Every time...

…I know it is going to happen.  Before I even arrive at the doorstep, I am ready for the onslaught.  He smiles at me.  Yes.  He really smiles a broad, bonafide, teeth-bearing grin that squishes up his adoring little face while he wiggles all over.  She leaps as high as she stands tall and shrieks, and can barely contain herself.  She wants to give me kisses and kisses and more and more kisses.  This happens to me every time I arrive at my decidedly humble abode.  If I have been gone for a weekend, it happens.  If I have been gone all day, it happens.  If I have been gone for the fifteen minutes it takes me to get my fountain Diet Coke on Saturday mornings, it happens.  Without fail.  Without judgment.  Thankfully, I do not very often have bad days, but on the rare occasion that I do, this event – perpetual and unbridled – certainly pushes it away and brings a smile to me I cannot refuse.  Those sweet, eager eyes awaiting my reciprocation make me warm and fuzzy.  One pair is a dark chocolate brown that sparkles; The other, a speckled mossy green that shines.  Isn’t the way our dogs love us a miraculous thing?

I had gone my entire adult life without knowing the love of a puppy and honestly, as I contemplate it now, I don’t know how I ever did.  I’ll admit it; not so long ago, I was bewildered by pet owners who talked about their dogs as if they were children.   Christmas presents?  For your dog?  Come on! 

Here is my situation now:  I cannot even make a grocery trip to Meijer without battling the urge to bring something home for my “babies” every single trip; I hurry home to them when I have been gone;  I love to watch them frolic and play with each other;  I discuss their differing personalities and quirks;  They sleep with me and crowd the bed; I call them “brother and sister”; I refer to us as “Mommy and Daddy” ; Our parents are “Grandma and Grandpa”;  Oh.  Wait. I have become that person who once bewildered me.

I am bewildered by it, but I also know now that I cannot help it. I need it. I need them.

They remind me that life really is an exciting, intoxicating miracle. Why the heck WOULDN’T we be oh so very excited to see each other at the end of every day? Why DON’T we shriek and leap and smile every time people arrive at our homes?  We have a home.  We have friends and loved ones.  Why the heck DON’T we all shriek and leap and smile?

I think we should try.  Maybe we should greet the people who populate our lives with the same kind of perpetual, accepting, and unbridled enthusiasm that our fur babies do.  Without fail.  Without judgement.  Every time.

I am ready

School buildings have souls.  They have personalities, too.  And to clarify, I am not being cleverly metaphoric about the individual people within them.  Really.  This is not just the demented English teacher in me saying this for fun.   School buildings have deep, rich, fragile souls.

The first time I walked into this school - at which I now begin my ninth year - it had a phenomenal synergy.  It wasn’t a new building, but it was glowing with an aura of positivity that was electrifying.  The longer my interview went, the more intense that feeling became.  The man interviewing me was asking tough questions; I am not sure he smiled more than once or twice. The next day he offered me the job.  What a life-changing event deciding to accept it was! The first time I walked into what would become my classroom, I saw the most hideous green tile flooring, bare walls, and empty desks in boring rows.  What I felt was much different.  This undeniable, magnetic synergy was already wrapping me up and offering me a part in the whole. 

For the last few years that synergy has been missing from my home away from home.  As the years rolled on and the building’s once electric soul was sapped of its amps, I felt drained as well.  I worked hard at recharging me and my students by clinging to the energy that was left, but some days I failed.  Miserably.  I began to question everything I was doing, everything I was feeling, and everything I was thinking.   For the first time in 19 years (Um…what?  19??) I wasn’t sure I was in love with my career anymore. 

As this school year begins, I am beyond thrilled to say that this building is once again a pulsing, thriving, electric soul! Yes, we are still burdened by political mumbo-jumbo that can take its toll, but I found myself nearly drawn to tears today as our leader gave us his last few words of encouragement and preparedness for the most important part of what we do…mentoring the children and young adults entering our midst.    What an empowering feeling it is to once again feel the building come alive with passion, excitement, and unyielding dedication to give these kids everything we have! 

So…I guess I am being cleverly metaphoric. (Ok…maybe not so clever, but you get my point!)  Bottom line?  I am grateful for the recharge that has happened to me.  I am grateful for the recharge that has happened to other individual people in this place.  I am grateful for the recharge that has happened to this building…to this soul.  And you know what else?  I don’t think this building’s soul is so fragile anymore. Synergy.  It’s a real thing.  I am ready to contribute to it.  Are you?

Mind, Body, and Soul

I have been thinking for a couple of years now that I want to get a tattoo.  I want nothing grandiose or conspicuous, just something elegant and private and meaningful and mine. 

I even know what I want it to say…

…Challenge the Mind, Strengthen the Body, Nourish the Soul.

Keeping such verbosity relatively conspicuous could present difficulty, I am sure. But, I feel pretty passionate about these phrases.  I steadfastly believe that the happiest people in the world are the people who keep each of these pieces fully quenched with life. True happiness is soul deep.  How can the deepest, most private pieces of our souls be satisfied if our minds and bodies are dying of thirst?

For last two weeks, life has shouted emphatic reminders at me regarding just how monumental it is to give attention to each of these facets of me; when even one is dehydrated, my perspectives teeter out of balance and I begin to become someone I do not care for very much.

For the last twelve days, I have not been watering my body; I have only worked out THREE times!  Three?  Are you kidding me? For someone who usually manages to play with Jillian Michaels 5 times a week, this is pathetic.  When times like these happen (and believe me…this is NOT a first time occurrence), it affects every other aspect of who I am.  My mood is less alacritous and jovial. My eating habits take a turn for the dark side.  I feel sleepy and sluggish and worthless many minutes of the day and even more minutes of the evening. Clearly this self-sabotage is a dreadful, tiresome, ugly thing.

But you know what?  I also cherish these dreadful, tiresome, and ugly moments.  Could I ask for any more TANGIBLE PROOF that my physical well being decidedly impacts my mental health, my somatic energy, and my soul-deep happiness?  It frustrates me when I have these brief periods of neglect, but on days like today, when that emphatic screaming that I have been plugging my ears to for days finally wakes me up, when I finally take a long drink, it is amazing.  Miraculous. Empowering. Fulfilling.

It is on days like today that I REALLY want to get that tattoo!  Make that corporal mark. Perhaps if I do, these periods of drought will have even more brevity. Perhaps if I do, I will more quickly respond to the emphatic reminders my soul gives to my body and mind. 

And the bottom line is...tattoos are just darn cool.

My answers...

I have a group of seniors reading a delightful little book titled Sophie's World.  (Whether or not my students would use the adjective "delightful" in their descriptions is questionable, I suppose.) Within its opening pages, the young protagonist is presented with four questions that deluge her curious, spongy mind :

"Who are you?"

"What makes us human?"

"Where does the world come from?"

"Do you believe in fate?"

And then Sophie's journey into the history of philosophy begins.  Naturally, I ask my students to consider their responses to these questions.  Naturally, I share with them my own.  Today seemed like as good of a day as any (even though it is not Tuesday anymore) to share my answers here.  

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I am Rebecca Marie Mashino and I like to consider myself a multifaceted person who is a reader, a writer, a thinker, and an athlete. I strive to be optimistic in all endeavors and do my best to encourage others to join me in this celebration of what makes life miraculous. More importantly and more to the fabric of my being, I am also a mother, a daughter, a sister, a girlfriend, a teacher, and a friend. These threads define me in deep and indelible ways and each is inextricably woven through the other. I am in a continuous battle of sorts in establishing an effective, healthy, and harmonious balance among each. I seek comfort in the quilt of my life and seek to provide comfort to others. It can be exhausting and frustrating, but ultimately rewarding when the balance is as it should be. As I progress through life – um, age, I guess I really mean - I think I am becoming a more proficient seamstress.

A human being, if he chooses to, has the ability to think outside of himself. He can ask questions without answers; he can consider an endless and fascinating list of possibilities. He can understand that actions have "equal and opposite reactions" that may be beyond his control, but that his place in the chaos has purpose. He can see that the universe is infinitively larger, more intricate, and much more significant than he will ever be. But, he can also find infectious joy and placid satisfaction in his place in the vastness of the unknown while continuously seeking grander and more profound understandings to share with others.

Because I am a human being, I do - quite often if I'm being honest - contemplate where it all began. The answer to such a question is more of a quest than an absolute destination. I will say that I am a woman of science and history and that I am fascinated by the plethora of the world's mythological explanations for what we cannot fully embrace with our minds. I think that ultimately, all of humanity arrives at nearly the same conclusions. The absolute destination seems of minor consequence when compared with what we discover about ourselves and each other as we experience the quest.

Fate. What an enigmatic concept, huh? The definition of Fate does not allow for any semblance of control or alterability. I cannot believe that humans - with all our astounding capacities for reason - are not in control of our own destinies. I do believe that we all are born with innate traits and talents, unique to each of us. Life becomes what we choose to make of those traits and talents. And then there are multiple other "factors" about life over which we may lack control…when we are born, where are born, to whom we are born. I used to muse that I was born in the wrong era... but that's another tale. My conclusion - for now - is that fate is a part of life, but we ultimately choose how we handle what is fated to us. Who is to say those choices do not slightly alter the path?

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Have you got it in you to pen an answer to these questions? My students will.  And by the way, thank you so very much to the student who left me the pretty, only initialed, sweet little reminder on my door yesterday to write.  You have no idea how deeply that touched me. I am carrying it with me now and will continue to do so.

Obligation

As treasured colleagues and I were waiting for a staff meeting to begin, we engaged in our usual banter, delightfully seasoned with jocular sagacity.  One suggested,  “Maybe you should blog about that since you haven’t yet this week.”  Ouch.  Maybe it is just a bad day of the week for me to write.  My brain began to process two reactions.  I felt flattered that he noticed; someone is reading what I have to say and cares enough to offer encouragement since I am having trouble with Tuesdays.  On the other, I felt defeated.  Someone else – other than my mother - noticed that I have been having trouble with Tuesdays.

How does that sense of obligation make me feel?  When this writing began, I thought it made me feel, well, obligated.  Obligated to something else that it seems I cannot maintain.  Something else. All of these “something elses” can create pressure-filled days and restless nights when the obligatory people and events collide.  Or run each other over.  Or blow each other up. Or crush me. So why do I continue to add the weight?  Do I think I’m Giles Corey or something? 

So I take the deep breath that Giles Corey couldn’t take and I begin to wonder. What kind of “weight” am I adding? What does “more weight” really mean? What does this “weight” represent?

To be obligated  - to people and things - is really a fortuitous treasure.  It means other people depend upon me.  It means that the things I do matter to someone other than me. At the end of the day, those feelings are phenomenal. Isn’t that the point of living life?  We should want to make as many connections with people and things as we can.  These relationships are what give our lives that elusive sense of purpose. I made a promise to myself and posed a challenge to many others who were listening to me struggle to get through a few words on October 6th, 2005.  The promise:  To forever-forward live my life, deliberately, with purpose and joy. 

So, does anyone need anything from me today?  I will winsomely oblige.

It's Wednesday...

“I’ll be home for Christmas; you can plan on me. Please have snow, and mistletoe and presents under the tree…eeee.” Because yes, I sing Christmas carols year round when I am in the shower.  There. I admit it. I LOVE Christmas carols and I LOVE the way my voice sounds in the shower. 

Then guess what happened?  I excitedly realized that it is already Wednesday!  Smile! Happy dance! This smile is followed immediately by a frustrated eye roll and a reprobative, out-loud exclamation; “You idiot!  You forgot to write!”  (So I guess there is another admission…I sometimes talk to myself.)  Not that I have not been reading and writing…furiously.  The focus of said reading and writing so far this week has been my students, which, I figure, is perfectly acceptable. 

It does continue to astound me how quickly things – time I guess I really mean - can get away from me. I really thought that this school year I would have more “time”.  My son is away at college.  Our puppy is a year older.  I have another year of teaching experience under my belt and brand new technology that everyone says will make things “easier” and “better”. Why aren’t these factors translating into more feelings of being “caught up” with things?  It should, right?  RIGHT?!? My predictions about that, it turns out, have been resoundingly wrong.

As far as the teaching thing goes, I never do everything the same.  I have this inherent need to change things up all the time.  I must be crazy! In reality, I do it for me, partly, because who wants to get bored?  But mostly I do it for the kids because NO GROUP of people is EVER the SAME.  Ever. 

And the technology?  Um…there is a bit of a learning curve there.  I am getting better and more proficient, and I am learning things from my savvy students daily, but this year, so far at least, it has been dreadfully time-consuming.  (I remain optimistic, however.)

Our puppy?  Who am I kidding?  He is STILL a PUPPY.  I love him to pieces and he deserves my attention, too.

My son being gone?  Let’s be honest.  He has been pretty self sufficient for 2 years now, so it is not that influential on my daily routine that his geography has changed. While I am not attending his athletic events anymore, I still attend the events of my students.  I like it.  It is an important use of my time.

So there it is I guess.  Why did I ever really think I would be somehow less busy this school year?  Again…self chastisement: “You idiot!”

I am still smiling because I guess I have decided today that it’s ok.  I am content with feeling constantly under pressure.  I am satisfied with the list that sits beside me of things I must accomplish tonight after school. I am looking forward to the minutes of the evening that I will claim for myself  - a few minutes with Jillian Michaels and a fantasy football draft - because I KNOW how important it is to do those things for me. 

I must admit it; I would be miserable if my life weren’t brimming with all of these wonderful things every single day.  Time really is moving at the same pace that it always has.  My life, thankfully, is just too darn full to always keep up with everything the way I would like to.  Too marvelously full. So, sometimes I write on Wednesdays.

And by the way, there are only 112 days until Christmas so get off my case for the shower caroling, alright?