It's the last week of classes and I'm surprisingly calm about final exams and final projects. Perhaps I condensed so many worries these past two quarters that I used up all of my year-allotted worry points. No matter. I'm not complaining. Knowing me and my neuroses, this may not last much longer, but that's something I'm also OK with. Worry keeps me motivated. It's part of my essential DNA.
Anyway, I mention this odd sense of calm because today I completed one final "project:" a "micro-teaching session" for the course I'm teaching this spring. The assignment was to conduct a "mini-lesson" with the other teaching facilitators, get feedback, learn what to do with students who will be enrolled in the class, and realize that I'm probably trying to pack in too much reading in too little time. I wasn't all that nervous about it; I've read the stories I'm teaching a billion times (and still love them) and I figured whatever would happen, would happen.
However, I was concerned about how the other facilitators would react to the reading. I feared that they would sit down with the story I sent out and think it was stupid. Their validation of the material's quality felt (feels) important to me because I trust their opinions. Somehow, I felt like someone would stare at the story and think: "What's the point? Why did I bother reading this?" I often get defensive about reading I enjoy, trying to justify it and its importance even in the face of criticism. Then, of course, I feel bad about getting defensive and, on top of it all, feel bad when other people don't enjoy what I enjoy because somehow what I chose to enjoy isn't good enough if other people don't like it.
Phew. What a mouthful. It probably goes without saying that I care a lot about what other people think.
When I started class, I asked how many people had done the reading.
"I didn't receive it," was the first response I heard.
"Wait, what? You didn't receive it?" my voice grew louder, higher-pitched. Oh my God. This lesson was totally ruined; everything I wanted to discuss was based on this ONE reading. If no one read the story, how in the world was this lesson even going to be possible?
Our instructor, Kumiko, suggested that we all read the story together since it was so short. I sighed. This was NOT how I wanted to spend the time. It seemed like a waste of valuable "teaching" time to do a read around, but I complied; I didn't really have an option.
But it worked. I read it out loud, people listened, we discussed.
The best part was, the discussion worked well, too, and absolutely no one questioned the quality of the story. Everyone got what the story was about and were able to work beyond the story and talk about larger issues relating to the creative nonfiction genre and how the story functioned within that genre. It was amazing. The conversation veered in directions I didn't predict, but it was exhilarating to mull over different ideas, to debate questions we had, and to value each other's opinions.
It's easy to feel alone in one's enthusiasm, but with today's lesson, the process of sharing an excitement to discover and to appreciate one another's opinions completely made my day.
Showing posts with label thoughtfulness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label thoughtfulness. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Today I Appreciate Realizing that Every Day is Not a Bad Day
Excuse the melodramatic title for this post. As a friend and reader of this blog, Naveed, wrote me, "Since you haven't updated your blog, you must be busy." Well, yes, that's true, but I suppose it's been a lot of falling into self-pitying kind of behavior again as evidenced by an equally (if not more) melodramatic Facebook status update from a few days ago: "Jenae keeps messing things up."
Hmm.
That, of course, came as a result of the fact that my car battery died because I had left the lights on merely one day after I received my car back from the auto repair shop. Of course I felt like an idiot (mostly because I feared my parents' retribution and I kicked myself for my own simple oversight), though that certainly did not mean I was "messing things up." What that mostly meant was "OK, lesson learned. Check your lights, check your lights, check your lights." If only the rationality of hindsight blessed me more often while actually in the moment of panicking/self-flagellating (not literal self-flagellation, of course. Don't worry; I'm not going to turn into the crazy Agnus Dei albino of "The Da Vinci Code").
Anyway, it's not that I haven't been keeping track of what's been making me happy every day. In fact, I planned to write this entry as a sort of "greatest hits" of the past week, finally recording here what has, in fact, dotted my days with little bits of happiness. Yes, I've been busy, and yes, I've felt down enough this week to think, "What do I have to appreciate today? ABSOLUTELY NOTHING BECAUSE MY LIFE SUCKS," but I've also enjoyed moments of peace by myself, moments of genuine joy and appreciation with friends, moments of academic discovery and excitement, and - amazingly - moments of feeling healthy and strong (as in, I took a run! A real run!).
Funnily enough, too, I just had a conversation with a few classmates about the woes of journaling. For an interview class, we were "required" to write in a journal throughout the quarter and prior to class, my classmates began to lament the fact that they - of course - hadn't actually completed the assignment.
"I start a journal for, like, two days and then I just give up," one guy stated. One of the girls in the class agreed.
"I just feel so weird writing for myself, you know? I like writing e-mails because they have a purpose."
I added how I felt like most of my past journal entries were rather self-referential, commenting on the act of journaling and how great it is. Looks like I'm doing the same thing here, I suppose, but I think what stuck out for me from the conversation was the fact that we all felt this similar fear of not writing something that was "interesting." We all complained about how our lives weren't terribly interesting things to write about and that no one but ourselves really even cared about the papers due next week or the club meetings to attend or the roommates/coworkers/classmates to whine about. I agree that those are a lot of uninteresting details that when compiled all into one place that can sound a lot like a big whinefest. I read back on old "Xanga" (a weblog site that, as far as I can tell, has gone completely by the wayside) and cringe a little bit; there's an awful lot of moaning about how "busy" I am with high school homework.
Yet I still keep reading my teen entries and at that time, plenty of other people did. A journal is a time capsule, a way to preserve certain emotions and ideas we may never recover. There's a difference between complaining and spilling out our brains on to paper. We're all interested in each other's lives because we tend to be a little voyeuristic by nature. I've always said that if I could have a super power, I'd want to read minds just to get that little extra piece of insight into someone else. What seems boring to us may very well be boring, but it also very well may provide an insight for others or simply for ourselves that was completely unexpected. That's simply the risk one must take.
So, without further ado, here's the list of things I've appreciated over the past week (that I wrote down or remember) that part of me has just been a little too afraid to post if only because... well... they seemed uninteresting at the time. Let's see what we get out of it now:
On Friday, February 27th, I appreciated the couple at Wildflour Pizza who asked if my friend and I were waiting on a table before they went ahead and took one.
On Saturday, February 28th, I appreciated the worker at Paulette Macarons who provided my friend and I with free samples as we debated what to order without pushing us to make a purchase.
On Sunday, February 29th, I appreiciated one of the football players I tutor, Pat, for posing thoughtful questions about a science fiction novel he read for class and actually wanting to engage in a discussion with me about it.
On Tuesday, March 3rd, I appreciated the giant cardboard cutout sign on the corner of Santa Monica and Westwood Boulevard that allowed passersby to stick their head into a photograph of a man in a kayak. L.A. needs more silly advertisements.
On Wednesday, March 4th, I appreciated rewatching "Amelie," and seeing a film that represents a desire to appreciate simple pleasures and confronts head-on how social anxiety and the fear of rejection affects every one of us.
And right now, I appreciate listening to Pandora bundled up in warm sweat pants, reminiscing upon the week.
Hmm.
That, of course, came as a result of the fact that my car battery died because I had left the lights on merely one day after I received my car back from the auto repair shop. Of course I felt like an idiot (mostly because I feared my parents' retribution and I kicked myself for my own simple oversight), though that certainly did not mean I was "messing things up." What that mostly meant was "OK, lesson learned. Check your lights, check your lights, check your lights." If only the rationality of hindsight blessed me more often while actually in the moment of panicking/self-flagellating (not literal self-flagellation, of course. Don't worry; I'm not going to turn into the crazy Agnus Dei albino of "The Da Vinci Code").
Anyway, it's not that I haven't been keeping track of what's been making me happy every day. In fact, I planned to write this entry as a sort of "greatest hits" of the past week, finally recording here what has, in fact, dotted my days with little bits of happiness. Yes, I've been busy, and yes, I've felt down enough this week to think, "What do I have to appreciate today? ABSOLUTELY NOTHING BECAUSE MY LIFE SUCKS," but I've also enjoyed moments of peace by myself, moments of genuine joy and appreciation with friends, moments of academic discovery and excitement, and - amazingly - moments of feeling healthy and strong (as in, I took a run! A real run!).
Funnily enough, too, I just had a conversation with a few classmates about the woes of journaling. For an interview class, we were "required" to write in a journal throughout the quarter and prior to class, my classmates began to lament the fact that they - of course - hadn't actually completed the assignment.
"I start a journal for, like, two days and then I just give up," one guy stated. One of the girls in the class agreed.
"I just feel so weird writing for myself, you know? I like writing e-mails because they have a purpose."
I added how I felt like most of my past journal entries were rather self-referential, commenting on the act of journaling and how great it is. Looks like I'm doing the same thing here, I suppose, but I think what stuck out for me from the conversation was the fact that we all felt this similar fear of not writing something that was "interesting." We all complained about how our lives weren't terribly interesting things to write about and that no one but ourselves really even cared about the papers due next week or the club meetings to attend or the roommates/coworkers/classmates to whine about. I agree that those are a lot of uninteresting details that when compiled all into one place that can sound a lot like a big whinefest. I read back on old "Xanga" (a weblog site that, as far as I can tell, has gone completely by the wayside) and cringe a little bit; there's an awful lot of moaning about how "busy" I am with high school homework.
Yet I still keep reading my teen entries and at that time, plenty of other people did. A journal is a time capsule, a way to preserve certain emotions and ideas we may never recover. There's a difference between complaining and spilling out our brains on to paper. We're all interested in each other's lives because we tend to be a little voyeuristic by nature. I've always said that if I could have a super power, I'd want to read minds just to get that little extra piece of insight into someone else. What seems boring to us may very well be boring, but it also very well may provide an insight for others or simply for ourselves that was completely unexpected. That's simply the risk one must take.
So, without further ado, here's the list of things I've appreciated over the past week (that I wrote down or remember) that part of me has just been a little too afraid to post if only because... well... they seemed uninteresting at the time. Let's see what we get out of it now:
On Friday, February 27th, I appreciated the couple at Wildflour Pizza who asked if my friend and I were waiting on a table before they went ahead and took one.
On Saturday, February 28th, I appreciated the worker at Paulette Macarons who provided my friend and I with free samples as we debated what to order without pushing us to make a purchase.
On Sunday, February 29th, I appreiciated one of the football players I tutor, Pat, for posing thoughtful questions about a science fiction novel he read for class and actually wanting to engage in a discussion with me about it.
On Tuesday, March 3rd, I appreciated the giant cardboard cutout sign on the corner of Santa Monica and Westwood Boulevard that allowed passersby to stick their head into a photograph of a man in a kayak. L.A. needs more silly advertisements.
On Wednesday, March 4th, I appreciated rewatching "Amelie," and seeing a film that represents a desire to appreciate simple pleasures and confronts head-on how social anxiety and the fear of rejection affects every one of us.
And right now, I appreciate listening to Pandora bundled up in warm sweat pants, reminiscing upon the week.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Today I Appreciate the Following Quote I Heard in Class:
"Optimists are simply people who don't have all of the information."
This, apparently, was something a raving, homeless man told one of my classmates on a New York subway. My classmate cited this quote because she will be teaching a course on the psychology of happiness (interestingly enough, eh?) and used this quote on her syllabus. A lot of other people in the class really didn't understand the purpose of the quote.
"Isn't that quote counter-intuitive to the idea of happiness?"
"Doesn't it seem really negative to say that optimists are also dumb?"
Well, no. See, I happened to really enjoy and appreciate this quote because it raises an importance distinction between optimism and happiness, namely that optimism and happiness are not the same thing.
What I've come to discover through both this blog and just by living and coping and trying to understand how I'm feeling and who I am is that being happy is not necessarily exuding unending hope or joy. In fact, I'm happiest when I'm simply satisfied, content, and at peace. As a consequence of satisfaction or contentment or peace, I may feel momentarily giddy that I enjoyed a pleasant book or discussed a great piece of writing or had a really wonderful, long conversation with a friend or had a fun social interaction, but rather extended periods of engaging in stimulating thought and enjoying true, loyal friendships with thoughtful people.
I'd still say that I have long way to go towards total, complete happiness, but I can experience moments of optimism that can raise my mood and can contribute to achieving long-term satisfaction.
See, the thing is, I agree with the crazy, homeless man (I hope this doesn't speak volumes about my own mental state). I agree that unquestioning hopefulness towards the world and a perpetually bright spirit indicates a sort of daftness and an inability (or perhaps even unwillingness?) to examine that which is in front of you. Optimism can be blind to circumstances that are negative. Optimism implies, for me, a sort of non-judgmental stance on the world. I wouldn't say that criticism and judgment necessarily lead to happiness either, but in order to find contentment, distinguishing (and therefore judging) between what's important to you and what isn't, what fits into your set of values and what doesn't, seems absolutely vital.
I feel as though optimism, too, can often lead to a lot of unhappiness. While hope in the face of conflict/loss/depression can be uplifting, it can also eventually lead to a lot of disappointment. After all, there are moments in which you shouldn't be hopeful; that's called delusion. Not that one should strive towards wallowing in never-ending pain, but one should at least face and accept one's reality before finding ways to heal and overcome said reality.
I'm making it sound as though being an optimist is easy (it isn't) and I still strive towards optimism more than pessimism in my own life, but adopting optimism without judgment or thought seems, to me, a destructive approach and one that doesn't contribute towards achieving happiness.
It's funny to me that I feel as though I can logically understand these concepts and this psychology and yet still not wholly apply it to my own life. These reflections, these thoughts are coming from someone who some days still feels overwhelmed with emotion, who still tries to overcome anxiety, sadness, and loneliness, and who still indulgently dialogues with herself about how no one else understands the magnitude of her suffering and other such angst. I can distance myself from such feelings when I want to, but other times it feels all-consuming.
Ultimately, this struggle is part of being - well - human, but here I am still figuring out how I fit in on the spectrum of happy and healthy people. I'm getting there, aren't I?
This, apparently, was something a raving, homeless man told one of my classmates on a New York subway. My classmate cited this quote because she will be teaching a course on the psychology of happiness (interestingly enough, eh?) and used this quote on her syllabus. A lot of other people in the class really didn't understand the purpose of the quote.
"Isn't that quote counter-intuitive to the idea of happiness?"
"Doesn't it seem really negative to say that optimists are also dumb?"
Well, no. See, I happened to really enjoy and appreciate this quote because it raises an importance distinction between optimism and happiness, namely that optimism and happiness are not the same thing.
What I've come to discover through both this blog and just by living and coping and trying to understand how I'm feeling and who I am is that being happy is not necessarily exuding unending hope or joy. In fact, I'm happiest when I'm simply satisfied, content, and at peace. As a consequence of satisfaction or contentment or peace, I may feel momentarily giddy that I enjoyed a pleasant book or discussed a great piece of writing or had a really wonderful, long conversation with a friend or had a fun social interaction, but rather extended periods of engaging in stimulating thought and enjoying true, loyal friendships with thoughtful people.
I'd still say that I have long way to go towards total, complete happiness, but I can experience moments of optimism that can raise my mood and can contribute to achieving long-term satisfaction.
See, the thing is, I agree with the crazy, homeless man (I hope this doesn't speak volumes about my own mental state). I agree that unquestioning hopefulness towards the world and a perpetually bright spirit indicates a sort of daftness and an inability (or perhaps even unwillingness?) to examine that which is in front of you. Optimism can be blind to circumstances that are negative. Optimism implies, for me, a sort of non-judgmental stance on the world. I wouldn't say that criticism and judgment necessarily lead to happiness either, but in order to find contentment, distinguishing (and therefore judging) between what's important to you and what isn't, what fits into your set of values and what doesn't, seems absolutely vital.
I feel as though optimism, too, can often lead to a lot of unhappiness. While hope in the face of conflict/loss/depression can be uplifting, it can also eventually lead to a lot of disappointment. After all, there are moments in which you shouldn't be hopeful; that's called delusion. Not that one should strive towards wallowing in never-ending pain, but one should at least face and accept one's reality before finding ways to heal and overcome said reality.
I'm making it sound as though being an optimist is easy (it isn't) and I still strive towards optimism more than pessimism in my own life, but adopting optimism without judgment or thought seems, to me, a destructive approach and one that doesn't contribute towards achieving happiness.
It's funny to me that I feel as though I can logically understand these concepts and this psychology and yet still not wholly apply it to my own life. These reflections, these thoughts are coming from someone who some days still feels overwhelmed with emotion, who still tries to overcome anxiety, sadness, and loneliness, and who still indulgently dialogues with herself about how no one else understands the magnitude of her suffering and other such angst. I can distance myself from such feelings when I want to, but other times it feels all-consuming.
Ultimately, this struggle is part of being - well - human, but here I am still figuring out how I fit in on the spectrum of happy and healthy people. I'm getting there, aren't I?
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Today I Appreciate the Receptionist at Work
This was a bad day.
Consistently on the verge of weeping/crying (depending on the severity of what little thing bothered me), I'm exhausted. Walking felt strangely automatic today, as if my feet were working for me and I had little control over where they shuffled me. My head felt light, detached from my body, trapped in its own hazy state separate from every other part of me. Everything was - still is - bizarrely muted. Ironically, this distance from everything around me triggered this instinct, this desire to flee. Anything would have been better than that distance I felt, that complete and utter isolation from everything around. Nothing felt close and real and nobody could hug me or kiss me or rub my back and assure me that it was going to be OK.
So I cried in a crowd, too, and it had to be one of the worst feelings, watching everyone pass me content or bored with their own lives when I felt like I was simply drowning in mine.
The receptionist at work noticed, though. I'm a writing tutor and no students signed up to work with me today, so I worked on homework and perused Facebook when I lost focus. I saw our receptionist out of the corner of my eye; he sat down next to me and just asked me:
"Hey, are you OK?"
And that was the only thing I needed to hear. I told him honestly ("no"), but he didn't pry, he didn't try to get at any gossip or emotional trauma. Instead, he just said he hoped I felt better, but not in a passing way. It felt genuine.
So, thank you, Covel Receptionist, for noticing me.
Consistently on the verge of weeping/crying (depending on the severity of what little thing bothered me), I'm exhausted. Walking felt strangely automatic today, as if my feet were working for me and I had little control over where they shuffled me. My head felt light, detached from my body, trapped in its own hazy state separate from every other part of me. Everything was - still is - bizarrely muted. Ironically, this distance from everything around me triggered this instinct, this desire to flee. Anything would have been better than that distance I felt, that complete and utter isolation from everything around. Nothing felt close and real and nobody could hug me or kiss me or rub my back and assure me that it was going to be OK.
So I cried in a crowd, too, and it had to be one of the worst feelings, watching everyone pass me content or bored with their own lives when I felt like I was simply drowning in mine.
The receptionist at work noticed, though. I'm a writing tutor and no students signed up to work with me today, so I worked on homework and perused Facebook when I lost focus. I saw our receptionist out of the corner of my eye; he sat down next to me and just asked me:
"Hey, are you OK?"
And that was the only thing I needed to hear. I told him honestly ("no"), but he didn't pry, he didn't try to get at any gossip or emotional trauma. Instead, he just said he hoped I felt better, but not in a passing way. It felt genuine.
So, thank you, Covel Receptionist, for noticing me.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Today I Appreciate Leila, Who Showed Me Her Apartment
Finding a nice apartment in Westwood is an awful lot like attempting to nab the Fun-Sized Milky Ways from the broken pinata at a 4th grade birthday party. Unless you're unbelievably quick or you managed to weasel your way through the crowd and nab it while nobody's looking, you may end up with something terrible (e.g. broken Dum-Dums) or absolutely nothing at all.
Hence, my quest for a studio apartment has been rather frustrating and a tad fruitless. Going door-to-door with a pad of paper, a pen, and an eager smile just doesn't seem to cut it for a lot of landlords when it comes to competitive housing in a college town.
Luckily, through one of my co-workers, I discovered Leila, a 4th-year student moving out of a... studio!
See, roommates are great. Roommates are wonderful. Next year, however, I'm ready for something fresh, smoething new, and something entirely my own.
Anyway, poor Leila was sick all weekend (we corresponded via text about her illness), yet she let me come see her place because I'm an anxious person attempting to nab those Milky Ways even though I don't stand much of a chance and will typically settle for the scattered teeth-shattering suckers (I probably like this metaphor too much). She was up front: "My parents thought this place was a shithole" and refreshingly candid: "The bathroom looks like a piece of shit" and "Westwood apartments are pretty fucked up."
But you know what? Thank you, Leila, for telling me your parents' impressions and your opinions about the bathroom. While honesty can sometimes be scathing and inconsiderate, it can also reflect a greater measure of thoughtfulness: she wants me to know exactly what I'm getting into if I decide to move into her apartment rather than try to mask the realities of the situation or try to simply tell me what I want to hear so I can get out of her place. She talked to me for as long as I wanted about the realities of living in a studio (does it get lonely?), the landlord (is he a creeper?), and the utilities (does your Internet, like, work?).
When someone offers their time and opinion generously, I can't help but be grateful, knowing that someone is helping me just a touch more with stressful decisions like housing.
Hence, my quest for a studio apartment has been rather frustrating and a tad fruitless. Going door-to-door with a pad of paper, a pen, and an eager smile just doesn't seem to cut it for a lot of landlords when it comes to competitive housing in a college town.
Luckily, through one of my co-workers, I discovered Leila, a 4th-year student moving out of a... studio!
See, roommates are great. Roommates are wonderful. Next year, however, I'm ready for something fresh, smoething new, and something entirely my own.
Anyway, poor Leila was sick all weekend (we corresponded via text about her illness), yet she let me come see her place because I'm an anxious person attempting to nab those Milky Ways even though I don't stand much of a chance and will typically settle for the scattered teeth-shattering suckers (I probably like this metaphor too much). She was up front: "My parents thought this place was a shithole" and refreshingly candid: "The bathroom looks like a piece of shit" and "Westwood apartments are pretty fucked up."
But you know what? Thank you, Leila, for telling me your parents' impressions and your opinions about the bathroom. While honesty can sometimes be scathing and inconsiderate, it can also reflect a greater measure of thoughtfulness: she wants me to know exactly what I'm getting into if I decide to move into her apartment rather than try to mask the realities of the situation or try to simply tell me what I want to hear so I can get out of her place. She talked to me for as long as I wanted about the realities of living in a studio (does it get lonely?), the landlord (is he a creeper?), and the utilities (does your Internet, like, work?).
When someone offers their time and opinion generously, I can't help but be grateful, knowing that someone is helping me just a touch more with stressful decisions like housing.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)