Writing With Abandon

Reflections and ramblings about life as an educator, writer, reader, knitter, and over-thinker. Trying to do the writing only I can do.

Tag: friendship

  • Empathy

    Eva’s empathy illustration: “Hold on, I’m coming”

    Today, my empathy got the best of me. I was distracted all day by thoughts of Kim and her father, my heart reaching out to them in Boynton Beach, sending strength and resilience. Wishing I could squeeze her hand and make her smile like she has made me on my lowest days.

    The children were loud and weren’t being good listeners. It’s May, I should expect this by now.

    But last week was a strange, magical blip. Every afternoon as Kim and I walked home, we’d say to each other, “it’s been such a good week,” almost tentatively, scared we’d jinx it. Today was a day I was sure we had jinxed it. Yesterday they were in EP classes all day, so it figured that at the end of the day they’d be a mess. But today, it was a battle from the morning.

    I remember Lina’s teachings about confirmation bias. If we expect them to behave a certain way, they will behave a certain way. Their behavior will confirm the bias that we have.

    So I am asking myself: Tomorrow, how can I be more empathetic to them?

    There are only 14 days left of classes. 3 of those are our celebratory “blast off week” after graduation, and one of those is actual graduation. So really, there are only 10 days left of classes. The students must be buzzing with excitement and sadness and worry. On Thursday, during community time, I’ll ask them to share all their feelings about middle school and this upcoming transition. Tomorrow, I’ll show up believing they can be those same fifth graders we’ve learned to love in spite of their crazy this year.

    I’ll try to emulate Kim, and always see the positive in every situation, no matter how dire it seems on the surface. I’ll laugh it off and focus on the good. I’ll lead with love and kindness.

    Kim always says how much I’ve taught her this year, but she forgets that the teaching goes both ways. I have learned so much from her about life and relationships and perspective. And most importantly, I’ve gained a lifelong friend, one who not only climbs into the pit to sit with you when you’re down, but throws a rope down to help pull you out.

    We can do hard things.

  • Orange Halves

    Be sweet to me, baby

    I want to believe in you

    I want to believe in something

    The music pours out of my new headphones, enveloping me in its rhythm. Michelle from Japanese Breakfast is a “pop genius,” Greg says. (She’s also a great writer — if you haven’t read her memoir, Crying in H Mart, yet, you should).

    It’s amazing how just a few minutes ago, I felt ready to go to bed, ready to give up on this slice, but with a bit of music, my whole mood and energy can shift. I saw Ana and Gianna’s posts in my email inbox, and I thought, “What the heck. I’ve got a minute.”

    Today at snack, Kim and I were talking about the absolutely miraculous way that people enter your life and suddenly become so important to you, it’s hard, impossible even, to imagine your life without them.

    “To think, at this time last year, you didn’t even know each other!”

    “We didn’t even know each other!” I said.

    “Oh my god, yes! That’s crazy!”

    On Sunday, Gi and I discussed a similar theme on our long 3-mile walk by the river. About the closeness of the friends you make as you get older. How, with you growing more into yourself, you develop perhaps deeper or more compatible friendships. Ones in which you may not share childhood memories or a similar upbringing, but which are unbelievably fulfilling, a joining of two kindred spirits and minds and hearts.

    When I lived in Spain, I learned that they use the idiom “media naranja” (orange half) to mean one’s soulmate, or better half. In Miami, I’ve been lucky to find a few different orange halves.

    I still remember when I first met Ana after she gave a Tuesday PD on writer’s workshop. I remember seeing Gianna in the front row of the theater on her first day, going up to her at snack time later that week to introduce myself. Kim’s smiling face and bright eyes in our classroom after her new teacher orientation, me laying all my cards on the table so she knew what she was getting into as my work wife. Your first joke, your eyes meeting mine across the room and then looking away.

    Could I have known then that each of these humans would become an orange half of mine in their own way?

    Maybe.

    I may not be religious, but I do like believing in something.