Why 2016 Wasn't The #WorstYearEver

2016 was difficult but it was also good. Some shitty, horrible, heart-breaking things happened but it was not the infamous "#worstyearever." 

I've learned a lot about myself as an individual (and a small amount about executing self-care), a lot about what it means to exist relationally/ with intentionality, and a lot about what I value in myself and others, who I want to surround myself with, and who I want to strive to become.

I think our broader communities and societies have learned a lot about what it means to fight for justice, to give voice to the oppressed and to show our support, to protect what is sacred, to stand up against what we believe to be wrong, to amplify love in the midst of hate, to choose to live vulnerably and to admit our brokenness to each other even when it’s tempting to appear like we’re self-sufficient and totally fine, to act selflessly and care for those who are in need, to persevere when things look rough, and to find ways to make positive changes even when they are small and may seem insignificant. This year had bad things (all years do) but it also had loads of good come from it. And I think history has shown that times of significant difficulty open us up to being more loving than we were before; we are often not challenged to step up when we are in our comfort zone. A ‘the stars shine best in the darkness’ sort of thing. 

So, yes, I am welcoming 2017 with open arms: the liminal space offered by the change of calendar years provides us with a sort of clean slate, and with new energy. We can use this to become better versions of ourselves and to work together to create better (move loving, more inclusive, less selfish) communities. But I’m not running away from 2016 as if I want nothing to do with it, or as if I want to pretend it didn’t leave a mark on me. It did. It has shaped me. It was not always sunshine and rainbows, and yet I have reason to smile. (Wouldn't you say the same?)

Least I seem overly-optimistic, let me reveal my stoic/realist-tendencies via this photo.

Also: not totally related, but I am really appreciating this excerpt from Seneca's letters. 

Let's not fear what we don't need to.

"There are more things, Lucilius, likely to frighten us than there are to crush us; we suffer more often in imagination than in reality. [...] What I advise you to do is, not to be unhappy before the crisis comes; since it may be that the dangers before which you paled as if they were threatening you, will never come upon you; they certainly have not yet come. Accordingly, some things torment us more than they ought; some torment us before they ought; and some torment us when they ought not to torment us at all. We are in the habit of exaggerating, or imagining, or anticipating, sorrow.

[...] Do me the favour, when men surround you and try to talk you into believing that you are unhappy, to consider not what you hear but what you yourself feel, and to take counsel with your feelings and question yourself independently, because you know your own affairs better than anyone else does.

[...] It is likely that some troubles will befall us; but it is not a present fact. How often has the unexpected happened! How often has the expected never come to pass!

[...]The mind at times fashions for itself false shapes of evil when there are no signs that point to any evil; it twists into the worst construction some word of doubtful meaning; or it fancies some personal grudge to be more serious than it really is[...]. But life is not worth living, and there is no limit to our sorrows, if we indulge our fears to the greatest possible extent[...]There is nothing so certain among these objects of fear that it is not more certain still that things we dread sink into nothing[...]."

Global Horrors and Good People

Summary: There are some really shitty, discouraging things that happen in our world. I wonder whether there is something that we might to do not only remain afloat but to make a change. I suspect that a lot of this comes from small, intentional acts of love.

Last week in Krakow, Poland I visited the Auschwitz Memorial/Museum. 

"arbeit macht frei" ["work sets you free"]

It was a deeply emotional experience for me which was of course, in many ways, expected. (As a friend pointed out to me, it would be sociopathic to be reminded/confronted with such a deep form of mass suffering and not feel emotionally moved.) But it also provoked some unexpected thoughts. One such thought was realising that what scares me the most about global horrors like the WW2 Holocaust is not actually the people like Hitler (…or, in different geo/cultural contexts: Joseph Kony, or Trump, or Mugabe, or countless others…) who spew hatred and encourage discrimination and call people to violence. 

place where night guard sat watch over the camp

To be sure, Hitler spewed hatred and is often attributed with the violence that ensued during the reign of Nazi Germany .  But it’s also the people who stood behind him, or around him—the people who couldn’t be bothered to stand in his way—which allowed the many horrors to take place. And it’s the societies which formed the structures that allowed him to stand up strong and high—rather than collectively deciding he ought to be blocked, or toppled over—which seem equally horrific. 

This really scares me.

I don’t know anyone (myself certainly included here) who is consistently kind and compassionate without any faults or shortcomings: we’re all human and we make mistakes and have moments where we are mean or unkind or disinterested. And this is probably okay and should certainly be expected.  But this becomes scary when either (a) individuals become more driven by cruelty and selfishness than by kindness and selflessness; or (b) societies/groups of individuals choose to sit back and let cruelties happen around them. 

barbed wire walls around the camp

There are always good people—throughout corners of our world—who stand up and do whatever is in their power to put an end to the horrors they see unfolding around them. There are always good people; I am convinced of this. There are a number of times I have witnessed or experienced complete strangers stand up and do something thoughtful/loving for someone who was being wronged. These experiences are life-giving. 

The Auschwitz memorial museum wrote out the story of a man who offered his life for another prisoner who had been sentenced to death. It told of the number of individuals who risked (and sometimes lost) their lives and their family’s lives in order to feed/house/protect a neighbour, a friend, or even a stranger. Many did intentional acts of goodness even if this came at a cost to their own well being. Jesus was like this. Gandhi...Aung San Suu Kyi…. Mother Theresa… Nelson Mandela…. Malala….  The nameless woman who I saw the other week helping a homeless man… People who stand in active solidarity with the marginalised or oppressed-----there are plenty such people—of all ages, and from all cultural/religious backgrounds. 

one of many photos of individuals who perished at the camps;
I find this photo of this gentleman to be particularly striking.

And yet in this very same breath it can sometimes seem so easy to be overwhelmed by the horror and the cruelty of humans—both on a global and local scale. The state of our world really does break me sometimes. And in these moments it becomes difficult to focus on (and cultivate, and contribute to) the people who do loving things.

I need to remind myself—probably every day—that love is ultimately stronger than cruelty.

And there are PLENTY of opportunities in our current-day affairs to respond with kindness, goodness, love, etc. (And, perhaps we even ought to take a rather strong stand against people or systems that we think go against these values.) Unfortunately, we don’t have to look far to see injustices—some are already in full swing; some are piling up like a dam about to burst. If you open a newspaper, turn on the TV channel, or even just walk around your city, you will see it. Cruelty abounds. It’s cancerous and pervasive and sometimes it seems to be contagious. 

But, as overwhelming and all-consuming that such cruelties may seem, love is ultimately stronger. It is; it absolutely is. And we have always known that love is stronger; we have always believed it and held to this with conviction. That is why some wars could never be won even when battles were finished; love had simultaneously nullified and transcended them. 

Cemetery attached to the Old Synagogue in Krakow;
Jews partake in the mitzvah (command) of commemorating the deceased
by placing a stone at the burial site

I think that, if we wish to act lovingly and compassionately, we must take a serious look at the circles we inhabit—our neighbourhoods, our workplaces, our countries, our online communities, other spheres of influence, etc.—and see if there are small or large injustices or cruelties that we might take a stand against. And/or, we might see if there are ways that we can bring love, compassion, joy, hope, grace, etc. into the lives of those who need it. (Which is probably all of us.)

outer wall of the Jewish cemetery attached to the Old Synagogue in Krakow

I quite like this quote by Gandhi—he refers to it as his ‘talisman’—I’ll end with it:

" Whenever you are in doubt, or when the self becomes too much with you, apply the following test. Recall the face of the poorest and the weakest man [woman] whom you may have seen, and ask yourself, if the step you contemplate is going to be of any use to him [her]. Will he [she] gain anything by it? Will it restore him [her] to a control over his [her] own life and destiny? In other words, will it lead to swaraj [freedom] for the hungry and spiritually starving millions?
- Source: Mahatma Gandhi [Last Phase, Vol. II (1958), P. 65]

p.s. This is a beautiful song about love and forgiveness, written by my friend Karis Taylor.

5 Things That Teaching Has Taught Me

5 Things That Teaching Has Taught Me

This summer I have been teaching a creative writing course to high school students, 6 days a week. I'm pretty passionate about what I do, and it's no exaggeration (despite being horribly cliche) to say that I am pouring my heart and soul into it. It's exhausting and I love it.That being said, here are some things I am learning as I teach.

1. Sometimes the best learning happens when I stop teaching.

Even before going into this month of teaching, I was of the philosophy that a big part of teaching was not simply lecturing or giving information, but actively creating an environment in which students were able to explore new things in creative ways. This mandates that the atmosphere be both comfortable and challenging; it’s an interesting balance to strike.
This being said, as I entered the classroom I found a temptation to continue to give more and more information. To lecture. To instruct. To guide. To (re)direct and (re)adjust). To a certain extent, this is fine—students need to receive knowledge and guidance. But it is easy to go overboard on this, and to never allow space for students to explore through independent learning or group discussion. Some of the best moments of learning happened when I was not directly involved. This is a humbling recognition.

2. I am a micro-manager, a mother-hen, and a hand-holder. This isn't inherently a bad thing...but these tendencies do not (always) do justice to the intelligent and creative minds on the receiving end of this.

Those of you who know me well are probably smiling at the fact that I think this even merits any mention, as if it is new information that I am a control freak. (Okay, so I’ve always known that I’ve been this way..) but I did not realise the extent to which I was this way. I had to make conscious efforts to step back and let my students do things in a way that I KNEW was not the most efficient, or the most brilliant, or the most sensical. They learned through doing, through making mistakes, and through trying again—and this is an important process. After all, isn’t that how I’ve learned some of my most important lessons? I had to be very conscientious of this, and to let myself step back and let them explore and try things out on their own. I’m glad to be aware of this now—better late than never.

3. Organisations are bureaucratic and sometimes suck. It is important to remember, and focus on, those students whose lives might very well be changed by their interaction with their teacher.

I am doing this job for the experience of interacting with students—not for the money nor for the CV line (though both of those things are nice perks.) It can be difficult to remember that I am doing this for the students when other bureaucratic things get in the way of this. I have had, in the (I think) most literal of sense, life-changing and life-saving teachers throughout my MANY years as a student. Some of those teachers probably didn’t even realise the influence they had on me; they were just plain old great, passionate teachers and happened to have a student (probably more!) who needed such a teacher in their life at that time. I want to be one of those teachers. Seeing one of my students smile as they quietly read my feedback on one of their drafts is the best feeling. If I can make students smile, and help show them both how they are /their work is impressive and valuable and important AND how their writing can be improved...well then I think I'm doing alright. This should be what I focus on.

4. Thirteen year olds have a lot of feelings; they are still so new to the world and only beginning to grapple with failure, with being indignant, with disappointment, with cruelty. Their versions (and degrees) of each of these things take up their entire capacity for these feelings, no matter how small their particular 13-year-old vessel is. Don’t belittle it. Don’t dismiss it. And don’t wish it away. If you can, help them to wade through it.

I’m teaching creative writing. My students write poetry and they are thirteen years old…I don’t think much more needs to be said about that in terms of the angst-ridden content that is all too readily produced. I’m learning to meet them where they are at, and to share in that part of their life—and maybe even to speak into it, if the moment strikes!

5.  Everyone has a story that is waiting to be shared and that will be interesting when told by someone who trusts their listener. Learn to be that listener, and learn to show you are such a listener. And, learn to trust others when sharing your own story.

I am, among other things, a poet and song-writer. My knees still buckle when I read my poems or play my songs to my thirteen year old students. “Will they like it?,” I wonder. “Will they laugh at me behind my back after class?” (These are real thoughts I have…I am more than twice their age; how is this a genuine concern of mine?!?! And yet it is.) Sharing parts of ourselves is a scary thing—especially so, I think, when it involves both our own story and our creative spin of it. But I think that, through demonstrating vulnerability, we can create an environment where others are also more free to be vulnerable. And I suspect this is overall a positive thing. 

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So, what'd I miss? What have you learned this month? Or what have you learned when in the role of teaching? I welcome your thoughts and comments!

Perfectionism, Vulnerability, and Reconsidering What It Means to Be Strong

I spend a lot of time thinking about what it means to be strong.

I suspect I appear strong to others, because it probably looks as if I have things going quite well for me and that I have a ‘good head on my shoulders’ or something like this. I have a great circle of caring & fun friends. I am doing my PhD on full scholarship at a top-ranked institution. I’ve always played sports at a high level. I create art and sometimes even perform it in public venues. I’ve been actively involved in a variety of student council type activities. I’ve been successful at getting teaching opportunities and jobs with leadership responsibilities, and I generally do well in these environments. I’m determined, hardworking, and organised, and I tend to get shit done (and usually in advance of deadlines!) and this is what many people see when they look at me. I can appear ‘strong’ to others, and sometimes I even trick myself.

But all of my close friends know another side of me as well. They know that I all too frequently struggle with really intense feelings of worthlessness and meaningless, and that I often find myself losing total hope and wanting to give up. My close friends know that I walk this weird, delicate balance where I desperately want people to love and accept me and near-constantly doubt that they do. It can be debilitating to always wonder if they do. My close friends know I want to be someone who doesn’t need anyone, all the while knowing that I’m someone who totally needs a loving, supporting community around me because human beings are built for relational connections, and I’ve grown to need this over the years. They know that I crack under pressure and can easily enter a full-on panic attack where I seemingly forget how to breathe; where I gasp for air, blubbering like a baby, until my body becomes so tired from shaking and hyperventilating that I finally shut down, and I just lay there for a while before stoically getting up and forcing myself to get shit done. Because I get shit done…that’s what strong people do, right?  

I try to limit these ‘weak’ moments like my anxiety or depression to the comfort of my own home but they’ve happened in spaces where I couldn’t bottle them in anymore; I regularly had panic attacks at the department building where I did my master’s degree. One time I collapsed on a walk home from school from hyperventilating after a particularly anxiety-ridden day.  I felt totally dejected the other morning at the library while printing an assignment because I began doubting whether I had anything worthwhile to say, or whether I should be in this PhD program. I frequently experience intensely negative thoughts that I am not good enough to be doing whatever it is I am trying to do. And I begin to feel weak. And then I feel weak for beginning to feel weak, because why not. ‘Weak people are lame! Get it together!!’ It can be a vicious cycle.

I spend a lot of time thinking about what it means to be strong.

One of the lookouts from the wall of the old city in Dubrovnik, Croatia

I’m extremely competitive, not just with other people but also with myself. Sometimes competitiveness and drive is good, and I have had some excellent improvements in my life from my desire to excel and improve, but I can also become a cruel, unkind person when totally driven by my desire to want to be the best at something no matter the cost. I try to reign this in and to re-orient my priorities, but there are so many societal pressures that instruct us, either explicitly or implicitly, to try to be the absolute best. This means different things for different people, but I suspect we all have some form of this being shoved into our faces and down our throats. It can be difficult to fight against these messages and pressures, and it can seem appealing and attractive to respond with fervor to them; to rise up and ‘be stronger’ or ‘better’ or whatever adjective applies to your own context. (Smarter...prettier...thinner…wealthier …etc.)

I spend a lot of time thinking about what it means to be strong.

Practicing the art of balance along an abandoned rock beach in Dubrovnik

I’m tempted to think of strength simply as perseverance—as the act of using the mental equivalent of pure brute force to press on and push through whatever difficulty might arise. I’m tempted to think of strength as ‘getting shit done’ even when you feel like lying in bed.

But, when I’m honest with myself, I submit that this sort of strength isn’t really strength at all but a means of maintaining the illusion of control so to appear strong to people around me. It’s a clever façade; and, at least for me, it’s driven mostly by pride and by fear. It becomes something that is attainable and even measureable (‘are you getting shit done, or aren’t you? You are? Okay, then you’re good.’) and I love any semblance of numerical validity to assure me that I’m doing alright. (‘But look at all these boxes I checked off my to do list this afternoon; I must be fine!’) This is task-oriented drivenness; I’m not convinced it is strength. At least it’s not the degree/depth/expression of strength I want to strive for.

There are moments in life where this ‘brute force’ is helpful. It’s been great for me that can meet my deadlines even though I feel like shit and like the world has no meaning and like I’d rather be dead. (This happens more frequently than I’d like to admit to.) It’s been incredibly convenient that I can continue to check off the boxes of my never-ending to do lists. But I don’t think this is necessarily ‘strength.’ I think strength may be something different.

I spend a lot of time thinking about what it means to be strong.

The skull speaks of durability and mortality; the carnation of fragility and impermanence.
Taken at a museum in Amsterdam.

I’ve begun to conceptualise strength as something that isn’t just perseverance (though, to be sure, that has its merits) but as mindful recognition of the present-reality—no matter the reality—and making intentional, even if small, steps toward positive change. Sometimes that begins with my recognising that I feel weak and shitty and hopeless and like life is meaningless. Sometimes that very recognition of weakness is the first step/sign of strength.

I spend a lot of time thinking about what it means to be strong.

I think strength is learning to come to terms with who you are rather than simply trying to become a version of yourself that fits society's standards of success. I love this moment in The Fantastic Mr. Fox when Ash celebrates his "little-ness" and even turns it around to being a means to success.

I spend a lot of time thinking about what it means to be strong.

Here are some of the strongest phrases that come to mind as I write this.  This list is neither exhaustive or perfect.

“I don’t know.”
“I’ve not heard/thought of that before.”
“Maybe you’re right.”
“I’m doubting the things I used to believe.”
“I feel sad/lonely/dejected.”
“I’m sorry for the way I acted.”
“I don’t understand xyz, but I love you.”

The strength of these phrases comes from both their willingness to be vulnerable and open, and their admittance of uncertainty. They defy the version of strength that is sometimes forced down our throats by society. You probably know the kind of strength I’m referring to; you might strive for it.

I spend a lot of time thinking about what it means to be strong.

A public memorial space in Berlin, Germany

I love this line from one of my friend’s songs. Madi Smith writes, “I got myself together. Yeah, I know who I am. At least, I’ve found most of the pieces, and I piece them as best I can.” You can listen to it here. I love Madi's music, and I love this line in particular because it recognises the broken, mosaic-like identity that humans have; it speaks to finding our identity in the midst of that. Mosaics are beautiful when we allow them to be seen; so much more so than putting up a front of ‘I have this totally together and everything is figured out and I am fine, la la la.’

It is incredibly strong to admit that one feels weak.
It is incredibly strong to admit hesitation or uncertainty.
It is incredibly strong to be okay with the place you are in, and to work from there, wherever 'there' is.

Brene Brown, perhaps one of the most well-known researchers on shame and meaningful living, has been researching on this topic for well over a decade, and she can speak to this topic with far more detail than I can. You might want to check out her book/s or one of her youtube clips--maybe this one or this one are good starting points. I find her work to be very inspirational.

I spend a lot of time thinking about what it means to be strong.

Perspective is absolutely everything; here, I'm tinier than a blade of grass. 

I could keep writing on and on about my thoughts on strength. Firstly, because I am impeccably long-winded and secondly, because I am a perfectionist and I’m afraid of posting this before I’ve revised and analysed and edited the heck out of it to find any holes in my argument or fix any ‘weak points.’ (I hate, hate HATE appearing weak or flawed.) But I’m going to post this as it is now. (Partly because I need to get to the library and work on my PhD, but more so because I am truly trying to embrace acceptance of where I am at.) These are some of the thoughts I have right now; this is the place I’m in and the spot I’m trying to breathe in and exist in. It isn't perfected, but I am trying to be at home with it.

I suspect the logic presented here is not perfect. You can probably find and latch on to a hole or a flaw without much difficulty. But, if I may, maybe the better way to exist in our beautiful broken world is to latch on to whatever you find that is good and inspiring, and to go on from there. If you have any thoughts you want to make heard, feel free to comment below, or feel free to message me. I’d be happy to hear them.