Polishing my life...er...my nails

You're a Pisa Work.    Bastille My Heart.     Plugged in Plum.  

No, this post is not about O.P.I. nail colors, although I must admit, they have a brilliant marketing team.  I mean, how can you not smile when you turn over that small bottle and read, "Do You Lilac It?" or "I Pink I Love You"?  Call me an English teacher, but I think these little play on words are just so darn clever. 

Anyhow, I only bring this up, because for the past eight months, I have sported a shade of pink, purple, or red on my fingertips. You see, I'm eternally and regretfully a nail bitter.  I have been ever since I can remember.  In fact, there are several disturbing photos of me as a young child with an entire foot in my mouth, biting. Why my mother decided to capture those moments on film and not chastise me for my unhygienic behavior, I'll never know.  Fortunately, my toe biting days have long gone, and as of recent, I'm proudly a recovering fingernail biter.  I have been "sober" since my life turned upside-down this past April.  Ever since then, I have donned nicely manicured nails.  Here's why.

First, when I look down, I see a colorful reminder that once a nail biter, always a nail biter.  For the first time in my life, my hands don't look like that of an 11 year old boy, and I'd really like to keep it that way.  I feel like it gives me just a little more street cred when talking with parents.  

Secondly, I have probably avoided many more colds this season because my hands, which are immersed daily in middle school germs, have not been in my mouth. Gross, but true. 

But even more importantly, I keep my nails painted to remind myself that I an eight-months strong.  Eight months of not biting.  Eight months of being single.  Eight months of being happy.  

For most of my adult life, I was someone's "girlfriend." It was like a bad habit I couldn't overcome. I was that girl who, despite several conversations with friends about the doubt and red flags I saw in my relationships, stayed.  I just couldn't kick the habit of needing someone.  The fear of being alone trumped the fear of being unhappy and unfulfilled by a wrong relationship.

Not surprisingly, April wasn't my choice. He ended it, and to my dismay, it turned my entire world upside-down.  I felt panicked, confused, hurt, just utterly broken.  I felt like my whole world was spinning rapidly out of control, and there was no pleading or rationalizing that could fix it.  Painting my nails was my tangible way of reclaiming control of my life.  I couldn't fix a broken relationship, or even my broken heart for that matter, but I could fix my nasty nail biting habit.  And I did.  

So as I sit here, looking at the Christmas red on my fingertips, I smile.  I haven't faltered.  I haven't given in to bite that one nail.  Don't get me wrong, the temptation has been there, and I admit, the thought has crossed my mind once or twice, but the nail polish reminds me of how far I've come.  I'm not giving in now. I won't bite.  And, because writers write with metaphors in mind, I haven't given in to being someone's girlfriend either.  Looks like two bad habits have been kicked.  Win.     

Thankful.

I love this season. Decorating. Eating. Singing. Wrapping. Smiling.  Simply put, this season is the greatest time of the year. It's where people finally slow down long enough to realize how amazing life can be.  As I sit here listening to "Hallelujah" by John Cale (from my own blog--hey, I chose a playlist that I love. Why wouldn't I listen to it?), it seemed perfect to say "Hallelujah."  Hallelujah for how great our God is.  His love surmounts all of life's battles and tribulations.  He is why I am thankful.

I am thankful that He loves me, despite my evident flaws, enough to send His one and only son to die for me.  I am thankful that my life is in His hands, knowing that he does not want to harm me, but wants to better me.  I am thankful that He is using me to do His work here on earth, even when I feel inadequate or ill-suited.  I am thankful that He was finally able to break "through" the walls I had put up to keep my distance from Him.

I am thankful that God has blessed me with an amazing family.  He could not have placed me in a better one; we are small and geographically far apart, but we support and encourage each other to be the best versions of ourselves. I can be vulnerable, goofy, and neurotic with them.  They love me anyway.  Being in Colorado, away from the all, has been challenging this year, but I'm thankful for modern technology.

I am thankful for my friends.  Hands down, I have the best friends in the world.  I have friends who saw me through my awkward middle school years. Actually, let's be brutally honest, I'm still trying to overcome my inner-awkward, but alas, they are still here, loving and supporting me. Over the past couple of years, I have seen my best friends get new jobs, move away, get married, have babies (yikes!), and yet, when we come back together, it's like time has stood still.  We can still lip sync to Britney Spears and Celine Dion, make inappropriate jokes, cry, and laugh together.  We continue to have random adventures mixed in with philosophical life discussions.

I also have made some incredibly profound new friendships this year.  God pulled on my heart in May to join the middle school youth ministry program at Flatirons.  Yup. He definitely knows what he is doing.  Through it, I met people who challenge me and hold me accountable.  We're in the same stage in life: driven, young,  mid-twenty year-olds who aren't entirely ready to grow up.  I am thankful for this community of people who are simply trying to follow Jesus.

Middle-schoolers.  Yup. I am thankful for this awkward, smelly group of creatures, both the ones I teach and the ones I mentor.  Their honesty and lack of social cues are amusing, if not also refreshing.  I love being able to share my story and journey with them, hoping it can offer some insight into their own muddled lives. I'm also thankful that dressing up in ridiculous costumes is an expectation.

Teaching English.  I love to teach reading and writing. I am thankful for words and how writing is an art-form.  I wrote on Tuesday, that words are a writer's clay- we can mold them, manipulate them, deconstruct them, all to create a masterpiece that is not only appreciated by the artist's eyes but a reader's as well.  I love reading a great short story and engaging a middle schooler in a discussion on how it can be a lens to view our own world.  Seeing my students begin to write with voice and style and noticing how they eagerly want to share their work with me, makes my heart smile.  Even for me, after years of hating writing, I'm now beginning to see the world through Lucy's eyes-  a writing opportunity in seemingly mundane activities.

I am thankful for my house.  When I first closed on it, I hated it.  It carried too many painful memories.  I remember even wishing it would burn down-- and I wonder why I have OCD?  But as I sit at my dining room table and look out at my house, I am dumb-struck.  This is mine. It's my corner of the world.  It's my home. Yes, I am alone. Yes, I don't know how to take care of it. Yes, I refuse to pay too much in electricity, so it's constantly freezing here.  But, God has me here for a reason, and I'm learning to be content in the NOW. Now...I am a homeowner.

So there it is, my verbose, almost cliche, "What I'm Thankful For" speech. So...I love words. I clearly explained that in my seventh paragraph.

"I Love the Person You Are"

This was how a lunch conversation ended with a dear family friend, essentially my second-mom, yesterday.  We were in the parking lot, she hugged me, looked me in the eyes, smiled, and said, "I love the person you are."  Those simple words are still resonating with me today.  This remarkable lady has seen me at my best, attending my play performances or school awards assemblies, and my worst, like when my 3 year old stubborn self purposefully peed my own pants in front of her because she wouldn't let me use the bathroom during nap time.  Yup.she.knows.me.

And despite it all, she loves the person I am.  During our lunch conversation, we openly shared our insecurities, our struggles, our search for purpose.  At one moment, I stopped mid-sentence and looked at her. "Women don't talk about this. We don't share that we all struggle with loving ourselves."  She grabbed my hand and said, "Well, we should."

Why is it so hard for women to open up and share that we don't always like what we see in the mirror?  Why is it so hard for us to love ourselves the way God loves us? It's so much easier to see other people for the greatness they have to offer the world, but significantly more difficult to see ourselves in the same light.  Why? 

I don't have the answer, and arguably, no one else does either, but this simple conversation reminded me how good it feels to say, "I am feeling insecure today." Chances are, they are too. It's why support groups are so prevalent.  There's a sense of camaraderie knowing we aren't alone in our struggles. 

So my goal as a youth group leader and English teacher, is to tell the middle school girls, "I love the person you are," in hopes that maybe this cycle of self-doubt and self-loathing may finally be put to rest. 

Being Content with Discontent

So here's the real reason I picked up my blog again, besides wanting to forever capture the awkward middle school moments I encounter on a daily basis.  I felt compelled to write a reflection on a friend's blog post.  She recently wrote about feeling second rate, you know, that nagging feeling that you're always the next best thing, the runner-up, the supporting actor.  I don't know what provoked me to read her blog in the first place because quite frankly, I talk to her on a daily basis, and I thought that I knew what she was struggling with.  To hear her say that she felt "second-rate" was shocking.  You see, in my eyes, I see a confident, beautiful, independent, witty young woman.  She has this infectious inner-strength that makes reticent introverts, like myself, have the confidence to take on life's challenges.  Her empathy and wisdom allow me to openly voice my struggles without fear of judgement.  In my mind, she is not second-rate.  In fact, she's the one I've begun to measure myself against.  

So seeing her write that feeling second is common-place to her, well, I respect her even more.  But more importantly, her post made me realize that what's seemingly apparent on the surface is most likely a mask, a decoy to divert attention from what's really there.  It's the outer layer of the onion that so many people choose to accept as truth.

How often have I avoided a hard or uncomfortable conversation with humor and witty one-liners? More than I'd like to admit, unfortunately.  Instead of putting myself out there, I deflect "the awkward," as I call it, with a joke or a smile.  It's easy.  It's light.  It's risk-free. It's also incredibly fake.

I'm not saying that every time someone says something funny, we should be analyzing, Hmmm...he's obviously avoiding something hard in his life.  No, not at all.  Often times, funny things happen and should be laughed at.  But how often is the prom-queen, class clown, or football start overlooked because they seemingly have it all together?  Maybe, instead, they're content with being discontent.  Maybe they hide it better.  Maybe they're so worried of ruining an image that they don't admit their inadequacies.

So here's me, encouraged by my friend, admitting what I see as my own short-comings:

I hide behind humor.  I don't tell people how I feel because the thought of being vulnerable makes me nauseous.  I am scared of the future and have a hard time living in the present.  I am scared of failing, which translates to not taking risks or putting myself out there. Most of all, I too, feel second-rate.

Maybe if people spent a quarter of the time they spend telling jokes and funny anecdotes on talking about what's real, we'd all realize that there is no first place or leading role. There isn't someone who has it all figured out, who doesn't feel inadequate at times. We'd realize that through our interconnected lives, we can accept our imperfections and celebrate our strengths.

But...because I'm awkward and deflect vulnerability with corny humor, here's a joke a good friend recently shared with me.

Did you hear the joke about the circus?
It's intense.

Yeah...I know. I'm awkward.

 

Not a First Year Teacher Anymore...

I came across my own blog a few months back, when I tried commenting on a friend's post.  In order to do so,  I had to log into my own blog.  Instantly, upon hearing David Barnes "A Night Like This," I was taken back to the small bedroom I rented from a girl I met on Craiglist (yes...I know, not one of my finer decisions).  I remember sitting in that lilac bedroom, overwhelmed with feelings of inadequacy and loneliness that accompanied my first year of teaching.  Every veteran teacher says, "Your first year is the hardest."  Agreed.  Never in my life have I ever felt so insecure, incapable, and to be honest, miserable with my life. 

Don't get me wrong, I loved my 4th graders. They made me laugh with their innocent, and often inappropriate outbursts.  They made me thankful I was in a position in life where I could leave them at school, and re-enter the young adult world with my friends.  They made me thankful that I had a job at all.  But, that year was hard. Very hard. 

And ironically, almost three years later, I look back at those old posts, and realize that despite changing grade-levels, content areas, and teams, not much else has changed.  Teaching is still hard. My students are still challenging.  And I still struggle to find balance in my life.   

As much as a I say the 08-09 school year (yes, my life is defined by quarters, semesters, and school years) was difficult, the the 11-12 school year is proving to be just as trying. I teach middle school English. Yes, I  willingly ventured into the world of angsty, hormone-driven pre-teens, who are too consumed with facebook, texting, and appearances to actually pick up a book and read it cover to cover, all in hopes that I can help them see themselves as readers and writers. 

Challenging is an understatement.  But, I also love this position more than I could have ever imagined.  Seeing my dramatic, insecure girls find a voice through writing makes my heart smile.  Having my boys want to talk to me about their latest, post-apocalyptic novel makes me chuckle. 

So, here's my attempt to getting back into blogging. After all, I'm an English teacher, and therefore, I'm supposed to see myself as a writer...or something.