333/365

three thirty three
can’t seem to get free
trapped in a tear drop
the size of the sea.
the waves keep coming
a universe on a pin tip.
how can it carry so
much weight and not burst
at its seams. it’s all so
fragile in here. holding
our collective breath for
fear of disappearing.

325/365

washing the dishes distracted
feel myself hurrying up,
still greasy, just let it go,
who cares, it’s good enough,
a pit of emotion like a murder
of crows cawing in my mind’s tree:
grief. fear. doubt. anxiety. insecurity.
you’ve been here before- a soft whisper
anchor your breath. feel the water.
use the soap. wash your dish
with intention. with passion. with courage.  
nothing else matters, but this dish.
clean, dry, put away in its place, ready for use.

231/365

you ever get that feeling
like you just jumped off a cliff
and the descent has slowed down
so that you can feel the water
moving toward you, and
the terror of impact ricochets
around your head,
imposter syndrome feels real
and you may have bitten off
more than you can chew, but
hey you wanted leadership experience
so you better figure this out
and find a way to move everything
forward and not drop the ball
and get it right enough so at least
you feel you did what you could,
so you grab an old tattered copy of
rilke’s letter to a young poet,
remembering that years ago you gave
copies to your favorite students,
complete with an inscription,
wishing then good luck,
but tonight your mind is racing
so you grab your highlighted copy
and open it like a hymnal, hoping
that the first line will either douse
the fire in your mind or ignite it
further in you heart:

almost everything
serious
is difficult.
and everything is
serious.

and so with calm mind
and twinkling heart,
you point your toes
and embrace for impact.

Like Noise Tonight

I feel like noise tonight.
Useless and grating.
A white scratching hum,
invisible and senseless,
yet flashing between static
and
a
void.


The only thing that brings me to this blank page, and the timeless battle with words, is my faith that they will somehow set me free.


I feel like I have had the wind knocked out of me. A surprise cheap sucker punch from a bully, I should have known better than to turn my back on. I am not sure if this low whisper, this whimpering, this noise I am producing will be helpful to any one, but I need it's slow release.


I have bee reading various accounts laying blame, promising resistance, analyzing and re-analyzing how we got here. I can’t bring myself to watch any live footage of his face. I can’t bare the thought of four years of watching him “lead.”


There is no direction to this confusion. I am bundle of chaos assaulted by every emotion- rage, fear, dread, hate, shame. Everyone but hope.


I wanted to write a letter to my kids or my students, but I didn’t know what to write.
I wanted to write an analysis piece about how liberals don’t understand rural America.
I wanted to write about how the death of the American left has been a long time coming, and how the capitulation to global corporartism forced us to have faith in a false process.
I wanted to write about how America is not better than this. This is a nation built on genocide and slavery. Imperialism and Jim Crowe.
I wanted to write about how we need to fight and read our Zinn and have faith in the ongoing struggle for justice.


But I feel like noise tonight. I want to be hopeful, but I need to grieve. I want to inspire, but I need to process.


I just can’t. I just can’t.
Not tonight.

Icarus and The Drone

I don’t want to exaggerate any of the details of this story, for fear of making it appear implausible. Everything I am about to tell you is true to the best of my knowledge...


Late in the afternoon of this rainy, lazy day I took Skyelar down to our tennis courts for some free-form drone piloting. Shackled by the confines of the roof and walls of our condo, it felt necessary to unleash the beast to the elements and really let’er fly.


We both took turns maneuvering the tiny vessel, each of us hooping, hollering and cheering in our own way, as the four propellered device rose and fell with deft agility and grace. Until at one point, much like Icarus, I became too confident in my skills and too excited by the thrill of my ascent that I lost control and the drone crash-landed on top of the ivy covered wall that rings the tennis court.


This is where it is important to get the details right. The wall is about one and half, almost two stories tall. I would say at least twenty feet, but my gut is saying more like twenty-five; I wouldn’t dissuade you if you wanted to imagine it being thirty feet for the sake of this story. It was tall. Although there are sections of the wall that are made of chain link fencing, there was no way I could scale the fence and get to the upper part where the drone was stuck. Throwing things at it (balls, frisbees, rocks) was out of the questions because a bit further on the other side is a major rode, and I am sure the drivers would frown upon a deluge of detritus raining down on their cars.


I was about to give up and cut my losses on my first drone when the security guard came to tell us to get off the tennis court, because people had complained. Apparently this space is to solely to be used for playing tennis. Singapore- go figure. A few seconds after his arrival, he noticed our distress and as soon as he assessed the situation, he offered to let me use one of the massive ladders to try and retrieve the drone. This would be a piece of cake. No worries. Problem solved.


I grabbed the ladder; he didn’t help me at all, and I lugged it back to the courts, where after some considerable struggle, the thing was freaking heavy and I don’t know the laws of physics, but propping up a thirty foot ladder by yourself requires a sort of super hero strength that my chicken bone arms simply do not have. I finally managed to get it up and somewhat secure on the wall. I was certain that the angle was way too rigid and that I should have moved it back a few feet, but then the top of the wall would be out of reach. I would need to scale this thing as it stood. Almost straight up and down.


I took a deep breath and I climbed a few rungs- my breath grew short. My heart was beating rapidly. My palms were sweaty and my knees were shaking. I normally have little to no issues with heights, but the thought of the ladder slipping or me simply falling off of it was enough to make rethink the merit of risking my life for a thirty dollar piece of plastic.


I was halfway up, when I really felt the thing wobbling. Go down. Go back down you idiot. The voice was loud and clear and persistent. I made the mistake of looking down and it was clear that falling even at the halfway mark would cause some serious injury. A broken bone minimum. I climbed on. I didn’t go through all this work to put the ladder up only to return empty handed, besides Skye was watching. I had a dad reputation to upload. At the top, I had to grab the wall and place my feet on the last few rungs. The air was thinner up there, I swear. I saw the drone tangled in some ivy and I grabbed it quickly without hesitation or nonsense and started my descent.


My body was still running on adrenaline when I touched the ground. There was a moment where I was legitimately afraid. I had to choose to give in to that fear or to keep going. There is a high that comes from putting yourself in danger, enough so that you are scared, and when you push through it? Well? That’s called living.

Skating Beats Homework

Time is both shrinking and expanding at the same time. It feels like the days are flying by one minute, and the next it feels like time has stood still.


"What? There are only four weeks left of school."
"Are you kidding me? There are still four weeks of school left?"


Teaching in May is schizophrenic. There’s still a lot to do, like I should be working on mentor comments as we speak, but the need to look into the near future, which include summer plans, make procrastination so much more appealing. Maybe this year those mentor comments will write themselves.

The days, in the classroom, teaching the kids, going through the lessons seem to fly by. It is the spaces in between- you know the life you are living when you are not working that seems to take forever.

...

Kaia’s skateboarding class will be cancelled this Sunday so we arranged to do it tonight, a midweek treat, instead. And it was great. She had finished all her homework, so we came home, she chatted with some friends on the computer, read for a tiny bit and we were off to the skatepark for her lesson. The air was cool. The park nearly empty. We all spent time cruising the curves. Kaia on her board with her teacher. Skye on her scooter. And me itching to get started fiddled with a penny board. I was wearing flip flops and no helmet or pads, so needless to say I was terrified and cautious, but man was it fun. So much harder than I thought. Skating is a physical activity that takes a lot of courage and balance. It’s amazing how much more of both of those kids my kids have than me.


After only three lessons, Kaia is already pumping and dropping into tiny slopes and Skye took a few big ramps on her scooter like a ….well whatever animal cruises on cement inclines.


I just want to reiterate how much more meaningful this evening was for our family, and how much more was learned at the skatepark, than if we had stayed at home and lumbered our way through spelling words and a math sheet.

…

All learning starts the moment you overcome fear. Fear comes in many forms and degrees, but I think the role of a good teacher is to help a learner gauge the impact or damage that excessive risk can have on a person and teach them how to get to the edge of their fear and overcome it.


So much of the damage we do to ourselves and others is caused by our inability to overcome fear. We become trapped by it and unable to grow or evolve. We dwell on doubt and guilt and shame, and we lash out with jealousy, revenge or spite. But really, we need to take inventory of our fears and learn how to push the boundaries until we feel safe and capable.


These are some of the things I was thinking about while I was trying not to break my wrist or my back on the tiny skateboard tonight. Or as I psyche myself up for my guitar performance on the 3rd of June. Through my big mouth I turned our tiny gig into Gareth’s going away party and that means a much large crowd of colleagues than I had plan. This terrifies me to know end, but overcoming this fear is a step to learning how to be a better singer/performer. I know this, but it doesn’t make it easier.


The closer we get to the end of the year, the more afraid I become of failing at my new job next year. What if I can’t keep up? What if I am not organized enough? What if people don’t respect me and I don’t know how to lead? The fear is real, but I know that overcoming this doubt is how I will become a better leader and hopefully a better teacher. All learning starts the moment you overcome fear.


Maybe the true learners seek out things to be afraid of, risks to face, challenges and obstacles that need overcoming.


What are you afraid of? What fears have you overcome that have been great learning experiences?

Calm and Endless

I am standing on the bow of a garish tourist boat called the Phi Phi Cruiser III. My mind is flush with memories and anxiety. Kaia stands in front of me, her hair alive with the wind, shines a shade of gold reserved for fairy tales. Below us on a lower deck a gang of young tanned young men bask in the ease of irresponsibility.

The ocean is calm and endless. I see such beauty in its bleak emptiness. Kaia seems a bit bored; she squints her eyes and stares forward searching for the islands I promised her. Last time I was in this spot of the earth, I was leaving Phi Phi a bit shell shocked. I am not sure why I need to go back. Not sure what I hope to see.

I spark up a conversation with a rosy red rotund woman from South Africa. She compliments Kaia on her manners and beautiful eyes. I thank her, as if I have had anything to do with either. The conversation travels to Mozambique, Madagascar and the her trip on a fifty foot catamaran leaving the Seychelles. She seems to have a difficult time deciphering our life. Usually where are you from is so much less eventful- born in Iran, raised in California, wife from Milwaukee, met in Mozambique, one daughter born in Malaysia, the other in Qatar, now living in Jakarta. 

I can't help but tell her about the Tsunami. Not sure why I do it. People seem to weave such drama about that day, and who am I kidding I enjoy it. To see their eyes light up as they place themselves in the halo of what happened to us. I guess I have never really felt as blessed as how others feel when they hear our story for the first time. They concocted tales of faith and destiny. She is silent. The wind blows. I am not sure if Kaia heard the story, if she did she doesn't say anything.

"You are doing good work," she says at the end of her thoughts. "I don't know you, but I can see it in your face and your voice, by your lovely daughter, whatever you are doing...it is good and important."

I feel loved. Here is it, on this perfect Tuesday morning, but by this complete stranger I feel loved. It feels nice. "Thank you," I say. "I am doing the best I can."

"You should write a book!"

"I am!" I cannot control the excitement in my voice. We stare at the sea in silence for a few minutes more, before I head back down to the lower deck to get Kaia out of the sun. She said that she would look up my name, so she can look for the book, but I do not see her again.

Phi Phi itself was quiet and drab. The luster and the shine left behind in nostalgia and broken memories. We ate a mediocre lunch. I walked Kaia out into the lagoon, looking at where the wave came in and thought about luck. It all sounds too dramatic even for me. I was here years ago and I am here again now with this beautiful young child, what else does this story need?

Coda: The back of the boat is crazy as Arabs and Indians who have never swam, scream jumping onto the dead reef. They are covered in clothing and head scarves. Kept a float not by any sense of buoyancy, but by artificial orange devices none of them seem to trust.

Kaia and I quietly put on our masks and fins in a corner. I jump in and ask her if she is ready. She places her mask on her tiny face and deftly makes sure there is no hair at the edges,  just like I have taught her in the pool.  She nods her head. I can tell she is scared, but before I can double check, she is in the water and swimming away from the crowd. I can see her little finger pointing at the school of fish who flock to us and our soggy pieces of bread.

We swim away from the crowd and I have never been so proud. Here is my beautiful little mermaid swimming all on her own, without a life jacket because she said it made it hard for her to swim, in the wide open ocean. She takes a few dives and bobs effortlessly at the surface.

"Look dad! There are thousands of them."

We swim a while as I watch her gain confidence. I think about fear and what a wasted emotion it is. I watch the others bob like orange turtles stuck in their shells. I think about the work I do.  I sum it up in one simple line, "Live fearlessly."



Later, some guy jumps off the deck. A little five foot jump, but I can see that Kaia has noticed. "You wanna jump? I'll hold your hand." Hands in her mouth, nervous, smiling devilishly, she nods.

Standing on the edge, holding hands, I say, "You don't have to you know. I know it feels scary. All I have to say is that sometimes, usually actually, when we do something that scares us, it feels really good afterwards. It is your choice. You have been brave enough for one day."

I am holding her hand and we are ten feet underwater. We kick our feet and shoot to the surface and hear a cheer from a young couple who watched us jump. "Atta girl!" The man shouts. Kaia smiles and asks if we can do it again to show mommy.

Who know, maybe the lady was right. Maybe I am doing something right.

Cross posted at Teacher Dad