Sometimes I Love Riding the Bus

And sometimes they are lukewarm and smell of feces.

December 15th: A Day to Commemorate the Never-Ending Cycle of Beginning-End Bends

Today is a significant date in my life for two reasons. One: December 15th marks the one year anniversary of the day I left my teaching post in New York--which initiated both a beginning and and end. Two: December 15th also marks the one month to go milestone in my 11-month term of service with AmeriCorps--another beginning, another end.

I have a handful of dreams stashed in my back pocket; sometimes I must have a peek to ensure they are still there and other times these back-pocket dreams create such an undeniable lump that I can't help but act upon their presence. As of late, I have been feeling a bit lumpy. Here's to testing what I have learned about oh-so-many things this last year.

Stand by: she's running toward yet another grey bend.

Charge.

To sum up how I've been feeling during the past few weeks: I'm currently fulfilling a charge Mary Karr left in my copy of The Liar's Club and am continuing to "Kick butt and take names" in Alaska.

The low-down:

Almost, Alaska
I surprised many people, including myself, during a recent stage performance at Cyrano's Theatre in Anchorage. I played 4 contrasting roles (3 lead parts, 1 supporting) in their production of Almost, Alaska (originally titled Almost, Maine) and had an absolute blast. I withdrew loads of confidence from untouched regions within my being and slowly but surely learned how to strip away some layers of my toxic perfectionism during the rehearsal process. I was blessed to work with a very patient director and welcoming cast and feel so thankful to have been a part of something so fulfilling and enjoyable. Audiences were in stitches throughout the performance and I received very positive reviews from the theatre's production manager as well as random theatre-goers I've met around town.



Making Music
Likely due to the surge of positive purpose and growth I've experienced since embarking on my journey in Alaska I've started singing. A lot. I sing all the time. While walking to the grocery store in 10 degree weather, when I'm waiting for the bus, during re-shelving efforts in Camp Fire's resource library, as I'm shepherding kids from school to after-school program, everywhere. Well. That's not totally true. I'm still singing mostly for myself and hastily cease all melodious doo-waps when someone else enters my zone of audibility, but it's a start. I'm enjoying myself, at least. I have always enjoyed making music but, as a kid, I was too busy trying to make someone else's music (like in those terribly boring track books I had to complete during school violin lessons) instead of my own. I ended up hating the violin and all things associated with it. Looks like it took ten years of healing away from organized music for me to erase the ten years of malice I bore for it as an proper student. But I'm back in love and, well, love it.



Friends
Through acting in the play and participating in local events I have managed to squabble a few superb friends. Making established friends has always been difficult for me. I say "established" because I've always gotten along with just about everyone but do have certain social and separation issues that limit who I fully invite into my world. This syndrome--closely linked to my oft-debilitating perfectionism--undoubtedly remains something I must work on.

Of Stubborn Boys and Rook-Shaped Toys

I’ve been having trouble reaching one 10 year-old-boy at the Fairview Camp Fire program ever since I began working there. He snaps at me if I ask him how his day went citing that that’s “his business” and only his “family needs to know,” never tries any of the non-sports related activities I bring and frequently questions my authority. Generally speaking, this little guy is a decent kid: he always keeps an eye out for his younger cousins and follows most program rules on his own. However, he’s the only kid in the entire program that I haven’t connected with and that frustrates me. The other staff members also feel the disconnection but I feel that I’ve failed the most, namely, because I’ve tried the most.

One Wednesday, I went to program planning to run Theatre Club, but a gym game won the activity popularity contest which meant no kids for Theatre Club. The boy couldn’t participate in the game due to a recent foot injury, so I approached him, once again, to attempt some semblance of engagement. He murmured something about wanting to play chess and I quickly jumped up to grab a board and some pieces.

Now, I have a basic understanding of what chess is and where the pieces can and can’t move, but I’ve never really learned how to incorporate strategy and genius into my play. In fact, my only real connections to chess are a fond affection for the movie Searching for Bobby Fischer and a one-time opportunity to act as a pawn in a game of Human Chess at the Pennsylvania Renaissance Faire. That and I think the pieces are pretty. Especially the ones carved from marble. But, again, I’ve never had the patience to actually learn how to use those pieces.

On that day, I made room for the student to become the teacher—an experiement I've undertaken before with hard-to-reach kids—and this disconnected boy finally invited me inside his world. I learned how to set up the board and confirmed which way the pretty pieces could travel and how they could “kill.” But more importantly, we had our first friendly conversation. I learned that my new friend had been playing chess ever since he was 3 and he shared how he usually carries out his strategy. I still didn’t have any kind of handle on that whole strategy piece, but I didn’t care; I didn’t care about winning (which is huge for me). I cared about this kid, this beautiful kid that I had been pushing and pushing…when all I had to do was sit back, listen, and play chess.

All the Hemispheres

Leave the familiar for a while.
Let your senses and bodies stretch out

Like a welcomed season

Onto the meadows and shores and hills.

Open up to the Roof.

Make a new water-mark on your excitement

And love.

Like a blooming night flower,

Bestow your vital fragrance of happiness
And giving

Upon our intimate assembly.

Change rooms in your mind for a day.

All the hemispheres in existence

Lie beside an equator

In your heart.

Greet Yourself

In your thousand other forms

As you mount the hidden tide and travel

Back home.

All the hemispheres in heaven

Are sitting around a fire

Chatting

While stitching themselves together

Into the Great Circle inside of

You.

-Hafiz

From: 'The Subject Tonight is Love'

Translated by Daniel Ladinsky

Gestalt Switch

And now I see things differently.

Continuing Discernment

If my AmeriCorps journey were a story map I would, at present, be in the "falling action" section. The main story of my stay with Camp Fire, the rural program, is over and the rest of my stay will include office work and a general push of the daily grind. I have managed to find refuge and community in an Episcopal Church, a Reformed Jewish Synagogue, long rides on the People Mover bus system, and local theatre. As always, I'm continuing to discern future possibilities which is, oftentimes, a murky business as there are so many possibilities that make me come alive. The call to ministry is crystal clear but the means with which I will carry out that ministry is full of muck. Ultimately, the realization that I can still go in so many directions makes this discernment "thing" all the more difficult.

The other day I asked my mom if I could be Tina Fey AND Barbara Brown Taylor at the same time. We both laughed. Of course, I have finally come to terms with the nature of my own character: I am not one to travel in anyone else's footsteps but my own. A friend and priest has euphemized what I call "stubbornness" with "strong will." But I think I’m a mixture of both.

The AmeriCorps experience has bestowed upon me a brand of resilience that I never had as a child or even as young adult. And this resilience—this burgeoning energetic force that rumbles within me-has only intensified my tendency to dream big and set lofty world-changing goals. Sure, I miss home on those long nights and weekends when I don't have any plans...and I still have yet to make friends my own age, but I am getting very good at finding community far from the familiar.

Yet. I still must come to terms with this fork in the road ahead of me. I know that I don't desire to stay here. However do I return to Central Pennsylvania, a place of familiarity and consistency that I will always call my first home, or do I forge my way back to New York City, the home of my childhood dreams, the home where I have always felt the most alive? Or how about another city abounding with many more potential connections than the Alabama that center of my home state can sometimes be?

As of now? Only time will tell. Feel free to offer suggestions. The final decision, of course, will fall hard upon my shoulders.