Words in between the words

Sometimes parts of my story are too painful to write and I take long breaks and the half written… was originally published in healingjournal on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Years of suffering are still there. But for some reason I’m screaming at myself to let go of the pride and ego and hatred and fury at all of the unjustness in the world.

The world is a big place and time is an infinite string forward and backward.

Right now, to me, two tiny days in a row of feeling good and waking up early and getting out is just glorious.

I have to remind myself.

Depression was originally published in healingjournal on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

My Literacy History — A Homework Assignment

What is your literacy history? Do you ever think about it or how it shapes you?

1. Artifacts

• The beginning: The Christmas card that was never sent.

When I was in kindergarten I wrote a Christmas card to my grandparents letting them know my parents were fighting and I asked them if we could live there. It had a picture in crayon on the cover of a colorful tree. The words were spelled incorrectly. My mother saved it too embarrassed to send it to her parents. I found it when I was in second grade among my mother’s saved cards. She was sentimental that way. She would save letters and things people sent her.

• My middle childhood: The language of numbers is international

In elementary school I always wanted to play school. I would take my drawing paper and create worksheets for my mom who was my student. She cried because under the lines I’d write representing blank spaces for ‘the student’ to fill in it said “subject” and “predicate” in parentheses. She didn’t know what those were. Rather than tell me or teach me her language, she felt shame. I was always making worksheets for myself and my stuffed animal classroom. I would often complete them myself. I was pretty excited when I had a real human student. We switched to math worksheets after that. We didn’t have any children’s books in the house although my father had a floor to ceiling library. The closest thing to a children’s book was White Fang (London, 1906).

• My middle school years: Standardized English Tests

I think I was in 6th grade when I was faced with my first difficult test. The whole school had to take this test. I had no idea what was going on. I knew none of the rules of writing even though I read fairly well and was a straight A student. I never thought there were rules. I struggled and I earned a very low score. The school didn’t place me in any intervention classes. But I intervened on my own behalf as was what I was accustomed to doing.

• Two high schools: By senior year I was in AP English and Humanities

I remember reading Antigone (Antigone, 441 BC), Metamorphosis (Ovid, 8 AD), The Metamorphosis (Kafka, 1915), The Scarlett Letter (Hawthorne, 1850), The Great Gatsby (Fitzgerald, 1925), Nine Stories (Salinger, 1953), A Farewell to Arms (Hemingway, 1929), The Unbearable Lightness of Being (Kundera, 1984), Nineteen Eighty-Four (Orwell, 1949), The Stranger (Camus, 1942), A Tree Grows in Brooklyn (Smith, 1943), and so many more. I remember everyone making such a big deal about Catcher in the Rye (Salinger, 1951), but I didn’t really care for it.

• Young adulthood: I can choose my own books, but am persuaded by peers

Details below.

• College: All textbooks all the time

I am blanking on any authors of any of the textbooks, but the classes that stand out include Anatomy and Physiology (these were huge books), Biomedical ethics (a philosophy class), Wilderness Psychology, all kinds of accounting books, Dramatic Writing and Poetry (much Shakespeare was studied here), Calculus, Statistics, and many anthropology books. One anthropology book I do recall is Into the Heart: One Man’s Pursuit of Love and Knowledge Among the Yanomami (Good et al, 1991). But we read Margret Mead and Jane Goodall and others also.

• Parenthood: Harry Potter and picture books

My daughter started reading to me the first day of summer after kindergarten. She picked up my copy of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (Rowling, 1999) and started reading. Until then, I had read to her and she loved to get books read to her. Her favorite had a purple cover with a mouse in a dress. We read it so many times she memorized it and would catch me if I skipped a page. I’ve blocked it from my mind for the most part now.

2. My artifacts illuminate my literacy history with a steep curve triggered by a standardized test in middle school. This trigger caused me to eventually fall into a social group that sought intellectual stimulation as well as an understanding of the self. They rebelled against societal norms and were escape artists. They were generally distrusting of square adults. My literacy history suggests that this ‘membership’ and self identity is based in acquiring a deep understanding of what it is to be human as well as an artist.

The artifact — or experience — I’m refering to is Young adulthood: I can choose my own books, but am persuaded by peers. Connecting books and movies based on books also happened at this time. This was quite a time of pseudo-intellectual café culture mixed with clubbing and the superior feeling that you could have ‘intellectual conversations’ over cigarettes in the alley of a club.

From afar, it was a time of searching and it was a destructive time as well as a regenerative time. It was a time to learn about the Hindu Goddess Kali who is a destroyer, but also a creator — She also transcends good and evil. It was a time to travel, make mistakes, find successes and failures, struggle to define the self and selflessness, and reflect. It meant trying on a variety of masks to see what fits.

What I understand about it now is that all things happen in good time and that we wouldn’t be who we are without our experiences.

My artifact was not a text. It was an experience of identity that included several texts. My family culture (as it was both Eastern and Eastern European), school, peers, and self were all lenses in which to view through.

3. My list of literacy artifacts and stories help me think about literacy instruction and research in that I can reflect on my teachers and professors more deeply as well as the guidelines they followed to create our reading lists and discussions. Research comes naturally when you have curiosity.

I am most drawn to certain aesthetics when it comes to topics and ideas related to literacy. I look for beauty and elegance, even if gritty. I am drawn to topics and ideas that bring forward truth (of some kind) and demonstrate aspects of humanness.

What is your literacy history? was originally published in healingjournal on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

I’ve been awake for 42 minutes and so far:

1. My son turned the kitchen light off last night so my chili was left out all night because the light was my reminder to put it in the freezer.
2. I splashed coffee on my mahogany desk.
3. The website I need to update has an annoying dashboard message, but when I check the supposed cause, it is fine.
4. Sidenote: Said website hosting service for some reason is not sending me alert emails even though I’ve called on this several times.
5. Bought coffee for delivery and used the wrong card (I meant to use my gift card).
6. Finally, I keep stepping on dog toys — some spiky and some rolly!
7. Spellcheck.
8. Accidentally took a photo of the toilet while trying to turn volume up on phone.

What’s up, Universe?!

Took some CBD and breathing. Hopefully this coffee kicks in soon.

Ever have a day like this, dear reader?

At least this picture brought a smile.

UPDATE 4 hours and 20 minutes later: After I finished some required work on a deadline, picking up dog toys from the floor, deleting the picture of the toilet, and knowing I need to study for a class: I said F it and went in the kitchen to make candles and soup. (It’s a strange combination. I know.) Finished the podcast I was listening to (Rick Rubin and Ed Norton) precisely as I finished cleaning up! Perfection. Candles are cooling and the soup is on simmer. All is right with the universe. 🥰

Ever have a day when … was originally published in healingjournal on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Let’s play pretend, I thought.

I’m a princess. borrringggg.

Okay, I’m a magical princess. *Snore*

So, who am I? I am anyone I want to be at any given time. And that’s the answer.

But let me back up a bit.

This morning I had a lot of meal prep to do, so, after listening to a podcast interview of Terry Gilliam I decided to watch The Man Who Killed Don Quixote. It was oddly sentimental and I found myself tearing up at the end.

It occurred to me that we all have alter egos whether we like it or not — whether we’re aware of it or not. Other people’s perceptions of us, for example. Our masks, for example.

In the near end of the film there was a lavish party. Everyone was dressed up and expressing some side of their selves or their abilities — including licking dessert off the ground. She is able. I’m not sure she wanted to, however.

Don Quixote likes to say, It is a grand day for adventure. As every day is, isn’t it? He is mad and in his own mind he is the hero of his tale. How fortunate is he!

I watched the party and all the players and dancers — it was a dream scene with deep hues of darkness.

I imagined being there. Would I be wide eyed? Would I find my way down and around into the dance or up high like the acrobats? Would I feel good? Would I be pretending or would this be an opportunity to fully be myself?

And then it occurred to me that all of the roles being played defines the individuals that make up the players.

Everyday, we can play who we want to be, who we see ourselves at, who we aren’t, and who we need to be. By acting out or role playing these parts we can feel more deeply into who we are and who we are not. In addition, it can help us hone that person that either we see ourselves as or our best selves.

Some say their goal is to become that great person their dog thinks they are.

A worthy cause. An ambitious goal indeed.

By the end of the film I found myself thinking of so many precious things. Elder folks in my life who were examples of a fantastic life lived. Some who may have had dementia.

What is our madness, I thought. Will it be a good story? And Where is my madness?

Perhaps it is tucked safely into my warm cozy blankets right now. Perhaps just waiting to cause a little trouble like Eloise or Madeline. Or maybe ready to make up some words or drawings like Lewis Caroll or Shel Silverstein.

Maybe in this world of madness, as long as it is lively, light, introspective, fun, generous, and with love, it is good to be a little mad like Don Quixote trying to bring chivalry back into the world while being on grand adventures. Maybe it is a good thing to be a little unbalanced to find our joy.

Defining who you are was originally published in healingjournal on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Despite my massive anxiety attack yesterday, I’m so glad I went.

Why did I feel so anxious? It was a sort of new studio to me so I didn’t know what to expect. But that wasn’t it.

It was more like I had my mind on my to do list and my butt firmly planted in my chair with the blinds mostly drawn.

How I got out of the funk

First, I walked my dogs. Movement and changing the environment always helps. I needed to do it anyway.

Also, I hit the “BOOK” button on the app to sign up for the class. That was when the heart palpitations began. But at that moment I was committed.

I felt short on time. I told myself it was okay and that there would be plenty of time for all the things and that it would get done. So, I told myself, don’t worry.

That helped.

I took a deep breath. That helped too.

Sometimes I need to close my eyes. And research has shown that simply closing your eyes and shutting out the world for moments at a time can help ease anxiety as well as attention deficit hyperactivity disorder and increase focus.

I imagine wanting the ability to concentrate on a person’s interest leads to achievement of goals — and in this case the goal was to get there.

Sometimes showing up is all you need to do. The universe will help you with the rest. Just jump in the flow and go.

(Even if it doesn’t always feel as simple as that!)

Hugs to all those out there who struggle with anxiety.

I’m so glad I went to yoga was originally published in healingjournal on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.