92/365

there is tedium
infested in routine—
    try to dress it up
    with a different name,
    but even rituals
    feel like chores
    under the yolk
    of habit.

from practice
    to propensity
    to addiction
    to compulsion

dull obsessions
    one stroke at a time
    may never deliver us
    from the structure of
    product or process.

another still night
    with this soporific sacrament.

a ceremony for one
    a catalogue of words
    gaining weight
    with each attempt.

Resolution. Routine. Ritual.

What a day.
What a week.
Month.
Year so far.

After a subpar and underwhelming year of personal growth in 2017, I decided to try and make this year about resolutions, routines and rituals. I’ve already written about the effects that my broken ankle, the Trump debacle, and my absence from social media, had on my life last year. I have also mentioned my newly found love of Podcast. (Done with Dirty John and S-Town by the way and loving The Moth)So in this post I wanted to highlight my new habits.


Since the start of the year and the entirety of January, I…
…wake up every Monday and Wednesday morning at 5:10am to go for a thirty minute 4km run. I am hoping to get up 5km, but my body is still out of shape and my ankle feels sore. I listen to my podcasts and enjoy the quite solitude of the early morning darkness. There is no one around. I know that I will be too tired in the afternoons, so I pull myself from bed and erase the choice from this act. No matter what my fatigue level or mood, I am up and dressed and hitting the pavement by 5:15.

…alternately I write every Tuesday and Thursday night. I’ve been dedicating time to write 1000-1500 words at each session. I am hoping to finally get my YA novel to 50,000 so I can start to think about re-writes and a plan forward. (I reached 48,000 words tonight, but I have started writing in the first person from the POV of secondary characters, and now I realize I have more to say, so I might hold off on the plotting and re-writes for a while longer.) I’m also hoping to churn out a few poems and extended posts like this one every month.

…with guidance from Cindy at school, I am tying to revitalize my mindfulness practice. I started off great for the first few days, but when work got crazy, it was the first thing to go. February will be about stabilizing this practice and easing it into my routines and making it part of my life-flow. Been trying to eat more mindfully and spending time throughout the day to stop and breath. But the body scans and 20 mins meditations put me to sleep. Do you meditate? How? When? Where?

…have been involved with Ari's push-up plan for me. In November he started me on a regiment he swears by. Simply do 5 push ups a day. The idea was to make it so easy that I wanted to do more. The next month I doubled to 10 a day. January had me at 20 a day and today I did my first round of 40. The idea is that, it doesn’t even feel like exercise. It is simply something I do and am aware of. Along with the writing and the running it has become a sustainable routine of my life. I am trying to bring mindfulness to these push-ups.

Now let’s move from routine to ritual. I feel a bit embarrassed to admit to this one, but I can’t express how much I enjoy my beard grooming ritual. Every morning, after my shower, I rub Dear Barber beard oil into my recently dried beard and use my wooden comb to brush out any tangles and direct the hairs where to grow. But more importantly, I repeat this act as soon as I get home from school. There is something inexpressible about the scent of the oil that helps me relax after a long day.
I’m not sure how long I can maintain these routines, but the shift in the way I see myself when I look in the mirror has been spectacular. 2018 is off to a great start. I feel more focused, productive and like myself.

What resolutions did you make? How are they going? How do you transform resolutions into rituals?
Side note, I am on my second glass of wine listening to Atom Heart Mother by Pink Floyd thinking about how sad I am that I haven’t see my dad (Mehran) in six years...

And if you sit,
Don't make a sound.
Pick your feet up off the ground.
And if you hear as the warm night falls
The silver sound from a time so strange,
Sing to me, sing to me.
When that fat old sun in the sky is falling,
Summer evening birds are calling.
Children's laughter in my ears,
The last sunlight disappears.

Burn Like A Fire

Today was a full on day back at work:


Taught some classes. Had lunch with friends. Met with my principal about goals. Checked in on teachers. Met with colleagues. Watered my plants. Marked the assessments I didn’t mark over the break. Covered a mentor class. Marked the assessments I didn’t mark over the break. Got reacquainted with my work flow. Marked the assessments I didn’t mark over the break.


It was a full on day after two weeks of slovenly relaxation. At one point, I was looking out over a group of sixth graders and said, “Wow. Good to be back y’all. I miss you guys and your energy.” And that was the truth. One forgets how much kids give back to us everyday.


I also went for a run. Super slow, but eeked out almost 8km. Felt pretty good, hoofin’ it out there. Was thinking a lot about John’s talk at Learning 2 about routine and ritual.


I was thinking about how routine my day was today. Just getting systems back in place. But is this what we want for our classless? Our schools?


Functional routines?


Where is the excitement? The wonder? The OMG? What can I do to make most days super exciting and engaging for my kids? Sure, I can mark a bunch of assessments and give them timely feedback and write their scores on my iPad, but what am I doing this week that will thrill these kids? Make them think about how glad they are to be in my room with me? What can I do that will make them yearn to come back everyday? Not to plod through another well-planned unit, but to burn like a fire?


It was a good day back, but since I am questioning everything in my life these days, why not my practice, my classroom, my school? The kids we teach deserve more than sedate routines.


I still have more to mark tomorrow, but it is manageable, so I feel fine signing off for the night and watching The Walking Dead.


Oh and by the way, The Oakland Raiders are 5-2 and have one of the best records in the league.

So Many Boxes

What else is there besides this? What more do you want? What fantasies do you still concoct as you lay awake in the darkness or when you let your mind drift at the traffic light? What random memory do you crawl to, to try and leverage a future you feel you are owed? Why can’t this always be enough?


The light kiss and the long hug from your wife in the living room on a Sunday afternoon. The fist pump from your daughter as she sinks a basket at basketball practice. The tangy salsa in your breakfast burrito. The casual conversation with a friend about the trials and tribulations of parenting. The work you begrudgingly had to do to get back in the swing of things. It could be worse- you could be doing a job you hate. Something that is not your calling.


What else is there besides this? Sure, the minutes can trickle by at a pace that feels frozen. A routine induced boredom that you try and remedy with…what? Why can’t you enjoy the trips and the journey? The small moments in front of the mirror, admiring how you have finally grown into yourself. The look matching the mood matching the inner voice- the one that won’t shut up. The one that is never satisfied. The one that argues with itself and demands more, while begging to be grateful.


The lives of the characters in the novel you’re reading seem so desperate, but their familiarity puts you in a panic. What are your rituals? Where is your romance and bliss? Is the literature a mirror of your routines? A cliched mid-life episode? Is this all there is? Will I cherish this at the end? Am I doing enough? Living enough? Loving enough? Am I to blame for the ho hum, hum drum of these days as they pass? Am I the only one who sees them? Feels their weight?


Why don’t we talk more about our dreams?
At this point what the hell is your dream?


So many boxes already expertly checked: job. wife. kids. expat. travel. hobbies. friends.


What else is there to want? And if you can’t even name it, why do you want it so desperately?


As a kid from an inadequate family, why can’t you just focus on the one goal? Have you forgotten the promises of selflessness you made to your infant daughter, on those quiet dark nights in the glow of her bedroom, with the tender music, and her in your arms, perfect and precious, an empty vessel for everything they didn’t do for you, an empty bag waiting to be filled with everything you salvaged from yourself worth passing on. You vowed to erase yourself piece by piece on those nights, promised to ignore your selfish needs for the sake of your daughter and your wife and this family. And now what ten years later you are wondering about your needs again?


Where did they go?
What are they?
Why do they feel so trivial and obscene?


Your priorities are in front of you. No more lethargic days passing away in a slow drip. Tell her you love her more often. Thank her. Help her. Live your politics instead of tweeting them. Go to Ikea with a smile. Care about the curtains. Get excited about the parties and the holidays and the future and the present. Be more present. Play with the kids. Talk to them. Look deeply into their eyes so they can tie themselves to your ballast.


Slow Sundays in your head can be exhausting. This election is pulling on you like dead weight, forcing you to carry around its bile with every step. The videos. The words. The Tweets. The half-baked opinions of every idiot in a comment box. Why do you let them burrow into your heart. Your space?


What else is there besides this? You are a middle aged man: a father, a husband, a friend and a son who is doing his best. Although, this seldom feels like it is enough, you have to trust that it is.