Let's Get Ready...

...to rumble.

Semester 2, Day 1.

See y'all there.

Breakfast with a Man Who Knows Literature

My family let me sleep in this morning.  And I needed that.  I was under my covers last night by 7pm and I slept until two hours ago.  The hubby made me some lemon water and delivered it to me in bed. Then Thing 1 and 2 "made" me coffee and knocked on the bedroom door with, "Mommy, special delivery!".

After I made my way to the kitchen, I found scrambled eggs just like I like them and I sat down to eat across from a man who knows literature like I do.  And we got to talking and thinking and sharing.  It all culminated with some Dylan Thomas and some of the undying optimism that makes my world go 'round.

He said to me, "I'm glad you got 12 hours of sleep.  You needed it.  Sometimes when things end, it can get a little messy.  Any experience that involves people...".

So enjoy some Dylan Thomas.  Read it and own it.  And for the love of all that is good in this world, make good choices tonight.  

Happy Saturday.

Dylan Thomas, 1914 - 1953

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Dear Tribe

Dear Tribe,

Wow.  Just wow.

My beloved Maya Angelou says that when you're in the midst of struggle you should say thank you. She also says that us human beings need to remember that God put a rainbow in the clouds so we should all strive to be a "rainbow in someone else's cloud".

Thank you for being my rainbows.

Last night after I posted for my juniors, my phone started to blow up - emails, texts, comment notifications on my phone, Facebook messages.  They all appeared as I sat with my sadness and felt hurt.

I didn't try to hide from my feelings.  I felt them completely.  And it sucked.

But in the midst of grabbing another tissue, I whispered "thank you" to no one in particular. In the midst of splashing water on my face, I whispered "thank you" to my haters.  In the midst of staring at the clock change from 1:00 am to 1:30 am, I whispered "thank you" to the people who lifted me up.

And then this morning, I was surrounded by my seniors who brought me coffee, homemade chocolate I can actually eat, and hugs that lasted just long enough to remind me that I am not deserving of darkness. No one is.

I love that you still read and troll my blog.

I love that you get what I try to do in Room 853.

I love that you literally circled up around me and protected me from the ones you thought hurt me.

I love that you care.

In gratitude,
Beltran

P.S. - I'll let you know if I start running another blog...Invitation only.

Finals are Finished *UPDATED

*Please remove me from your google doc. I'm no longer reading and do not want access to your work. Thank you!

Enjoy your weekend and congratulations on the end of the first semester. Only 18 weeks left with me. :)

See you next week.

Important - Please Read

It should come as no surprise that a series of seemingly unrelated events have transpired in the past few hours that have led me to an important conclusion.  Effective immediately, as in right now, Daily Journals are no longer required for the class.

I am a kind, open, vulnerable person who - in case you haven't noticed - is a human being with feelings.  I think it is unhealthy and unwise of me to continue to ask for journals from you for the following reasons:

1.  A significant majority of you have not practiced the writing on a daily basis.
2.  A plethora of journals that I read are written after the fact and therefore not authentic work.
3.  I have come to find out too much information about you and your peers, most of which alters the way I see you and therefore interact with you.
4.  Because some of my interactions with you have to be fabricated in some way (due to my strong mind palace), it is lessening my ability to be my authentic self which is manifesting in worry, concern, and confusion on who you actually are and leading to severe distrust.
5.  The journals, for some, have become less a place for writing and more a place for ranting.  While I am all for emotional discourse, too many of you are cutting other people down and discussing things that are really none of your business. *And due to the fact that so many of you comment on the "kiss ass" nature of those who post comments on the blog, I will also no longer be posting comments either.  If you would like to comment, I will read the comments myself and email you personally.
6.  Because I am an observer, am intelligent, and am highly in touch with what I deem "energy", I am swirling in "stuff" that I no longer want to be in.
7.  I am tired of reading things about my class and my teaching and my style that are negative or rude or completely off base especially considering NONE of you have EVER been in my class before and to the best of my knowledge have not taken AP Language.  
8.  I am defeated and now believe that what I am trying to do is better suited in a different environment.

I am going to continue to write for my own benefit as I do consider it a valuable practice.  However, I will no longer post them online.  If you choose to continue as well, I wish you all the best.  Writing daily will open up many doors that are currently closed.  The writing will also help with the personal statements some of you will be writing for college.

I have also decided to take my own advice that "no is a complete sentence".  Over summer, I will email you personally to offer you a letter of recommendation.  Should you need one or want one from me, I would be more than happy to write on your behalf.  By letting you know that I am interested, I can avoid any awkwardness.  Please don't ask me for a letter.

I will see you tomorrow, periods 6 & 7, and the rest of you on Monday.  Good luck with the last of it.
And thank you to those whose daily writing has been a pleasure to read.  

Oh, and as a word of advice to you, let us turn to the incomparable Kurt Vonnegut who said, "Hello, babies.  Welcome to Earth.  It's hot in the summer and cold in the winter.  It's round and wet and crowded.  On the outside, babies, you've got a hundred years here.  There's only one rule that I know of, babies - God damn it, you've got to be kind."  God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater

Daily Journal #130 - Trust

After all is said and done, I am still - deep, deep,deep down inside - an introverted soul.  I am layer upon layer of my experiences and scars, and I harbor a dark place where trust does not come easily.  When I think about who I trust explicitly, the list is small.  Who really knows the other after all?  But today I got to feel safe and happy and content.  I got to feel - for a few moments in my day - that there was no angle to look for and no ulterior motive hidden behind the time spent.

I used to tell my students that you gotta "butter, butter, boom"  the toast before you ask for something -that you have to start with the end in mind and work your way back to step 1.  Writing it down sounds truly manipulative, and I feel like I'm confessing to being a master puppeteer.  I suppose I am though, at least in certain aspects of my life - like needing to get my oil changed and not having an appointment so I make sure to talk to a certain guy, like wanting to get someone off my back so I tell them exactly what they want to hear, like observing the likes and dislikes of my daughters' teachers so I can craft presents that will pretty much guarantee they're not getting lost in the cracks of a classroom.  

Uggh.  I sound horrible.

Is it just as bad to admit that when I see certain people coming, I adjust myself to speak a certain way, say a certain thing, create a certain moment?  Is it disgusting to say that I enjoy the awkwardness when certain people obviously need something from me but they're struggling through the requisite small talk that happens right before the "so, I was wondering if...".  Is it rude of me to say that I enjoy having things that some people need because it will get me the things I need later?

At any rate, all confessions aside, today I had fun with a special soul who didn't want or need anything from me.  I felt like I was sitting beside a friend who listened to me as much as I listened to them.  I felt no need to "perform" or "play" a particular role.  I was myself, I authentically laughed, and I felt happy.

30 minutes turned into an hour that turned into two.  The time flew.

And, of course, I fell in love...again.

How can you not when you trust someone?

So to my dearheart, over-the-top, flashy-as-a-peacock-fluffing-his-feathers, junkyard named friend, thank you for making a Finals Day pretty epic.

I'm a rubberband for life now.  Just so you know.

xoxo

Daily Journal #129 - All Over the Place *JUST UPDATED

*I just reread my own post...and I think I may have found my future tattoo in that lion.  Funny how things happen for a reason...Good luck with tomorrow's finals.  xoxo

Be warned:  This is all over the place.  Proceed with caution...

I just spent some time catching up on journals, and I read one and it cracked me open.  I don't know if the kids in class could hear the hurt as it coursed through my body, or see the tears well up in my eyes.

I read something that as a teacher shocked me.

I read something that as a mother slayed me.

I read something that as a woman killed me.

I know that this blog is a "safe enough" space to write, but it is way different than you writing a Daily Journal that only I (or a select few) have access to.  If I allow myself to pause for a moment, I need to acknowledge that at a bare minimum, at least a hundred people will read these words...and maybe more than that because some of my former students still read, too.  So honor the fact that by posting here on the daily means I am exposing myself to more than a few curious eyes.

With that being said, let's discuss empowerment and confidence.  How I wish I had more of both when I was younger.  Being 16 and 17 is difficult and don't let any jaded, crusty, unaware adult tell you otherwise.  How are you supposed to navigate your ship of self-confidence through waters raging with jealousy, immaturity, hormones?!  How are you supposed to know how to say no when you're asked (hat in hand) to do something you know you shouldn't do?  How are you supposed to have friends and not be a Social Casualty?

I can't attack all those questions just now as I eat my blueberries and mend my aching heart, but I will say this:  you must say what you mean and mean what you say.

And that is a challenge.

Will you go to the dance with me?
Do you want to try this?
Have you ever...?

If I could teach a course on this campus called "What You Need to Know", my first lesson would be on the power of no.  How do you say no?

I can see how much effort you went through to put this together, and I appreciate that.  But I'm not interested in going to the dance with you.  I hope you understand.  I don't intend to hurt your feelings, but I realize I likely did.  Thank you for thinking of me.  

But even that?  Geez...then the defeated soul will post online about what a female dog you are or make up some lies about what you have or have not done.

How will I help solve this problem?  How can I possibly help?

More to think on...So much more.

P.S. - I'm back.  I just checked my Facebook.  I took screenshots of something that I think y'all need to read.

Daily Journal #128 - Thinking Out Loud

You told me today that I think too much and I do.  No doubt.  I get stuck on things and I get stuck in my thoughts.  It's such a pleasant place to be if I'm being honest.

And since I'm being honest, I'm scared.

I'm scared of what society is doing to even the shiniest of pennies - including you.  This yearning for likes and acceptance from friends who follow you online but rarely follow you to the edge of your crazy in real life tugs at even the heartiest of hearts.  And how do you resist becoming one of them?

Today in class I saw kids taking selfies of themselves studying.  And I couldn't help but wonder if that was real or fake.  Was that image going to make it on their public account or the private one that allows them to be "real"?  Was that image going to be captioned, "Crying" or "Wish me luck"?  Then I looked around the room and I started tripping.  I don't know anything about any of you, yet we've spent at least 5 hours together every week for the past eighteen.  I don't know what version you're presenting to me, and I guess the argument is that I shouldn't care.

I'm just your teacher.

That's an independent clause.

But you're not.

You're utterly dependent on validation from others - does my teacher like me, what does so-and-so think of me, how am I doing?  And that must be exhausting.

I'm guilty of it, too, because I'm writing about the need for validation while my phone blows up with notifications from the picture I posted this morning and from the writing I've been doing in my friend's Writing Challenge.  But it wasn't until this morning that I realized you're supposed to take a photo down if it gets less than 10 likes.  It wasn't until this morning that I realized I should have two accounts.  Whaaaat?

What?

But, man, I must be a fool because I brought two children into this hot mess of a world, because I made a conscious choice to follow a calling to teach, because I kick and scream against the walls that attempt to siphon my bleeding heart.

I am not giving up.

I am not going to "go gentl[y] into that good night".  

I will forever "rage, rage against the dying of the light".

And when I looked at you today and tried to see whether or not I was thinking too much, if I was wrong, if I was missing something, I saw the spark still there.  I'm not giving up on you.

P.S. - A screenshot of my private Instagram account.  May you be as authentic in your real life as you are in your online one.  (I'll likely take this down tonight because I am a private person after all, and my kids are my treasures...)  From top left across to right:  Z and her first lost tooth.  We celebrated with a smoothie after school, a favorite quote, the laptop reading your journals, Z and A at Chuck E. Cheese for the 4th birthday party, the cover of Dr. Paul Kalanithi's book, demolished birthday cake, MLK quote about choosing love not hate, Z in tree pose at school, an authentic family photo when A was a few months old and Z was 3.

Took it down.  :)

Daily Journal #127 - Maya Angelou

I can count on one hand the women who have changed my life.

My mother, Mrs. Martin, Mrs. Murry, and Maya Angelou.

My mom for obvious reasons - a real life role model of strength.  She never went to college, worked in a dry cleaners and served her community as a 9-1-1 operator for over 25 years.  She also raised two girls as a single mother.  Mad respect.

Mrs. Martin for being the retired schoolteacher who lived in the house behind ours.  She took me and my sister under her wing and each day after school would invite us into her home to play board games, read books, and eat sweet and salty snacks.  Her presence in my life is one of the main reasons I could read before I started school and why I love books so much.

Mrs. Murry for being THE TEACHER who changed the trajectory of my life and led me to a deeper understanding of what learning really is.  Being in her Autonomous Learners Program for two years in middle school taught me so much about my passions and creativity.

And Dr. Maya Angelou for being a poet, author, teacher, and spiritual guide whose books introduced me to a minority female whose battle scars didn't define her.  She was as magnificent in person as she was in my imagination.  She was true blue.

Her words are etched in my heart forever, and it is one lesson she taught that rings in my ears as I type and reflect on my day.

Angelou often said that words are things and that you must be careful about the words you use.  She said that words can get into the carpet, the furniture, the walls of your house.  She believed words could get in your hair, on your skin, in you.

Stories were often recounted about Dr. Angelou hosting dinner parties and crossing the room to invite a guest to "leave her house" for bigoted jokes, racist comments, improper use of words.

Can you imagine?  That six foot tall woman crossing a room to come over to you because you misspoke in her house?

I know I say things that are stupid all the time and I am a conscious, aware human being who values the other.  I shudder to think what is said in the halls of our school, whispered in the back of class, or better yet, splashed across social media in a nanosecond.  I mourn the social hierarchy that ensnares even the loveliest of you.

You MUST watch what you say and to whom you say it.  There is a palpable power in each of our hands to plant information, distort facts, chisel someone down to size, spread lies, spill secrets.  But why?

Why do some people feel such a need to belittle, to bully, to be unkind?

Why do some people fear love so much that they are willing to push away daily offers of kindness and acceptance, of understanding, empathy?

I know I'm supposed to teach you English.  Nothing more, nothing less.  But I cannot in good faith sleep at night being a willing participant in this experiment in which you are the case subject.  English skills are important but they don't hold a candle to teaching the next generation about sympathetic joy.

Our natural state is one of survival.  Eat or be eaten.

But just know that every word you speak out of turn to hurt someone else is a stain on your hands.  And just like Lady Macbeth, that "damned spot" won't come out easily once it sets.

(Any of you interested in this beautiful woman, click here to watch some clips of her speaking in 2011, 3 years before her death.  A full length episode of this exists on a somewhat sketchy site that you can find by googling Maya Angelou Master Class Full Episode.  It's 42 minutes and worth every one.)

Study Hall

Study Hall happened.
It was real.
My DJ will be posted later.
Xoxo

Daily Journal #126 - Laundry & Love

The sun is streaming through windows by the kitchen table.  I can see dust motes dancing in its warm rays.  My kids are in the midst of imaginative play and the hubby is hooping with a dear friend.  Load number one of laundry is in the machine and my coffee sits in a mug from A.

Every sip makes me think of her and how I call her my eldest daughter because in so many ways she is.  I didn't give birth to her but I have...

...braided her hair.

...made her lunch.

...hugged her.

...wrapped gifts for her.

...laughed with her.

...annoyed her.

...missed her.

...let her go.

That's what a mama does.

I saw her brother on Friday, this fresh faced child with eyes just like hers.  I called out his name and he looked around startled before he recognized me and smiled.

It's amazing to me that I have only one heart and this intense capacity to love.  No matter how many souls I fall in love with, there's always room for one more.  Then another, then another.

I told a dear one the other day that he owned prime Park Place realty in my heart.  And he does.  Lots of other people reside there too.  When I was younger I used to think you couldn't love like that.  I thought love meant you could only have feelings for one person or maybe a handful.  How wrong I was.

The more space you make in your life for love, the more love you have to make space for.  How wild is that?

So, to A, my eldest daughter:  I LOVE YOU.  I love you the way I love my Z and my A.  I love you like I carried you around for nine months, like I met you when you were a second old, like I cradled you when you couldn't sleep, like I lathered you up with bubbles and let you play.

The love I feel for you won't extinguish until I do, and I hope you feel secure in that knowledge.

Forever my Hug Monster.

Daily Journal #125 - Wishes

I really wish I didn't care so much about these daily journals.  I wish I was a typical teacher who handed out lackluster assignments, worksheets and essay prompts.  I wish I didn't believe that writing is a practice as important as mindful eating, sleeping well, and drinking water.

I wish, I wish, I wish.

I have spent countless hours checking journals and seeing if certain souls had finally heard my plea to write every damn day.  Some have but too many haven't...even the "good" students who shine as bright as the Northern Lights.  Oh sure, they get updated eventually but that TOTALLY defeats the purpose of a writing practice.

Coming back to the journals and filling them in later, as an afterthought, is so utterly disrespectful to what I am trying to create in my classroom, what I am trying to grow in the 9 months we get together.  Every day that my daughters were growing in my womb, I did what I was supposed to - I ate right, I exercised, I drank water, I avoided caffeine, I slept as much as I could, I went to my prenatal appointments, I took my vitamins, and I endured blood test after blood test.  I did all of that even though there was no guarantee of the outcome.  I just let go and trusted the process.

Why don't my students trust the process?  Why do they think they know better than me in this regard?  Have they taken the AP Language test already?  Have they already done this whole junior year English thing?  What am I missing?  How come they think they know something when they don't?

A student wrote in one of their journals about how they didn't understand how writing on a google doc would increase their stamina for the AP test.  Maybe that's because all they've done for the past 4 months is the same thing.

5 little sentences.

Nothing more and nothing less.

This child hasn't had the bird's eye view of peering into peers' journals and seeing their work morph from 5 lines to 10 to 20 to a full page.  This child hasn't seen the topics mature from homework worries to philosophical debates on the meaning of life.

But most journals are still just skimming the surface.  I don't need my students to tell me their secrets but if you can't figure out who you are how the heck are you going to describe the world you come from or detail a pivotal moment in your life?  And who are you going to ask to read, edit and finesse your words?  One of the many gifted and talented writers scattered about campus that fall like ripe fruit from trees?

But what really rubs me the wrong way and starts all sorts of friction prickling up and down my spine is that my student's attention is on other classes.  Classes where they are bullied by the teacher, classes where they are not seen, classes where the best they get is a dim room, a sleepy teacher and a Power Point.

That's what hurts me the most if I'm being honest.

Even without meaning to I am being told on a daily (not writing my journal) basis that my kindness doesn't matter, that my vulnerability is a joke, that my simple request to DO THE WORK is meaningless.

But I know this isn't about me; it's about you.  So I'm off and out to focus on the students I have who do write every day, who have opened their hearts to me, who respect in a quiet sort of way - by doing what I am asking them to do.

I am grateful for you.

As for all the rest...I am grateful to you too because I need reminders every now and again that all that glitters is not gold.

Daily Journal #124 - Touch

The other day I walked Z into school and on the way out, I ran into Em.  She was Z's yoga instructor last year and is a 5th grade teacher now.  I consider her a bright light and I enjoy being in her presence.  We smiled at each other, said hello, and as we walked past each other, she placed her left hand on my left shoulder.  In a nanosecond, a sense of utter peace zipped from her palm into my upper arm.  I was instantly soothed and grounded.  I couldn't help but smile all the way to my car. 

About a year ago I was on my yoga mat in savasana.  My eyes were closed and all parts of my body were in repose when Sarah placed her hands on the back of my neck and adjusted my muscles.  I could sense her presence hovering over me and I wondered what more she was about to do.  I then felt her run her thumbs up my neck and across my forehead.  Then her right index finger tapped the space right below my suprasternal notch.  Tears instantly welled up in my closed eyes and dripped down to the floor as all sorts of pent up emotions released themselves.  I hugged her after class, told her thank you, and she kissed me on my cheek.

16 years ago I got off a place in San Diego and walked toward my long-distance boyfriend.  It was the first time seeing him since he had moved months before.  As I headed toward him I wondered if this relationship was going to make it.  Was this a new beginning or a final weekend to mark the end?   After an embrace, my right hand found his left.  The instant our fingers curled into their familiar positions, I knew that no distance would ever separate our connection.  

And 30 years ago I would rest my head in my beloved grandmother's lap and she would absentmindedly run her fingers through my hair.  She'd twist and stroke my dark strands and tell me stories in her lilting voice.  Her hands possessed the ability to scare away all my worries and in those moments before bedtime, she gave me the kind of love that every child deserves.  

Touch, at least in my life, has been the steward of healing, growth and love.  It has started relationships, created friendships, and connected me for life to people, places, and things.  I believe in the healing power of touch.

But as I sit here tonight and process all sorts of things, I recognize a tiny layer of fear in my heart for the lack of touch in our society.  Don't get me wrong, people are very connected - I could post a picture right now and get instant attention - but we are not connected as we should be.  We hide behind our profiles and our private Instagrams and our choice in clothing, cars, style.  We just hide so we're untouchable - so we won't get hurt.  

I think this sucks.

I think it's a beautiful thing when your arms fully wrap around another being's body and you consciously embrace.

I think it's a beautiful thing when a hand is held by another.  

I think it's a beautiful thing when space is shared.  

And I think it's ugly when touch is anything but that.  

Happy Weekend

I'll be back later tonight posting my Daily Journal - maybe you'll post on of your own as well in your Daily Journal?

Thanks for a rockin' SAS, period 3.  You had me very impressed.  Great job to you all and mad shout out to SM.  Loved it.

I'm not going to do a SAS roundup.  I'll save that for after finals.  For now, focus on what's in front of you.

xoxo

Daily Journal #123 - Truth

I kind of fell out of love today.

I don't like to compete for attention or time.

I don't like to be one of many.

I think high school is lame, and I think you think it too.

But here we find ourselves.

Last Real Class Before Finals Week

Tomorrow is SAS, so please be ready!

Thanks for paying attention to the lesson today.  Here's the Education Week article in case you're interested in reading and/or sharing with your family.  

See y'all tomorrow.

xoxo

Daily Journal #122 - Jealousy

Some people are born kind and generous, open to experiences and change, brave in spirit and body. Some people are born full of sympathetic joy - that pure happiness at another person's success.

I myself was not born such a person.

My natural state is one of defensiveness and jealousy.

I vividly recall being in Mrs. Lunsford's kinder class hoarding the table's crayons.  The second the teacher looked away, my chubby hand grabbed as many supplies as I could.  That year's report card mentioned I had "difficulty sharing".

I'm sure I could intellectualize why that is by lobbing at you some Gladwell references or allusions to growing up poor but really those are just excuses.  And everyone has an excuse, don't they?  The truth is that I'm just not naturally inclined toward generosity and kindness and celebration for others.  But as I grew older and experienced more of life (and grew less stubborn and egotistical), I began to mindfully exercise the part of my brain and heart that consciously chooses happiness and joy and kindness.

It's not easy either.  A battle everyday, I butt my head against my natural tendencies and marvel in awe at people who seem to possess authentic brightness.

My little one, Thing 2, has that special brightness.  She was literally born with it.  I saw it in her squishy face the second we met.  Her daddy has that same special brightness, too.  And perhaps that's one of the many reasons I was naturally drawn to him, why I married him.

But I was jealous today.

At first I didn't recognize the sensation in my chest but after sitting with it for a few moments, I knew an old friend had come a knockin'.  I entered into the comparison game and ended up falling short.  That was quickly followed by a minor pity party and then all of that crud was wrapped up with a bow of self-loathing.

All of these feelings flashed through me in a matter of minutes.  Perhaps no one else noticed, though I was surrounded by people.  Perhaps no one could tell that I was feeling what I was feeling because sometimes I am still a masterful liar.

But then in a God wink (forever love for you, Tot Shaw!) a resident of some Park Place realty in my heart asked me what the yellow dot on my desk meant.

"A wake up dot," I said.

Then I pointed to one on my bulletin board.

"They remind me to be present."

And just like that I was back in a conscious mindset, hyperaware of my conditioned state.  I made a choice to engage, to smile, to laugh, to push the dark clouds away.

Jealousy is real, and the dark clouds visit me every now and again, but jealousy can't hold a candle to being aware.

The natural antidote to all things bad is the awareness that you have the power to choose all things good.







 

FYI

I've mentioned this to some of you...so if you're interested in why I drink a cup of warm water with lemon first thing in the morning, read on...Daily Journal coming later tonight.

xoxo

In Preparation for Tomorrow's Class

A very bright student said today, "This study sheet isn't real learning.  It's just memorization."  I couldn't agree more but how do you think you would have fared on the exam without the study guide?  My guess?  Well, I'll keep that to myself.

If you were absent and did not receive the guide, please see me tomorrow or email a friend.

Tomorrow in class we will be reading a quality piece that I think will nicely wrap up our semester.  If you would like a copy, I have linked it here.  Don't worry about reading it beforehand...we'll do that in class.  But I would encourage you to do some background research on the author.  

Remember to write your journals...I jokingly said I would write about squash to dear RM, but I'm going in the direction of generosity.

xoxo

Study Guide is Complete

I thought I would be up all night creating your study guide.  Turns out, I'm a fast worker.  Woot woot.  I'll give you a copy tomorrow.

Go....write...journals...

xoxo

Daily Journal #121 - A Letter

Dear Pumpkin,

If you were my daughter, I'd hold you tight and stroke your hair and cuddle you the way I snuggled my babies. I'd listen with my whole heart to your stories and pay attention to the details of how you speak. I'd probably sit cross legged at the foot of your bed and have a box of tissues at the ready because boy do I know how much life can suck.

If you were my daughter, I'd tell you how the world isn't the same for those of us with the gender label female. I'd remind you that for us, our courage is often laced with caution. I'd recount my own stories of bullying at the hands of those with more power. I'd teach you the value of the slow play, how to set a trap for the little bug you're trying to catch. Because sooner or later, every pitiful puny bug dies.

If you were my daughter, I'd arm you with a chest full of contained, controlled fury. I'd teach you how and when to unleash it. I'd shelter you for as long as you needed until you were ready to fly.

If you were my daughter, I'd hold your hand and tell you that bullies come in many shapes and sizes, and the more they harm, the deeper their hurt. People who are whole and filled up with infinite love don't belittle or abuse. They don't have any need for spreading pain.

If you were my daughter, I'd make you proud by being a voice when you need one. Because any daughter of mine will forever have a hero on her side. A hero who knows when to swoop in and when to hold back.

If you were my daughter, I'd teach you how to own the room, how to swagger into a space with actual confidence that seeps from every pore.

Don't ever forget that you are  wonderfully made. Don't let the guy with the megaphone drown out the voice in your head that tells you he is wrong.  Because, darling, he is. He is so very, very, very wrong.

All my love,
Beltran

Not Much to Say

Write your journals.
Earn your grade.
Respect the process.

Tomorrow I'll give you a Finals Study Guide.

Xoxo

Daily Journal #120 - Service is the Rent

Service is the rent you pay for living here on earth.  At least that's what I think.  And on this federal holiday celebrating the work and life of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., I find it only fitting to reflect on the importance of service to a greater good.

In and of itself service implies that one is capable of recognizing that there is more to consider than the Self.  This recognition might seem simplistic but have you ever noticed how myopic a typical human being is?  I mean, on a daily basis, the narrative running in our heads is about how things are affecting US - how that person over there wronged me or helped me.  The world as we know it revolves around the most important person in our lives.

I'm sure all of us would like to think that we're of a great nature - that we give more than we receive.  But as I spent the day doing my thing - running errands to prepare for the week - I couldn't help but notice how my thing is the same darn thing as everybody else's thing.  (Well, everybody else in the same suburban, middle class, privileged demographic.)

I had a latte in hand.

I had two kids in tow.

I had a bank account with enough money that allowed me to freely shop without concern for sales or budget.

When we were at Target, we checked out in aisle 8.  (I remember because that is one of my favorite numbers.)  I paid close attention to the lovely guy working.  I noticed his soft brown eyes and hesitant smile.  I noticed his kindness to Thing 1 as she bought herself some art supplies with a birthday gift card.  I saw how he helped her with the bag as she tried to lift it herself.  I heard his laugh after I made mention of how much laundry I had at home.

All the while, Dr. King's soaring voice rang in my ears...content of character...promised land...be concerned about your brother...our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.

A roll call of names echoed next.  In quick succession the names came...Michael Brown...Sandra Bland...Freddie Gray.

I paid the bill and wished the lovely guy a great day and he did the same for me, but as I walked away, I looked back.  He was already ringing up another customer - a mom, latte in hand and two kids in tow.

Why was he there?  And why was I here?

We've got a long way to go to achieve Dr.King's dream, and as I grow older, I am beginning to think that we don't want to achieve equality and peace.  I think we pay lip service to the idea.  We say what we're supposed to say or stay silent so as not to offend. Sadly, we live in a culture of scarcity.

One day, may we have the capacity to project the "I" into the "thou".

In your memory, Dr. King.

Daily Journal #119 - Pecan Trees in Texas

The first dog we called family was Ruff, a Lassie look-a-like who was an inch too short for shows.  His dog breeder, a friend of my father's, gifted him to us instead of sending him to the pound.  He was a sweet dog and I remember him fondly.  

He was in the backyard the night I realized I was going to die.  

Despite being just five years old, I had chores and one of them was feeding Ruff.  So that evening, I went outside to the backyard and dutifully delivered the bowl of food like I was supposed to.  Before heading back inside, however, I made the choice to sit on the back steps.  I don't know what compelled me to stop and sit - maybe a God wink or maybe just being a little kid?  But the stillness beckoned me.  The concrete felt smooth on the backs of my legs as I enjoyed the crickets chirping and the wind whistling.  The blazing Texas heat was finally gone and it actually felt good to be outside.  And even though I wasn't doing anything wrong, it somehow felt scandalous to be in the dark all alone.  It excited me.  

My gaze travelled to Mr. and Mrs. Martin's backyard.  (It backed up to ours.)  The common chain link fence had our small yard on one side and their more expansive one on the other.  And in between the length of the common fence sat a beautiful pecan tree. 

The night was so quiet that when a pecan fell to the ground, I heard it.  Its landing caught my attention and as I stared at the tree, it struck me that the tree itself was living.  It was alive.  It had energy.  It bore something.  It was like me in this suddenly obvious way.  

I was only in kindergarten but I knew about tree rings and my mind flitted to how many this old tree must have.  I realized it was way more than five.  

I realized it was older than me.  

Then, like a light getting switched on in a dark room, I understood that this pecan tree would outlive me.  It had existed before me, and it would exist long after me too.

The epiphany startled me enough that I stopped breathing for a second.  But instead of feeling scared, I felt relief.

Oh I thought I'm going to die.  

And my peculiar acceptance of that fact is what freaked me out.

Oh I thought  I shouldn't be thinking like this.  This is weird, right?

Upon reflection, it was weird.  But that's who I was and am.  This trippy observer who notices the little things and sometimes gets overwhelmed by all the things she sees.  I don't think there's anything wrong with that, though.  I mean, not compared to the mindless observer who sees nothing.  I'm almost grateful that I see things the way I do because even though it weighs me down sometimes, it also fills up my whole life.  

Finals are Looming...

...and I am prepping my exam for you.  As a result, I find myself cross legged on my bed with this laptop, a legal pad, and a black pen.  I'm trolling my own blog's archives and looking to see what you have been exposed to this first semester.  My word.  There's a lot of "stuff".  

In fact, I had to link THIS POST because after I finish outlining your exam, I will be reading Daily Journals.  I literally opened someone's earlier and the google heading said, "Last Updated November 30".  Oh my gravy.  

You can put lipstick on a pig, baby, but it's still a pig.

xoxo

SAS Roundup

Just a few goodies from Friday's SAS presentations.  Check them out...

The Lonely Death of George Bell - via The New York Times

Six Tips on Writing from John Steinbeck - via Brain Pickings

Somewhere in America - via Get Lit, a Los Angeles based non-profit

Brene Brown On Empathy - via RSA

5 Ways Elite Colleges Squeeze Out Poor Kids - via NPR

Frank Warren website - via Post Secret

Offensive Play - How Different Are Dogfighting and Football? - via The New Yorker

Who Wins in the Name Game? - via The Atlantic

Pair Bonding and Tournament Species - via any link you want to pick

There's obviously more but...start with these.

Final Exams are in T-minus 10 calendar days...

Daily Journal #118 - The Absurdity of Mindless Choices

I sauntered to my car in the parking lot after having enjoyed time with Drew and Chardo and Jesse.  We watched movies, played cards, ate macaroni and cheese (out of the pot, if I recall correctly) and we laughed at all the asinine things seniors in college find funny.

I started my trusty Accord and zoomed down Bissonnet, an arterial road in Houston, toward my dorm at Rice.  The darkness of the after midnight evening made everything around me seem shrouded in varying shades of purple.  The quiet of the normally crowded streets relaxed me, and the signal lights positively blazed in their reds, and yellows, and greens.  The wind in my hair made me feel invincible - a feeling so closely married to youth, when we all believe nothing tainted will ever touch our innocent, fresh, unblemished skin.

I made it to my dorm room that night safe and sound but as I sit here writing I know that was a gift from above because I shouldn't have been driving after an evening spent drinking with my friends.

I'm not quite sure when I understood the gravity of that trip home.  But I did.  And because of that one night in college I stopped getting into cars if I had been drinking.  I stopped getting into cars with drivers who had been drinking.  And truth be told, I sorta just stopped drinking as I learned more and more about my genetic predisposition to addiction.  (I come from a long line of thirsty people.)   

But I know some of you, dear readers, do drink.  And I'm fairly confident some of you drive.  You do the math and understand why my spine shivers when I look at your larger than life hubris.

When I have trouble sleeping, I meditate in a way that would make my beloved Sarah Clark wince.  Instead of turning off my mind, I turn it on and imagine with every ounce of my imagination what I would do if....

If I had moved to New York...
If I had not had children...
If I had gone to Yale...
If I had millions of dollars...
If I had magical powers...

The last one gets me stuck.  If I had magical powers, I would hover over your shoulders when you're "relaxing" or "letting off steam", when you're "just having fun", when you're shoving your square shape into the round hole of an absurd social hierarchy...I would hover and insert into your mind's eye the mangled metal, the broken glass, the fractured faces.  I would hover and insert into your heart the reminder that you matter too much to the people who love you to get into that car.  I would hover and whisper into the deepest, darkest place in your heart, "Don't do it.  You're not as invincible as you think."

Daily Journal #117 - Familiar Faces

To my other Z and A,

I love how time and separation can do nothing to erase the immense love and respect I have for the both of you.  I met you each at different times in my life, yet I saw you both within an hour of each other today.  Positively glowing with what I hope is true happiness and health, we got a chance to catch up.  I let the distractions of my day melt away as I just sat with you, talked, hugged.  I love you dearly and I am so, so, so proud of the intelligent, strong women you are becoming.  I cannot wait to raise a glass at your graduations, weddings, baby showers, adventures.  Tonight I will sleep well knowing you two are in the world.

I am blessed to know you, love you and be loved by you.

Forever and always,
Beltran

Happy Friday!!

All the best to you as you enjoy your three day weekend.  I hope you take a moment to reflect on the legacy of Dr. King.

I will post a SAS Roundup tonight or tomorrow so be on the lookout.  Daily Journals will be posted as well.

xoxo

Daily Journal #116 - Writing Challenge

A friend of mine has thrown down the proverbial gauntlet for a 30 Day Writing Challenge.  The "experiment" (as he calls it) begins tomorrow and each participant is tasked with writing 500 words a day for 30 consecutive days.  These words can be about anything, they must be publicly shared, and we are meant to write honestly.

My friend is pretty kicka#! if you know what I mean.  He's an entrepreneur, a yogi, a photography, a dancer, a boxer, an artist, a writer, a world traveller, and a social activist.  In addition, he is intelligent, sarcastic, innovative, and tastefully adorned with tattoos.  (That last detail is irrelevant though it does give some insight into...well, I'm not sure but I'd say it's something...Lenny Kravitz just popped into mind.)

I've decided to participate in the challenge, and the reason I write about it here is because I want my students to realize that I do indeed practice what I preach.  In order to become a better writer, you must read and you must write.

I've kept a daily journal since I was in elementary school but with my entrance into motherhood, my daily journaling fell to the wayside as I attempted to right my new world of 2 full time jobs - both of which are of monumental importance.

So I begin again with this challenge and I suppose I shall see what is created and written in the next month.  (And since I often need to self-censor due to young eyes, these Daily Journals won't be considered my "challenge" writing.)

I'm excited and hopeful and looking forward to what will be born.

I think I've got a lot to say.

Klosterman Introduction

Thanks for participating in class today and watching the Donald Trump video.  Your job is to analyze the Klosterman introduction by class on Tuesday.  I'll be looking forward to hearing your thoughts on the piece - not how you feel.  :)

Please PLEASE PLEASE get your Daily Journals up to date.  Don't paint yourself into a corner with missing journals.

I'll see you tomorrow with SAS - no videos.  Quality presentations.

xoxo

Daily Journal #115 - My Head & My Heart

My body is wired in a unique way that inadvertently causes extreme emotion to manifest in extreme physical reaction.  I get what I call "Happiness Headaches".  (Note: I should call them "Why Did You Tell Me That?Headaches".)  They usually occur when I lack mindfulness in my interactions - when I allow myself to get too caught up in other people's stuff.

After lunch today I began to feel that all too familiar feeling at the edge of my brain, and by the end of sixth period I could feel each pump of blood as my heart dutifully worked to gift me with breath and life.

As I sit here writing, the dull ache of too much stuff is swirling in my noggin' still, and the pain serves as a gentle reminder that I need to take care of myself.  I am nothing to anyone else if I am not well.

My stuff matters too.

So Much Syntax

Lots of notes thrown your way.  Hope they helped.  Did they??

At any rate, tomorrow we will be analyzing even more syntax (we'll be using a delicious piece from Chuck Klosterman).

And in case you forgot or I didn't mention it (happens), this Friday's SAS has a special rule:  no videos may be played.  You are welcome to do a presentation on a video but no playing of videos will occur.  Thank you so much.

See y'all tomorrow.

xoxo

p.s. - Period 7, you made my heart smile with your dancing today.  Seriously.  Thank you.

Daily Journal #114 - Here She Is

Our conversations dance around the ridiculously bizarre fact that we seem to know each other well despite not knowing each other at all.  We have a sort of comfortable silence that usually comes with the gift of years, yet there we sit - both of us sort of observing the world around us, very aware that this is, in fact, water.  It's nice, though, to meet a fellow fish.

Our interests aren't quite the same but many a friendship has been based on far less, and even though I will never understand being a sidekick (I prefer Superhero myself - at least in my own life), I do respect your perspective and secretly harbor the hope that you will step into your most authentic role.

Our backgrounds are as polar opposite as salt and pepper.  I doubt you have a legacy of illiterate grandparents or abusive male figures, but your present has intersected with mine, and I am thankful.

You mentioned today that it must be a curse knowing everything I do and I sincerely thought about that as I frosted a birthday cake, loaded the dishwasher, made lunches, and tucked in Thing 1.  I think it's less a curse and more akin to power.  But as we both know, with great power comes great responsibility.

See you tomorrow.

TED Talk Tuesday

Memory Palaces - be royal, baby.  Be royal.  Rewatch and heed the advice.

Tomorrow, syntax.  It'll feed your brain, I promise.

xoxo

Daily Journal #113 - Opal

I have a tendency to name inanimate objects, especially the ones I love.  I have a Coach purse named Dolly and another named Coco.  My first car was named Houdini and the second named Angel.  And when I got engaged I named my diamond ring Opal.

I used to wear Opal all the time when younger and first married.  But then I had my first child and wearing my rings became more of a nuisance as I cuddled my newborn, swaddled her, changed diapers, etc.  Opal (and her band mate) went into a decorative box and that was pretty much that.

Today, for the first time in at least 4 years, I wore my rings.  They felt familiar yet foreign, lightweight yet heavy.  Within her princess cut stones, Opal carries each sacrifice, promise, and conscious choice of my marriage.  And the work of marriage is not glamorous, y'all.  It's the antithesis of all the Pepto-Bismal pink crud that gets marketed in February and all the musical crescendos as the movie credits roll.  "Happily ever after" does not exist without a whole helluva lot of work.

A dear one commented on my rings today (I suppose they caught his eye) and another asked, "Why don't you wear your rings?"

"I'm married whether or not my rings are on," I replied.

And ain't that the truth.

A symbol on my finger is simply that - a symbol.  Yes, Opal is beautiful but what's more glorious to me is that with or without her on, I am yoked - in union - by choice to a person I authentically admire, trust, and love.

 "I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naive or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman." -Anais Nin

Active Voice

Hope you were exposed to something you needed today.

The book I mentioned is Hyperbole and a Half and the essay is "This is Emo" by Klosterman.  Investigate if you wish.

Tomorrow is TED Talk Tuesday so come ready.

Finals are looming....

xoxo

Daily Journal #112 - The Importance of Reading

My eyes are fixated on the collar of her blue jean jacket and how it somehow remains a little tucked in despite her animated movements.  Her left hand is decorated with two rings, one on her pinky and the other on her middle finger.  My eyes travel to her hair and its thinness and I subconsciously run my fingers through my thick mane.  My fine tipped Sharpie scribbles notes in an effort to stay awake.  My mind flits in and out of presence.  A plane flies overhead.

But then my monkey mind is yanked back to reality when she says, "The best way to be a better writer is to read what other people write."

Read what other people write.

Read what other people write.

Five little words that encapsulate the reason I believe with my whole heart that there are no accidents in this life.

In order to become, you must be.

In order to write, you must read.

I am in a thrift store in hot and humid Texas.  I am scanning the shelf with my eager eyes as my mom and sister peruse their interests nearby.  The cover that catches my eye is sunshine yellow with a bright red sticker tag that says 5 cents.  I grab the book and bring it to my mom and ask for her to buy it.  She glances quickly at the cost and makes a choice that defines my present.

Friends for Big Boy by Penny Platt is the first book I ever owned.

It sits on the bookshelf in the living room next to Capote, Kafka, and Quindlen.  And though the price tag has faded, it still sits in my heart as my first taste of the magic of books. 

Daily Journal #111 - Staples and Sighs

I'm in my car writing this on my phone because I have to catch the tail of my idea before it slips away.  My girls are on a play date and I got to have some rare "me" time. Of course, I went straight to the coffee shop and then, with drink in hand, I journeyed to my happy place. Sitting cross legged on the carpet at the bookstore, I devoured new titles, took photos of quotes and made lists of "To Read" on my phone. It's no wonder I'm now at 12% after 2 hours of feeding my brain.

My last stop was Staples for a new notebook and wouldn't you know it, the one that caught my eye just happened to be 2-for-1.

After the lovely gentleman rang me up, I stepped outside and the smell of fresh rain on cement hit my nostrils.

Without meaning to, I let out the biggest sigh of joy - enough to get the people walking into the store to chuckle. But my God!  The smell of fresh rain is just about the sweetest smell there is.

Thank you, Universe, for the endless gifts you give me. I stopped in my tracks just now to see them.

SAS Roundup

For your pleasure, check out the best of the best.  I couldn't list everything (I have a Saturday to enjoy) but here are a few highlights.

Also, don't forget that finals are around the corner.  What have you been doing this semester?

TED Talks and notes
SAS and notes
Reading the blog and ALL the things I've posted
Writing DAILY Journals
Create Something Project

That's about it...hope you have anything and everything I might want to look at.

And without further ado...

A really cool episode of "Brain Games" that focuses on language.

Why we should aspire to be like Sweden - via NPR

A little nugget from MIT about gadgets and happiness

Learning about Bonobo monkeys - a crew dominated by females

Who Am I?  Some Thoughts on Personal Identity - via my boys John & Hank Green

Sadly, another example of the abuse of power  (trigger warning - disturbing image shown)

A very cool site to transform slideshows into readable pages

And, finally, make sure to find M. Hill in my period 4 who knows how to make homemade stickers

A very good SAS from those of you willing to share.

xoxo

Daily Journal #110 - Fractures

My favorite book in high school was Mary Shelley's Frankenstein.  It tells the story of Victor's creation, a grotesque, sentient being who is tortured by his desire to be loved but can't be because of his appearance.  The creation's heart was good in the beginning but because of all the hurt he experiences as he is denied, turned away, secluded, he eventually morphs into a murderer.

He becomes the thing others always thought he was.

I was thinking of that book as I drove to pick up Thing 2 at preschool.  The afternoon sun always hits my windshield at the same angle and casts a lovely glow over the dashboard.  But today's light was different because over Winter Break a rock hit my windshield.  We were headed to Legoland for a family day of fun and we just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and a semi's lane change resulted in a now six inch crack in my window.

I should get the window fixed, I know.  It's foolish not to considering we have the money and we have the time but I love this fracture because when the light hits the splinter just right, it reminds me of all the hurt in my heart and how I am fractured too.  It reminds me of how I am like that monster Victor created - a sentient being who desires love.  It reminds me of how easily I could have let all my pain turn me into the thing others always thought I was.

Fractures and splinters and cracks let in the light.  And when the light passes through the jagged edges it presents with a certain shine.  A shine that is blindingly beautiful in its purity.

Maybe I loved Shelley's book because I carried a lot of hurt around when I was a kid.  Maybe I loved it because it was well-written.  Maybe I loved it because it was the beginning of my new story about who I was, what I deserved and what I knew to be true.

Turns out I was in the right place at the right time on that cold December day.  That fracture is the prettiest thing I have ever seen.

SAS

Happy Friday everyone.  Thanks for a great SAS.  I'll do a roundup this weekend so you can feed your brains.

Be prepared for a great upcoming week with delicious food.

Stay safe and be a warrior for love.
xoxo

Daily Journal #109 - Birthday Buddy

Many moons ago I taught 9th grade English and I got to meet awesome kids at the beginning of their high school journey.  It was awesome to see them turn into sophomores, then juniors, and finally seniors.  Baby faces morphed into sharp angles and strong jawlines.  Acne riddled skin transformed into a crack-free canvas indicative of youth's beauty.  A few extra pounds melted into muscle as a young adult emerged from childhood.

One year there was a particular student who just lit up the room.  I remember how we met because he had been "kicked out" of his other English class.  Apparently, the teacher didn't like him so the office placed him with me.  He thrust his paper schedule into my hand as way of an introduction, and literally sauntered to a desk.

Who was this kid? And why me?

As the days passed, I came to realize this "shiny penny" and I shared the same birthday.  I came to realize his bravado was hiding a tenderhearted soul.  I came to realize that his sarcasm was laced with an intelligence I could vibe off of.

He made my 4th period class a time of utter joy.

Fast forward a couple years and he was in my class again as a T.A.  And let's be honest, I don't need a T.A. to "assist" me in my classes.  (But I do love that certain students still want to be in class with me even though they could be with one of 90 something other teachers.)

The kid brought the joy still.  Making me laugh, making wise cracks, just filling the room with an energy that could be felt.

There's no stopping time so this beloved graduated and ventured off into life after high school.  We kept in touch - a message every now and again, an email maybe.  And I always thought of him when I added another candle to my cake.  He was my birthday buddy.

I was standing in the hall two years ago when my husband called me over.  I practically skip hopped into his room wondering if he needed help with his computer (again) or if he needed to borrow my keys (again).  Instead, he looked at me and told me my birthday buddy was dead.

And just like that, a light went out.

And it's still out.

And it will always be out.

When I hugged a former student yesterday during lunch, it was like hugging him again because his little brother has the same bravado, the same tenderhearted soul, the same intelligence laced sarcasm.  And if you look at him just right, he has the same face too.

I just know my birthday buddy would be proud of his little bro.  And I just know my birthday buddy sees how proud I am of him too.

Friday Expectations

Thanks for all your effort today in class.  I do appreciate it.  As a friendly reminder, tomorrow we will enjoy the first SAS of 2016.  Be ready.

And your letters to yourself are due.  I don't want to read them so please put them in a sealed envelope (or tape them shut). The envelope should have your first and last name and class period written on the outside.

I'm off to write my Daily Journal.  I have some thoughts...

See you tomorrow.
xoxo

Daily Journal #108 - To the Girl Who Loves the Rain

Dear You,

When you walked into my classroom, I had no idea how four syllables would change my life.  You barely made yourself known, almost hidden in plain sight until you started turning in Timed Writes and presenting.  But what tipped me over the edge was when we began a short little session of journal writing.  I read yours and with each word that my eyes danced across, a space for you in my heart grew bigger and bigger.

I've got a bunch of girls I love as my own, and for that I am eternally grateful, but very few have managed to crack open my soul with their words.  I could go days and days without speaking to you and then BOOM.  You slay me again with the turn of a phrase or the painting of a picture with your stylish syntax.

My dear, you are a gifted writer.

I wish I could tell the whole world what I know about you, what they're missing when they pass you by or stereotype you because a girl as gorgeous as you (and I mean on the outside) isn't supposed to be a superhero - not according to this misogynistic society of high school...world.  A word girl whose lexicon is the most powerful tool, a word girl whose pen is indeed mightier than any sword.  Shakespeare can't hold a candle to you, sugar.

Maybe I wish you could read your words like I do.  Maybe I even wish you could see yourself like I do.  Because you know what you'd see?  The sun and the moon on a swing, almost reaching the stars.

Thank you for being a part of my life especially on days like today when I see fakery and tom foolery abounding, when I see more and more "students" and less and less students pass through my doors.

You are loved.

Your #1 Fan,
Beltran

p.s. - Don't you ever make me stand in line at your book signings.

"Still, I can't help but wonder about kindred spirits.  Some people were born to connect to each other, to love one another."

George Saunders

The short excerpt we read today in class can be found here.  Use your skills in "marking a text" and "how to read" to consume this piece again.  Come to class on Thursday with your thoughts - on paper, written out.  Also, since you're expected to take notes bring those too.  And if you printed the piece out, bring that as well.

Watch out for the idiot with the megaphone, y'all.

There is  much to do.

xoxo

Daily Journal #107 - Being a Mama

When I was younger the vision I had of my life involved living on a ranch, driving a pickup truck and living alone.  I didn't believe in love because all I knew of it came from my parent's marriage that disintegrated after 17 years.  I never wanted to be in love because love - from what I could tell - hurt and ultimately slayed you.

Fast forward to my present life and I am the mama to two beautiful girls whose very presence alters the way I live my life.

I am the kind of mama who reads bedtime stories, who cooks dinner and folds clothes, who bandages scraped knees and maintains the organized chaos of dance class, playdates and recitals.

But I am also the kind of mama who listens wholeheartedly to my kids when they speak their truth, who bites her tongue when she wants to crush an idea, who says "yes" to the invitations to play.

I am the kind of mama my girls deserve.

And they deserve the world, just like every other child who never asked to be born.

Today was heartbreaking in all the best and worst ways.  And because I have been rereading Tiny Beautiful Things (when am I not rereading TBT?) and flipping through Strayed's book of quotes Brave Enough some words floated to the forefront of my mind.

"Parents teach their children how to be warriors, to give them the confidence to get on the horse to ride into battle when it's necessary to do so.  If you didn't get that from your parents, you have to teach yourself."

With every conscious action I am teaching my daughters to be warriors and not worriers.  With every word I say, hug I give, book we read, I am teaching my daughters how to fling off the expectations that society is attempting to place on them.  I am doing my best to not just teach but to model.

When Z and I brush teeth together, she mimics my actions.  I was looking at my jet black hair last night and inspecting all the gray strands nestled behind my ears, near my forehead, everywhere.  I saw her watching me, and I said, "Monkey, aren't these so cool?  Look, mommy has gray hairs!  They're beautiful."

She paused, looked at her hair and started lifting up her sweet brown strands.  She said, "Will I get gray hairs, too?"

"If you're lucky, babe."

The self-satisfied smile was enough to carry me through this day as I face so many children who have been taught so many different lessons.  Rooms full of warriors and worriers.

Onward.

TED Talk Tuesday and Aretha

David Steindl-Rast's 2013 TED Global Talk is a keeper.  Please rewatch it and take your notes.  Also, consider his advice to stop, look and go.  It's really the simple things/practices in life that make a huge difference.

And dear Aretha.  She really is the Queen of Soul.  And her story is fascinating as well.  Watch her performance at this year's Kennedy Center Honors and read this Huffington Post article about why her performance transcended the stage and brought everyone from Usher to POTUS to tears.  (The full length program is linked in the article but if you just want to watch Ms. Franklin, she appears in the last 10 minutes.)

Update your journals as I am likely to troll in the wee hours of a glorious rainy night.

xoxo

p.s. I will be collecting TED Talk notes in the next week or two.  Make sure you have them all done.

Daily Journal #106 - What I See

New haircuts, new clothes, new beginnings - that's what I saw today as we acclimated to this life of bells and burdens.  What is school?  What has it become?  Personally, I think it's become distracting, superficial, and honestly, a bit lame.  That you are herded like cattle from one stall to the next.  Ugh.  I hope you find some relief and joy entering our classroom, but who knows?  Who knows about anything?

Great conversations and laughter today all around but my favorite was lunch.  I have too much fun at lunch!  Alas, we will never be friends.  I shared that with you today.  Maybe in the future.  And I realized I could be a student's mom.  What?!    Am I really that old?  Seems like I am but I certainly don't feel it. 

What I feel is inspired to be better, do better, make conscious choices, breathe.  I'm surrounded by light and love and I am grateful...

My entry is all over the place, sort of like my mind.  But I needed to mind dump before picking up Thing 2.  Writing is good for the soul. 

I'm off to stop.

Look. 

And go.

Back to School

Hi.

Thanks so much for being in school today - it is never easy returning to a schedule.  No fun at all.  But we did it!

Tonight, please fill out your Daily Journal Calendar.  I handed this out in class, so if you were absent, just see me tomorrow.  I expect your calendar to have key words for the entries you've written.

And in case you still don't believe in the power of the written word, check out this Upworthy article that a beloved shared with me.

In addition to your calendar, I would like you to write a letter to yourself that contains...well...anything you'd like.  (Goals for 2016, thoughts, worries, questions, etc.)  Bring it to class on Friday in a sealed envelope with your name and class period on the outside.  I will "deliver" these letters to you the last week of school.

TED Talk tomorrow and another day of becoming!
xoxo

"Nobody's going to do your life for you.  You have to do it yourself, whether you're rich or poor, out of money or raking it in, the beneficiary of ridiculous fortune or terrible injustice.  And you have to do it no matter what is true.  No matter what is hard,  No matter what unjust, sad, sucky things have befallen you.  Self-pity is a dead-end road.  You make the choice to drive down it.  It's up to you to decide to stay parked there or to turn around and drive out." ~Cheryl Strayed

Daily Journal #105 - Stop, Look, Go

I spent some time last night planning for the week and I came across a precious piece from a monk.  Essentially, his advice is to create awareness by doing what we were taught as children before crossing the street.

Stop.

Look.

Go.

I like that.

So this morning I went grocery shopping and the parking lot was like The Hunger Games. People were everywhere, anxious, stressed, rushing. I almost got caught up in it too but I stopped. Then I looked.

And you know what I saw?  Abundance and privilege and fun. I was shopping for my family, for our meals for the week, for snacks to pack for my girls.  I had a coffee in hand, a scarf gifted to me from Italy around my neck, and the most comfortable leggings keeping me warm.

I smiled at the elderly lady who almost ran me over and waved at the driver who let me cross.  I winked at a little girl who was shopping with her mama and I bantered with the cashier who complimented my scarf.

All I did was stop and breathe and then all this joy flooded my soul.

I'm not going to pretend I'm excited about setting my alarm but I am pretty blissed out that season 6 of Downton is tonight, that lunch is about to be served, and that Lena Dunham exists.

Xoxo

Daily Journal #104 - Bandit & Tela

A dear family friend was just over for a spell and he brought his dog Bandit with him.  Bandit watched me as I cooked some dinner and his hot breath was on my leg as we sat at the table.  Having an animal near me dragged my mind and heart to an empty space.

I love animals, dogs and cats in particular, but our home hasn't housed a pet since our darling cat Tela passed away last August.  She was 18 years old and was our "fur baby" in all ways.

Tela belonged to my beloved and when I would hang out at the Milford house, Tela was around.  She was there at the beginning of our relationship, watching me with her gold green eyes, as I fell in love while watching the cute boy making commercial worthy grilled cheese sandwiches with my brown eyes.

Tela was there when the aforementioned cute boy drove off on his adventure to the West Coast and we had to struggle through the dreaded "long distance" relationship.

She was there, curled up on the bed, when my favorite Sam Cooke song played on repeat and my beloved proposed.

Tela was there on the first night in our newly purchased home when the two of us were up all night because it was so damn quiet in the suburbs compared to the corner of 24th and E.

She was in the bathroom with me when the stick said "pregnant" and tears of joy filled my eyes.

Tela was there, cuddled against my burgeoning belly as my first child grew.

She was there when Z came home from the NICU and when A did too.

Tela was just always there.

Until she wasn't.

I don't want to talk about the details of how we lost her, but we did.  I remember telling her I loved her.  I remember she meowed.

Then she was gone.

And as soon as her last breath left her body, I changed a little.  Because that's what loss does to us.  It cracks us and fells us.  And though we can recover, we are never the same.

I hadn't thought about Tela for a while but with Bandit's spirit literally in the house, my sweet girl was brought to the forefront.

I miss her still, and I think I always will.

Daily Journal #103 - A Continuous Practice

In the summer of 2013, a year after stepping onto the mat for the first time, I participated in a Living Yoga Immersion with a gifted and magical teacher named Sarah Clark.  On our first day together, she asked us to "show up honestly and to practice".  I had no earthly idea what she meant but I opened myself up and chose to trust her, follow her, listen to her, and to breathe.  Just breathe for the next four weeks.

On our second day together, Sarah introduced us to the 8 limbs of yoga and taught us that everything we consume becomes us - what we eat, drink, hear, see, our relationships and what we breathe.  In our real lives - interacting with others who view yoga as an excuse to buy overpriced pants and green smoothies or worse, as just some poses before mindlessly existing - "the rub" is the opportunity and "the obstacle" is the path to Jedi Greatness.

As the weeks passed, Sarah showed us how to be skillfully awake in the world, how to notice with our hearts and minds that everything arises, abides, and dissolves.  She taught us how to recognize our breath as a powerful tool that is personal, portable and present.  She made my mind explode when she said, "Every time you blink, you let go."  Let go and drop in to the truth of how things are.

But the point that made my heart crack open was when she highlighted that the work of yoga, the practice of it, is endless.  And yet it is all okay.

You are matter and you matter.

Each of us creates a story about our experiences instead of just experiencing the moment.

Sigh.

The word yoga comes from the root "yuj" which means to unite so in essence yoga means "union" which means intimacy.  When you give up your fixed views, you create intimacy, interconnectedness with...well, everything and everyone.

I suppose the reason that I am thinking about this today is because the New Year represents a new beginning.  Day one of whatever shall be written.  And I think that's pretty exciting and full of possibility.

I think having a magical teacher is just about the greatest gift, and I have never met anyone like Sarah who just exudes loving kindness.  I am so grateful that I met her when I did and that I was open to her teaching.  She changed my life.

A student of mine, who is a senior now, sent me an email over the summer and said that I was his "Sarah Clark".  I texted her a screenshot of the email and she wrote back saying, "Wow, Yolanda.  I'm a 'Sarah Clark'?  Unreal.  Teaching and practice really makes waves out into this world.  It's incredible and humbling.  I love you."

I love her too.

And I love all of you as well.

Happy New Year