I am a teacher, runner, father, and husband. I am an author-in-progress. I'm bad at jiu-jitsu. I know just enough about a lot of things to get me into a lot of trouble.
So I’m working through my last few credit hours of Masters classes. (I know, my timing is awesome. Starting a new job, moving to a new state, throwing my entire life into turmoil…. why not take some post-graduate work onboard too?) And I don’t know if you’re familiar, but in the current online educational environment, *ONLINE DISCUSSIONS* are a big part of the game. That is to say, the instructor posts some topic, and you are REQUIRED to respond based on readings or your own personal experience, and sometimes to respond to your classmates’ responses as well. In short, we’re trying to replicate those conversations we might have in a real classroom, in a virtual space.
An admirable goal, if imperfect. Of course it’s good to talk these things out, and writing (don’t I know it) your thoughts down is probably the best way to straighten out your own thinking about a thing. Of course, what makes a discussion work is the real-time exchange of ideas, not to mention all the other accoutrement of face-to-face interaction (tone of voice, facial expressions, etc). With those out the window … having these “conversations” begins to feel a little more like a hoop to jump through rather than a real, organic way to learn.
Ok, so why am I on about these discussions?
Well, months ago, a colleague of mine told me that she uses AI to do these assignments. She sees no value in them (seeing them, as I do, as a hoop to jump through). So she lets the robots do the work. What’s the harm, right? It’s not like the instructor is reading back in excruciating detail to see if you actually responded and thought about what was said … it’s more like, “did they post something? Does it look like they answered what was being said? Check, move on”.
So I tried it. Obviously. And … I just can’t. I 100% agree with her, but I just can’t let something like that go out with my name on it. AI isn’t there yet, it sounds phony or wordy or just awkward in a way that humans — or at least this particular human — *don’t sound*.
But then I read the comments to my classmates’ posts. And I read what they say in response to my own. And the lizard part of my brain whispers to my subconscious, “NO REAL PERSON WROTE THIS.”
I see it everywhere. Did that person *really* need to ask that question? Was that *really* your takeaway from what was said? Do you *really* appreciate that contribution?
There’s no way to know they’re NOT taking the easy way out, and my brain is poisoned.
And they’re objectively smarter than me, because I’m still sinking in the time.
I have still been writing, in one form or another, maybe not quite every day, over my entire sabbatical, here. The fact is, my writing on socials of any sort (here as much as anywhere) has always felt a little to me like chasing clicks and fostering engagement and things that, for one thing, I’m not good at, and for another, I don’t particularly enjoy. Also, it makes me feel a little dirty. So I gave it up for a while.
What I *have* been writing — and I’ve written a fair deal! — in the meantime has been private, inward-facing, reflective, sometimes ranty. I’ve filled notebook upon notebook. (I still maintain that writing by hand has a sort of *magic* to it, even though there’s nothing magical about it. The speed of thought is different when scribbling the words by hand than when clickety-clacking away. Not sure it’s better … but it’s different.) Socked away digital file upon digital file. (My favorite tool of late is Obsidian, been using it for a little over a year. Felt cute, might post about it later, idk.) Wrote a couple of fun little scenes for my own enjoyment — one or two I wrote specifically for my students to perform (and they didn’t), another couple I wrote just for fun and I didn’t think my students would enjoy them at all (and they SUPER did, and performed THOSE instead), half-wrote and failed to finish more than I care to think about.
And not once did I feel bad about not posting anything publicly.
But lately, I thought a little about this place. And I kind of miss it.
I miss writing for an audience, even if that audience is mostly silent and mostly just me and a couple of people who know me (and a handful of internet strangers who stumble in like cruise vacationers on a shore excursion in a foreign country — lost, ill-outfitted, a little dehydrated and probably slightly inebriated).
And I’m also seeing the power recently in seeing yourself represented in other places. No, I’m not talking about White Guy Representation, there’s plenty of that. Too much of that. I’m not claiming any of that that’s out there, or asking for that. I’m just talking about the sense of “oh, somebody else out there is going through that, too. Ok, I’m not a *total* weirdo.” I always tell my students, somewhat tongue-in-cheek, that “if you’re going through it, somebody else out there is *probably* going through it too.” (Depending on how much they understand my sense of humor, I will tag it with “you might as well share the pain” or “you are not special,” just to watch their faces.)
Not for nothing, I’m also starting a new job and moving soon and life is feeling a lot less certain and set these days, and I GUESS I HAVE SOME THOUGHTS AND FEELINGS ABOUT THAT. I know enough about therapy to know that it’s probably a good idea to at least talk about what I’m feeling, but I’m too much of a stubborn dummy to actually go to therapy (sorry, wife).
So I dunno, maybe I’ll make some posts here again. Maybe it’ll be fun. Maybe it’ll be dumb. (Two things can be true.)
Anyway, if you’re seeing this, thanks. I make no promises and I offer no assurances.
But I’ve learned that when you let go of expectations and stop *asking* your endeavors for things, that’s when you get the really good stuff in return.
I’ve been saying “it’s gonna be ok” to people just about every day for the past two months or so. Because I’m a teacher, and I’m leaving my students.
I need to be more clear, and not just because I haven’t written word one on this page in, oh, a couple years? I worked at my current – no, my former – job for 8 years. I really, really liked it. No, I loved it. You don’t get upset over leaving a job the way I got upset if you don’t love it. I loved my job, I loved my students, I loved my coworkers.
But I’m leaving, because life does funny things to all of us, and sometimes opportunities arise that will never arise again, and because people on their deathbeds don’t talk about the things they did and wished they hadn’t, they talk about the things they didn’t do and wished they had. This is the kind of move that I would always wonder about if I never made it — so I’m making it. Even if it’s scary, even if it hurts.
The hardest part, by far, is leaving my students. I guess that might sound strange to any non-teachers out there, but I can’t even say I’m a normal teacher. I teach theatre. I don’t just have a student for one class somewhere in their 4-year career — I often have students for multiple years. Some kids I teach for all four years. Some I teach as freshmen, then not again until they’re seniors. Some, I never *actually* have in a class, but I direct them many times in our after-school performances.
Point is, I have *relationships* with these kids, and our group feels like family. And I’ve read so many letters in the last two months since I learned I was accepted for my new job — letters showing appreciation for what I’ve done, and who I was, and the things I’ve taught them, and all kinds of things. A thing I wasn’t quite ready to hear was, to how many of these students I became a father figure. (Yes, scary thought if you know me in any capacity, but that only goes to show how much these kids counted on me.)
So — my refrain, upon leaving them, has been: “it’s gonna be ok.”
Which it is. They’re getting an outstanding, well-respected educator to take over the program. I’ve worked hard to make them into confident leaders who can handle things even if their supervising adult doesn’t know anything about the theater (it happens). It’s gonna be ok.
And people leave, right? People come into our lives, and they impact us in big ways and small, and then a lot of them leave. Sometimes expectedly, sometimes not, but nothing lasts forever in this world. And that’s ok. And I tried to explain that, inasmuch as you can explain that to some very, very sad high school students.
What I didn’t quite realize — or what I didn’t want to realize — was that I was telling them that because I was trying to convince myself.
I’ve been in this job for 8 years. That’s well above the average term of employment in the building. I’m a *fixture*. I was ready to potentially play out the next 14 or so years of my career here, if it came to that. And I would have been happy to do so. I wasn’t *trying* to leave my position. And learning how much some of my students are hurting, how sad they are to see me go?
I wasn’t sure *I* was going to be ok upon leaving.
Because not only am I taking a new position, I’m moving. Out of state. To a place where I’ll know nobody (save my sister and her husband). I’m starting over. I’m leaving my second family.
I wasn’t sure I would be ok.
But suddenly, just a few days ago, I believed it. I believed it would be ok. I was shaving my head, and playing some 80s music, and maybe there were some chemicals at work, but I was thinking about leaving and thinking about what’s ahead and for the first time, I didn’t feel sad or worried or guilty. (The tracks were “Who’s Gonna Drive You Home”, followed by “Cruel Summer”, for the curious.)
Maybe it has something to do with the fact that the school year is officially over, the seniors have graduated, and the goodbyes are, by and large, behind me. (That part was THE WORST.)
But I think it’s gonna be ok. It’s a weird thought, for an eternal pessimist like me. But I can’t help it. It’s gonna be ok.
I can’t remember the last time I made a plan for something big where I didn’t just “decide to do it” one day for no particular reason.
Case in point, last year, somewhere around mid-May, I decided I was going to run every day for a year.
Well, to be really specific, I didn’t decide it would be “every day for a year,” I just decided I was going to run every day. Every day, at least a mile, I would run. For how long? Who knows? It was just a thing I wanted to try out and see how far I could go.
(Disclaimer: Let me say at the outset, here, that running every day is not a thing you should take on lightly, as I did. I’ve been running for over 10 years and have a pretty good sense of what I’m capable of …. check with your doctor, or something.)
So I went for my regular Monday morning run, and then on Tuesday morning, I got up and took a quick tour around the neighborhood (just over a mile). Then on Wednesday, regular speedy run (speedy for a forty-something unathletic dude), and on Thursday, another easy jaunt around the neighborhood. Friday and Sunday runs as usual, with another short one on Saturday to round out the week.
Well, that week went okay, so I did it again the next week. And after that second week went without incident, I figured, why not go for a full month?
Then, with a month in the bag, why not try for another? And then, with two down, another month is a full-on quarter of a year, so … yeah, sure, let’s try for it. Three months in, I’m halfway to half of a year, and I’m not suffering any more than usual, so yeah, let’s go for six months with at least a mile every day.
This is where the prospect of going for a full year starts to set in. You can do just about anything for a few weeks, or even a couple months, but finding the time and the energy and the drive to run every day for 180 days in a row is a thing that comes with its own challenges, and then you’re thinking about doing it all again. And here’s where, as a teacher, what might have made sense in May became a lot trickier in August — over the summer, if I didn’t wake up early for the run, I could get after it later in the day, and the only drawback would be the late morning heat. Once the school year is in session, sleeping through the alarm for the morning run just isn’t an option — *if* you want to keep the streak going.
(Here, too, is where I come down on myself like a ton of bricks for slacking so badly on the writing over the past *let’s-not-actually-talk-about-how-long-it’s-been* while maintaining this other commitment. Then again, these are different types of commitments with different requirements, but still … if I’m not hating on myself for one thing or another even in the midst of tremendous accomplishments, then I’m not really myself.)
There came a point — maybe after three months, maybe after six, certainly after nine — where I decided I’d sunk in enough time toward this thing that to give it up would really be selling myself short. And, not for nothing, I was enjoying myself. There’s a lot to be said for the beneficial psychology of having a “win” first thing in the morning, and getting that mile in — even if that was *all* I did — was enough to tick that box every day. So I marked the calendar, girded my shoes, and didn’t think about it too much — except for on the occasional morning where I *really, really, really* wanted to snooze the alarm, when that brutal inner voice would whisper “are you really going to let the streak end today? Is this the day when you turn back into a pumpkin?” (My inner voice is a jerk and often mixes its metaphors.)
But the point of this post isn’t the streak, it’s how I embarked upon it, to wit: callously, on a whim, and without much if any consideration for the long term. At no point in the first 5%, 10%, even the first 20% of the undertaking did I say “Yeah, I’m going to do this for a year.” Rather, it was a “well, let’s see if I can push it a little further, and we’ll see how I feel at the end of the week, or the month, or after I get through this difficult weekend.”
Yeah, I still run in these goofy things. Note the holes in the soles. My feet look like the Flintstones.
I finally took a day off after 402 days in a row (having gone a full month and change past the full year because, at a certain point, it becomes stranger to *not* do the thing than to keep after it), that day being in mid June, just over a month ago.
I took that day off because I had bloody well earned it, because I was exhausted and beaten up to a point I’ve not often been in this life, and certainly not within recent memory. I had to rest. Not resting was not an option, because I found a New Thing to satisfy that morning workout … and scratch some other itches, too.
But more on that another day.
I’m still exercising every day, but I’m down to only three or four days running — and that’s fine. I’m even, crazily enough, feeling the urge, some days, to sneak in a quick mile on those days when I *don’t* run, because after so long running every day, it somehow feels like getting away with something if I *don’t*.
Maybe I’ll shake that off, maybe I won’t. Still, this is now officially A Thing I Have Done, and I guess that’s worth being proud about.
And you know, I think if I *had* started back in May of 2021 with the goal of “running at least a mile every day for a year”, I don’t know if I’d have been as successful. The commitment at that point, from just starting out, is almost too big to process, too big to be borne. I have to do this *every single day*, starting today, when yesterday, I did nothing like it? Maybe that works for some people, but it sure doesn’t for me.
The point here is, I think — for me, at least — that as much as you *can* get good things out of planning and visualizing and forethought, there’s no substitute (and it may even be better) to just jump in and *start doing a thing*. For one thing, one way to make sure you’ll never finish a thing is to never start it.
Welcome. This is my page for sharing projects associated with my coursework in Media and Technology at the University of West Georgia. Assignments will be posted here as they are completed.
Accidentally Inspired 