Semester's End

I am in a strange place at this semester's end.  I, quite honestly, cannot remember if it is always this way for me at this time of year or if there is something exceptional about this year. I'm leaning toward the latter.  I've had a couple less than optimal years in 2013 and 2014. And let's not pretend for one second that what happens in a teacher's life personally does not affect what she does professionally on some level.

So, why does it seem like 2013-2014 were exceptionally difficult?   Well, it was the first year since 2007 that I did not run either of my "staple" races, the 5/3 25 K and the Grand Rapids Half or Full Marathon.  That might sound to the outsider as though it is irrelevant to how I am feeling about my teaching.  I believe it is all connected.  2014 was a year where my weight increased to an unprecedented height, not including the years I was pregnant.  I packed on 25 lbs from November 2013 to December 2014 topping out at 152.  For a woman of 5'4, that's significant.  I had stopped working out all together.  If there is one thing I know about myself it is that health and fitness and exercise are crucial to my overall mental health.  And when I find it acceptable to eat five cookies in one sitting, something is wrong.

2014 was the first year-since 2007-- that I was completely without my husband throughout the entire week. At age 46, I was the single parent of a high energy six year old.  She is my daughter, and I love her, of course.  But let's not kid ourselves. Most of the time--and especially without good nutrition and exercise-- I was not up to the task.  But, we do the best we can, right?

In 2013 and 2014, I devoted much of my time and energy to a friend who was diagnosed with cancer. I attended appointments with her and committed myself to her mental health so that she might recover through the power of positivity. While this was a good thing, I have to admit in retrospect that it wasn't altogether a choice based exclusively on what was good for her.  In there somewhere, my own issues, my own kind of sickness was raging under the surface fed by a less than healthy need to be needed. When my own mother was diagnosed with lymphoma, I was forced to step back from her situation to pay more attention to my mother's.  Strange days those were, indeed.

2014 was the year that my oldest daughter finally went away to college.  While I told myself that I was prepared for it, after all she stayed home for two years of community college, her move has been a significant loss for me. Of course, I wouldn't want it any other way than for her to go have her life. Still.

And then, there's Eddie and his permanent move to his father's house.  He needs his father.  I get it. Still.

Then there is my grandmother. There are step kids.  I mean, there is always stuff, right?  Everyone's got their stuff.  I've always had stuff.  That is just life. Why has my stuff overwhelmed me this time?

For some reason over the past couple years my only coping skills seemed to be eating cookies and drinking beer.  At the same time, I threw myself into teaching AP Lang with great fervor. I chose a new summer reading book for my AP Lang students and devoted myself to providing the support they would need to get through it.  I kept a blog every day of the summer, held meetings, made videos and tried to develop lesson plans for the fall that would help students see why I had chosen this difficult text.  It truly is a beautifully crafted text. It teaches them much about what writers do. But by the beginning of the fall, none of my clothes fit me and I was exhausted. I was reduced to a rotation of three dresses I had found at Meijer.  I felt increasingly horrible about myself.   I am not proud of this, but truth be told,  I am not a woman with a strong enough ego to be able to be okay being, as Aaron Foust calls it, "a post-menopausal fatty" or, in my case, a pre-menopausal fatty.  It's just not okay.

It all came to a head on December 6 with an event that I won't describe here, but which required that I take two consecutive personal "recovery" days .  And so here I am a month and a half later 15-20 lbs. lighter, weaning myself from a mid-life obsession which shall also remain unnamed, back to my daily work outs, eating right, drinking lots of water, but contemplating direction for my second semester instruction.

Ultimately, I just want to clear the fog and get back to basics.  I want to see where I'm going.  Today, as I read  the creative writing exam prompt to my seniors, I got a glimpse  of the me that I remember from once upon a time before the fog that I created with my addictions and my unwillingness to accept life on life's terms.  The prompt requires each student to analyze the cumulative semester collection of his/her own writing for the recurring elements of self that can't help but be present in one's work. Writing is, after all, as someone once said "the soul on paper." The prompt is one that I had written several years ago. In it, I heard pieces of a personal philosophy about the teaching of writing that I have lost sight of.  It is the philosophy of a woman who is more real, more connected, maybe more vulnerable.  Definitely more invested.

The good news is that today and tomorrow, I have some uninterrupted time to set up my vision for the next semester.  I want to be very deliberate about the choices I make in regard to methods and materials.  I want to plan and teach in a way that is not inflated and convoluted with lofty and unattainable ideals, but rather is grounded in practicality and the authentic behaviors of lifetime readers and writers.   I want to avoid distractions that will keep me from realizing this vision i.e. ego-inflating curriculum committees and other pointless meeting based involvement that clouds the real reason I am here which is, as educational guru Lucy Calkins states, "to help students weave reading and writing into the fabric of their lives."