Quiet Voice, Loud Mind, Personal Greatness

Loud Mind

My mind is never quiet. Sometimes as I am falling asleep it settles to a hum but generally it is buzzing with activity. Its my hive. Thoughts fluttering in and out: radiant ideas, colorful perceptions, vibrant brainstorming all leading me in different directions. Each tempting me with nectar and pollen. Sometimes they stick, sometimes they are hollow when I reach them. This cavalcade of mental conversation can lead to conceptual or experimental design. The contemplation either sends me through trial and error, honey is created or not. These projects evolve with the swarm of energy. They unfold daily, often resurfacing with a thick viscosity, until I add it to the honey comb. Waxy and succulent, these strategies often get harvested and added to the collective of tactics, procedures and approaches I use frequently.

Often though, it becomes conceptual - formulated into a big idea. These take hold, the buzz is louder, vibrating and humming until I set out to execute a plan. If I choose to go in a different direction, the gentle sting of a reminder, or a navigational redirect lures me back. These become elixirs, a sweet magical panacea- these are sought after, however, their arrival from the garden is not by my choice, they can not be forced. When they arrive, however, they do so with great fanfare- this is not to say they always come to fruition, but they do spark other avenues. These visions, muses, need more time, more effort, more focus to design and implement. But they are the ideas that shape my actions, illuminate and stimulate ingenuity. They can be bold and obvious or slow to ignite and delicate- either way- they make an impact on how I think and what I do. My conceptual processing and analysis is driven by tunnel vision, agility and discernment. It is cross-country rather than urban travel. It takes refinement and editing.

I start my day with too much information, I am overwhelmed, I have to jot down ideas in my journal. Bits and pieces of inner dialogue, visual cues, words that spark creativity. Then I have to walk away. Drink a cup of coffee and read, or write a blog post. Think about something else. Hone my verbalization, my personal melody. When I wake up my inner music is Jazz, lots of shrieking instruments, rapping of percussion, mixed with grunge guitar and the harmony of a piano. Sounds chaotic right? It is. My brain is trying to separate all the sounds into their perspective rhythms. It is exhausting. I get distracted and my mind wanders from sheer overload. But, when I finally hear each instrument, each beat- my creativity sharpens. I may lose concepts in the unraveling, but those that remain, become little ditties, ear worms per se, until I do something with them. This orchestration, pollination of sorts, happens every morning and often at the end of the day as well, as my mental wing beat slows and the play list of the day begins to upload.

Why am I telling you this? This lack of fluency, chaotic rambling may seem foreign to most people- yet for many of our students, it is routine. When they are sitting in our classrooms, this cacophony of the senses, extended, shapeless circumference of information- rapidly bombarding, noise, spots of clarity surrounded by moments of guitar strumming- is constant. To some it may appear as visual distraction- a million ideas wiggling their fingers close to their peripheral. To some it comes as waves of slow steady buzzing, circling them or the banging of cymbals. But, it is there. Every student gets distracted. We as educators get frenzied and find ourselves adrift, on occasion. I know I do. I have to repeat my mantra- refocus at least once a class. However, we recognize we are lost more quickly than our students and we rarely hold it against ourselves. So why do we get so agitated and perturbed with our students when they lose their way? Everyone loses sight of personal greatness, personal potential, we just need a nudge to remember.

Personal Greatness

Finding our personal greatness can only happen if we turn to look at our faults, our hindrances in the eye and accept them. I practice, daily, frequently, on keeping my mind focused. I have mantras I repeat every class period to keep me on track, to keep my eye on the prize. The trophy or blue ribbon is not self-satisfaction or gratitude- but rather fluency and consistency. When I focus, really observe and remove the buzzing, the hum, the aura of flashing light- I have a sense of myself. I understand my reasoning, my impulses, my isolation. Above all else, I recognize the struggle for personal greatness in others. We all want to be recognized but I believe deep down, we want to be happy with ourselves first, to love ourselves just the way we are. When we are children we start out having this sense of self, this trust and admiration of 'us'- but we lose it as we get older because the comparison makes us feel less great.

We compare. As humans we compare ourselves to others. But comparing ourselves to great people does not diminish our greatness. Our personal greatness may be obscured by doubt, dimmed by the flashbulbs focused on others, by their personal paparazzi. We all get trapped in the quagmire of short-term gain over long-term sustainability. The freshman action may get people noticed, revered but the sophomoric, junior and future endeavors are what really matters. The choice to dig in the dirt, get stung by a bee every now and then, lacing up our sneakers for a 10K. This is what matters. Knowing when it will be best for us to sprint. When it will be more beneficial for us to be a marathoner. Ultimately, being able to adjust our pace accordingly. Drinking lots of water and crossing the finish line even of we are last, this is personal greatness.

Personal greatness means waking up every morning to the babel and clangor of thoughts and ideas. Knowing in order to synchronize them into a musical piece, we must be patient. We do not need a quorum. What we need is a clarity of greatness. Even if no one sees your greatness- if you believe, you can find your personal greatness. You can accept the pandemonium as your personal cadence. Percussion and bedlam may be the tempo I awake to, the modulation many of our students march to, but ultimately it is the meter, the miles we travel, the luminous intensity that redirects our actions, for better or for worse. It is current, flow, charge and fluctuation. Wrapped in oscillation, reverberation and aperture. It is the nature of change itself.

Quiet voice, loud mind. Jumble, ensemble, colony and yes swarm. Our greatness can be collective or unique. Yet, we all have greatness. Some thrive on conceptual living while others experimental. Some need a balance of both. Whether a marathon is in your future or a few laps around the track- get some good running shoes. Tie the laces tight and let the race begin. There may be a hive of bees nearby, flying solo or in a swarm but eventually they will share in the fruits of their labor- this is personal greatness. We will always have the demons inside us that make us feel less worthy, less successful, less great. These collide with our positive thoughts every day. But we can't ignore them, we can't let them fall into extinction, because we need them- they pollinate, provide the elixir of creativity- they help form the hive, the protective layer around our chaotic, busy minds. Without turmoil- we would never see the tranquility, feel the calm, know with uncertainty the pleasure of knowing ourselves.













once I do

Transmogrification of a Fickle Beast

Transmogrification huh? Big word. I know what you are thinking. But it is the appropriate word, it embodies the meaning of what this post is about – ‘to change or alter greatly and often with grotesque or humorous effect.’ Thank you, Daniel Webster Dictionary, it is a word I use a lot but needed a little help getting the definition accurate. To me it’s a messy change, much of the time it takes a realization, an awakening so to speak. This makes it feel very scary, beastly, uncomfortable. I have been hearing a lot of things about speech, freedom, lies, and just plain old meanness on social media. This inspired me to rant a little. Let my fickle beast see the light of day.

We all have one, the fright factor of our personal beast, depends on how much we tend to it. How much we take the time to train it. The beast within all of us, transmogrifies frequently- its fur gets ruffled and it smashes its fists- reminding us of its presence. It stomps loudly as it paces, deciphering unkind words and harsh language. It tells a few jokes to satisfy our need for snarkiness and sarcasm. Yet, it for most of us, they do not react without a reason- sometimes unidentified, but it follows our lead. Sometimes we need it to rumble from within us, rattle its cage, profoundly to enter us into battle. 

But when we need it to abate, how can we calm it and keep it from destroying us from the inside? How can our voice amplify our opinion and point of view without shaking everyone around us into a frenzy? 

Maybe you want it to rumble and quake, sometimes it needs to, to protect us. But most of us, daily, want to speak our truth in productive conversations and avoid the hall of beasts. Can we transmogrify our beast- more importantly, spark transformation in the beasts of others?

It’s time to wake up from this- the over-crowded, the hall of beasts. Each, pushing out a little further on the wall of decency. It’s time to change from reactive to responsive. Mission me, to mission us. Is this type of alteration, rebirth a reality? Not just a mutation but morgrification, a big, frequent change that's so absurd it’s funny or so painful its monstrous, malformed, aberrant. This type of transfiguration will look contorted, misshaped and bazaar. It will take such a shift that it will not be smooth and natural. It will be brutal, fierce and bestial. It takes a lot of energy to tame a herd of barbarians. But we know from history, that indeed they can be conquered. The problem with the hall of beasts though, is it takes a defeat of hatred, prejudice, misogyny and so many other aspects that haunt human nature.

Changing from one form to another is growth, aging, maturity. But it can also be ‘crossing over to the dark side’ or losing ourselves in something that is not healthy for us. This transmogrification can be slow and methodical, undetectable. But, when it happens suddenly, the sheer force of it causes a rupture, tearing the flesh of decency, putting a fracture in the common sense and respect most people hang on to. Placing over the beast a sticky film, coating its fur with droplets of coarseness, crudity and offense. 

Whether the shift is positive or negative, it causes damage and unfortunately it is already happening. So combat it, a mindset must be altered, and this is often the most difficult of upheavals-a recognition and acceptance of personal transmogrification. It is not ‘them’ that need to change, but we ourselves. Negative speech is never going to go away. Cruelty and ‘superiority complexes’ are embedded in humanity. What we must do, is accept this and find out how to navigate through it.

Free speech, flow of information, independent thought, this is what makes America and so many other countries around the globe, great. But in those regions where it is stunted or absent, the hall of beasts is over-crowded, as ours is reaching its capacity. If we submerse ourselves in a bubble of opinion that only matches our own- we are allowing the beast to awaken without purpose, allowing it to get a foothold. We are creating a situation where we become ignorant. Not necessarily of truth or fact, science or opinion, but of the big picture. If we feel we have all the information sussed out, then we accept our reality without a voice or dissent. Is everything in the media unbiased? No. Is everything on the Internet, or social media accurate and truthful? No.

But both platforms are insightful. The beasts wants you to think that ‘them’, those people over there, are trying to trick you. The beast wants you to think they are telling lies and innuendo- so you ignore them or sometimes fight back with a negativity. The beasts wants to keep you in flux, keep you uncertain. Our beast is getting overtaken by the crowd. But, if we venture to the border at least, peek over the fence, maybe we will see and hear an alternate perspective. 

We will notice they many of 'them' are in the same place of confusion. Not all, some are cruel, some choose to use words as a weapon because it empowers them. But most people are in a constant state of overload.

This new information can help us understand their drive, reasons, motivation. Now don’t misunderstand me, I do not think society has delineated lines of us and them, they are flexible borders, often temporary depending on the discourse, but we as humans group based on similarity, thus their thoughts are similar and different from our own, so we sometimes harden these borders, without patience or clarity to guide us in a more fruitful way.

We see an opposition an opposite and this often is the stigma that causes the beasts to battle. So, it becomes us and them. If we take a moment to notice their ‘camp’ has tents and a campfire just like ours we see, we are not all that different after all. We have a central vision, a common idea, goal based on the opinions around us. When we plug our ears and hum over the deluge of negativity and dishonesty, we miss this comparison. We miss the positive, open-minded discourse that many in the other camp are shouting. They just often get snuffed out by the louder negative ones. When we fail to listen, we stay ignorant of the big picture.

Its like a sticky film covering our emotion and intuitive drive- it halts progress- it traps us in the quagmire in which those who want us blind, prefer us to stay. People are mean. You know every now and then your beast rears its ugly head. It can sometimes be unavoidable- outbursts expected. 

There are bullies, trolls, naysayers who actively seek to harm and undermine. It sucks but unless they threaten, they have the right to think and say their hateful speech. We have the privilege to ignore them. Violence spawn’s violence. Anger flames anger and resentment- and as humans we feel we need to retaliate verbally or physically. This usually happens because we are caught unaware- our beast hears the information and reacts before we have time to process it. But if we listen, really pay attention, we will be more in tune with the chaotic, influx of information. We will be able to understand why 'they' are so angry, why 'we' are so angry, so we can negate the negativity with a plan. A plan of personal responsibility because this is the only thing, we have control over.

Listening to multiple points of view, really listening, is the only way we can prepare ourselves so we can ignore or nudge the conversation. We are not all orators of destiny. Most of us try to stay on the bright side, stay optimistic, but also stay clear of the hall of beasts. We want to participate without spite or malice in return. If we understand the motivation of those who do not think the way we do, we can use language they can relate to, rather than add fuel to the fire. Hate runs deep, disgruntled rhetoric travels faster than mindful dialogue. To steer clear, we must look at the bullies head on- feel angry, even hurt and attacked, but we need to return a shot across the bow with conciseness, focus and maybe a little witty banter thrown in for good measure. This will throw them off guard and we in return won’t be shamed by our beast. Instead maybe even a bit respected by our restraint and candor.

It all starts with a transmogrification, a sharp, bitter truth. Staying mindful and open-minded keeps your beast aware, on up against a corner in the hall of beasts. It will keep your beast more focused. But for others gearing up their beast for battle is what comes naturally. We can not silence the hall of beasts- it is far too noisy, rambunctious and cantankerous. We must have ‘thick skin.’ Yes, I hate this turn of phrase too, it seems like a band-aid, it will not protect us for more than an afternoon on the playground. But, paying attention to our beast, transforming our reaction is what we have direct control over. 

This in effect will be like ‘thicker skin’ because we will survive getting pierced, bruised, and may even have multiple abrasions from the words of others, but our beast will be at the ready with some first aid. Our beast sometimes loud, often prickly and fickle- but in the end, is our frame of mind, our voice, our individuality and transmogrification hopefully, is inevitable. This transformation of sorts, will keep the conversation going even in the most troubling of times. It will keep us sane and focused in these troubling times.

Just Another Day (Chapter Two: Sign O' The Times)

Faulty Realigns

One of my earliest memories I just recently found out is wrong. We all have faulty memories we all change upsetting or painful ones to deal with them head-on. This memory, of just another day in the life of me, was fabricated into a lie, a lie I told myself. But in fact, it really happened. Bits and pieces have emerged but being so young at the time, I know the event will never fully resurface and I guess I will have to be alright with this fact.

When I was five years old, in kindergarten we lived in Pomona California. We had a house on Alameda Street, I remember the basic layout- my sister and I shared a room that faced the pool in the background. The only pool we ever had. We had three dogs, Evette, Cuddles and O’Shaughnessy – two poodles and a scotty dog. I grew up with dogs, its funny how now I am more of a cat person. But as a child, dogs were always found in our house, they even moved to Hawaii with us and had to spend six months in quarantine- we had lots of visits to the kennel. This I remember vividly, aged seven, but this day in the summer of 1974, when I was just five is just fragments and misconceptions.

The temperature I remember, it was hot. I was in the front yard playing with my friend from down the street. Not a friend necessarily, more accurately another bored child who lived in the neighborhood. I don’t remember her name or her face, but I remember her blonde hair. It was long and, in a ponytail. I don’t remember what we were playing but most-likely dolls, as that is what I was usually playing, all the way up to middle-school and I must admit, into it as well. When I was a child in middle school, it was the early 80s and we didn’t have cell phones or computers so board games, dolls and playing outside were my form of entertainment. Sometimes Atari or Intelevision, but not for long, the noises and fast pace generally exhausted my Dyslexic brain quickly. My imagination tended to be my guide. I got very creative and learned to play by myself for hours at a time. Outside playing was a normal activity, having a friend to play with was not.

On this day we were playing outside under the hot desert California sun; my mom was cooking dinner and had an eye on us from our kitchen window. I do remember looking at her a lot to make sure she had us in her sights- I tended to lose friends quickly, I was odd, and was waiting for my playmate to decide to ditch me. We were sitting on the sidewalk, the path from our house to the street, I remembered this fact after I concentrated on the event for a while. Bits and pieces emerge every time I focus on it. We were getting along, laughing. I remember it was a good day, she was being nice.

Then this car, blue clunker, I have been told, screeched up and a man got out and approached us. I couldn’t tell you what he looked like either, tall I think, but I was five and everyone was tall to me. He grabbed me by the arm and began dragging me towards his car, my knees were getting scratched on the pavement, I screamed, kicked him hard in the shin- I mean hard. He let go and pushed me to the ground. Then he grabbed my playmate, she screamed and tried to break free- he had her almost to the car when a man from across the street yelled “Let those girls alone, I know your plate number.” The man, spooked by the voice of another adult, pushed her to the ground too and then the car sped off. 

Both of us sat where we were and cried. The man from across the street sprinted over, he had a small dog on a leash, I remember it was a poodle, like ours. This made me feel safe somehow. My mom ran outside, grabbed me in her arms. I have no other memory. We were safe. In my mind this replay is in slow-motion, it seems like it took place over ten minutes. But it was about a minute and a half from beginning to end. For my entire life, I believed this to be an event the two of us made up. We created for attention. The girl was a sassy, snotty girl and she was mean to me, other times she had me pretend to disappear from my mother’s view and we hid at the side of our house. This got me into trouble to say the least. But I was desperate for friends and thus, that memory replaced the real event in my head for all these years.

I didn’t even remember the man from across the street, until during my mother’s account of that day a few years back. I was floored to find out this event took place. The whole thing, one that I firmly believe was like every other time she got me to hide from my mother, was real. It is like a shattered mirror on the ground, each piece a glimpse but there is no way to put it back together, nor do I need to. It was an event that thankfully ended well for us, but sometimes I let it creep in, what if?

Insight Solidified

I grew up in my early years in four states: California, Hawaii, Utah and Colorado. By the time I entered 8th grade, my family resettled in southern California- where I graduated high school and then attended UCLA. This nomadic lifestyle made it difficult for me to make friends, add in my Dyslexia and shyness, well let's just say my childhood school pilgrimage wasn't always easy. I seemed to have this stink on me that no matter what school I attended, seemed to make people run the other way. Looking back on it now, I still can't figure out why. But it shaped me, the trials and tribulations of moving frequently and having the scent of doubt and suspicion, made me very aware of the relationships and interactions of students. They haven't changed much over the decades and as a teacher, this hyper-awareness picks up on a lot. Much to the chagrin of my students. I have a no tolerance bullying policy and I reinforce it with a keen understanding of adolescent dynamics.

It is strange to me that ever since I can remember I have heard, “Kids are mean” and to me they generally were. But adults are mean too, just in different ways. This notion of mean haunts me, I see and feel the cruelty. But my experiences have made me who I am. Intuitive, empathetic and patient. I think therefore education chose me for this reason. The money did not lure me, the misjudgment and criticism didn’t lure me, this I have learned to let wash off me, it was the idea that we all must enter our path knowing we might not fit in, we may struggle and run in to people who do not understand us or even try to- but if we light our way with optimism, we can learn when to reroute and detour, because we will see the divots in the road. I knew my path was to keep the passageways of my students well-lit and paved, to help them choose the highway best for them.

“Don’t Stop Believing- “by Journey is my theme song. In fact, I sing it to myself every day. A song from my childhood that was played on 8-track on family car rides. It inspired me then, during my tumultuous years. It was the song playing during my first school dance, dance. It is the song my family sings on our road trips- it is not just kitschy and fun- it is meaningful because it is my mantra. Never let the past shut you down. It is what we do with our memories that matters- overcome and keep moving forward.

Don’t Stop Believing

Childhood ghosts are not a myth. We all have them. Sometimes when I am driving in my car, I will see something or hear a song and it will trigger a memory so vivid, I must pull over and listen to it. I firmly believe in the meaning of things, the purpose of the past. The man from across the street, his face I finally remembered. An elderly man, long gone from this Earth now I am sure, but his essence still swirls around me. A protector, a hero, who I never got to thank. These heroes are everywhere. We often pass by them never knowing their role in our lives. Yet, their actions change ours. I think as educators we are heroes. Not necessarily an Avenger or X-Men but a classroom champion, pedagogy paladin, wisdom warrior. Yet, these titles are rarely bestowed upon us, nor do we need them to be. Because we are not in it for accolades, even though when we are recognized we accept humbly. We are educators because like the man across the street, we see, we prevent harm, we intervene- yet at the end of the day, we go home, we do not expect recognition, we are just human after all.

Don’t stop believing in heroes like the man across the street that so valiantly saved our lives, oh so long ago. There are more of them than we think. We are living in a time where “Adult’s are Mean” and kids are modelling their behavior. It has become alright to be a bully, and while many are- we need to remain steadfast on our quest to not be. We need to sometimes quietly from across the street observe, intervene and speak words of mindfulness. Other times we need to be boisterous and realign our faulty society into one of positivity and grace. This grace is why we entered education; I know it is why I did. 

When our students see us acting like a pedagogy paladin, like a classroom champion- they will too. For some it may take more patience and more guidance but if we stay true to who we are, we can get them to see the benefits of kindness.

“Always be you” a hero? A champion? Not a silent passerby, but a man across the street who stopped in his tracks, crossed the street and on just another day, saved two girls lives.