"You're going to fail, and that's okay. Failure is part of the growth process."

Most of the people in my life know that a lot has changed for me in the years since I graduated from Elizabethtown College. I became a teacher, which was my life's ambition for as long as I remember, and I was able to connect with so many amazing young people and educators. I was able to learn from the diverse experiences of others, and I was able to learn from the experiences that I had. With every new year, new job, new experience, I became a new version of myself. Then I realized, in a painful moment, that teaching was not what I thought it was, and that in the end it was not where I would find happiness and fulfillment. In a blink, that stage of my life was done, and I was forced to create a new identity. Anyone who has done this knows that after a big decision like that, there comes a period where you are adrift, unfocused and confused about life and where you want to be in it. 

I found a new job, one that I'm happy to say I love very much. More than that though, I learned that I was more as a person than my job description. "Teacher" had been my identity, and without it I was forced to reevaluate. In the course of that I made a startling discovery. Teaching was what I had been doing, and it was something I enjoyed, but it isn't the whole of who I am. Little by little, I began to see that I could be many things. I could be a teacher and a student. And I don't mean a teacher in the traditional sense, where you stand in front of a classroom, or a student in the typical sense, where you learn from a teacher. I could be a teacher of life. I could move people's minds not by feeding them endless facts, but by demonstrating a positive way to live. I could learn on the ground, from other teachers of life, who can be both young and old. In fact, I have learned the most from people under the age of 18.

As part of this journey, I found that for the first time in my life, or at least since puberty, I began to actually like myself. I began to appreciate myself for both my strengths and my weaknesses. My strengths allowed me to provide a good example, and my weaknesses allowed me to remain a real, fallible person for the young people that watch me every day. Some may wonder why it is important to be fallible. Isn't it better to be invincible in the eyes of others? Isn't it better to at least seem like you have all the answers? No, it isn't. If you want to be a leader, be a teacher of life, it is essential that you remain transparently fallible, and I will tell you why.

Bi-monthly, the youth leaders at the Inner Harbor Project receive an evaluation from both me and the Youth Executive Leaders. As part of the evaluation process, I always have them write down a couple of goals that they have for themselves (work and personal) in the next two months. When it's time for evaluations again, we revisit those goals. Did they accomplish them? If not, why not? What can we do as a team to make those things happen? If they did hit their goals, then we create a couple new ones. Then I send them back off to the races, where they work on those goals for the next two months.

On the surface this seems simple. It's the same thing done in schools across the nation, after all. So let me tell you what makes it different. In my role as the Youth Coordinator, I am constantly visible. In the summer I spend 7 hours a day working with groups of young people. We eat lunch together sometimes, definitely snacks, and share a large part of our lives with each other. And you know what? They know my goals too. They know that I'm working on budgeting better, and that I made mistakes along the way financially. They knew immediately in January when I began nutritional cleansing, and have watched every step of the way as I struggled to give up soda and incorporate healthy foods and exercise into my life. They know that I want to go back to school, and that I value learning as a tool for lasting success. And you know what, they're as young as 14 years old and they support me every single step of the way, just as I support them. And you know what the result has been? SUCCESS. 

I sometimes sound like a broken record (even to myself), but I am constantly telling them that the most important thing in life is to keep improving. When it comes to learning and growing, you should never be "done." If you think you are, take a step back and reevaluate. It's possible that you may need to take another look at your identity to see if you are living the best possible life you can live. So you know what? It's not important for people to think you're invincible, or that you have all the answers. The truth is that no one does. Pretending you do is holding you back from benefiting from the amazing experiences and support systems available to you! It is ok to be still working, still learning, still racing for the highest prize. Along the way you're going to find successes that you didn't even know you were working toward.

I went to an amazing conference this weekend. It was a celebration of success, absolutely, but even more than that it was a celebration of failures. What? A celebration of failures? That's right! One of the speakers said something there that I thought was really profound. He said, "You're going to fail, and that's okay. Failure is part of the growth process." Not only is failure okay, but that's where the best ideas come from! And don't hide your failures, because someone else can learn from your journey.

The last few years have been stressful, trying and at times unbearable. But you know what? They were also beautiful, enlightening and above all, worth it. So when you get discouraged because you've failed again, remember that there are support systems out there for you, and that the people in them can benefit from all of your experiences, good and bad, just like you can.

"I grew up in a neighborhood in Baltimore that was like a war zone, so I never learned to trust that there were people who could help me." -Jada Pinkett Smith

On one of my first days as the Youth Coordinator for the Inner Harbor Project in Baltimore, I was sitting around the table in our office with the Youth Executive Leaders. These are teenagers, so I was still a little nervous about my new authoritative role in their lives. It was important that they respect me, and I knew from my experience as a teacher that respect was almost always earned in those early days. I ended up being relieved at how easy our relationship was from the beginning. 

During that roundtable discussion, I ended up learning what a "chicken box" is. It's simple really, fried whole chicken wings and fries, topped with ketchup, hot sauce and salt and pepper. It's a Baltimore tradition, and trust me, it's delicious. The YELs then told me that I wasn't allowed to truly live in Baltimore if I'd never had one. Clearly I needed to know where the best place was to get a chicken box, and a debate ensued, everyone advocating for their favorite. The one thing everyone agreed on though was that I shouldn't go to those chicken places because it wouldn't be safe for me. That week, the youth leaders at the project brought me a variety of chicken boxes from all over the city, so that I could choose my favorite. They were all awesome, and it was hard to choose a winner! It was a fun week, and "What is a chicken box?" was the first of many lessons that the teens here would teach me about their Baltimore.

I say "their" Baltimore, because it's become increasingly clear to me that the Baltimore that my kids live in is not the same Baltimore I grew up loving. It's not the Baltimore of Camden Yards, Fells Point and Inner Harbor attractions. Their Baltimore is scraping together change to catch the bus to work, sitting in overcrowded classrooms that are, in many cases, without clean water, air conditioning and/or proper heating, and neighborhoods full of abandoned row homes and peeling lead paint on the walls. They grow up watching teens on television who are either comfortably living in the suburbs or affluently living in cities like New York, and until Kerry Washington debuted as Olivia Pope on "Scandal" a few years ago, strong, important black characters were largely absent from the small screen. 

It would take far too long for me to elaborate on all of the historic factors that have contributed to the amount of poverty and hopelessness here in Baltimore, but I would like to highlight a couple of important points related to the "American Dream" that most of us grow up believing in. In the poor neighborhoods of Baltimore, and poor areas all over the country, there is no such thing as the American Dream. If we compare the route to achieving success to a fire escape, then kids that are born into poverty (all poverty, both rural, suburban and urban) have to first find a way to reach the ladder, which is dangling ten feet above them, and pull it down, rather than having it readily accessible from the ground. 

I grew up hearing the common phrase "If you work hard enough, you can do anything," and I believed it. I believed it all the way up until I took my first teaching job at Harford County's Alternative Education School. It only took me a few weeks to realize that much of what I believed about the American Dream just wasn't true. As the CEO of Baltimore City Schools said in his recent Baltimore Sun editorial, "most of us remain in or near the socioeconomic level in which we are born." That means that if you're born poor, you're most likely to remain poor. Success stories, like Jada Pinkett Smith's, whose quote I used to title this piece, are few and far between. Many of the kids that grow up poor may not know the statistics of the issue, but on some level, they realize that it's not likely that they'll become superstars or CEOs. All they have to do is look around their neighborhoods for proof. I credit the great job my parents did with the fact that with the exception of not having central air conditioning, I was largely unaware that we weren't affluent when I was growing up. Many of the kids I went to grade school with were not so lucky. 

Adding insult to injury in the case of childhood poverty, over a half a million children in the U.S. are believed to have lead poisoning. Lead poisoning can lead to learning disabilities, behavior issues, organ damage, low IQ and death. Where does the lead come from? It comes from the peeling paint on the walls of the homes that children are growing up in. The story is a lengthy one, and has its roots in the 60s and 70s, when landlords (or slumlords) were buying up houses for cheap, and then dragging their feet when it came to bringing them up to code. All the while, families were living in these houses, and toddlers, who are well known to ingest anything and everything, were putting those peeling paint chips in their mouths and drinking water from lead pipes. Sadly, there are many houses in Baltimore today that are still not up to code, and as a result, Baltimoreans like Freddie Gray and his twin sister Fredericka are suffering from lead poisoning.

I've taught more than a few students with lead poisoning. They've been diagnosed with everything from ADHD to emotional disturbance, and in many cases are put into "special schools" that are little more than holding cells until they can be turned out into the streets, many times with a reading level far below that of a high school senior. Because they have behavioral issues, many of which are a result of the lead poisoning, they are often deemed "too hard to handle," and as a result are shifted into In School Suspension and expected to learn independently by reading to respond to questions. Because this has happened from an early age, they've never really learned to read at all, and so they become frustrated and defiant, continuing the cycle of punishment until they either drop out, age out or graduate. This is also a large part of the school to prison pipeline theory, which I won't get into here.

In an article for the Baltimore Sun, Ruth Ann Norton, from the Green and Healthy Homes initiative said "This is the toxic legacy of lead based paint. Our kids are ill-equipped to stay in the classroom, finish school. They're very unlikely to go on to higher education..." I have seen this firsthand, and it is both heart breaking and true. By the time many inner city kids reach high school, they're so disenchanted with school that they're counting the days until they can legally drop out. And this also true in a lot of cases where lead poisoning doesn't play a part.

I want to ask you, the reader, a favor. Close your eyes and pretend for a minute that you're a toddler, living in Baltimore's Sandtown neighborhood. You're two, maybe three years old, you rarely see your mother because she works two jobs, and you've never met your father because he's been in jail for dealing weed since before you were born. You spend most of your days in the care of your oldest sister, who's twelve, but she's in the fifth grade because she misses a lot of days of school. She has to, because someone has to take care of the younger kids while mom is working. "The younger kids" include you and your other older sister, who's five. Your oldest sister struggles in both reading and math because of the inconsistency of her education, and so she avoids them at all costs, because she has come to associate school with frustrated teachers and failure. That means that no one is reading to you or your other sister. Mom is too tired when she is home, and your oldest sister just doesn't want to. All of this means that you are going to enter school already at a deficit in comparison to more privileged children. 

Fewer than half of children who are born into poverty arrive at school ready to learn, as opposed to 75 percent of those from families with moderate and high income, according to a study done by the Brookings Institution. This is the very first achievement gap that students experience, and when you add to it other factors like lead poisoning, having to care for younger siblings, and large class sizes, the gap just seems to get wider as they get older. Is it any wonder that kids like Freddie Gray grow up without any real hope of a legitimate career? When you're reading at a fourth or fifth grade level at the time you graduate from high school, what are the chances that you'll be able to obtain even a minimum wage position? This is the kind of hopelessness that kids in Baltimore, and in other places across the country, face every day. Can you begin to see why it may seem like dealing drugs is the only way to make money? 

The situation facing the students enrolled in public schools today is dire. Even beyond socioeconomic and environmental factors, standardized testing has added another level of pressure to students who already consider themselves to be failures. The closing of many Baltimore City Schools has increased the number of students in a classroom, and teacher absenteeism is an epidemic in a school system where those large class sizes and standardized tests can make even the most accomplished, passionate educator feel overwhelmed and despondent. Plus, keep in mind that most teachers take a passionate, vested interest in the welfare of their students, and it's traumatizing to see the system fail them again and again. According to the U.S. Department of Education, thirty-five percent of teachers in Baltimore City miss ten days or more on average per school year. Teacher attendance is closely linked to student success.

Politicians and laymen alike continue to say things like "young people are the future," and yet as the years pass it seems like less and less is being done to help prepare those young people to be successful, contributing members of society. If a child who is bright and capable when they enter school has been beaten down and left behind to the point that they drop out before graduating, clearly something is wrong. Many of my students who had been "given up on" by the traditional education system were in fact some of the most creative, brightest kids I've met. Yet in most cases, by the time they reached me in high school, the damage to their self confidence was so complete that they were dispirited, unwilling to believe that they could turn their academic experience around. 

After the riots that shocked the nation last week, the question shouldn't be "Why haven't these teenagers been locked up?" The question should be, "How did we, as a community, fail these kids, who so obviously believe that they have nothing to lose?" More importantly, people should be asking, "What can I do to help?"

There are two Baltimores. Most of the people I know only experience the fun one, the one full of baseball tradition and Natty Bohs, crabs and Ravens football. It's the Baltimore I grew up with. That's the Baltimore that many lamented "losing" as unrest tore through the streets of the other Baltimore, the one that many would prefer to ignore. I know, because before I began teaching here, I ignored it too. Not out of malice, but because it was easier to ignore it than deal with its disparities. It's the Baltimore where my youth leaders live, in the neighborhoods where some of their houses are poisoning them. It's the Baltimore that many Marylanders sweep under the rug of their consciousness because it might challenge their ideas of fairness and justice. Now, in the wake of the last couple weeks of protest, is the time to bring the other Baltimore to light. We as a community need to admit that the system isn't working, and begin to fix it for the young people that are the city's, and the country's, future.

"I wish, as well as everybody else, to be perfectly happy; but, like everybody else, it must be in my own way.”

I seem to go through these periods of time when the words that I wish I could write down just get jumbled up in my head behind a wall made of excuses and stress. Lately, I've felt like my life has been careening forward and standing still all at the same time. To ground myself, I went back and read all of my blog posts from the beginning. I'm not going to sugar coat it, I cried a little more than once. The past year has beein incredibly difficult, mostly because I transitioned from the classroom to an office. I believed that I would spend the rest of my life in a classroom of some sort, and to reach the point where I was too beaten down by the school system to continue seemed like a failure of epic proportions. 

Since I made the decision to become a Youth Coordinator for the Inner Harbor Project, lots of things have changed. I work full time in the summers now, which was an interesting transition, because it didn't leave me as much time for a second job. I channeled the creativity that used to go into bulletin boards and lesson planning into a side art business, which ended up being a great stress reliever as well as a way to bring in extra cash. The new Youth Coordinator job ended up being amazing, and I'm so happy to be able to work so closely with such a talented group of young people. They've picked up where my former students left off in teaching me how to not take myself so seriously, and how to persevere.

Over the last few months I've lost a decent amount of weight, which has led me to become more honest with myself about the depression I have always felt that centered around my weight. It also brought another part time job with it, and I have been happy to help other's achieve their health goals through Isagenix. My job at the project has become more intense recently, in a wonderful way, and in combination with the other side projects I have going on, I have become busier than I have been in a long time. The best part about it is that it all seems so productive. I'm helping others and growing my skills as a professional in ways that I never dreamed would happen. And if I miss the classroom occasionally, it's ok. I just talk with the kids that I work with now and am reminded that I have made the right choice.

On a personal level, it has been difficult for me to adjust to the way that my friendships have evolved. I have friends now that have these beautiful children, and while I am happy to be able to follow their progress on Facebook (thank the lord for social media), it has become harder to communicate with those friends. Their worlds are now totally different than mine. Honestly, it makes me sad, and I'm still not quite sure how to break the ice with them that has formed as a result of neglect.

Other friends are settling down, and it's been weird to realize that they aren't as available as they used to be. Being the only single friend is no joke, and trying to figure out how to make new friends as an adult is the worst! I feel like this post has become a rambling update on my life, but maybe that's what was needed. I don't have any philosophical points to add here, nothing profound or particularly interesting. What's interesting to me though is the way my life still seems to be evolving in a way that I wasn't expecting as I head into my 27th year. Happiness is a journey, not a goal, right? So here's to the journey, let's hope I don't get lost.

"Books are the carriers of civilization. Without books, history is silent, literature dumb, science crippled, thought and speculation at a standstill. Without books, the development of civilization would have been impossible. They are engines of change (as the poet said), windows on the world and lighthouses erected in the sea of time. They are companions, teachers, magicians, bankers of the treasures of the mind. Books are humanity in print." -Barbara W. Tuchman

What was your favorite book growing up? No really, what was it? I'll wait.

If you're above the age of 25, you probably have to sift through, at the very least, the books you read in school. Maybe you read "The Giver," "The Diary of Anne Frank," or "The Great Gatsby." If you're me, and many of my friends, the number of books to consider and discard is exponentially higher. For example, George Orwell's "1984" remains one of my absolute favorites to this day, and I read that in Mr. Frey's ninth grade English class. Today, students may actually leave schools without having read and absorbed any great literature, and it's to the detriment of our society as a whole.

Even now, reading through quotations from "The Great Gatsby," or "Catcher in the Rye," fills me with the desire to read more, to become smarter, in effect, to become even more aware of the human condition. That's what literature is, after all. It is evidence that other people share your emotions, your stories, and your worries. Maybe even more importantly, it is a reminder that there are those who have more worries than you, people whose lives are hampered by trauma and experiences that defy imagination. 

THIS IS IMPORTANT. I don't care what you say, or how well a movie is done, you can't truly understand Nick Carraway's stress in "The Great Gatsby" without reading the novel. You can't feel Katniss' terror and depression in "The Hunger Games," and you certainly can't understand the complexity of Scarlett O'Hara's character in "Gone With the Wind."And trust me, I get just as excited as the next person to see my favorite stories on the big screen, but always, there is something missing. 

As a teacher, and I know, I know, I write about teaching all the time, the number of books-to-movies out there is somewhat troubling. Sure, I enjoy it, but all my students see is an excuse not to read the novel. When they're 25, will they be able to remember realizing that money can't buy you love after watching DiCaprio's Gatsby? Will they have turned the excitement that they felt at watching "The Hunger Games" into a passion for freedom and the importance of the government protecting its citizens' rights? Somehow, I doubt it.

In this world where it's as easy as the touch of a finger to a smart phone screen to watch a video, why would anyone remember any one in particular? When you can watch entire television show seasons on Netflix in a week (guilty), why use the extra energy to open a book and read for fun? 

WHAT IS THIS READING FOR FUN THAT YOU SPEAK OF?!

The frequency of students who read only when forced to in school (and sometimes not even then) is increasing, and with it, this anti-intellectual age in America is gaining a stronger foothold. Susan Jacoby wrote an article called The Dumbing of America for the Washington Post in 2008 that is scarier than most horror movies I've seen. In it she posits that Americans are in danger of losing our "hard won cultural capital to a virulent mixture of anti-intellectualism, anti-rationalism and low expectations." 

I THINK THAT THIS IS ABSOLUTELY TRUE.

Six years later, America is still on a set path to intellectual destruction. The easier things become for us, the less likely we are to go the extra mile. Where are the students who want to write the next great American novel? Most of my students want to be professional athletes, and when prompted to consider other options, answer "I don't know," or "I'll just find something." 

SEE?! THIS IS SCARY.

I was looking back over my life today while I created an autobiographical PowerPoint to show my students, and I realized that in middle school, I was already well on my way to college and a career. I read books, wrote poetry, played the violin. I look at my students, glued to computers or smart phones, and wonder whether they will make it, or if the only ones who do will be the "elite" one percenters who are fortunate enough to be enrolled in private schools. 

We as a nation are not preparing future novelists, or scientists, or presidents. We are allowing technology use to dull the senses of our students, encouraging rote test taking strategies and skills, and killing creativity by removing it from curricula. 

What is going to happen to us when this generation of American citizens are tasked with the operations of the country? This needs to change, and it needs to begin now, and at home, because God knows the education system is sluggish at best, and possibly heading in the wrong direction altogether. 

"It's lack that gives us inspiration. It's not fullness."

Inspiration. 

What does it mean, exactly, to be "inspired?" It's a word that is thrown about by literati, artists and musicians alike. It is a word that rests in the pocket of every (lucky) passerby on the street. It is found all over tumblr, in pretty little graphics that are undoubtedly pastel in nature. Those graphics make their way to Twitter, to Facebook, they're captured in screenshots and posted to Instagram. For those among us who have been lucky to feel, however fleetingly, inspiration, those graphics remind us of better days, or maybe heighten the emotions we are already feeling. 

But WHAT IS IT?!

Inspiration is akin to love, in that it's deeply felt, many times temporary, and somehow always escapes description. It's "indescribable"in that cliche way that boggles the minds of poets and painters, because it truly can not be seen, it can not be described, visually or otherwise. It can only be FELT.

Ah, the frustration of these human FEELINGS!

What's worse than not being able to describe it, even worse than not being able to draw it, or paint it, or sing it, is not being able to feel it. Like love, it isn't something that you miss until one day, it's gone. GONE. You look for it in books, you look for it in the National Gallery of Art near the Monets and the VanGoghs (because if it isn't there, it must have truly disappeared). You check for it in your favorite playlist, outside on a nice spring day (if it's available). Nothing. In desperation, you start looking for it in crowded bars, among the music and lights and general noise of it all. At this point, you're at the point of giving up the search, because really? In a bar? The only things you're likely to find there are sticky floors and inappropriately wandering hands. 

The saddest part is, YOU ALREADY KNOW THIS. 

This is a journey that you've taken before. If you're a writer or an artist, it's probably an epic journey that you take often. If you're not, you may not even realize what it is you're searching for. You might make a mistake and THINK that you're searching for love. WRONG. You might think that you're just searching for your next adrenaline rush. WRONG. It's inspiration, people. You're looking for that flighty little fiend, the fairy of the old stories that makes you happy in one moment and miserable in the next. 

And yet, despite the stress and despair, we continue the search. WHY?

Well honestly, I'm pretty sure it's the same reason that we continue to chase love, and that still more elusive dream, happiness. Because it feels good. Yes, it all comes down to the basic human desire to feel good. Not to mention, inspiration is a powerful tool. Inspired people invent awesome new technology, they write beautiful books that impact our hearts and minds. These people create music so profound that years later, generations later, we'll still remember it. Who wouldn't want some of that?

I know that I do. 

I know what you're thinking. "You've presented a problem with no solution! Where is this 'inspiration' that you speak of? I want some!" I know friend, I want some too. I've come to a realization though, and I used Ray Bradbury's quote as the title for a reason. "It's lack that gives us inspiration. It's not fullness." That empty feeling that you have? It's on the journey to fulfillment that you'll find your inspiration. It's the struggle, and the sadness, and the search that provide the spark with which great American novels are spawned. 

Maybe you won't write the next Grammy Award-winning song, or paint the next Mona Lisa. Maybe I won't either. But maybe, if you raise your children with inspiration, or influence someone that crosses your path, they will. 

So, this is my life. And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I'm still trying to figure out how that could be. -Stephen Chbosky

Today I sat in an Irish pub in D.C.'s Chinatown. I had just come in out of the rain, my previously curled hair disheveled and touched with an annoying frizziness. Apparently I need to invest in an umbrella that can fit in my cute but somewhat impractical cross-body purse. I sat down at the bar, alone, and asked the bartender for a Guinness and a menu, please. While I waited for my drink to be poured, I twisted my hair back out of my face and took in my surroundings.

I've never been to Ireland, but the inside of that pub is what I imagine that Ireland is like. It was dark, crowded with knickknacks and Gaelic phrases. The beers on the taps in front of me ran to international favorites, with the typical Irish brews highlighting the group. My beer and menu were placed in front of me, and as I perused my options, a thought occurred to me. 

This is my life now. This is my life, and for the first time since the days of stressful collegiate bliss that marked the last time that I was truly out of my hometown, I have more answers than questions. I can sit at a bar, drink beer and write all day long if I want to (or more likely, if I have the money to). I can go home at a reasonable hour, and make dinner, or I can stay out all night. I'm sure my mother would tell you that I did these things at home anyway, but somehow, it's not quite the same.

When you're young, a teenager or maybe a college student, the answers to all of life's problems seem so easy. Of course you can single-handedly hold down a job, go out every night, and save the world. There is good, and there is bad, and all of the world should simply fall in line. Bills will get paid, the dishes will get done, and your friends will be your friends until the end of time. When you're young, all things seem possible.

Somehow, when you reach the other side, when your bubble pops and that black and white world is washed in gray, there are no answers. Suddenly, you can't find a job, and you're back to waiting tables or cashiering or doing whatever you can to make a few bucks. There is no glamorous apartment and nightlife waiting, because you had to move back in with your parents. And you try to be grateful, but it's hard, because this was not in the plan. Save the world? Ha! It's exhausting just trying to save yourself!

The hardest truth to accept is that sometimes your friends, those people that you laughed with, and cried with, and jumped over life's hurdles with, aren't going to be your friends until the end of time. You start to realize that it takes a certain type of connection to create lasting friendships. As sad as that undoubtedly is, the silver lining is that you learn, at long last, to appreciate the friends that do stay in your life. And after that bubble of youth and naivety has exploded as fairy tales do when faced with reality, you find yourself searching, sometimes in vain, to find the possibilities in front of you.

The years between high school and twenty-five are exciting, sad, and excruciating. They are some of the best years of your life and some of your darkest. They're saying (whoever "they" are) that people are now experiencing "quarter-life crises." Ask anyone between the ages of 23 and 30, and they'll tell you that it's true. If it hasn't happened to them, it's happened to someone they know. Come to think of it, they might tell you that they can feel it coming on. Because these days, treading water in an unsteady job market can drive the most sane person crazy. Not to mention the fear of being alone!

I would like to think that I've finally found a place where I can relax. I feel as though I have been wound so tightly for the last three years that I don't know how to handle it when things finally start to work out. But today, sitting in a dark bar, pen in hand, I realized that I am finally figuring out who I am supposed to be. And maybe I'll be able to save the world after all. 

[Children] are vulnerable to everything dangerous around them. They are concentrating on the busy task of growing up. They aren't yet aware of the hazards on all sides. Looking out for them should be our job.

Every day there seems to be a new tragedy making headlines. So many that I am afraid that the world's citizens are becoming desensitized by the constant barrage of Facebook posts, Change.org petitions and general mudslinging that accompanies them. There is a war being fought in our society, not one of guns and air strikes, but rather one of vicious anonymity. All over the world, we sit behind our computers, laptops and smart phones, slinging words in a way that has made them more insidiously dangerous than bullets. 

We all sit in high school classrooms at some point or another, listening to teachers go on about great leaders. We pass (or don't pass) the tests, put in the time and then promptly forget everything that we learned. As a teacher myself, it hurts to know that the same is more true today than it was ten years ago. John F. Kennedy urged us to "accept responsibility for future." He told us "Do not pray for easy lives. Pray to be stronger men." When confronted with the evidence that words can be overwhelmingly positive in their power, I have to wonder, when did it all go astray?

In the wake of Trayvon Martin's death, I saw something magical. I saw something that could almost make up for the loss of a young life. I saw my students, many of them broken, angry and violent, come together with hoods up in a day of remembrance. Was it politically correct? Maybe not. Was Trayvon an innocent bystander? We'll never really know. But somehow, in that moment, I saw a flicker of hope, a connectedness, in a generation of children that live their lives behind a computer screen.

Yet in the year that has passed since the shooting, I have witnessed a movement that began so compassionately turn negative. Suddenly it was less about the death of a 17 year old boy and more about the "biased media." On social media, anonymous floating faces typed harsh words about a boy that can not only no longer defend himself, but who will never have the opportunity to correct his mistakes. 

In Trayvon I see every student that I have ever taught. In my students I see the faces of millions of children who were born so disadvantaged, financially and socially, that for many the strength required to rise above will prove to be too much. And through everything, I see a society of people who are relaxing behind the wall that social media has created. People who have good intentions and bad intentions. People who bully and those who are dying from being bullied. Enough is enough.

When did it become enough to sign an electronic petition? Is sharing that link enough to change the world? I am in no way innocent of doing those things, and lately I have reflected on my own online choices. And so I have made a mid-year resolution. It is not enough to berate those whose faces I can not see. The only real thing that I can do is set an example. I am going to make every effort to live my words.

Recently I read a book that was given to me by Robyn Barberry, a fellow teacher. It was Just a Minute, by Wess Stafford. Granted, it leaned a little too much toward the religious side of things for me, but its message was overwhelming in its poignancy. Stafford asked the reader to take a moment to remember a person who had an affect on their life, whether it was good or bad. How long did it take for that person to affect your whole being? In many cases it can happen in just a minute.

I believe that many adults fail to realize that they are capable of affecting the children in their lives. Stafford states that "any of us can wield a powerful effect, if we simply care and stay alert to the opportunity." Who knows what might have happened in Trayvon's situation if someone along the line had taken the time to say a kind word, to discourage violent tendencies. Maybe the Sandy Hook shootings could have been avoided if Adam Lanza's mother, or teachers, or friends had taken more of an interest in his life and mental health needs. 

I ask only that you go into the world with a positive attitude. Smile at the person passing you on the street. Hold a door, utter a kind word. None of us know what is happening in the lives of those around us, and that smile could make or break that person's life. 

I hope that we will someday cease to lean upon the anonymity given to us by the Internet. I hope that we can curb the bullying that brings only death and violence to our children. Most of all, I hope that you, whoever you are, will take the time to affect someone's life as others have affected yours.

I leave you with one last question: What has become of our free society, that we hope each day for the safe return of our children just as we hope for the return of our soldiers?

It's too cold outside for angels to fly, an angel will die, covered in white, closed eyed, and hoping for a better life

Several weeks ago we received some bad news at school. One of our students had been killed over the weekend. He was shot several times. This boy was in ninth grade. Say what you want about Baltimore, and gang violence, if that's what it was, but regardless of the circumstances surrounding his death, that is entirely too young to die. I didn't know this student personally, but I know who he was. I know that he breathed, and laughed, and gave the staff a hard time. I'm sure that he worried about friends, and girls, and probably a lot of other things that no teenager should ever have to worry about. 

The lives of many of my students are filled with uncertainty. Uncertainty about where they'll be living next month, or next week, or even tomorrow. Uncertainty about where their next meal will come from. Sounds tough right? Sounds like no one should ever have to grow up in a situation like that, right? Is it any wonder that I spend my days working to help these students develop a future beyond those circumstances? You might feel sad right now, maybe you can sympathize, maybe you can even relate. Or maybe you're one of the people that assumes that my students will be the ones to "leach off of the system." Maybe you stand in judgement of children who did not choose that life. You are entitled to your own opinion, as always, but I hope that you can take a moment to feel something for those who have to begin life with a deficit. 

In the wake of the tragedy at Sandy Hook Elementary School, it has been difficult not to give into the desire to weep at the injustice of it all. As an educator, I look at the stories of Victoria Soto, Dawn Hochsprung and Mary Sherlach and I feel a thread connecting me with these women, and with every other educator who would do literally anything for their students. I feel gratitude toward them, not only for saving the lives of many students, but for showing the world that the good in people really does exist. Their sacrifices will live on in every teacher that goes to school tomorrow morning, and in every student who feels comforted by the fact that their teachers have their backs. I grieve with the rest of the nation for these women, and for the innocent children that lost their lives on a day that began like any other day. 

As someone who spends every day with students who are emotionally disturbed, however, it is hard for me to look at Adam Lanza and not feel some sympathy for him as well. Crucify me if you must, I'm sure there are readers who will jump all over this, but Adam Lanza was a boy who needed help that he obviously wasn't receiving. I was reading "I am Adam Lanza's Mother", which is the story of a mother with an emotionally disturbed son, and I was moved by her honesty. It is the side of the story that many don't see, and regardless of your initial opinion, you should all read it.

I was horrified by one of the comments, which read "If he wants to kill himself, let him." At which point do we decide that a child is a lost cause? Seven? Eight? The first time he or she has an outburst? Do we do as that reader suggested and allow them to kill themselves? As a parent, should we give our child up to the state, or allow them to be charged with a trivial crime just to get them help? These are issues that my students' parents and guardians deal with every day. I have students whose parents did give them away, and trust me, that only made their issues worse. Do we breathe a sigh of relief when a child is murdered in the streets because at least we don't have to worry about them anymore? 

Let's take this time of mourning and use it to have an honest discussion about the options for those who have these problems. Let's make it okay to ask for help. Let's do our best to cut down on the bullying in schools that makes students afraid to ask for that help for fear of embarrassment. If the things that I have written here have shocked you, good. If you feel anger or confusion or torn, good. At least you're still here to do something about it. At least the students at my school still have a shot because they are in a place where the staff is working every day to understand them. Think though, about the children like Adam Lanza, who fall through the cracks. What if someone had fought for him when he was eleven, or twelve, or whenever he first started showing signs of illness? One of the people who knew him growing up was quoted as saying that he was "odd" when he was as young as five. Five! We'll never know, but we as a society can do something to help the others like him.

Don't ever allow yourself to feel trapped by your choices. Take a look at yourself. You are a unique person created for a specific purpose. Your gifts matter. Your story matters. Your dreams matter. You matter.

In 2009 I was a senior at Elizabethtown. I was student teaching, working and writing my senior thesis. In addition, my long lost father was about to make a sudden and dramatic entrance into my life. That however, is a complicated story for another day. So when "The Blind Side" was released in theaters, heading to the movies was really low on my priority list. By the time I remembered that I really wanted to see it, it was already out of theaters. After that well, you know how it is, things kept coming up and I never got around to watching it.

Regardless, it always hung around at the back of my mind because I love a good underdog story. I find that it is so easy to be inspired by the Michael Ohers of the world, and everyone needs some inspiration. Soon after the movie was released, I began to hear people talking about the accuracy of it, and I concluded that I wouldn't see it until I read the book. Then life got in the way again. It wasn't until a couple of months ago that I was reminded yet again that I was missing out.

My reminder came in an unexpected form. In a school where most of the students struggle with academics, one student recommended that I read a book. Not just any book, Michael Oher's autobiography I Beat the Odds. This student told me that I should read it because Michael's life reminded him of his own. In an attempt to get to know these students, some of whom live in circumstances that most can't even imagine, I took the book from the student and began to read.

 

 

 

I'll be honest, I'm not a big fan of reading non-fiction unless it serves a specific purpose. I tend to associate it with college papers and tedium, and try to stay away. This book grabbed me from the very beginning. It was a story about a young boy who realized very early on that in order to change your circumstances, you have to take charge of your own life. Oher encourages the readers of his book to surround themselves with positive influences, because it really does matter whose company you keep. This boy, whose mother is a crack addict and who has approximately a dozen siblings, was never told "I love you," but somehow learned to recognize it anyway.

Now that I have both read the book and seen the movie, I can recognize that "The Blind Side" did get some things wrong. Michael Oher was never stupid, and at times I believe that the movie portrayed him that way. He simply couldn't stay at a school long enough to receive a quality education. He also didn't need help learning plays, he had been dissecting plays in baseball, basketball and football since he was very young. Sports had always been an outlet for him...it was not something that was introduced to him in high school.

One thing the movie did get right? The goodness, generosity and loving nature of the Tuohy family. If you want to aspire to be like anyone, that is the family to look up to. I know that I learned a thing or two from Leigh Ann Tuohy's tenacity. I hope that when I have a family someday that I can raise my children the way that they raised theirs, to be accepting and open minded.

Michael Oher fights to be a role model for children living in the same circumstances as he did when he was a child in Memphis. The last chapter of his book was written as a guide for those children. He writes that he hopes that teachers and foster parents and social workers will copy that last chapter and give it to their kids, to show them that there is a light at the end of the proverbial tunnel, but that to reach it, you have to work harder than most. That is perhaps the most inspiring thing about Michael Oher: his ingrained knowledge that in order to change your situation, you have to be proactive. You have to DO SOMETHING about it.

I encourage all of my students to read I Beat the Odds. "I've seen the movie" is not an acceptable response, because the movie does not emphasize how truly hard Oher had to fight to "get out of the ghetto." I cried in my office as I was finishing that book. Not because it was sad, but because finally, someone is speaking out about what it takes to pick yourself up out of the ghetto and fight your way to success.

I don't want someone to save me, I want someone to stand by my side as I save myself.

Every day there are little reminders that I have yet to find someone to share my hours with. A couple holding hands, a friend telling a story about her boyfriend, or her upcoming wedding, or even a discussion about whether or not a friend should start trying for a baby. I want all of those things, as any girl that listened to boy bands and watched Disney fairy tales does. After seeing Magic Mike over the weekend, I definitely want all of those things, plus maybe someone who can dance. Seriously. 

That being said, I find myself continually faced with a kind of lingering fear. My most recent relationships have been testaments to the fact that I always feel the desire to change the person I'm with. My friend Erin and I have come to the realization that as teachers, we yearn to help people, to shape them into better versions of themselves. Unfortunately, that particular inclination tends to bleed out of the classroom and into our personal lives at every turn.

In a response to past failures, I have spent the last year avoiding relationships in general. I keep telling myself that it's because I'm waiting for the perfect circumstances, the perfect guy, the perfect conversation. I keep saying that I'm not settling, that I'm waiting to see if I have to move, that no one has connected with me (with the exception of one extremely inappropriate guy who shall remain nameless). I laugh with my friends about my single girl escapades and tease them about their relationships, when in reality I'm just jealous.

So what is a girl to do? I could continue to blame my daddy issues and the uncertainty of my future, but that obviously hasn't been working for me. I could keep skirting the issue, and flirting with boys at bars, getting drunk and using my youth as an excuse. I cling to my independence because I am afraid to allow anyone else any ownership. I've had a lot of fun, and I know that I will continue to do so, but what I really need to do is relax and realize that my next relationship might not be the fairy tale that Disney taught me to want, but it might be fun, and it certainly won't kill me. 

Someday, if you have something to offer, someone will learn something from you. It's a beautiful reciprocal arrangement. And it isn't education. It's history. It's poetry.

A few weeks ago, I was engaged in a text message conversation with my friend Scott. He told me that his mother had just started reading Fifty Shades of Grey. Of course this incited a torrent of pithy remarks about the sheer ridiculousness of that book's popularity, which seems to be a rather frequent occurrence these days. Amused, he responded, "I really think this is going to be your Catcher in the Rye."

As someone who is usually pretty adept at understanding allusions, I was annoyed when this reference completely escaped me. Unfortunately, I had to ask what he meant. He said something along the lines of "After all three (Fifty Shades books), you're killing Lennon." That was enough for me to Google "John Lennon Catcher in the Rye," which yielded about a million results. Cheating, I clicked on the Wikipedia articled on The Catcher in the Rye, which told me that after Mark David Chapman shot Lennon, he stayed at the scene of the crime reading Salinger's novel. Inside the cover of the book, he had written:

Dear Holden Caulfield, From Holden Caulfield, This is my statement.

As if that wasn't intriguing enough, the Wikipedia article also mentioned that the novel has also been associated with two other crimes: Robert John Bardo had a copy on him when he shot Rebecca Schaeffer, and after John Hinckley Jr. made his attempt on Ronald Reagan's life, a copy of the novel was found in his hotel room. 

Salinger's novel has been challenged many times by school boards and parents because of its sexual references and inappropriate language. It was this fact that initially prompted me to read the novel in middle school. That and the fact that I was consistently working my way through every book in the public library. Even though I was enthusiastic about reading a banned book, all I can remember about my first sojourn into Holden Caulfield's world is that I didn't like it. I didn't like the sarcasm, or the way it was written. Of all of the books that I have read and disliked, only two stand out in my memory. One was The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand, and the other was Catcher in the Rye.

Well, after I found out about the book's ties to the aforementioned crimes, I obviously needed to read (or re-read, really) this novel to see if it made me insane as well. I ran the idea by another friend, Liz, and she told me that the novel was one of her favorites. Whether or not this makes her insane is up to interpretation, but she assured me that Holden Caulfield's humor is similar to hers. Since I enjoy her humor, I went to Barnes and Noble and picked up a copy.

Hoping that I was too young the first time I read the novel, I sat in Barnes and Noble's adjoining Starbucks and cracked the spine. It's a bad habit, but I do it anyway. Sipping my low calorie skinny vanilla latte (iced, of course), I once again stepped into the 1950's life of Holden Caulfield.

Holden initially comes across as a pretty typical seventeen year old boy, which only served to cement my long-held belief that people don't really change over time. He has gotten kicked out of yet another prestigious boarding school, which the reader soon realizes is absurd. It's absurd because Holden is smart, exceedingly so. It is apparent in every word of the novel. He is also potentially manic-depressive, irrational and impulsive, but some of the most intelligent people inevitably are.

The book itself is almost like a stream of consciousness: just several days in Holden's mind. It is at once inspirational and depressing. I found my own emotions following the roller coaster ride of Holden's, and highlighting little tidbits of wisdom that were spewed forth almost casually by Holden and the myriad foil characters that he interacts with.

Honestly, the most frustrating thing about the book is its realism. Holden Caulfield is the least contrived, most alive character that I have ever met. I say met because when you read this novel, that is what you do; you meet Holden Caulfield, and you spend a couple of days with him. You start to wonder whether he'll ever call Jane Gallagher, because Salinger never tells you. Plus, the whole time you're reading, Holden keeps wondering where the ducks from the Central Park pond go in the winter. Then suddenly, the book is over and you never find out. That's terrible!

After the second go-around with this book, I have revised my initial opinion. Love it or hate it, J.D. Salinger's Catcher in the Rye is worth reading. I suggest that you take the time to meet Holden Caulfield. After all, somewhere inside all of us is a seventeen year old rebel.

Every man should follow the bent of his nature in art and letters, always provided that he does not offend against the rules of morality and good taste.

I'm not a confrontational person. As a result, I have a habit of writing letters to express my feelings. On many occasions, I never send those letters. Instead, I use them as a cathartic release. Since I am still dealing with the feeling that my life is hovering on the precipice of fate, I decided to write a letter today. This letter is to the next person who occupies my desk at school. For some reason I am terrified that next year my classroom won't be the happy, comforting place that it was this year. I haven't decided yet if I will leave this in my desk, but I think that posting it will go a long way toward helping me close this chapter of my life.

To the next occupant of this desk:

You may be new here, or you may have been here for years. Nothing is certain, which is surprisingly the one thing that I am certain of. As you’re reading this, I could be anywhere; I certainly cast my net wide enough. My name is Brooke, and although you and I may never meet, it’s almost as if we know each other. After all, I was the last person to sit in the chair that you are sitting in now. I was the last person to teach a class in what is now your room, and I was the last person to experience the “first day of school” excitement from your vantage point.

If you are new here, be prepared to feel the whole range of emotions this year. I bet that when you became a teacher, you never imagined that you would find yourself in an old building with no air conditioning, teaching the students that didn't seem to fit in anywhere else. I know that when I was in college, my dreams of my first classroom didn't include peeling paint, laptop carts that only work some of the time, and students that would just as soon cuss you out as sit down and listen.

Don’t be afraid, although perhaps a little fear is good for you. My time in this room was one that I will always remember. Before you get started though, I want you to take a minute and forget everything you’ve heard from the other teachers. I’m sure they’ve told you all of the juicy gossip and horror stories. Walk down the hall and talk for a minute with Robyn Barberry; she’s got her head on straight and she’ll give you the truth. I’m not going to sugarcoat it; this year will be anything but sunshine and roses. It will be hard, frustrating, and at times you’re going to feel like you’d rather be anywhere else. Remember this though, every time a student cusses at you, or walks out, they’re just asking you to notice them. Pay attention to them from the beginning, and you’ll have far fewer issues.

You became an educator for a reason, and you probably ended up here for a reason too. Whether you are a teacher, or a paraeducator, or anything else, you are going to play a huge role in the lives of the students at CEO this year. Regardless of your role, you will teach them, whether you mean to or not. These

kids are sponges, and for the most part, they’re searching for something to give validity to their lives, just like we all are. Do your best to help them find that. Do it because they are going to teach you something every day. Do it because I promise that if you let it, your time at this school will inspire you. Most of all, give this a chance, and I hope that some of the happiness and fun and learning that has happened in this room will lend you support.

Take care of these kids and yourself, and have a wonderful year.

Brooke Travers

And when you finally fly away, I'll be hoping that I served you well...For all the wisdom of a lifetime, no one can ever tell...And whatever road you choose, I'm right behind you win or lose, forever young

The end of the school year is at once exciting, uplifting and overwhelmingly sad. Maybe one day, when I've been teaching for ten or twenty or thirty years, I'll forget to be sad that another group of students has passed through my classroom doors for the last time. I hope that never happens, because despite the tight sensation in my heart and the tears that prick the backs of my eyes, I am grateful to know that I connected with my students, and that I will miss them. It is a teacher's greatest accomplishment, I believe, to know that there are also some kids that will miss their time sitting in those now empty desks.

This year my first group of seniors graduated. Some of them were my students last year, some this year, but as a whole, they are a group that I will never forget. My inaugural class, in a way. Since I have been at Alternative Ed, I have met a multitude of different personalities: angry, depressed, manically happy. Regardless of their insecurities, attitudes and the days that I thought that I would never get through to them, I have loved them each individually.

These days there is a stigma attached to a teacher's love for his or her students. In my mind, this fact is one of the greatest downfalls of today's culture. It is a little pinprick on my conscience every day, this knowledge that because I am a young, female high school teacher, I will be scrutinized and ridiculed for caring "too much" about my students. It's unfortunate that the mistakes and bad judgment of a few will forever color student-teacher relationships.

Regardless, I have never hesitated to express my dedication to the welfare of my students. Ask anyone who talks to me even once a week and they'll be able to tell you that although I have been frustrated, angry and at times a little hysterical regarding my job, at the end of the day I wouldn't trade my kids for anything. There were several moments in the past year when students asked me "You hate us, don't you?" My response was always the same, "Of course not, I lecture you because I love you guys." Sometimes a child needs that reassurance, that unconditional devotion that they are sometimes missing at home. Even in my most desperate, self pitying moments, that answer was always true.

My students are the underdogs in every sense of the word. They are the ones cast out by their "normal, rule-following" peers and tossed in with the other kids "like them" on the island of misfit toys that is Alternative Ed. This year I had the opportunity to witness how teachers cope with these students, and I was saddened to see that in some cases, not only was the love not evident, it wasn't there at all. It is a tragedy that in a place where students, especially the most frustrating and unruly, need to see that love, it wasn't freely given. Love is the most simple gift to give, after all.

I won't pretend that loving my students is easy, in fact it can be the most draining, profanity-worthy process. Even so, I would do it again, day after day after day. Actually, I intend to do so for the rest of my career. Just little acts of caring, a hand on the shoulder, the gift of a sketchbook, a note of encouragement, have the potential to turn things around for kids. In a larger sense, this is true of all people, not just those in school. These  little things are reminders that every moment counts because every moment is an opportunity for someone to chart a different course. 

That course led my inaugural seniors across the stage yesterday, and I have never been more proud of any group of people in my (rather short) life. As I watched them process in, in their white and red caps and gowns, I felt more like a parent than a teacher, because in many ways, some of those kids were my babies. We laughed together, wrangled a wayward dog together (long story) and on more than one occasion, I let them cry on my shoulder. I helped to show them what it means to be good people, and although sometimes they may forget it, they have proven themselves to be good-hearted, capable young adults.

One of my students was the valedictorian, which was the culmination of a year of hard work, perseverance and near perfect attendance. Considering this was a kid who came to us believing that he would be kicked out of school completely before he was eighteen, his accomplishments really can't be understated. On Back-to-School night at the beginning of the year, he told me that he would have straight A's and speak at graduation, and he did that. I know that he exceeded even his own expectations, and he will be a fine asset to the Navy's Nuclear Engineering program.

Another of my boys pretended that he didn't care about graduation, but when he was finished with the ceremony, there were tears in his eyes. I know, and I believe that he does too, that he is capable of anything he sets his mind to. I said goodbye to a girl that is bright, kind and funny, and I hope that she realizes all of her dreams. I hope too that she remembers to never let the opinions of others tarnish her opinion of herself. Finally, I was able to congratulate one of the nicest, quietest, most respectful students that I have ever had the pleasure of teaching. He was in night school, and his quiet dedication and positive attitude are inspiring. I hope that he never loses those qualities.

People ask me why I teach, and especially why I have chosen to spend time at Alternative Ed when I could have made more money simply substituting. My answer varies, depending on when they ask, but in my heart it's always the same: I teach because my students teach me. I teach because I love to give a part of myself to the education of others, and I teach because I find inspiration in every day spent in the company of my kids. The end of the year is exciting, uplifting and overwhelmingly sad, but I wouldn't trade the moments that led up to it for anything.

I am done with this graceless heart, so tonight I'm gonna cut it out and then restart

My next post was supposed to be reserved for a final review of the Fifty Shades trilogy by E.L. James. Unfortunately, getting through the third installment is much like wading through sex-filled quicksand, so that particular post is going to have to wait. Don't hold your breath, I'm pretty sure this last review isn't going to be much more kind than the first.

Regardless, events over the past two weeks have led me to a place that is completely worthy of a complicated, lyrically passionate Florence + The Machine song. That being the case, I decided to take my own advice, which has been tossed out countless times to friends and students over the years. I figure that if I am going to suggest to others that they "write it out," then maybe I should do the same. After all, that advice has always come from a feeling of certainty that all the world's problems can be hashed out on a few blank sheets of paper. Draw it, write it, whatever, if it's on the paper it's out of your head, right? Well, let's put that to the test.

I'm sure that if you're reading this you're either curious about my life for some reason, Facebook stalking (which is pretty much the same thing), or maybe you actually enjoy my cynicism and lame attempts at humor. Whichever category you fit under, I bet you read my entry last week about my friend Shawn. Maybe his death kicked something loose inside of me, because it seems like I've been on a downward spiral since then. Re-reading that now, it seems cliche, but all cliches were created for a reason I guess, because that is exactly how I have felt, like I'm spiralling away and I will never find a safe place to rest.

Why do I feel this way? It's been difficult to figure this out, mostly because I talk to students every day who have things a million times worse than I ever have. To them, my story would seem like a fairy tale. A friend told me tonight that my problems are just as real, and that I feel them just as deeply as my students feel their own issues. I suppose that on some level, that's true, the same way it's true that I seem to be rambling on here without making any real points.

This spiral feels like drowning at times, when I'm lying in bed at night with my eyes wide open, knowing that my body needs rest. In those moments, I feel as though my eyes may never close and at the same time I am afraid to sleep because I know that I will wake up to the same life that I shut my eyes on.That is my biggest fear: the sameness. I am afraid that I will stay stuck in this rut where I am caught between a million families, all of whom need something different from me. The rut that I've been living in for at least the past year and a half, where for some reason my awesome friends aren't enough to fill the yawning loneliness that is fueling my spiral.

At face value, the people around me assume that my loneliness is a result of a lack of male companionship, and I guess that's part of it, if I'm being honest. Actually this particular feeling deserves capitalization, because it's more of an entity at this point. One that sleeps, eats and breathes with me. In that case, The Loneliness was born out of a lack of career, a lack of new adventures and maybe for the first time in my life, a lack of direction.

So what do I do? Apparently I get wine drunk or watch a chick flick and cry to a friend. Or maybe I take my own advice and write it out. Did it work? Maybe. I have a feeling my Florence + The Machine song is as yet unfinished. For now though, I'll stick with this: