A New Perspective on an Ancient Art

Thinking of names for characters is difficult—for me at least.

Right now I have this novel idea that I have been mulling over for the past year or so. Just now I have been getting scenes and characters down on paper.

The two main female characters, the names just came to me. But I am having a hard time coming up with an appropriate name for the male character. He is such a strong, integral part of the story that I can’t just don him with any name. It has to be strong, reflecting his personality, his essence. And thus, I have delayed. He simply remains “the brother” or “D—,” so that I can going on with my writing instead of wasting time worrying over what to call him.

It’s driving me crazy.

I haven’t been very proactive in thinking of a good name, I suppose.

I’ve mostly been waiting for it to hit me in the head one brilliant day.

I know it will eventually.

In the meantime, the writing must go on. I found a brilliant blog on writing just the other day. I always get excited when I find a wonderful, helpful blog such as this one by Roz Morris. She wrote a post recently about how writing must be “play” before it becomes work. As soon as I read that, I really, really wanted to write all of a sudden.

Writing as play? It’s such a simple idea, but when I read that, I suddenly realized that I was approaching the blank page with this apprehensive attitude, much like I feel when I am going to a job on a nice sunny day when I would much rather be outside.

Roz says: “Novels need play time before they grow up… So start playing with it early. Collect material. Give it its own folders. Brainstorm a few scenes for fun and let the good bits sneak up on you like the first one did.”

And just like that, I was in the mood to write, to brainstorm, to create. To make lots and lots of bad mistakes in the hopes of producing something beautiful.

Abra-ca-dabra

Yesterday, I rearranged my room. I moved my bed to where my desk was, and I put my desk in the corner where my bed had been.

Ben, my four year old brother, didn't realize my bed was moved, only that it was missing from the old spot.

When I asked him where he thought it was, he said:

"Poof! It's on the roof!"

He's so funny. :)

Creating Beauty: The Dance

Perhaps the best advice is not an answer, but a question…

Questions from The Dance:

What if it truly doesn’t matter what you do, but how you do whatever you do?

How would this change what you choose to do with your life?

What if you could be more present and openhearted with each person you met if you were working as a cashier in a corner store, than you could if you were doing a job you think is more important?

How would this change how you want to spend your precious time on this earth?

What if your contribution to the world and the fulfillment of your own happiness isn’t dependent upon discovering a better method of prayer or technique of meditation, not dependent upon reading the right book or attending the right seminar, but upon really seeing and deeply appreciating yourself and the world as they are right now?

How would this affect your search for spiritual development?

What if there is no need to change, no need to try to transform yourself into someone who is more compassionate, more present, more loving or wise?

How would this affect all the places in your life where you are endlessly trying to be better?

What if the task is simply to unfold, to become who you already are in your essential nature—gentle, compassionate, and capable of living fully and passionately present?

How would this affect how you feel when you wake up in the morning?

What if who you essentially are right now is all that you are ever going to be?

How would this affect how you feel about your future?

What if the essence of who you are and always have been is enough?

How would this affect how you see and feel about your past?

What if the question is not why am I so infrequently the person I really want to be, but why do I so infrequently want to be the person I really am?

How would this change what you think you have to learn?

What if becoming who and what we truly are happens not through striving and trying but by recognizing the people and places and practices that offer us the warmth we need to unfold?

How would this shape the choices you make about how to spend today?

What if you knew that the impulse to move in a way that creates beauty in the world will arise from deep within and guide you every time you simply pay attention and wait?

How would this shape your stillness, your movement, your willingness to follow this impulse, to just let go and dance?

Capturing a Moment

While weeding through my insurmountable pile of folders, looking for stuff to throw away, I came across this exercise my Asian Lit professor gave us to do my last semester of college.

We were studying haikus, the way they are a form of meditation, capturing one moment in time.

He instructed us to choose one haiku and write about it for one minute. Not to add to it, but to take that moment, open it further, and discover what is inside it.

Here is the haiku I chose, and what I wrote:

“A frog leaps
into the ancient pond
--plop!”

A frog leaping into the pond suspends a person in that very moment when nothing exists but for the sound of water splashing lightly and spreading into rings that grow larger and farther apart until once again the water settles and the surface becomes smooth and clear, as if the frog had never been there.

Why So Serious?

Substitute Teaching is teaching me to not take myself so seriously.

On Thursday, I was a roving sub. I went from room to room for half an hour each while the teacher went to a meeting.

In some classrooms, the class was at P.E. so the teachers had me grade spelling tests while they were away. One teacher had me make a bunch of copies. In two rooms, there were student teachers so all I did was sit there and grade papers so that there would be another teacher in the room.

The kids were fourth to sixth graders, and in several classes, the kids graded each other’s math assignments while I read them the answers.

My favorite was a fourth grade class toward the end of the day. My main job was to split the students into their reading groups. Naturally, chaos ensued. The students were confused as to why they had a sub all of a sudden. Apparently, the teachers did not make this clear to them.

No one wanted to get into their assigned groups. The teacher had grouped them by the rows they were in. The kids were all over the room, asking if they could be in a friend’s group or telling another kid he couldn’t be in their group. Some students had no idea what group they were in.

In my loudest, most authoritative voice, I ordered everyone to get back into their seats. Then I told them to look at who was in their row so they would know who was in their group.

“How old are you?” someone asked.
“You look like you’re 18!” said a curly-haired girl in the back.

For some reason, I didn’t care what they thought. In any other circumstance, this bugs me.

I had the groups go to different parts of the room to do their reading. This was difficult to get them to do as well. One group tried to sit underneath the teacher’s desk. One group kept asking if they could go in the closet. At least two groups were sitting down.

“They’re making fun of your name!” curly-haired girl said, pointing to the group sitting against the wall.

Again, this doesn’t bother me. “That’s okay,” I said.

“Your name is funny!” said the blonde haired boy sitting against the wall. The kid next to him laughed in agreement.

I just smiled. “I think it’s pretty funny too.”

Then, I went from group to group and made conversation, asking what the story was about and such. The kids would talk about random things and I simply went along with it, all the while, redirecting them to their books and fielding their protests about having read this story three times already.

“Miss Wieser!” said curly-haired girl when I came around to her group. “He took my turn! I was supposed to read next.”

“Well, then you can take his turn,” I said.

“No,” she said. “He took my turn.”

“You can take both their turns,” I responded.

This time the girl didn’t say anything. She just grinned and laughed.

Overall, this was my favorite class of the day. I felt like once I stopped taking myself seriously and balanced my serious teacher attitude with speaking to the kids on their level, I was able to control them better and gain their respect.

I noticed that in classes where I was all business/completely serious, I didn’t connect with the kids as much. It makes me realize how important humor is in the learning/teaching process.

OK Go - This Too Shall Pass

I have fallen in love with OK Go music videos. Just when I think they can't do better, they prove me wrong. :D

And there's an accordion!

And a jagnormous xylophone!

:)

Sweat Rings, Sore Feet, and Happiness

I never thought I would say this, but I enjoy subbing.

At the end of the day, my feet are sore.

My shirt has sweat rings under the armpits.

I am hot and sweaty and tired.

I am thirsty from talking more than I am accustomed to.

My mind is on auto-pilot from being pulled at in a dozen directions.

But I am HAPPY. In fact, I feel happier than I have in the past three months when I did not work at all.

Yes, teaching is way out of my comfort zone. I never ever thought I would be doing something like this. But the more I do it, the more confident I feel and the more I learn from my mistakes.

I have figured out something about myself.

I need to be working. I thought that having a few months break from a job would be good for me. I thought I would get a lot of writing done. I thought it would be a nice stress-free interim before I had to find a job again. I thought a lot of things.

Instead, what happened is this: I had an identity crisis. My parents drove me up the wall. I felt like a teenager all over again. I didn’t write as much as I thought I would. I felt depressed almost all the time. I fantasized about moving to Canada. Or Ireland. Or Virginia. I’d live in the mountains like a hermit. Or camp out near the beach. I felt useless. I was frustrated that even if I wanted to move I couldn’t because my back wasn’t fully healed. And so many more things that I’d either bore your socks off or make you cry. Or both at the same time!

And now I am substitute teaching. It is hard. It’s challenging. But it’s also more rewarding than I’ve ever imagined.

I like kids, and I didn’t know that before.