectually?

 

I have somehow been able to avoid painful experiences or push them so far down inside that I was able to go through life on a pretty even keel. I was able to intellectualize how a person got over something when ‘it’ was seconds from defeating them. I even had the gift of being an important part of the emotional support system for one (or two friends) who were at their lowest moments–I was able to do this even though I hadn’t yet experienced my own lowest moment.

 

I hadn’t really experienced life in ways that made me question my essence.

 

I hadn’t been forced to seek out the protection of one (or two friends) through phone calls and text messages saying that I was in crisis.

 

I hadn’t confronted the type of issues that the church ladies say make you cry out and say, “I repent, I rebuke, get back!, what can I do and thank God”.

 

Until now.

 

The process of relocating was a bold move in faith. A way to push myself out of my comfort zone-a way to free float off the cliff instead of being constantly afraid of falling off the cliff. A paradigm shift, if you will, a model for risk-taking, an effort to find myself. An effort to find true happiness.

 

But, I almost lost myself.

 

The process of starting over was debilitating for me. The psychological and physical insecurity that came with the job search was more overwhelming than anything I have experienced thus far in my 44 years. Better yet, it was more overwhelming than what I could have imagined that I could handle four months ago (and I am a strong person in works and faith).

 

The process of setting much of my independence the side as I live with my father and regroup has been much, much, much more difficult to experience than I can articulate. I fell, rightly so perhaps, into the role as the victim and lost a bit of my fire each day.

 

My new dispositions of despair, fear and insecurity seeped into my relationship with my partner and made it hard for him to remain hopeful and loving when I was giving up hope and becoming unloveable. I was becoming the type of partner that neither he nor I wanted.

 

Back up against the wall, body sprawled out on the floor, I decided to pay attention to the church ladies and cry out in my car; give thanks, ask for help and move myself out-of-the-way. “Let it go”,  I kept screaming. “Get rid of it!”

 

I fell with my roller skates on, got up and kept going–pumping hard to catch up to myself and my partner, Larry.  I’m bruised, he’s bruised. My legs hurt, I still cry and I still cry out.

 

I didn’t know that I could be so resilient in the midst of such a storm.

 

Until now.
Thanks be to God.

 

Reflections on Reading and Resiliency

There’s a lot to be said for inner strength, a third eye, a gut feeling…but how do you strengthen your resiliency muscle? How do you make yourself keep going when it is so easy to give up; to not become paralyzed by 100 ‘no’s’ when you’re waiting for a single ‘yes’ , to keep getting up when you fall on roller skates every time you go around the curve.

I began writing this blog as a way to make sense of my daughter’s seeming inability to use her resiliency muscle in some situations. She is on the opposite end of ‘eye of the tiger’ and would rather ‘give up and go along’ just to avoid having to really struggle with something. Yet, as a write this, I am forced to think about my own resiliency muscle (something that should probably go in my journal and not on a public blog). However, here I sit about to have a brain dump on wordpress.com.

I have vivid memories of always reading as a child. I honestly think that the percentage of time that I spent reading positively correlated with the amount of chaos in my life. I read a lot.  I could sit in the middle of an emotional hurricane and read, and I did. It is often said that reading takes you to another place. That is true but for me, it was much more. Reading could make me disconnect and served as a safe-haven of sorts. I still love reading as an adult, although now it really is pleasurable and not just a get-away. Although I must say that I do use my book-within-an-armsreach deal as a crutch if I’m feeling overwhelmed emotionally I can stop, drop and roll right in the middle of an argument and go get a book. And I have. Disconnect in full effect.

I wonder if I could have built up some more resiliency muscles if I wasn’t reading so much as a child–if I was forced to deal with problems and issues straight on instead of ignoring them. As an adult, I’m rather tenacious in most situations but when I am really really really up against a wall, I’m an emotional wreck and often feel paralyzed. I tend to acquiesce, avoid conflict, cry but I don’t fight life back. Inevitably, I lose some of my spirit and I come out the other side rather dented and yup, with a headache.

So, as I think about what I can do to help my 11-year-old daughter build her resiliency muscles, I should probably start with myself first or at least simultaneously. Maybe 2 more aspirin will help before I get started.

* dear friends and readers-special note* this is not a doom and gloom post. Just a reflection of what and how I choose to deal with the inevitable stuff that comes with life once in a while. no pity parties needed. Peace out.

 

I love The South but….

UUUGGHHH ! I love the South but as you can see I have to reopen options  -text message from an unemployed black educator in the South

When I parodied the ‘white guy with a sign’ ad with my own sign stating: educated black woman seeking job in education, I was half-way joking. I was being coy. However, since that blog post a couple of months ago, gone from hopeful and excited to depressed and angry to, my current state of peace and patience (crossing my fingers that it will last).

Since that blog post, I’ve just used just about every page in my sky blue ‘contacts’ notebook.  I secretly hoped to have found a job before the notebook ran out of pages. Don’t think it’s gonna happen. But, I have been busy. I’ve met provosts, presidents of organizations, school board members, superintendents of school systems, business leaders and shortly will be working on the mayor…yep… I have met a bazillion people, through people, through people. In other words, I’ve met people through 1st-4th level connections-people I personally know and people who know people who know people who know people. In other words, I’ve met with and submitted my CV to A LOT of people.

Everyone agrees that my CV is fabulous; yeah, yeah… lots of meaningful experiences in teacher training, curriculum development, research, writing, teaching and yet…here I sit 4 months later-nothing. (yes, it often takes 6 months to find a job and that’s without the added issue of haven relocated. yes, I’ve seen the news reports that unemployment numbers are down-that’s good right?).

With some tough love and a friendly consultancy session, I’m now I’m even keel and just enjoying the time ‘off’ and being patient that ‘something’ will turn up. I do have to say “thank goodness” that people have stopped asking me, “did you find a job yet?” I have decided to walk in the mornings, write for most of the day and spend time with my daughter after school–not a bad deal and surely I’ll complain about not being able to do these thing when I do land a job.

However, as I reflect on news reports about people of color moving to ‘the South’ to find work, I can’t help but wonder–in what industry????  I personally know 2 people of color (I know, small sample size). They are both highly qualified educators who cannot find work in the South. Like me, my two friends have considered and/or do work at Pier I, a pizza place, etc. Why is this so? Why is this happening? hmmmmm

One of these friends is a fierce sister-educator, who, like me, has her terminal degree (PhD) in ESL. ESL no less. Who can’t find a job in ESL these days???? Isn’t ESL the new Black, the new hot topic, especially in the South. But alas, since she is unable to find a job in her home state (for 2+ years), she has had to make the very difficult decision to work in the Northeast while her family (husband, mother and children) continue to live in the South. She commutes every other weekend. sigh….parenting by telephone and computer.

Similarly, I just received a request for a recommendation letter from a top-tier university in the Northeast for my other teacher-friend, who just happens to be an accomplished teacher and author. He too, cannot find work in his home state in the South.

While there may be a proliferation of people of color moving down here, could there also be a proliferation of educators of color moving (back) to the north-abandoning their love of the south, their desire to live close to family in order to work in their field. I’m hoping that I don’t have to make that decision.

Dear God, Thank you for the blessings you have bestowed upon us. Please grant us peace when we worry, patience when we rush, gratefulness when we complain and joy when we praise your name. Amen. Good night. 

–text message prayer from an educator friend who cannot find employment in the South.

–just a note for readers–I rarely go back and edit my work. I sit down to write and 15 minutes later, I have a piece. Hopefully, my ‘shooting from the hip’ makes sense. 

Also, I’m not going out ‘looking for a bear’ as they say. I’m content with where I am right now and I don’t want this blog post to be seen as a compliant in any way. Just wonderings. I’m good — Went on a great walk in the park in the middle of the day yesterday with the one person on Earth that keeps me grounded and sane. What could be better ?!!