Peace, love, and happiness

From Mindy's new book...

2012-01-07T16:18:00.001-08:00

Getting a dog this week has made me much less fearful of commitment, talk about a lifelong one, a one that wakes up at 2 in the morning whining, and needs constant TLC. Now, I just need to find someone who is willing to do the same thing.

Why You Need A Man, Not A Boy | Mindy Kaling via Glamour

Mindy Kaling’s book is still not available til November (sigh) but Glamour has featured a chapter on their website. If the rest of the book is as good as this, my excitement level has risen! Here it is!

Sometimes I eavesdrop on people.

I could rationalize it—oh, this is good anthropological research for characters I’m writing—but it’s basically just nosiness. It also helps me gauge where I’m at: Am I normal? Am I doing the correct trendy cardio exercises? Am I reading the right books? Is gluten still lame? It was through eavesdropping that I learned that you could buy fresh peanut butter at Whole Foods from a machine that grinds it in front of you. I had wasted so much of my life eating stupid old already-ground peanut butter. So, yeah, I highly recommend a little nosiness once in a while.

Recently I listened in on two attractive thirtyish women talking over brunch. I heard the following:

Girl #1 (pretty girl, Lululemon yoga pants, great body): Jeremy just finished his creative writing program at Columbia. But now he wants to maybe apply to law school.

Girl #2 (tiny girl, sheet of black hair, strangely huge breasts): Oh, God.

Lululemon: What?

32D: How many grad schools is he going to go to?

Lululemon: I know. But it’s not his fault. No publishers are buying short stories from unfamous people. Basically, you have to be Paris Hilton to sell books these days.

32D: For the 10 years that Jeremy has been out of college doing entry-level job after entry-level job and grad school, you’ve had a job that has turned into a career.

Lululemon: Yeah, so?

32D: Jeremy’s a boy. You need a man.

Lululemon did not take this well, as I’d anticipated. I felt bad for Lulu because I’ve been Lulu. It’s really hard when you realize the guy you’ve been dating is basically a high schooler at heart. It makes you feel like Mary Kay Letourneau. It’s the worst.

Until I was 30, I dated only boys. I’ll tell you why: Men scared the sh*t out of me. Men know what they want. Men own alarm clocks. Men sleep on a mattress that isn’t on the floor. Men buy new shampoo instead of adding water to a nearly empty bottle of shampoo. Men make reservations. Men go in for a kiss without giving you some long preamble about how they’re thinking of kissing you. Men wear clothes that have never been worn by anyone else before.

OK, maybe men aren’t exactly like this. But this is what I’ve cobbled together from the handful of men I know or know of, ranging from Heathcliff Huxtable to Theodore Roosevelt to my dad. The point: Men know what they want, and that is scary.

What I was used to was boys.

Boys are adorable. Boys trail off their sentences in an appealing way. Boys get haircuts from their roommate, who “totally knows how to cut hair.” Boys can pack up their whole life and move to Brooklyn for a gig if they need to. Boys have “gigs.” Boys are broke. And when they do have money, they spend it on a trip to Colorado to see a music festival.

Boys can talk for hours with you in a diner at three in the morning because they don’t have regular work hours. But they suck to date when you turn 30.

When I was 25, I went on exactly four dates with a much older guy whom I’ll call Peter Parker. I’m calling him Peter Parker because, well, it’s my story, and I’ll name a guy I dated after Spider-Man’s alter ego if I want to.

Peter Parker was a comedy writer who was a smidgen more accomplished than I but who talked about everything with the tone of “you’ve got a lot to learn, kid.” He gave me lots of unsolicited advice about how to get a job “if The Office got canceled.” After a while, it became clear that he thought The Office would get canceled, and by our fourth and last date, that he clearly thought it should get canceled.

Why am I bringing up Peter Parker? Because he was the first real man I dated. An insufferable yet legit man.

Peter owned a house. It wasn’t ritzy or anything, but he’d really made it a home. The walls were painted; there was art in frames. He had installed a flat-screen TV and speakers. There was just so much screwed into the walls, so much that would make you lose your deposit. I marveled at the brazenness of it. Peter’s house reminded me more of my house growing up than of a college dorm room. I’d never seen that before.

Owning a house obviously wasn’t enough to make me want to keep dating Peter. Like I said, he was kind of a condescending dick. But I observed in Peter a quality that I knew I wanted in the next guy I dated seriously: He wasn’t afraid of commitment.

At this point you might want to smack me and say: “Are you seriously just another grown woman talking about how she wants a man who isn’t afraid of commitment?” Let me explain! I’m not talking about commitment to romantic relationships. I’m talking about commitment to things—houses, jobs, neighborhoods. Paying a mortgage. When men hear women want a commitment, they think it means commitment to a romantic relationship, but that’s not it. It’s a commitment to not floating around anymore. I want a guy who is entrenched in his own life. Entrenched is awesome.

So I’m into men now, even though they can be frightening. I want a schedule-keeping, waking-up-early, wallet-carrying, picture-hanging man. I don’t care if he takes prescription drugs for cholesterol or hair loss. (I don’t want that, but I can handle it. I’m a grown-up too.)

I know I’m only marginally qualified to be giving advice. I’m not married, I frequently use my debit card to buy things that cost less than three dollars, and my bedroom is so untidy it looks like vandals ransacked the Anthropologie sale section. I’m kind of a mess. I did, however, fulfill a childhood dream of writing, producing and acting in television and movies. Armed with that confidence, alongside a lifelong love of the sound of my own voice, I’m giving you this bit of wisdom: When you turn 30—maybe even before—a fun thing to try is dating men. It’ll be like freshly ground peanut butter, times a million.

Muppets times three

2011-12-30T19:57:00.000-08:00

It took me three times of seeing the movie and one time of downloading the soundtrack on iTunes to finally get this quote.

Sooner or later, you have to believe in yourself, because that's what growing up is.

(Jason Siegel to Walter, when he is about to perform for the first time as a Muppet)

Living in San Francisco means...

2011-12-27T09:35:00.000-08:00

Every time that I'm back in Pennsylvania, I struggle to explain to other people how much I love the city I live in. I'm becoming more of a rarity in York county, as my other SF friends are moving back east. But this post from the Bold Italic (slightly edited), seems to sum up my thoughts for the city that I hold so dear.

Living in San Francisco means having worked at a start-up, made lattes, mixed Bloody Marys, sold shitty clothing, waited on morons, and invested your heart, your soul, and all your energy into a nonprofit. It means still walking dogs, still trimming weed, still babysitting, still doing random gigs from Craigslist, still participating in clinical test studies at UCSF, still doing whatever the fuck it takes to pay rent in this city. It means thinking that half a million dollars for a one-bedroom condo is totally normal.

Living in San Francisco means moving to the Mission and complaining that it's getting gentrified.

It means knowing the Marina actually isn’t that bad after all. Knowing that Nopa is a restaurant and that the neighborhood is called the Western Addition. Knowing that Upper Haight is always about five degrees colder than Lower Haight. That 6th and Mission is both sad and shady. That the Outer Sunset and Outer Richmond are more than just fog-engulfed neighborhoods with fine ethnic food. That there’s a certain magic in North Beach, as long as you don’t go there on the weekends. That the Financial District is full of suits, Noe Valley is full of babies, SOMA is full of condos, and the Castro is full of gays. Actually, every neighborhood is full of gays.

Living in San Francisco means continually dealing with impermanence.

It means having places you love close up forever. It means having friends get married and move to Oakland. Friends who leave to join the Peace Corps. Friends who go to rehab. Friends who lose their minds. Friends who move back to wherever the fuck they’re from. Friends who OD and never move again. It means dreading the inevitable earthquake that will ultimately wash this city into the sea.

Living in San Francisco means never leaving the house without wearing layers. Having just one wardrobe. Owning lots of hoodies. Owning lots of scarves. Owning lots of hoodies and scarves for your dog. It means having pale legs that get sunburned every time it’s warm out. Calling in sick to work because, for once, it’s 80 degrees and you want to drink a 40 in the park. Enduring the cold summer months and savoring the warmth and festivities of Indian Summer. It means being worried that the term “Indian Summer” may not be politically correct.

Living in San Francisco means embracing any cause for celebration.

It means having a costume box for events like Bay to Breakers, the Love Parade, Burning Man, Halloween, Decompression, the How Weird Street Faire, or whatever new dress-up holiday gets added to the calendar this year. It means accidentally buying blow in the Beauty Bar. Having a medical marijuana card. Getting 86’d from Zeitgeist for doing something stupid. Getting 86’d from Zeitgeist for no good reason at all. Drinking with 75-year-old Beat poets at Specs. Dancing in the streets when Obama won. Dancing in the streets when the Giants won. Dancing till 4 a.m. at The Endup, at Club Six, at 1015 Folsom, at some underground warehouse in the Bayview where the directions weren’t even sent to you until 10 that night.

Living in San Francisco means having friends who are sex workers. Friends who have PhDs. Friends who have PhDs who are studying sex workers. It means having gay friends, straight friends, and friends who are somewhere in between. It means being open-minded about people – unless, of course, they’re Republicans.

Living in San Francisco means waiting an hour for a cab if there’s the slightest bit of rain.

It means riding the Night Owl and thinking you’re gonna get mugged by the teenagers in the back. Taking the 22 from the Marina to the Dogpatch and observing the city’s vast spectrum of existence. Sitting on BART and trying not to think about what lives inside those cushions. Riding Muni and seeing feats both beautiful and wretched within seconds of each other. It means walking these streets and witnessing broken beings weeping, sleeping, peeing, drinking, shitting, fighting, smoking crack, shooting up, screaming, bellowing, raging against some hellish torment that only they are privy to. It means having a local bum you kinda look out for, slipping her a buck or two, even though it’s been her “40th birthday” every day for the past five years.

Living in San Francisco means coming over the Bay Bridge and having your heart race a little when you see the city’s skyline.

Crossing the Golden Gate and smiling at the way the fog sits right on top of it. Snaking up the 101 and Candlestick Park being the greeting that tells you you’re almost home. It means visiting Middle America and being thought of as some kind of socialist gay hippie. It means traveling Europe and being considered one of the enlightened Americans. It means missing burritos, missing pho, missing Tapatio. It means missing Dolores Park, missing farmers’ markets, missing the ability to walk wherever you need to go. It means flying back from two and a half months in South America and getting a little teary-eyed watching Doctor Doolittle , just because it’s set in San Francisco.

Living in San Francisco means the midday smell of pot.

Cold winter winds that cut right through you. Sweet summer strawberries grown not too far away. Crisp salty air by the ocean. The occasional sound of gunshots. Being able to actually count the number of stars visible in the sky. Warm whiskey and late-night chatter on a new friend’s rooftop. It means walking by bodily waste and unfortunately being able to tell that it’s from a human, just by the way it smells. It means feeling the hum of the city as it gets revved up for another Saturday night.

Living in San Francisco means loving this city for all its fantasies, its freedoms, its fuckery, and its follies, and being excited to read something that begins: Living in San Francisco means...

Advent

2011-12-11T16:53:00.000-08:00

As the Christmas season approaches, I find myself more impatient than ever. Maybe it has to do with advent and waiting. Or maybe because there are just five more days left before Christmas vacation from my fourth graders. Or because I want a dog, I should be able to get it right now. But I can't even find one, or when I do, it's not the right one, even though it's named Freddie Mercury. Things take time. Relationships build. And I don't need to be anxious waiting for something to happen every minute.

MANANANA

2011-11-27T21:46:00.000-08:00

The Muppets have brought me back to this place of childhood curiosity this Thanksgiving break. I grew up with them, I pretend like I am them, I even dressed up like one of them for Halloween this year. The movie brought back this cast of characters that I felt like I knew already, even though I hadn't seen them in a while. They have grown, Animal has gone to Anger Management, Fozzie has tried gigs in Reno, and Miss Piggy went to Paris. One of my favorite parts of the movie is when Jason Segel tells his brother Walter, "Growing up is becoming who you want to be."

That's my theme right now. I'm growing up, becoming who I want to be. That means I've worked really hard on an apartment that I want to be the way it is and I have to say, a month later, I'm proud of how hard I've come solo, individually, independently (another line from the movie).

But I've also had a lot of help and I started to tear up during church today when Fred was talking about letting other people help us. My friends Stephan and Kimberly drove a Uhaul around with me one Saturday in search of furniture, my friend Shane filled my water cooler and helped me hang things that I couldn't reach, my friend Julie helped me get the lights on my tree, my friend Barclay went with me to the art store to get my last can of Malachite spray paint, the list goes on and on. This Thanksgiving, like the Muppets, I'm learning what it feels like to grow up but also to let other people help me along the way.

I'm not sure where to begin

2011-10-26T22:47:00.000-07:00

The last few days, few months, year has been so full of change. Packing up my apartment, ie throwing clothes in a pickup truck and transporting load after load across the panhandle, felt like a cathartic, scary change that had been brewing for a while.

It felt a lot like cleaning out my classroom at the end of last year and moving out of New York from the summer. And then starting over with a numbness that I can't explain because I can't even really process all that is happening. The realization won't start until you burst into tears, projecting onto your best friend after she is running late or breaking down in another teacher's room because you don't know how to teach fractions to fifth graders and you don't want to get yet another teaching credential to eventually have your own classroom.

You'll be sad for a little while, but then excited, because this is what you wanted- to grow, to flourish, to paint in a studio, to start at a school that values professional development, to get the dog that you've been wanting for four years.

It's like riding your bike in the darkened panhandle at night, lights flashing leading the way, but unsure of the bumps in the road and the obstacles en route.

Cleaning out my inbox

2011-10-10T13:09:00.000-07:00

It's been a while since I've been able to sit down and actually respond to non-urgent emails and organize my gmail. Usually I deal with email on a daily basis as-needed and it feels like a chore. I'm trying to see things in my life as opportunities, not things to check off the to-do list.

For the first time this weekend, in Napa with the YUTES of City Church, I started to feel like my mind was clear again. There was nothing pressing to do that I had to do that second, except be with kids and roast marshmallows with them, share my story and listen to theirs. It's been a long time coming- I can't remember being de-stressed in a really, really long time.

Maybe the first 6 weeks of school being over, relationships grieved and changing into hopeful new ones, and free time have all contributed. That, and pilates twice a week, happy hours during the week being re-instated, Sunday night dinners with friends that feel life-giving, and reading books again for fun, not for academic purposes. I highly recommend Tales of the City if you have ever lived in San Francisco.

There will be times when I won't be able to get the negativity out of my head or the fact that I haven't gotten a dog yet or been as productive as I had hoped on a rainy day will get me down.

But there will also be sunny days, when the blue angels will fly in a heart above your school as you are watching the kids at the end of the day before a three-day weekend, when you will believe in God, His provision, and be able to trust in it.

You teach what you are

2011-09-14T21:14:00.000-07:00

is what I heard tonight at a panel, sponsored by the school district that I work for, promoting arts and education, even in these troubled times. I was inspired again today- and I feel like it's been a while. I've started to become routined into the daily grind, thinking about where I have to go more than the things that I will encounter on my way there. There will be the kid in my class with autism who yells out "Hot wings!" in the middle of a writing lesson, completely unrelated, and I will try not to laugh. The autistic kindergardener who I spend the afternoon with will finally start to learn that he can't break down when his pup-pup or stuffed animal is taken away. I have to see the little things- in a new school, overwhelmed by a new school year, instead of trying to impress everyone all of the time and have everything figured out right now. I need to teach what I am- that is, someone who crashes their bike on the sidewalk, wears a toy watch, and always smiles. Another thing I learned tonight- "The greatest ill in the world is self-hatred."

I climbed all of the hills on the way home today

2011-08-29T21:46:00.000-07:00

on my white Public bike. It was a cathartic moment at sunset, as Back-to-School night and my last summer paper are behind me.

I'm starting to come into my own at my new school, trying to enjoy something being new and unknown.

It's almost September and August has felt like a long month, with my head spinning from the excitement of transitions and the newness of it all.

You can do anything

2011-08-14T20:00:00.000-07:00

Gem Renrag, my roommate Caitlin said to me, as I ended a relationship and moved tons of books yet again into storage.

You can start over at a new school. You can come back to an old apartment and not get stuck in your old ways. You can still be yourself, but cry because you are sad. Or smile because you are happy. You can take days to unpack and still not get started on your last paper that you have to complete this summer. You can struggle riding a new bike and start looking for a dog that you've wanted the last four years.

Back to SF and still trying to figure out what's changed within me and the city around me these past 2 months.

27 things learned about myself while in NYC this summer

2011-08-08T10:49:00.001-07:00

This summer was one where I was stretched and challenged, beaten down and built up, hot and sweaty, then freezing cold from A/C seconds later.

I rediscovered myself artistically, by failing first and then attempting to transcend my failures. Here goes, 6 weeks encapsulated in 27 digits.

1) My screenprinting teacher told me I'm leaning towards fabric design with my prints.

2) Leaving a place and coming back makes your realize how much you loved it in the first place.

3) Relationships where it's hard to communicate are impossible to maintain.

4) I want to illustrate a children's book one day.

5) I'm inspired by being around other people like myself- teachers who love art and of 8 in my cohort, 3 are vegetarians.

6) I need Christian insight in my life in order to believe what I know to be true.

7) Sufjan and I aren't meant to be at this time (doesn't mean ever).

8) Watermelon pink beaded bridesmaid dresses photograph really well.

9) Crying before a wedding because you burnt your eye on a curling iron doesn't mean that it was just the curling iron that hurt.

10) Getting to see the homes where your friends from SF, who are like family, live is like getting a glimpse into their soul.

11) People in the South are the most skilled in their hospitality.

12) New Yorkers have a harsh exterior, but are often times kind and sensitive at heart.

13) Ivy League schools try to make you think that you won't be able to make it through the semester, only to make you doubt yourself and then realize that you were always going to be able to succeed all along.

14) Blue Bottle tastes better in San Francisco.

15) The East Village is more alive at night than the Upper West side.

16) Seeing familiar faces in an unknown city will always make you feel more at home.

17) Sleep in a city will always be hard, thus why you will need 12 hours or more at night for weeks after.

18) You never realize how people will be coming back into your lives, weaving their own stories in and out of your own.

19) Weddings are an incredible way to celebrate with friends, but something I'm not yet ready for myself.

20) Having quiet time before starting the day will inevitably make a city experience somehow more peaceful.

21) I will always have more at the end than when I started- aka 70+ pounds more.

22) When times get tough, go to F.A.O. Schwartz, and build your own muppet puppet that looks like the female version of animal.

23) Wear comfortable shoes or just keep buying sandals because your legs will be sore everyday from the city walking in different places.

24) Look back over your photographs at the end with a friend, so that you realize how much you actually accomplished in a relatively short period of time.

25) Bring friends together from all parts of your life, at a Sufjan Stevens concert or a Sicilian meal in the East Village.

26) Somehow, all of your worries will be solved in ways that you never even imagined that they would be.

27) Let your friends give out your phone number at weddings, because you have a hard time doing it yourself.

Rain on the way home

2011-07-18T19:10:00.000-07:00

reminded me of Midnight in Paris, how Owen Wilson's character likes to walk around the city in the rain and Rachel McAdam's character does not. It made me think of how we can see a circumstance beyond our control as favorable or unfavorable. Just like how right now, I can't control how much ink gets soaked into the screen or how much reading I have to get done for tomorrow. But I can choose to see what I have as a positive- that I'm having this opportunity, even though it's intense and hard and everyday gets closer to the end when I have to turn something in and feel proud of it, as opposed to seeing myself as not being able to do it.

I can see New York as a place where I'm not connected to many people, or I can see it as a good thing- being done with church right after it's over and having more time to wander around on a Sunday afternoon and getting to go and see the inspiration for City Church.

I can see Columbia as a school where I'll never feel confident and I'm self-conscious about everything I turn in or I can see it as a place where I can learn and grow as an educator and a person. I can rely on other people to tell me I'm doing the right thing, or I can believe it for myself.

Screenprinting

2011-07-13T19:00:00.001-07:00

May not be my venture back into the art world. I'm learning to accept failure. I've almost cried every time in the studio as I get anxious with an exacto knife trying to get my stencils exactly right. I will get sweaty with anxiety, cover myself with ink, and compare myself to my classmates, before it's all over. Talking with Aldwin today from Paris!, I realized that both of us will always doubt our decisions. I've been doubting being here since I first set foot on Columbia's campus- every day I go through a rise and fall of emotions about whether or not I can actually do this and not fail at it. Or whether I can survive this city in the summer- it's magical, it has every art museum imaginable, you could eat out every night and still not get to all of the restaurants, but it's also humid, grimy, and there's something about it that makes me cough and sneeze constantly.

Sufjan Stevens wasn't in Brooklyn last Saturday, or at least not where Maggie and Moses and I were walking. Nor was he at Vito's church. I think I'm looking for signs that will make this experience seem worthwhile on a daily basis, and I'm not sure I'm going to get any. I might say an intelligent thing in class but then seconds later, dissolve realizing that I haven't gotten through all of the readings for that day. But, like most artists, I'm learning to trust in the process more than anything else- to trust my professors when they say that this will all make sense in a week and I will somehow master screenprinting by "just doing it over and over again."

7 days later

2011-07-04T14:59:00.000-07:00

Here I am, officially a New Yorker, or inhabitant of New York during the summer time. I've had moments of thinking, "What am I doing?!?" while trying to navigate registrars, financial aid, and subway stations crowded with people. One thing I've learned is how I have to stick up for myself, but also depend on God. I went through some periods of pretty intense loneliness last week, thinking, "Meg, why would you ever give up what you had in San Francisco for this?" But I've had moments where it's all felt worth it, where crossing Central Park at the end of the day, eating out with an old friend from college and high school, getting a drink with a new roommate at our local bar, exploring a new museum (for free!) and finally figuring out my way amidst the maze of Teacher's College seemed to overshadow all of the hard things about moving to a new place. Day by day, as has been the trend the past few summers, I've had to depend on God more than ever- getting to places, praying that I'm taking the train in the right direction, hoping that someone will help me with all of my luggage, and that I'll feel connected to someone at some point during the long, hot, hazy days.
Classes don't start until tomorrow, and maybe then, I will realize more of my purpose in being here. Or maybe not. Maybe I had it figured out that it would be an idealistic end to an enduringly difficult school year, where all of my problems would melt away and I could rediscover myself in a new city. But, as Maggie says, I'm still me, still Meg, the problems don't leave you wherever you go, and no where is like you actually imagined it will be.
All that to say, I miss you San Francisco, but I'm thankful for Blue Bottle care packages, youth prayer requests from Emily, family a train ride away, and notes from former students and dinner dates with future colleagues that make me think, "I can do this," as though I'm being cheered on from the sidelines from 2,500 miles away.

Concrete jungle where dreams are made of

2011-06-24T11:41:00.001-07:00

Is what I've been playing since being at Katie's lake house last weekend and realizing the audacity of what I've gotten myself into. I've basically moved most of my things into storage, including my classrooms, lugged two bags of luggage across the country, begun thinking about my new job, and said goodbye to many who won't be in San Francisco when I get back. It's been a long month, a long two weeks, figuring all of this out.
In North Carolina now, I'm starting to realize how much I am giving up. I missed my roommate Rachael's bday yesterday, I'm not going to see my favorite French-American families everyday next year, I won't be able to speak French on a daily basis. I'm going to have to confront my fears and create things this summer even if I think I can't right now. I'm going to have to step into a new public school and start over my career as educator at ground zero. I'm going to try and manage a long-distance relationship, even when I don't even feel capable of having a relationship with someone who lives across the street from me.
There are good things in the midst of all of the transition: driving solo across beautiful parts of the US (Yosemite to the mountains of Cashiers), reconnecting with the south and realizing how friendly everyone is, feeling taken care of by families that don't even know me, and knowing that I'm doing this, even though at times it seemed impossible.
I'm excited, scared, anxious, calm, ready, all at the same time.

L'annee de changements

2011-06-06T19:00:00.000-07:00

"Meg, this year has been one of changes for you," so my French colleague Laurence told me today. It has been five years after college, exactly on this day, and I think that makes sense. A lot has happened in the last five years since I've graduated- I've lived in France and San Francisco, I've made great friends, I've been to Africa twice, I've gotten my teaching credential, worked at a French school, and learned about myself. Now, I'm on to giving my attention to what's next- a new city for the summer, more school, relationships, a new school to start at in the fall.

It's going to be an emotional last week of school, of that I'm sure- I choked up just walking my normal route from the bus stop to school today. It's the first school I've ever worked at, the one in which I've gotten to interact with some of the coolest parents and families I know, and speak French everyday. Where teachers toast to my new future, people know me, I know them, I take their kids to the beach, they drive me home. In some ways, I'm scared to leave a place where I'm known and loved.

It's the year of changes, and sometimes it's better when they happen all at once, right?

On the eve of 27

2011-05-10T22:52:00.000-07:00

I feel more loved than I would have ever imagined, from the woods in the middle of nowhere. After having an eight-year-old throwing up with me most of last night, I did not want to wake up this morning and face the fact that I would be in the woods for my birthday the next day.

Something about today changed all of that and now I'm okay about tomorrow. It was the mysterious package at my dinner table from "my friends in SF" who made me feel so loved, complete with coconut water, seaweed, peanut butter eggs, dried bananas, and gummies. Barclay, I have a feeling that you had something to do with it! I started looking through the photographs in the package, wondering why there were photos that I didn't recognize the people in them in there. With a bunch of eight-year-olds swarming me, I came to realize that the photos might not be from people I know, but that they each had a note on the back from some of my life's most important people that brought me to tears. Even people from Africa and Pennsylvania. People who know me so well that they know what to do to make me feel less lonely this week, when I was scared of feeling abandoned and unnoticed.

Try explaining all of this to eight-year-olds as your eyes well up with tears- you tell them that you haven't spent your birthday without your friends in SF and then they get offended that they aren't your friends and aren't important to you. Which of course, you say, they are, but they aren't your same age. They will then say that teachers are your age, but you'll say it's different with these friends, not wanting to go into all of the details.

Thank you to those of you who put this together and shared your kind thoughts and words to a Ms. Frizzle in the gold country of the Sierra Nevadas on this eve before she turns 27. I'm eternally grateful...

Film fest

2011-05-01T00:08:00.000-07:00

Here it is, my fourth! film festival since being in SF. Hard to believe that two years ago I saw 500 Days of Summer before it became big or witnessed American Teen with my friend Pryor that solidified my commitment to the big screen.

I picked the movies this year before I saw the members' preview. Knowing that was a gamble, I did it anyways, trusting my instincts, and they paid off. So far, I've loved all of the movies I've seen for different reasons:

The Whistleblower, for attacking the difficult topic of sex-trafficking

The Future, for the cat's narration and paws

Life, Above All, for the realistic portrayal of AIDS in Africa

Page One: The New York Times, for showing the behind the scenes of a major journal

and tonight,

Terri with John C. Reilly in attendance, for demonstrating an understanding of the difficulties of teenhood

Today felt like one of those days where I wanted to crawl back into bed- from the minute I woke up and found out that my teaching credential status had been posted online (I'm credentialed! and passed PACT!), to getting anxious about parallel parking, to leaving messages for everyone I wanted to talk to. I woke up from my nap, showered, eager to go to the film festival and make the pilgrimage to the Sundance Kabuki once more. I wanted to enter another world, where I could feel like I had made it, where I could lose myself in a story line, and become surrounded with other cinephiles.

Two more to go- Incendies and American Teacher, to escape to before the festival is over.

Where you invest your love, you invest your life

2011-04-20T00:29:00.000-07:00

Mumford and Sons. I've been thinking a lot about that line after I heard them perform live at Coachella in a crowd of 20,000 people, going ga-ga over the Irishmen. The song is "Awake my soul" and seems to me to connect a lot to what I've been thinking and feeling lately.

I've been working so hard at my job and giving my love to these kids, sometimes I feel to no avail. I'm wondering if I didn't do it, would it matter? Would the 13-year-olds that I mentor care if I stopped showing up

for them? I sometimes think that they just need a warm body in the room. But the reality of it all is that where I'm putting in the time, the efforts, making relationships, there I'm investing my life.

I'm listening to the kid who is acting out, I'm emailing a parent back about how to better serve the school community with an online lost-and-found system, and I'm working until 7 PM trying to create better learning environments.

But would I want it any other way right now? Sometimes I think that having another outlet would help for me to pour into, but I don't think so. I wouldn't have funny stories to tell at night to keep people laughing or be able to drink sparkling wine on a weeknight to recover from the day or perform science experiments where I'm throwing popcorn in the air, so that my kids can act as birds trying to catch insects.

Har har, har har, har har, har har.

Coming out on the other side

2011-04-12T17:09:00.000-07:00

The camping trip with the first graders last week was a turning point for me. A turning point that after the trip, after spring break, it will almost be summer. Meaning that I will have made it through my first year teaching. Two grade-levels, an intense private school, tutoring and babysitting on top of it. That's just the negative: there is actually a lot of positive. A well-resourced school with intelligent, wonderful families who send their talented children to me, who will I believe change the course of the world someday. I want to jump up and down and scream at the top of my lungs, I'm so excited to have made it this far.

Spring break for me has been less than climactic after this shift. It's been getting things done that I normally don't get to do, spending time with people that I care about, and catching up on things that are on my "to-do" list. Figuring out jobs and what I'll be doing next year, as well as putting everything in God's control. Realizing that no matter how hard I try, I'm not going to be the one who is making the choice.

I've started to exude this inner confidence and calm that is unlike me. But I think that going through this year has made me come to terms with owning my inner strength. I now take naps in the middle of the afternoon (because it's Lent, and I'm supposed to do something nice for myself each day). I laugh a lot, especially around six-year-olds who wear monkey pajamas and call me MEGGGIIIIIEEE. I knit. I can better pursue friendships. My mind turns to self-pity less often. One day soon I will start painting again.

P-A-C-T

2011-03-14T21:50:00.000-07:00

I just submitted it and the weight has lifted. I'm about to burn it onto a CD and then this chapter of my life will be closed, or I hope. Earning a credential, though I want to minimize it, has been this incredible journey of making a decision about what I want to do as a profession, committing the time to pursuing it outside of my job, and having an amazing group of people in my cohort who are going through the same things I did. Who will talk to me for an hour when I just needed someone to tell me "Submit it" or who I can talk about charter schools with or who I can go to concerts on a weeknight with or who I can drink with on Friday night.

I'm scared about losing this group of people as much as I am about moving to New York this summer or submitting my report cards for my school administration to review. I have learned that we learn best from each other, which is what teaching should actually be about.

Avenue Q

2011-02-24T11:24:00.001-08:00

I might just as well be Kate Monster.

She has big eyes, brown hair, and she's a monster kindergarten-assistant teacher who lives in a city and hasn't found love yet. Her mentor teacher is crazy and calls her one day to sub for the class, in which she hopes to implant progressive ideas into the defunct curriculum. When she finds a boy named Princeton to love, she is on the top of the world. Long story short, but Princeton breaks her heart and then begs for forgiveness by asking for money from everyone he knows in order to help Kate start her Monstersorri school.

So, I'm a muppet stereotype. We knew that all along.

Happy

2011-02-20T18:39:00.000-08:00

There's this new documentary called Happy that hasn't even opened yet but it's been in my thoughts since I saw it last night. It talks about how 50% of our happiness is genetic, the other 10% comes from our circumstances, social status, etc., and the other 40% from the following 5 things:

1) Gratitude

2) Exercise/meditation

3) Being a part of a community

4) Giving back in some way, getting outside of yourself

5) Enjoying an activity such that you get into it- the "flow" and feeling like you are doing something worthwhile

I have all of those things and I find myself unhappy sometimes. I don't realize all of the good that I do have in my life, I don't realize how important it is to take a yoga class or meditate each day, how lucky I am to live where I live.

Colored tights

2011-02-10T22:48:00.000-08:00

have earned me respect from the French teachers I worked with, made me recognizable along my bike route to and from school, and have continued to add to my Ms. Frizzle-like reputation.

I'm thankful that I can wear colored tights in February in California and not freeze. Make it through another week of first-year teaching. Go to counseling and feel like I am connected to the counselor that I am seeing. Talk to my brother on the phone. Be in the sunshine and soak it in- on the fourth floor of my school during a yoga class, at the Grove on a sunny day, on the playground. Read-aloud books that I would want to read as a kid. Try to teach kids the way that I had been taught. Eat and share community with other people. Celebrate important events in other people's lives. And more than anything else, realize that by expecting nothing, I am always pleasantly surprised.

Me Five

2011-02-03T19:57:00.000-08:00

Third graders are slowly but surely winning my heart over. They may not hug me the minute I walk into a room, but there will be a Turkish boy who will say to me "Hi Miss Garner" every time he sees me, like he means it, which will be worth just as much.

They will ask me what I am doing there when it isn't my day to have English with them and sometimes talk back and threaten me with "Why?" or "I didn't do anything!" But, they will also be able to write letters to Michelle Obama that are meaningful, personal and heartfelt, talk about their feelings in a more mature way, and comment on each other's work on a gallery walk around the classroom. They may not be able to say the most positive things, but they will be able to comment on another's by saying "Me five!" and "Me seven!" attaching their notes to everyone else's. They will think that somehow I became a teacher who took race into consideration when I accidentally wore eye makeup the day that I was showing them how whites and blacks were treated while teaching them about MLK.

Their bay blades will be their life lines, as well as the Wimpy Kids, Time Warp trios, American Girl and Junie B. Jones books. They will remind you about something until you actually do it- 3 times a day if necessary. They will play games like Animal Herders and Give or Take through recess if they have a chance.

They won't remember you as their first grade teacher but they will think that you are somehow older than their parents. It's taken almost three months to get used to this new teaching gig, but I think that I'm liking the challenge and the excitement of 22 eight-year-olds each day.

Pizza stone

2011-01-24T19:15:00.001-08:00

This pizza stone that I carried home today felt like a monkey on my back. Like when will I learn that you can't ride your bike, carry your stuff home from school, and balance a Sur la Table shopping bag on your handlebars.

Or that baking bread, in theory, sounds like a great idea- until you have to figure out how to get the oven to 550 degrees and have a five-hour free block of time on a Monday to figure out how to actually bake it.

I don't know what to do next year and I couldn't fall asleep last night with my head swimming in details of what could be. I feel more at peace today than I have in a while, having to do with being by myself on Saturday and taking the day for my own creative adventures. And, watching two French movies after being inspired by going out for drinks with colleagues on Friday- feeling like I can do this, speak French, act French, work at a French school.

Walking up Fulton with the pizza stone made me realize that I love that I could walk home, even after I had gotten myself into all of this trouble, and that the bread would eventually bake and probably turn out okay. It might not look great, but it will still taste amazing.

I want... that

2011-01-17T15:23:00.000-08:00

I’m not much of an outline guy when it comes to writing. And I don’t ask who my readership is going to be. I write what I think is interesting and hope there are other people out there wired the same way I’m wired. It’s a lesson I learned from William Zinnser, and I wonder if we can apply it to more than just writing. We can apply it to business, if you will, and even leadership. When we are ourselves, we tend to find the people who understand us and there is a natural chemistry and so productivity.... (Donald Miller, blog)

The weekend spent in Tahoe with people that know me well was one of wrestling with who I am becoming and who I already have become. Things that I learned from the weekend:

Friendships ebb and flow, they don't always stay the same.

You might not feel loved in a moment but that doesn't mean that people don't love you.

Friends who weren't married a few years ago will get married and it doesn't mean that they will change overnight. Whoever they bring to the table will be an extension of them, so much so that you want to have them around because you know that the other person is their best self when with their significant other.

Cooking takes a lot of time and energy, if you want to do it right- using the best ingredients like sheep's milk ricotta cheese.

Dancing like a real Animal (and wearing a fur vest) to Miike Snow's song only perpetuates your reputation that you are one.

You are not a burden to the world in any way.

There are hipster coffee shops even in the middle of suburbia, central valley California.

Snow-garitas taste better than margaritas.

Martin Luther King is meaningful to my friends and students alike:

Like an unchecked cancer, hate corrodes the personality and eats away its vital unity. Hate destroys a man's sense of values and his objectivity. It causes him to describe the beautiful as ugly and the ugly as beautiful, and to confuse the true with the false and the false with the true.

I love York City

2011-01-02T19:01:00.000-08:00

2010 seems overwhelming for me to encapsulate, like I did with 2009 last year. Right now, I'm thinking in terms of the last two weeks and how the respite of York city was just what I needed.

*I voraciously devoured books, I mean stayed up all night reading Little Bee, Three Cups of Tea, and Stones into Schools. Today, I almost finished The Object of Beauty on the way home. All I highly recommend.

*I spent time with friends doing things that with my fast-paced city life, I normally can't afford to do with my time- going on runs, salvaging at Gabriel Brothers, dancing to Wii dance all night long, watching full-on Entourage episodes, driving around to find the Amish buggies and one-room schoolhouses, playing flash scrabble

*I got to spend time with my family- eating meals together, helping set the table, wrap presents, clean up after dinner- the chores that I used to have

*I went crazy with a sewing machine and Lotta Jansdotter's patterns from Simple Sewing

*I watched three TV series- Big Bang, Entourage, and 16 and Pregnant

*I saw friends that I've known since I was in high school and felt as though we are still the same people

*I went to an Irish bar, drank strawberry beer, and danced while eating kettle corn with three of my favorite people in the square of first night York on New Year's Eve

*I learned to play Animal Herders and now have a copy for my third graders

*I merged the SF world with York world and my friends were amazingly gracious while along for the ride

Crazy love

2010-12-25T15:00:00.000-08:00

So here I am, overwhelmed once again by the love that others have for me right now. Be it my family, my youth group kids, or friends that I've lost touch with recently, I'm feeling it. It's been one of those years where my life's expectations have lowered drastically- I've come to appreciate small packages coming my way and every ounce of feeling loved on a daily basis, even though it comes from someone unexpected.
A pastor from home put it this way last night from Anne Lamott's Blue Shoe, which made me think about how I'm always looking for it elsewhere:

When her mother comes to comfort her, the girl said she was too afraid of the dark to sleep. “But God is with you, protecting you,” said mom.
The little girl whimpered, “but I need someone with skin on.”

And I'm reading Stones for Schools, which I cannot get enough of after Three Cups of Tea:

So for me, THE LAST BEST PLACE sticker on my briefcase doesn't represent a slogan or a marketing campaign to promote the wonders of my home. Instead, those words affirm my beliefs that the people who live in the last places- the people who are most neglected and least valued by the larger world- often represent the best of who we are and the finest standard of what we are to become. This is the power that last places hold over me and why I have found it impossible to resist their pull.

It's Francis Chan's book that gave me the idea for this blog post, as I'm trying to reconcile all of these "crazy love" things that I've learned from childhood and am trying to apply to life as an adult living in San Francisco. I am loved, I just have to remember that.

Curious George

2010-12-18T14:10:00.000-08:00

Today the kids and I read Merry Christmas Curious George. The monkey is the theme of many things for me right now- my Christmas cards, the posters adorning the city of San Francisco, the ever present stuffed animal at our Christmas show and international potluck. See below.

Curious George as some of my friends in my credential program said, needs to be admitted to a mental institution or have his head examined, because of the kinds of stunts that he pulls.

I don't know why I relate so well to this silly little monkey. Maybe it's my own childlike curiosity and how the kids I teach make me laugh all of the time. Or I lose myself in books, and when the vice-principal tells a story about one of my first-grade students gushing over why she likes to read, my eyes well up with tears.

The three Js

2010-12-12T20:23:00.000-08:00

2010 is going out with a bang. That's what I've decided. It's been one heck of a year in more ways than one and what better way to end it than kissing 2/3 French boys all of which had the same name in one night while listening to my favorite DJ spin his tunes? As my friend Matt says, "That must have been your dream come true Meg, you must still be reveling in it." Well I am, even though I can't believe it happened and am embarrassed when I run into them at school, turning red in the face. It's all a part of this story of my life, "Les aventures de Meg."

Things you never learned with your credential

2010-12-07T20:51:00.001-08:00

As much as I've gone to school over the last year and a half, there are so many things that I haven't learned in the classroom. This is just a few of them that I wish I had:

*How to multi-task 5,000 things at once- parent emails, administration requests, colleagues who speak another language

*How to pare down the curriculum to what's actually necessary and enhance it with project-based learning

*How to best manage transitions (no matter how many yoga posters I put up in the room)

*How not to feel isolated when you are in stress that no one around you understands

*How to enjoy hugs from former students and value each moment even though you are racing from one thing to the next

*How to appear to the outside world that you have it all together- that you are confident and capable riding to school on your bike with your watermelon helmet (even though you aren't)

*How to prepare for observations with administration, even though you've written up so many lesson plans that you can't even count them

*How to find time to go to the bathroom, drink water, not get pulled in one million directions

*How to find time to "make things your own," do what you love, create a space that expresses the classroom environment that you want to create, even though it might mean staying at school until all hours in order to do so

*How to decrease expectations- for yourself, that is

But for the moments at the end of the day in which you feel validated over a beer with a friend, it's worth the effort and the struggle.

Tales from a 3rd grade nothing

2010-11-30T21:04:00.001-08:00

or something, so I keep on trying to tell myself.

The one who brings in her tiger Henriette and puts him in the reading corner (but then says kids can't read with it.) And a lady on the bus said, "That tiger looks real. You must be really good at taming tigers."

Or while all of that goes on, has 2 consecutive fire drills, one after another, and doesn't even know which set of stairs to go down or where to even take the kids when that happens. The second time makes it harder, not easier, and of course, is during their recess.

Who reads Chronicles of Narnia to the kids and almost falls apart during the pivotal moment when Aslan is captured and about to be killed by the witch (it's all of that spiritual imagery, you know?)

Who has to email parents and plan field trips and put kids in groups with their chaperones and learn about Native Americans who are native to the state of California and get through all of the curriculum while still infusing creativity, critical thinking, engagement, and depth while building a community of learners.

You should see my bag at the end of these days- crumpled up advertisements (because I was trying to teach the kids critical thinking skills), uneaten lunch (when would I have time to do that?)

But for today, I left 15 minutes and went to get a Blue Bottle latte. I read an inspiring article from the NYTimes thanks to my friend Lauren and thought, this is why I'm doing this. Geoffrey Cananda says I'm not going to be good at it for at least another 3 years, even though I think I'm about to change the face of education and save the world. I want to capture my idealism and bottle it up for 5, 10, 15 years down the road when I'm struggling to stay committed but my experience speaks for itself.

PV

2010-11-26T12:29:00.000-08:00

Stability equals making a routine even though one doesn't exist, i.e. planning a trip to Los Angeles every Thanksgiving and repeating similar traditions even though you are thousands of miles away from home.

So, fourth time to PV in 3 + years of living in SF, second time to see Matt and co in LA, second time heading to the beach for the holiday, 4th Thanksgiving feast at New Door beforehand, 3rd Thanksgiving feast celebrated with first graders. First time to spend an extended period of time with a seven-month-old (2nd cousin Toby) and realize I'm.not.ready.for.that, even though babies that are related to you may be cuter than you thought.

Other traditions I've created around the holidays:

3rd time putting up a tree with roommates- though this year it's a fake (thanks to Carl Winter).

4th year looking at the Advent Devotional

2nd year trolleying, dressed up as Meggie Clause

4th or 5th NCATE assignment (I can't even remember...ready for this credential to be over)

But also a year of firsts:

1st time taking over 3rd grade (as in tomorrow)

1st New Year's in York since moving to SF

1st time changing the lightbulbs in my room (even though it's been 2.5 years, I thought that my eyesight was just getting worse)

Tgives

2010-11-18T22:24:00.001-08:00

In the spirit of Thanksgiving, a few things I am thankful for:

While working at my school,

Parent-teacher conferences that made feeling like parents and teachers were on the same team

Parents who bring me their leftover Kiehl's cleansers and ask me to teach their children creative writing

Teachers who will debrief post-conferences at Hotel Biron over wine and cheese and then drive me home in the pouring rain

Emails from parents congratulating me on my third grade maternity leave position

In my community,

Discussions on work, life, faith- how they all intertwine. And people that are more experienced sharing their wisdom with the 20-somethings in a conversational, peer-to-peer way.

Going to the same houses for years and still feeling at home- and feeling blessed to have some of those same people around me.

People bringing me and my roommates faux fir trees all of the way from China.

Friends to have neopolitan shakes with at in-n-out late on a Saturday night

People to triple date with, who will send emails the following day to make sure there were no hurt feelings, to sit in traffic with

People who will eat the pumpkin waffles with me every Saturday morning, cover me at Trader Joe's when my card is scratched, and find me when they need me

In my family,

A brother who will laugh with me about silly things

A dad who is embracing a new life transition

A mom who is facing it with him, open to the possibilities ahead

Cousins who will host me for a third year at Thanksgiving

There's light at the end of the tunnel

2010-11-15T12:07:00.000-08:00

Things may not end the way that you want them to, depression affects even the most saintly of us, you will escape the lie that you are alone if but for a moment, the rainy season will succumb to a sunny November, the semester's assignments will be close to being finished, a ladder-like leaning bookshelf in a room will help you reorganize a crowded space, grilled cheese tastes much better with chutney on it, report cards will be finished, friends will be ordained and engaged, babies will soon be born, the time will come when you will take over a third grade classroom by yourself. This is what you've been waiting for, all this time, but your lessons aren't wrapped up with shiny bow at the end, tying everything together, because you don't know how to do that yet.

Your friend Carin, five years your elder, tells you that she's been there, come out of the darkness, not necessarily into a bright light, but into a more illuminated present. She tells you that you are on the right path, that you have more love to give than you know, that you have to find the right people to give it to (which you are in the process of doing).

There will still be moments filled with anxiety and tension- how am I going to this?, who thought I was ready for this?, does anyone care about me?, and no matter how many days I ride my bike up Fulton's steep hill, I still won't be able to make it up a steep grade in the midst of GG park. But I can walk next to my bike, it's okay. The training wheels maybe aren't ready to come off yet.

A harsh reality

2010-11-07T22:56:00.000-08:00

of living here, experiencing transition more than ever these past few months. Sometimes I try to talk myself into how living somewhere else would be easier and more ideal. I get scared that I'll be here still 20 years from now, in the same place, left behind. I couldn't find more hope in Fred Harrell's (pastor of City Church) words than I do right now:

First, I accept the reality that this city is a transient one. People stay here for short chapters of their life usually, and I accept it.
Second, I determine to be present for that chapter of their life, knowing that their story is a long one, and God has still given me the gift of being part of their story, and they a part of mine. This also means that as a church we must always embrace the opportunity to impact the lives of people who will be scattered all over the world.
Third, I prioritize the community I do have, and seek to grow that circle.
Fourth, and this is perhaps most important, I see where I live as a calling. God has placed me here, in this transient place, for a reason. There will be parts of it that I will love, and parts of it that will be hard, and fall under the category of participating in the "fellowship of his sufferings". But none of it will fall outside his calling of me to be his presence, right now, in this very transient, and amazing, and fractured city, and to use my resources, gifts, experiences, and abilities to follow Him in mission.

Report cards

2010-11-07T22:16:00.000-08:00

Another Harvest festival come and gone. It's starting to be one of those things where I don't measure how long I've lived here by events anymore because three/four of each one seems like high enough numbers to count. It's been one of those weeks that I've been buoyed by the spirit of my surrounding city- the giants winning the world series, election day, and a parade commemorating the giants' victory. A dinner party cooked by a good friend whose food I've never tasted and the saying "this group will never be together ever again" said twice. Emotional talks when I've cried and realized that teaching is hard, that I can stare at the screen trying to do report cards but not get any closer to figuring out how to actually fill them out.

But the joys in all of it- meeting the co-founder of 826 Valencia in the copy room last week when I was at my wits' end, taking photos in a photo booth with my favorite four and thirteen-year-olds, taking a yoga class in French, arranging books by color on shelves in a new friends' apartments, writing report cards by candlelight at Mojo on a Friday night. This is what got me through the week.

Bittersweet

2010-11-01T11:04:00.000-07:00

One of those words you hear often- it refers to chocolate, Project Runway contestants use it to describe their experiences on the show, and paradoxically, it's two different meanings wrapped up in one word.

Reading Shauna Niequist's newest book, Bittersweet, I realized how much life echoes this sentiment. Things are bitter- nothing will ever always be going the way that we want it to- but things will also be sweet- better than we could have imagined or beyond our wildest dreams. It's the bitter sip of coffee with the hyped rush of caffeine afterwards. I'll have more schoolwork than I can ever complete but that will be the moment when I feel the most creative and into whatever I'm creating at the moment.

It's a matter of expectation, what we think should happen when. It reminds me of Caitlin's and my jaunt to the beach yesterday, a holiday from our lives that lasted a Sunday afternoon. How we talked about writing a children's book together that will actually give the message that life is hard, but how you have to find the things that will make you give you life (a Bittersweet version for kids, if you will). How I need to create in order to feel like me again- the day that I spent going to SCRAP and working on my science fair project and my Ms. Frizzle costume last week (I know Kate, I'm actually 13 years old) was my favorite day of vacation. It was life-giving in the midst of getting everything done that I needed to do. It made me think that I'm in a different season of life now- one that I don't need to be the social coordinator or know what's going on when- that is not going to give me peace. What is will be creating something. That's why I'm applying to an arts and arts education program at Columbia.

And that's why this particular passage from the "love song for fall" chapter in Shauna's book resonates with me.

We create because we were made to create, having been made in the image of God, whose first role was Creator. He was and is a million different things, but in the beginning, he was a creator. That means something for us, I think. We were made to be the things that he is: forgivers, redeemers, second chance-givers, truth-tellers, hope-bringers. And we were certainly, absolutely, made to be creators.

If you were made to create, you won't feel whole and healthy and alive until you do. My husband is a pianist and songwriter, and you can set a timer by his need to play and create. If it's been too long, I can feel it in our house, like something gone bad in the refrigerator or a dead mouse in the walls. He was made to play, to sing, to create with sounds and notes and words, and when he doesn't, he's not himself.

I know there are some artists who create around the clock, who feel art coursing through their very veins, who can go without sleep and food and human interaction for days while they revel in the rich universe of their own minds. But I think those artists are very rare, or maybe that they're fibbing. I think for most of us, it's hard work, fraught with fear and self-consciousness, and that it's much easier to make dinner or mow the lawn or reply to emails...

And we do it (create) because it makes us feel aware and alive and created for a purpose more than almost anything else in our lives. There are a zillion things I don't do well, a thousand things I do just because I'm human and I have to, and when I do them I certainly don't feel any spark of having been created for something very specific and tender. I don't feel anything when I do the dishes or when I drive or when I buy groceries.

But every once in a while, when I write, I feel that feeling of a thousand slender threads coming together, strands of who I've been and who I'm becoming, the long moments at the computer and the tiny bits of courage, the middle of the night prayers and the exact way God made me, not wrong or right, just me. I feel like I'm doing what I came to do, in the biggest sense. That's why I write, because sometimes every once in a while, I feel entirely at home in the universe, a welcome and wonderful feeling. I could cry at that feeling, because it happens so rarely. Doing the hard work of writing makes me feel like I'm paying my rent on a cosmic level, doing the thing that I can do to make the world a little better decorated. Writing wakes me up, lights me on fire, opens my eyes to the things that I can never see and feel when I'm hiding under the covers, cowering and consumed with my own failures and fears...

Get up. Create like you're training for a marathon, methodically, day by day. Learn your tricks, find a friend, leave the dirty dishes in the sink for a while. This is your chance to become what you believe deep in your secret heart you might be. You are an artist, a guide, a prophet. You are a storyteller, a visionary, the Pied Piper himself. Do the work, learn the skills, and make art, because of what the act of creation will create in you.

So, you made it this far. Read Shauna's book, which will further ignite the spark of creativity that you've been hiding dormant. Tell me what your creative work you hope to undertake in the comments section of the blog (within the next week by midnight, 11/8) and I'll consider your entry for a giveaway of the book (signed too!). Hope to hear from you soon!

Neon lights

2010-10-27T13:59:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was a day that I'd been waiting for a really long time. One that I knew could overcome me with emotion and faith in God's provision.

I spent the whole day, with an anxious pit in my stomach, allowing my expectations to get the better of me. Arriving at the venue with my friends, a wave of doubt washed over me. Walking down the long runway to the front of the stage by myself, I wondered what am I doing? I'm sitting alone at a concert, 5th row on the end. I was restless at first, in anticipation.

Then, Sufjan came on and his feelings deeply resonated with me. His mounting of the volcano Vesuvius only to realize it was filled with hot lava at the top. The influence of artist Roy Robinson on his work. His fear in being alone and not letting himself be distracted. His interest in things spiritual, his thinking on another wavelength. His profession of the songs as therapy, his desire to dance and move and work things out via sound.

His creativity still occupies most of my headspace a day later. Opening with Seven Swans, I knew that the concert would be one that would profoundly affect me.

I'm still profoundly affected. My head is spinning with song lyrics- such that I don't want to listen to the actual album because it might be different from what's playing in my head.

All I can say is this- I don't want to doubt God's existence or presence in my life again after last night. A God who gives me a song like "To Be Alone With You" to listen to everyday in France 4 years ago, then somehow transports me to another place entirely, where the song still has breadth, meaning, and relevance to my life.

At no other show this tour has Sufjan played that song for an audience. My friend Emily told me ahead of time to lower my expectations, as to what he would and wouldn't play and that most likely it would be his newer stuff. I checked set lists from the tour regularly before the show, holding on to a glimmer of hope.

He came out for an encore, and it was the second song he played, alone on stage with his guitar. He wore a Baltimore Orioles cap- the team I rooted for and went to games to each week growing up. I lost it, tears poured out of my eyes, I still have chills right now thinking about my surprise in that moment.

It was a gift from God, as Caitlin says- a reminder that, "Meg, you are loved." I feel overcome with knowing this truth right now. I want to hold onto it, not letting it go.

It makes me think of my birthday this year, when my friend Matt led that song around the campfire and Robin printed out the lyrics for everyone to sing along. Or how Matt sang that to me one of my first weeks here in the city, scared and alone.

Sufjan's vulnerability and creativity were revolutionary. I think I witnessed history last night. I'm going to write him a letter and tell him how much he's been a part of my spiritual journey as I've climbed the volcano only to find lava at the top.

Connecting to his sentiments makes me want to paint again. And God showed me again today- I mean, ten of my favorite artist's paintings imported from France at the DeYoung museum this morning? He couldn't have been clearer. I've got to work through things through painting, just as Sufjan is doing through music and movement.

God's been showing up in neon lights along the way.

B-rad

2010-10-26T11:43:00.002-07:00

I'm reminded of how rad my brother is as I write this post.

Not only because he rescheduled visiting his girlfriend and celebrating her birthday for my visit to Boston, but because he...

Waited for me patiently at TJ Maxx as I tried on an outrageously-Meg faux fur vest and subsequently purchased it

Graciously hosted me as the best of hosts do- making sure I was okay getting to the airport, had pumpkin beer to drink, and got what food I wanted to eat

Hung out with my friends all weekend, enjoying himself

Was tired and had schoolwork to do, but didn't let me know that he did

Quizzed me about Giants players after accusing me that I was a "turncoat" for rooting for them during Saturday's riveting game

Washed dishes by hands after breakfast at my friend Maggie's house

Called me Marge as only brothers and close friends can do

I'm thankful for B-rad, his loving his new city and his dedication to a new field of study.

I made it

2010-10-20T20:51:00.000-07:00

Through the marathon week,

The day in which I learned how to fill out report cards, gave a presentation to my classmates, hitched a ride to class and the airport, turned in a paper, took a redeye, apologized to the kids in my class about not dressing up for Halloween. Ms. Frizzle will just have to wait until next year or next week.

I've made it through the first 6 weeks of school. That in itself, is an accomplishment.

Also noteworthy this week- my pledge to step out of self-pity and embrace the life that I've got, to laugh and enjoy when I'm pulled in many directions in the hallway at school by students who love me, to trust that I know the right thing to say and do. Inaugurating the second annual Meg-Mag reunion of 2011 and the first Meg-Brad reunion on Boston's hallowed ground. Seeing urban farming become a reality- in a place where I remember when it used to be an abandoned field. Taking a pilates class and having sore abs for the rest of the week. Sitting in the SFO airport blogging on a Wednesday night. Realizing I won't have all of my ducks in a row before I leave- that the semester's train is soon going to be coming into the station and I am going to feel overwhelmed. Especially when the third grade class that I'm going to be taking over keeps telling me that I don't tell them to highlight their spelling words the right way. But this is the calm before the storm, at least I hope.

A Bad Case of Stripes

2010-10-16T11:43:00.000-07:00

I read this book aloud to a class of 2nd graders yesterday... 2nd graders that I had loved on all of last year and now hang off of me like monkeys and I am their tree every time I see them in the hallway. Imagine their surprise when I showed up as their former English teacher masquerading as their French teacher for the afternoon.
Picking up the book standing in front of the rows of the library books on a Friday afternoon and recognizing the author, I figured it would be a good read-aloud to end our day together. It ended up being one of those stories that probably resonated more with me than with the kids. Here I am, 26 years old, trying to teach 7 and 8-year-olds about how not to let what other people think of them affect them. The same lesson that I've been trying to learn myself lately- I want to be respected and affirmed by the teachers at my school, the students in my class, the kids in youth group, my professors, my friends and roommates. It's like Pavlov's theory of conditioned responses- I've become conditioned to responding that way. But in trying so hard to please others, I, like Camilla, am losing a part of myself and blending into whatever the people around me want me to be. Camilla doesn't return to her normal self until she realizes that she likes lima beans and is confident in her decision to eat them, despite getting teased and made fun of. I've got to figure out what my lima beans are.

T4sj

2010-10-09T16:29:00.000-07:00

“Cowardice asks the question, 'Is it safe?' Expediency asks the question, 'Is it politic?' But conscience asks the question, 'Is it right?' And there comes a time when one must take a position that is neither safe, nor politic, nor popular but because conscience tells one it is right.”

So today I joined other San Francisco, state and nationwide educators in the fight for social justice, a so-called labor of love. My head is spinning- everytime I examine my beliefs, I feel like I went to therapy. It's figuring out me before I get into the classroom. I've been trying to do this for the last four years, maybe even longer. I feel like I'm getting closer, but then, I'll lose momentum and crumble under the pressure. I will wake up one day feeling self-confident, the next deflated.

I have all of these big ideas- I don't know how to take them all on I have so many. My vision for a school is exactly the one that Linda Darling Hammond advocated for in her presentation today, in order for the construction of education, not destruction to begin. I want to have a community and school integrated together, with a school connected to a community center- where people can access health care, take parenting classes, learn how to feed their families, train for careers. But, I keep hearing the keynote speaker in my head, who said that all you can do is think "You can't save the kids you teach- all you can do is join your students in the process in which the kids are saving themselves."

I can't do it all. I'm not superwoman, I want to be, but all I can do is continue to care about what I'm doing and try and help the students who are victims needing healing. I'm one of them too.

Life unexpected

2010-09-29T22:16:00.000-07:00

A lot of blogging in one week. But then again, a lot happens in one week, Meg- San Francisco time. Meaning that you can actually control a classroom of children, feel confident, and then lose it the next. Or your classmates in grad school think that you are a pushover, literally- and make you try and shoot someone or give someone the finger during a dramatic representation of oppression in our society. Intense, yes, but that's why it's followed by a beer or two with our professor after class at a local bar.
In the process, I'm learning more about myself than I realize- I'm actually becoming self-aware. In the moments I feel most incompetent during the day, I have to come back and realize that yes, I might be inexperienced, but it doesn't mean that I will be a terrible, no-good, very bad teacher for the rest of my life. It means that I have the enthusiasm and big eyes for teaching first grade on a daily basis, but that it might be an adjustment process at first in getting to know every ounce of curriculum necessary to teach kids how to read.
I realize that I do love it here, San Francisco, California, despite its revelation of recent imperfections. Sometimes it takes a professor asking me if I thought I would ever move home to realize how much I do. Not because I don't miss my family, I do, but because I've become accustomed to this way of life- openmindedness, bike-riding, social justice, fresh avocado and produce life, full of opportunity ripe for the picking, that I can't imagine the day-to-day of life anywhere else.

BTS Pt deux

2010-09-28T23:15:00.000-07:00

I made it through another Back to School night, sweaty palms at all. When asked questions like, "Will my child read in French or English first?" or having moms sit on the rug like their children, or having parents speaking 2 different languages, not understanding each other, I have to think... is this really my life? I don't know if there was ever a place other than San Francisco where I would wear a dress, looking like Madeleine (minus my hat), work at a French school, talk about "auras" and positive energy with parents, walk/ride my bike home with my students while wearing my watermelon helmet, drink wine on the fire escape with my roommate Rachael, sing to every Brittany Spears song on Glee, and go to sleep feeling like it's summer at the end of September, sweating every minute of the day.

Oh, and how I survived today

2010-09-27T18:13:00.000-07:00

with a morning of kindergarteners, who cry when you call on them. Seriously.
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=130049247&sc=nl&cc=sod-20100927

Sometimes I think...

2010-09-18T11:37:00.001-07:00

That I'm really into metacognition. I mean, I really like to think about things- creating worries when they might not even be there. The one that's stuck with me lately is HOW AM I GOING TO DO THIS? Almost as though I'm posing as a teacher and I don't even know what I'm actually doing. I'm putting on this act and no one else knows it's a farce but me.
I sit as teachers older and wider than me tell me how I should organize my curriculum, afraid to voice my own opinion. I'm reverting back to the Meg I used to be in times of crisis- forgetful, negative, uninspired. I think so much about thinking that I can't even find joy in what I'm doing.
My pledge to myself is this: I've got to give myself grace right now, raspy throat and all. Just because I'm 26 doesn't mean that I have to save the world, rescue my friends, have every first grader reading flawlessly by the end of the year, have a boyfriend. Rather, it's as Lunden says, time for me to realize "Meg, you have an amazing life." One that is full of adventures- going to the library book sale before it closes, sitting at Revolution cafe enjoying the hottest day of the year, trying to figure out if a masters degree is in the cards for me right now, collecting as many books as I can (not knowing if that will fill a shipping container or not). Being me- welcoming, friendly, caring. Spending time with people my own age. Realizing that I'm not ready to be a mom. And trying to figure out how to emerge from this turbulence as an adult on the other side- confident, competent, connected. An adventure being survival- on my bike, on the road of life, physically and emotionally.

Waiting for Superman

2010-09-07T23:49:00.001-07:00

Waiting for Superman

Here I am, still waiting. Waiting for my own classroom, where I hope to start educational reform.
That will start tomorrow.

Waiting for my credential, so I can at some point teach in a public school. Waiting to talk to others whose experiences in education have influenced their thoughts of the film. Waiting to see how the excitement I've seen of teachers I've been surrounded with- in BATTI, at Columbia, will infiltrate the world of education. How my vision of starting a school will one day, hopefully, materialize. Waiting for when I can create my own Harlem Children's Zone in some area of the world, where families and their basic needs, as well as their child's education, are met. Where families don't have to painstakingly wait through a lottery process so that they can find out if their child will receive a quality education. Waiting for teachers to join together in the pursuit of educating children- it being about the kids and not themselves. Waiting for when I feel as though I can affect change, the kind of change I want to see in the world (thanks, Ghandi).

TMI

2010-09-01T21:09:00.000-07:00

Too much information- Julie and Adam thought this name might be perfect for my blog, but I guess that's what I like about it.
It's hard to believe something that you've waited for so long is actually coming true. Something you didn't actually think could ever happen... in my case, being in charge of a classroom. My head is swimming with doubts- what am I doing? how did I ever think I could do this? where do I begin? I have the high school English head of department's grandson in my class. And I'm sharing my room, trying to make it bilingually appropriate, yet welcoming at the same time. I'm running between floors, trying to make my presence known in third grade before I take over a maternity leave position in December and have input on decisions being made now.
With no bike and no car, I'm now subject to the whims of the MUNI and its erratic scheduling. Or I'm walking 2 miles to class, needing to somehow enjoy the San Francisco heatwave of summer. Trying to set boundaries so that people don't think I'm a marshmallow. Collecting books whenever I get the chance, knowing they can't all fit in my room much longer. Figuring out if I want to get my masters or even think about more school. Feeling like I'm a senior in my credential program- it's getting harder to be motivated, get to class on time, and give 110%. Wondering how I pretend to be mature but yet feel like a first grader inside most of the time.

Summer's end

2010-08-24T11:10:00.000-07:00

I’m thankful for…
Maybe I’m filled with a sense of gratitude right now because my friend Maggie is rubbing off on me in a good way. And my mom and Shauna Niequiest, of course.

That I don’t have to know what I’m going to do tomorrow, besides go to class. I do know that I’m in the airport for the umpteenth time this summer fulfilling my reputation as the roaming gypsy, unable to get my bulging suitcases closed because I’ve filled them with books and trinkets from home. I know that I’m probably going to want to go to sleep when I get home. That traveling, being home, seeing a best friend, learning about how to teach kids for 30 hours last week, seeing friends from near and far, the past and present, was incredible, but draining. Now I’m going back to school and the whole process starts over again. I don’t feel in control of anything, but then again, I’m not sure that I’m supposed to. Quoting Maggie and my pastor from home, it’s not like you want to rewind to relive the good parts or fast-forward to skip the difficult ones. You want to live in the present and live through it.

I don’t know what the future will bring, how long San Francisco will feel like home, when/if my “old friend” running will come back to me, how I’ll get more books to Africa, where I’d get married if I do ever, if I should continue with school to get my masters.

I know that I’ve had the privilege of seeing a good friend get married this summer.
Traveled to Africa with my mom and an inspiring group of people.
Connect with troubled kids in my own city, that I might not have gotten the opportunity to otherwise.
Walked through harsh neighborhoods in NYC, only to realize I’m not as invincible and strong as I like to think that I am.
Flown more miles than ever before.
Seen friends that really know me and been surprised by new ones.
Learned that God is in the details of my life.
Been to my hometown and considered where I’ve come from and what I’ve done.
Smashed broken glass into mosaics, filled trunks with books.
Dealt with transition, grieving each loss.

As my friend Katie said yesterday, "You've had a great summer, Meg." Now it's time to have an extraordinary fall.

Papa Gardener

2010-08-14T16:55:00.000-07:00

I've been really feeling reliant on grace recently. Needing grace this summer in order to survive financially. Having to ask for help has never been easy for me.
But this one, my dad! has been freely giving me grace, left and right. Breakfast at Ella's to say that he wants me to decide where I want to create a life for myself, wherever that is. Remembering my friends' names and asking me how they are doing.
Sharing my mom's and my excitement for Africa. Hearing stories about businessmen I met on planes on the way to Atlanta last weekend who offered me trips to Zimbabwe- then actually knowing the person I was talking about. In an overprotective way that only dads can be.
Trying to contain my mom when she was worried about me staying in an NYC apartment that I found on the Redeemer website.
Not making a big deal about his birthday, usually ever, even though it is tomorrow.
Here's to you, Dad- on your birthday. Thanks for supporting me throughout my life, but especially, in more ways than one, during my "turbulent twenties." I love you.

To Be Alone with You

2010-08-01T15:02:00.000-07:00

This is something I'm struggling with right now, being alone with God. It's something that I've claimed to have done since living in San Francisco, but I can't think of the last time that I was alone in my apartment or without distraction or homework looming in the last seven months. Maybe that's why the months have flown by and my African whirlwind adventure is over, why I'm feeling listless and empty. I want to escape, run from my pain and suffering, and not deal with the books that I'm carrying in my own suitcase to give to God. I'm waiting at the airport and I don't even know the destination. It's feeling these days like Alexander moving to Australia in "Alexander and the No Good Very Bad Day"- "Maybe I'll just move to Africa" because things seem easier there, more simple and I don't have to face my demons. It's so much easier to deal with the demons of other people or analyze other people's relationships with God than deal with my own heart.

Like why I feel alone in this city that I've made my home these past three years. Half-jokingly, I used to think that I would raise a family in my apartment (right Maggie?)
How I feel like change has been happening so quickly all around me that I've become numb to it and don't even acknowledge its effect on me anymore.
Why I feel so far away from my family and where I've come from. I've wanted to use the distance as reason for my independence.
Am I really affecting change here in any positive way? Is it like my friend Julie says, that I've affected kids all over the world and I'm standing in the circle between them beaming?
Is the issue trying to connect what I've done and who I've become to influence my community here? What does my community here even look like anymore?

It's like the Hills finale, Audrina, Lo, and Kristin all saying, "We're all moving on, we're all headed in our own directions, not necessarily in LA." The mindless TV show resonates with me.

If I can be alone with You, than I will be okay, in Uganda, in San Francisco, or halfway in between.

Mama Gardener

2010-07-29T11:52:00.001-07:00

The song California Girls just came on in the cafe where I'm attempting to try and work not laying down. It reminded me of my mom, sitting on the bed of our hostel in Heathrow, watching the music video, and telling me it was her favorite song. This was the person who went from being apprehensive about our trip, going so far as to wanting a helicopter out the first day, to acquiring an African family and tearing up in the London airport after leaving Africa and our team of people. The person who is now thinking about how much we waste in America after going to breakfast with some of her friends. Who is excited about sharing with her community of family and friends about the life-changing effects of potable water from W-E-L-L-S in a remote African village. Who wishes that her church would adopt African dancing during its weekly worship services. Who stamped books and read to children who waited all day outside of the windows of the library I was trying to start. Who prayed with me about how the books were going to get over there and made a friend who knew exactly where the books should go. Who loves chipate and can't want to try the recipe at home. Who wants my dad's eyes now opened to the reality of a third world country where people contain joy and love that we in the developed world cannot comprehend. Whose facebook profile now shows her picture with girls that she and her friends helped to dress by hosting a pillowcase dress-making party. Whose worldview has been forever changed.
I'm privileged to have traveled and shared this valuable experience with you. Love you, Mom!

Vision and reality

2010-07-27T14:27:00.000-07:00

Activity does not always lead to productivity, as Moses my African brother helping with the librairies, says.
Here I am, first day back, already feeling overwhelmed. On the verge of tears, smelling the shellac from the hundreds of strands of paper beads in my bag. Filing a claim with United and Kenya Airways after realizing that both my SLR and flip video are missing from my checked bags. Chatting with the Africans on facebook. Sore from four flights and 50 hours of traveling.
Drinking Kenyan coffee from a Kenyan mug with my roommate. Her asking me if I have ever thought of moving to Africa and thinking how much more I feel like I can contribute when I'm there. Missing my mom and her encouragement, telling me everything is going to be okay. Realizing as many things as I want to do this week, I don't have to do any of them.
Trying to sum up my trip, pretend like it actually did happen, easing back into a developed country and being in the majority, not minority. Wanting to start collecting books to help start librairies all over Uganda. Thinking how can I possibly affect change in San Francisco, right here, right now. Hoping my blocked ears will finally pop so that I can hear again. On the verge of tears, because I haven't cried, really cried, about all I've seen and heard.

Shauna Niequist, my new favorite author, is helping me through all of this right now:

Africa is nothing if not evocative. It's a place of such unimaginable beauty and dignity and expanse and possibility, and such unfathomable suffering and despair and disease and decay. It is at once so alive and so wracked by death, so powerful in its landscape and physicality, and so powerless under the weight of famine and political upheaval and disease. Its intensity scared me and overwhelmed me, and I feel like I wandered through many long days there, stunned and tired and unable to digest what I saw and heard, and more specifically, what I felt inside myself. And even now, four years later, I'm still piecing together what happened in me and what was happening around me in those cities and villages...

I had to make things right in two ways. I had to do something personally to make things right in Africa, because now I knew too much and couldn't erase the images and sounds that had embedded themselves in me, like seeds planted in a garden. I had to make something right there, which is both enormously daunting and shockingly simple. Daunting because of how massive and tangled the roots of the issues have become- it is about famine and sexual violence and patriarchy and racism and economics and medicine, and when you think you've knitted together the magical solution, one pull on one string unravels the whole thing and leaves you with a mountain of new questions, while the clock ticks away lives by the dozen. And then again, shockingly simple, because there are such good, smart people doing such courageous, good, smart things, and what can be done with tiny little bits of money is jus dazzling.

Also, though, and more difficult, I had to make things right within me. I had to confront the person I found on that trip, the one who wanted to fly home the first night and pretend the whole thing was not real. That's the trick, I think. That's why actually getting on a plane and going there is dangerous and very important. Because I could not forget about it, as desperately as I wanted to. I had to clear away space in my mind and my heart, spaces previously occupied by easy things- groceries to buy, albums to download, people to call- and replace them with the weight of Africa, a heavy, dark thing to carry with me, something under which to labor, something under which to tremble. Because once you see it, you will never be able to un-see it, and once you see it, you will be responsible for it, and for the self it reveals back to you.

from Cold Tangerines

Book tour of Africa

2010-07-16T08:51:00.000-07:00

Is what my mom said today when we were talking about the books all getting to Africa, one container busted, but the rest still intact. How they were loaded on the roof of a van by Africans for transport to Tororo. How someone on our team just happened to tell us about a library down the road that they had worked on last week and painted with bookshelves but no books. How kids on our team helped sort the books last night, reminiscing over the beloved stories from their trip. How somehow miraculously they all made it 10,000 miles away from home.

Choosy Moms choose Jiff (in reference to my mom), In the interest of time (as the Africans always say before they begin a 20 minute long speech), You are most welcome (how they make you feel so special every time that you greet them), women selling vegetables along the roadside, dust in your eyes, clean water to villages that have never seen it and already have their jerry cans lined up, classrooms needing painted, conversations with a new friend- a vegetarian who likes art and Africa as much as I do, dresses that my friends in San Francisco being dressed on girls that have never felt empowered before, reading Eve Ensler before bed and realizing that yes, I like all the African women with me, "am an Emotional Creature." Washing widows' feet and hearing them go "I-yyyyyyyyyyyiiiiii-yi-yi-yi" when they receive gifts and hear about women who aren't trying to buy them, who love them, who have been through trials in life too. Eating chapati bread for a meal. Seeing a goat on top of a van and then dropping through the window a second later.

Hearing that we, in the West, are in a spiritual poverty and sometimes at a greater loss than those living in poverty here. We create our own problems, whereas they live contentedly with what they have.

My head is full of thoughts, as it always is when I'm in Africa. It's the first time I can shut off the tapes that roll through my head or the distractions of city life. It's like I never left, that a part of me was here, that my heart is beating for Africa. I was made to do this, I don't know what, made to bring my mom here and see my African brothers and sisters again. Fill a school with hope, deliver dresses for girls who are wearing rags or nothing at all, seeing my friends' pictures attached to the dresses on their bodies.

MJ

2010-07-08T20:35:00.000-07:00

I don't know how to sum up summer so far:
3.5 hour psych classes
The fog rolling in at night
Friendships with people going through the same things I am
Unexpected transitions and change making me feel constantly uprooted and unstable
Being 2 semesters away from being a credentialed teacher
Sharing my love for Africa with others
Having a dinner, while crying over a beer and immediately feeling better about life
Special needs kids who write Michael Jackson poems to commemorate his one-year anniversary, hug me for 2 minutes, read to dogs from the SPCA, and say "People these days..."
Opening myself up to new possibilities when I get back, feeling the anxiety lift as I think about what life will be like as of Monday...

Rainbow Chips

2010-07-04T13:00:00.000-07:00

The last three fourth of Julys in San Francisco have been anti-climactic in ways... Tumultuous relationships, roof-climbing parties, nose piercings and tattoos (my friend Maggie's, not my own). Foggy cloud cover and time spent outside on porches or roofs with close friends.
This year, I'm scrambling to finish summer school, paint a fairy mural, write two papers, spend four more days with emotionally disturbed kids, dote on a golden retriever, and get ready for Africa. I feel superhuman some days- I just need to get through the day, breathe in, breathe out, do my best, love other people well, take care of myself.
It's like the Funfetti cupcakes with the rainbow chip frosting. I'm trying to buy both the icing and the cake mix from Pillsbury, but really for the cupcakes to be good, I need the rainbow chip frosting. I'm resisting it at first, because I already have the Pillsbury frosting, and Betty Crocker icing isn't even found at Walgreen's. But, when I do find it, with the support of my good friends, I realize that it was worth it to wait and find the right one. Even though I just want to make the cupcakes and get them to a middle schooler for his birthday.
That's how I'm feeling about everything right now. I have the Pillsbury frosting, and I just need to find the rainbow chip Betty Crocker one to finish off my cake.

Calming presence

2010-06-29T14:32:00.000-07:00

Never before in my life have I been called CALM. I may bring a positive energy to a particular situation, but I'm never actually the source of peace. Today, I was called calm, granted by an ED teacher himself, but he said that my friend Kate and I were unflappable, that no matter what was going on, we didn't react. When kids threatened us with scissors, screamed "F--- you you mother-f---ers," cheated at Pass-the-Pigs, said "You asking the wrong kid...," laid on the floor refusing to do work, or acted like dogs getting a treat if they did the right thing, I haven't lost my cool. Sometimes I stifle a giggle because I don't know how to react when Maliq tells me his middle name is "Don't mess with me" or "Rocky" or I almost lose my composure when this six-year-old shares his potato chips with me everyday even though he earned them, I didn't. How can someone with such a hard life be so generous?
I'm learning so much, I don't even know where to begin. Every day I count write a book, I really could. I don't know how this is shaping me, I'm in the throws of it, but I know that I won't even approach education in the city the same way.

Meggiesf

2010-06-17T20:41:00.000-07:00

Oh and in the midst of all of this, my credential friends are saying, "Meg, you have to start a blog telling us about everything to do in the city," which of course I got to in the procrastination of writing a paper last night.
Check it out... definitely on the lighter side, no more than a few lines of text- meggiesf.wordpress.com

I can't remember being this tired

2010-06-17T20:25:00.000-07:00

In a long, long time. It's like end of the semester-tired, only it feels like it's lasted for the last 5 weeks. It's like I know I need to take care of myself-tired, but I'm just so tired I can't cook myself a meal or do anything else but flop on my bed when I get home.
It's from saying goodbye to first graders you've become attached to, knowing that you won't have the same relationship with them in second grade. They might say hi in the hallway or hug you every so often, but it won't be the unconditional love of their admiration that comes from being their teacher. It's from seeing the disparity in our nation and our educational system, seeing six-year-old kids throw tantrums, obsess over guns, lay on the floor instead of doing their work. It's from hearing them screaming, kicking, and crying- knowing that they are coming from a dark, dark place that even you can't imagine.
It's from realizing that my weekend is booked with social activities, that I want to do, but don't know how I'm going to muster up the energy.
But enough with Negative Nancy.

Here are some of the golden nuggets:
Maliq pretending to be a scientist (even the way he walks through the hallway or flings the milk from his cereal in a straw around the cafeteria)
Laughing when I'm supposed to cry or am too dumbfounded to react
Having two other amazing people going through this experience with me
Running on the beach after working with special needs kids
Having a mom from French-American at the school working too- just seeing how we're all connected and that she and her family are not living in an alternate reality
Seeing people (teachers, assistants, interns, principals) filled with patience and love, ready to greet some of society's most downtrodden, off of the schoolbus every morning
Watching a child's tantrum quelched and then once again reaching an equilibrium, with tear-stained cheeks, the storm is over
Watching a first grader roll over tables, under chairs, tell me I'm possessed because my eyes are so big, but then become my biggest fan and permanent summer line partner
Uniting the class through the World Cup
Roommates who care enough to knock on my door and ask if my paper is almost done
Parents who keep wanting to support me in getting all of the 940 books to Africa
Realizing that 16 days of summer school later, 3 more psych papers, 3 final projects, books in tow, I'll be headed to Africa, and seeing my mom there

Single in the City

2010-06-08T17:31:00.001-07:00

Sex and the City 2 was a pleasant surprise. I think hearing it was over the top and didn’t get great of reviews set my expectations low. However, it was my favorite film so far of the series- outrageous but addressing real life complications. How relationships are hard, your children aren’t what you expected them to be, and how you can grow up in the same city that you moved to after college. All life lessons that I seem to be learning right now. That I need to let go of clinging to relationships, expectations, and fear- relinquish the control. Trusting that I will somehow complete this 8 week summer psychology class, make ends meet this summer, and sherpa 1,000 books to Africa.

I don’t want to just think, this is hard, it will be over soon, because then I’m not open to the process and the person that I’m becoming through it. Through loss of friendships, I’m opening myself up to new people, new interests, new ideas. Like how I could spend Saturday effortless with a new friend, singing and memorizing the lyrics to the Broken Bells on the way back to the city while stuck in Bay Bridge traffic. Through my friends’ heartache and despair, I’m beginning to see that my lack of relationships has been God’s protection of my heart, not reflecting my own shortcomings or worth as a person. I’m constantly learning, I’ll never be happy with how I am just at this moment, I’m always on the cusp of being engaged in an exciting new skill (like turning boot-leg jeans into skinny ones) or reading more, gathering more information, or constantly cleaning out my closet, as though sometime I will get my style just right.

I’m M.E.G., Margaret, Miss Garner, I’m single in the city, but that doesn’t mean that I’m not figuring out who I am or in the process of knowing who I’ll become.

Sulphur and Sinuses

2010-06-01T21:47:00.001-07:00

A lot of my internal undoings lately have happened around two things: Sulpher hot springs and stuffed up sinuses. I spent the day in bed on Friday after sleeping for 16! hours (not 20), catching up on TV and documentaries- among the best were Flow and Herb and Dorothy. I started to cry when I realized I didn't know who to call to pick up my antibiotic prescription- both Maggie and Robin were my go-tos for that kind of stuff. I hate asking people for anything, but luckily Kimberly came to the rescue.

The sulphur from Wilbur Hot Springs came into play in healing me physically and emotionally from the last month, the transitions and the ups and downs. I don't feel exactly like a new person- I'm still blowing my nose all the time- but I'm in a better head space than I was before I went. I was able to be quirky, funny, random Meg- so much so that one of my friends said they can't wait for me to be married so that my husband can laugh at me all the time. I should have told them that six-year-olds get to everyday. Work didn't stress me out the way it normally does, neither did class and transportation (now sans bike). Or figuring out that I hadn't booked the flight home for next weekend like I thought I had.

Constructivism

2010-05-25T20:37:00.001-07:00

I don't think anyone taught me how to make meaning for myself as a child growing up in Pennsylvania public schools.

Day equals meowing cats, I mean, kids. Them acting like chickens and losing myself laughing in front of all of them. Reading the Red Balloon in French and trying to make them listen. Seeing a first grader understand suffering in Africa so that they write "Hope you don't get sick and die" on a dedication for a book that will be sent there.

All this to say, I'm trying to help them in the course of them figuring it out. And I'm lucky I'm along for the ride- even if it involves MUNI bus rides that don't get you where you need to get you on time and pasta from Trader Joe's heated up at the end of the day in a Pyrex.

Life is too short

2010-05-23T23:11:00.000-07:00

To play the victim
To be scared about every decision I have to make
To worry about not being where I want to be right now
To clench tightly to my expectations, relationships
To feel sorry for myself all of the time

It's time to see the "golden nuggets" as Claud says...

That my kids at school have collected over 1,000 books for kids in Africa
That I finished spring semester, halfway through my credential program
That my mom is just as/even more excited to go to Africa this summer
That I have almost 700 friends on Facebook, which definitely makes up for the fact that two of the bestest have just moved away (not really)
That there are people in my life who do care about me, value my feelings, defend me in conversation, share my need for being loved
That there is a God who wants to listen to me, love me, cherish me, pursue me
That a stolen bike means a hip, new road bike to ride around the city
That I made it through the last two weeks, hopeful I'm on the up and up

I made it through last week...

2010-05-16T21:28:00.000-07:00

A week of a 26th birthday. Feeling loved all day and not letting the "fragile" self emerge. Sharing drinks with 18 of my closest classmates. Being taken to brunch with a best friend. Celebrating with 80 6-year-olds all week long.

A best friend moving away, with another one to follow this week.

A dress-sewing party for Africa (and re-learning how to sew in the process).

Two final projects to be turned in.

Leading four classes of 20 first-graders by myself and growing in the process.

Talking to kids' parents about my passion for Africa over beers.

Seeing an empty room, closet, and shower shelf- being my myself in the apartment all weekend.

Sharing breakfast at Ella's.

Being mature in my outlook about relationships with boys.

Finding out I'll be teaching special ed this summer in SFUSD.

Choosing to take care of myself and sleep for 13 hours in a 24 hour period, even if I would be disappointing other people.

If I made it through last week, I can make it through anything. I may still cry and mourn the moving of my friends from San Francisco, teaching will still be hard for a while, but I feel things deeply and that's okay. I don't need to explain myself to anyone right now.

Babies and co.

2010-05-09T23:25:00.000-07:00

I just saw this movie, BABIES, with my friend Robin.
Four babies, four locations, four different lives:
Namibia
Mongolia
Tokyo, Japan
San Francisco, CA
I have to admit, the Sufjan Stevens music trailer, got me in the early stages- even though most of the time, I'm fearful of babies and don't go crazy over them.
French director, of course- no narration, just life being lived.
There were parts that were hard to watch, moments that made me squirm, but also ones that made me laugh. I don't think, in fact I know, I'm not ready for motherhood- but there is this incredible bond shared by parents and children worldwide, regardless of socioeconomic status or location.
Moments that made me think that we completely overcompensate with our children here in the United States (myself included), when those in third world countries have more independence and seem the most content.
But another film in the previews got me going too- all about educational reform, Waiting for Superman. Yet another confirmation that I do want to be doing what I do, in hopes of somehow affecting change. I already found the website and pledged to save our schools by pledging to see the film.
So, here I go tomorrow, trying to save my classroom and starting to try to bridge the gap between first and third world children. Wish me luck...

I did it

2010-05-04T19:33:00.001-07:00

Today could have been one of those days that easily could have fallen apart at the seams.
I stayed up late last night, wondering why I hadn't worked on my final math presentation sooner.

I had to take 40 kids on a field trip today and was in charge of getting them across the city and back on MUNI (without talking to strangers!), communicating with parents, catching windy papers, organizing the day.

I don't know how I'm going to be in such a responsible position most of the time, but somehow I do it.

I did my presentation, my friend said I looked like I felt comfortable in front of the class. I didn't completely lose my train of thought and freeze up in anxiety.

I tutored a reluctant French speaker into learning English through a small bribe of counting to 1-100 with M&Ms.

I made it everywhere I (and the kids traveling across the city) needed to be, on time.

I confronted a potentially volatile situation at school with a neutral attitude, not taking sides.

I might have left my second lost water bottle of the week at school, been humbled by my ability to climb up the hill of Fulton St on my bike, forgotten to eat lunch, still not been able to upload videos to websites, come to terms with the fact that I'm single for what seems to be a while right now, and above all realized that my real problem is a low view I have towards God.

But part of being twenty-six a week from today (almost to the minute, East Coast time), is realizing that I'm okay. What I feel isn't always necessarily true. I may not be able to choose how I react to situations, but I can choose to what degree I let them affect me (all of these insights thanks to MR and her overflowing joys).

2010-05-02T19:40:00.001-07:00

I may not be able to receive affirmations well, but today I can, after the fact. Watching the video of the camping trip that my friends threw me, Megfest complete with my favorite songs and affirmations. I have a hard time in the moment, believing everything, taking it all in... knowing that I'm loved as much as my friends say.
I feel like the luckiest person in the world, I really do.
Special thanks to Robin and Nick for pulling this off, truly.

2010-04-18T20:15:00.000-07:00

It's been a RAD (I think I'm being inspired by the Weeds character right now) weekend in a lot of ways. Lots of personal growth, things I have never done before:
1) Smoking "Turkish delight" at a Hookah bar with Wimberly on Friday night
2) Praying for 3! hours today with some of my closest friends
3) Being "me" all weekend long
4) Walking around Lake Merritt the whole perimeter (3.3 miles) in cowboy boots... those boots were made for walking
5) Asking people for things that I need
6) Getting sun (in San Francisco), just so rare that it feels like it's never ever happened
7) Knitting on a beach
8) Driving (my friend's car) over the Bay Bridge
9) Seeing Oakland in a whole new light
10) And... Anne Lamott tomorrow:

Something inside me that was stiff and rotting would feel soft and tender. Somehow that singing wore down all the boundaries and distinctions that kept me so isolated. Sitting there, standing with them to sing, sometimes so shaky and sick that I felt like I might tip over, I felt bigger than myself, like I was being taken care of, tricked into coming back to life. (Traveling Mercies)

Wild things

2010-04-10T22:31:00.000-07:00

I think right now, I’m reluctant to think that anything will ever work out. If it didn’t work for M and K, I don’t know that it will work for anyone. If six-year-olds in the woods suffer emotionally now, I don’t know how that will change when they become adults.

I’ve spent a lot of time over the last five or more years wondering, “Wny not me, in a relationship, right now?” But what I’ve realized is that I’m actually probably better off having not invested in another human being.

The thing is, being around other people, especially kids, makes you forget your own issues. You become transfixed in their worlds and act as they do. Everything seems magical- a redwood tree, a stick, a magic wand “glowstick” flashlight. Something makes you laugh almost every second of every day…

Like Ginger saying, “I grow my own crystals.”

Or Armance writing the address of her letter on the wrong side, not with the stamps.

Matilda opening her box of kisses- really, kisses- lipstick kissed pieces of paper, handing them out.

I guess what’s more important than being in a relationship with a boy around my age who cares about me is being in relationships with people twenty years younger who love me unconditionally. Who scream my name as I walk away as though they are my biggest fans.
Who will hold my hand, sit on my lap and listen to a story, or lend me their flashlight.

I didn't want to be alone today...

2010-04-04T16:59:00.000-07:00

something having to do with the anticipation of Easter, of the Lenten season being over, of going to the woods with 82 first graders next week, of not knowing exactly what I was going to do today. Going to church the last four! days brought me closer to God but brought out emotions I didn't even know that I had. I'm somehow back to feeling unlovable, even though I know that God loves me. I just don't know how to keep telling myself otherwise, especially when I'm the slightest bit vulnerable.
So I took videos of my friends instead. I went to the woods and got out of the city. I had dinner with a colleague from school. I made a rabbit cake (see aside).

Parent-teacher gardens

2010-03-17T08:59:00.000-07:00

I've learned in all of my classes that the parents can affect the child's school performance by encouraging reading and holding their children accountable for their behavior. But I learned yesterday from one of the French teachers that kids like to have their "petit jardin," or their own garden at school, that they alone are cultivating. That may be why a parent who asks their first grader, "What did you do at school today?" gets the corresponding response, "Nothing." It's the child's own garden to protect, maintain, and produce. Letting other people in is hard for them.

I don't know what is better, over or under-involvement as parents. Parents who want to be let in on their children's conferences via video chat from Australia or divorced parents who don't want the other parent to meet with their child's teachers and see their school reports. Parents who haven't slept in days, parents who meet with every psychologist possible to figure out what their child needs to stay in a bilingual environment, or parents who don't know the same kid at home that the kid's teacher know at school.

I always reflect on my own experiences, wondering what I was like in first grade and what my parents heard at parent-teacher conferences. I like to think that I was doing well, reading and writing, paying attention in class, no behavioral issues. I don't remember my parents telling me otherwise, but I do remember anxiously waiting for them to arrive home from conferences so that I could hear what they had to say.

So, my question and challenge as a teacher is this: what do I want to cultivate in children's gardens, that they can learn to take autonomy over as I gradually release the responsibility? and how can I get them so excited about it that they want to go home and share what they've planted and grown with their families?

Emotional Creature

2010-03-08T23:32:00.000-08:00

I have to steal my friend Emily's byline on this one, I feel things pretty deeply. I don't know if it's how women are made, as Eve Ensler likes to think, or if it's just me, Meg Garner, Gem Renrag, Miss Gardner.

I feel when I am walking from place to place- feeling things about the city.
I feel when I am touched by one of my kids, in particular the one who likes to think he is a cat and purrs against me five times a day.
I feel when I hear from people's voices and can connect over the phone, even though we aren't in the same place.
I feel when one of my classmates experiences a potentially threatening situation.
I feel when I experience something that moves me- a song, a story, a movie, that I have a personal connection to.
I feel when I'm studying about ideas or situations that I care about or want to reform.
I feel when I'm artistic or creative in some way- it might even be swashing the green paint over egg carton caterpillars.
I feel when I think about Africa and the people there.
I feel when God does something, shows me in some way, that I'm valuable, that He loves me.

I feel when I'm hungry, tired, anxious, depressed, over/under-caffeinated, awake, hungover, elated, vulnerable- in community, by myself.
I feel almost every moment of every day- even though my feelings aren't always founded in reason, they seem logical enough for me to feel them. They don't want to be ignored, suppressed, or belittled.

Ask, Seek, Knock

2010-02-15T08:44:00.000-08:00

This has been coming up for me a lot lately- in sermons, devotionals, friends- just about every medium that God can use to show me that I actually have to ask Him for what I want, as opposed to just assuming that He'll take care of it or will show me what He has.

Yesterday, I experienced highs and lows- highs from having community to spend the day with (celebrating 5 different holidays in one), a middle schooler to fend off pillows with at the Pillow fight, neighbors to play Baci ball with in the park, a church that I wanted to spend 5 hours at where they play Sufjan Stevens because I wasn't ready to go home and be by myself. Highs from eating Chinese in Chinatown on Chinese New Year with 16 others, feeling known, and our friend Nick being thankful for his friends on his birthday. Lows from feeling like I always mess up relationships, that I'm unlovable, that I can't remember to charge my camera battery or keep all of my stuff together. Lows from feeling like I will never have a date on Valentine's Day, that I'll just continue this trajectory of wanting desperately to be liked, only to fall flat on my face every time I like someone and he doesn't like me back.

So, if I Ask, Seek, Knock that I'll have a date at one point on Valentine's Day, does that mean that God has to come through for me in that way? No, my roommate Lisa told me yesterday God was providing for me in the little ways- the highs, reminding me that He loved me even though I only had my parents and six-year-olds as Valentines this year, showing me His love through Sufjan and community.

REVIVE

2010-02-07T22:25:00.000-08:00

I have a Nikki McClure calendar, thanks to the ingenious of my friend Robin and Little Otsu. Each month is a new word, with a printed illustration. This month is REVIVE. When I first changed the month from January to February, not only was I excited for a new month, but I was excited for a new saying to greet me upon coming into my room. REVIVE I thought might be synonymous with reviving relationships, reviving yourself, etc, etc. But it was REVIVE with tools surrounding it- tools that are made to craft and be creative with. So, my month of February is about reviving my spirit through creative endeavors- first one was a screenprinting class at Workshop on Saturday, which set the bar high for the rest of the month. Possible updates to follow- paintings of Africa, muraling my cousin's nursery, photographing my city.
Picture via buyolympia.com

Staring at the Golden Gate Bridge

2010-01-30T14:34:00.000-08:00

Can be a life consuming activity, especially when you wake up in a room with two sides of the perimeter made of glass and one of the sides with a mirror showing the bridge outside. I thought I had woken up in heaven, when the ceiling was bright blue and before sleeping, had shown me in the moon. There are boats passing by, sailboats, ferry boats. It rises majestically as the fog horn blows its whistle. The ocean waves crash up against it. The mountains peek through the fog adjacent to the bridge. The fog passes over the house, because of its proximity to the ocean.
I'm not dreaming, I'm on a spiritual retreat. One that involved me listening to God's voice this week instead of fulfilling my list of shoulds and responsibilities. It was hard to hear middle schoolers disappointed with my decision not to go skiing, but I knew that I needed a weekend alone, to recover, to reset, refocus, spend time with God. Shut the door and not be able to hear the people talking on the other side. I'm about to go experience God in a new way, one that involves the City by the Bay, but not in the way that I've known it to be so far- chaotic, full of hustle and bustle, sounds and smells. This will be the day that I stay by the ocean and think in awe about God and who He is to me and those around me.

Dreamweaver

2010-01-23T14:52:00.000-08:00

I'm not great at designing websites... napping on Saturday afternoons... not using dots in text messages... or feeling relaxed.
Why I'm ticking things off of my to-do list today when I feel like I should be resting in the calm of the storm, before the semester really begins. It will be back to having something on my shoulders all the time, something to worry about, running from place to place on my bike or the MUNI. It's worth it, I know- to have my own classroom someday, start a school, use the gifts that I've been given to contribute to the world at large. Sometimes in the time before waking up at 8 AM for a Saturday class, of mid-week exhaustion, and of frustration with school administration, it seems otherwise and I can find myself doubting my decision.

I have a dream...

2010-01-18T09:37:00.001-08:00

That I'll be continually growing in grace.

It's been one of those weekends where I've been continually stretched beyond what I thought possible. I've had to depend on people and ask for help. I've had to realize that they still love me despite the fact that I'm a broken mess, who can't hold true to everything I say I will or act a certain way all of the time. I've been withholding parts of my life from God and He's in turn, seemingly withholding to me. I've let feelings take over: they make good slaves but not good masters (thanks to Debby for that one).
But, I've also powerfully experienced the civil rights movement through the movie Soundtrack of a Revolution, such that I think I'll be better equipped next year to teach my kids about MLK day. This year, they made clouds saying I have a dream... that they hung around their necks and some responded by saying I have a dream... that I will get a cat while others said I have a dream... that everyone who's homeless will have something to eat. Some of them understood, others did not.
Or, I got to understand that I'm loved by my friends even when I'm not at my best. That I really have this inner creativity that needs to be met, by painting, by going to a museum, by designing bulletin boards at school. That Sunday nights filled with Little Star and laughter start the week off right.

Quirky, quirkier, quirkiest

2010-01-03T21:00:00.001-08:00

So I looked this word up in the dictionary, since I wasn't sure if I should place a negative or positive connotation around it. It might not be completely and purely positive, but it can be- you are full of unique surprises if you are quirky (thanks to EK's definition). It may be the opposite of status quo or not normal per say, according to RW and RA.

Regardless, I'm trying to be okay with this. I want to live the purpose that I'm feeling called to live out, and maybe that's through being silly, being myself, bringing life to situations, and making people feel welcome. I might be the single girl in the room full of couples, maybe that's what makes me even more one-of-a-kind. I will walk home from church by myself on a Sunday, play bananagrams all afternoon, unable to pump up my own bike tires, drive around for a half hour looking for parking and not knowing how to change lanes. All of this doesn't mean that I'm unloveable, but rather that I'm quirky.

NYE

2009-12-31T09:58:00.000-08:00

I hate New Years, not that I hate it, it's just lots of expectation rolled up into one night that is never what I think it will be. But, I'll be around people I love and who I know care about me, even if there isn't someone there who I think wants to make out with me at midnight.

Anyways, I was inspired by my friend Emily's blog about what she did, a year in review of sorts. I'll try to think of all that I can remember from 2009, my first full year of blogging, living in my apartment, teaching at French-American, and working with middle schoolers and first time traveling to a developing country.

1/09- Interview at Berkeley, getting excited about other teaching programs in the Bay Area. An epic ski trip to Sugar Bowl (my first New Year's that I enjoyed myself) and bonding with the YUTES over a ski retreat/dance party.

2/09- Hopeful about new friends and relationships. The City Church retreat, feeling connected to others. Learning more about myself through a Reimagine workshop.

3/09- Not getting into Berkeley. Having great friends from high school visit to quelch my disappointment.

4/09- Going home for Easter, spending time with friends in New York from high school and college. Seeing an exhibit that boosted my artistic confidence.

5/09- My birthday. I felt loved and special by my friends here. Tacky prom party turned dramatic, but worth it in the end.

6/09- Fog begins. School is over, start Camp Meg and getting ready for Africa. Travel to SLO, made some intense realizations about myself and my tendencies to assume overly anxious behavior.

7/09- Travel to Africa. Thus began the changing of my worldview, learning that I have so much and figuring out how I specifically want to give back. Experiencing God in a completely new way. Dreaming about the possibilities of going back. Having a hard time once I got back, readjusting to life in the city.

8/09- The more I babysit, the more that I realize I don't know if a) I ever want to have kids and b) would want to raise them in the city. Starting to paint again, finding my inner artistic creativity once more.

9/09- Going back to school, working with a new teacher, running full-speed ahead. Realizing that things won't be the same as they were last year. Evaluating community group.

10/09- My parents' visit, Halloween (Where the Wild Things Are), turning in paper after paper. Thrilled to have new friends from school that I can bond with the whole teaching experience over. Saying goodbye to a close friend. Feeling both isolated and in community with those around me at a music festival.

11/09- Confronted with a hard truth about my progress in counseling. Getting sick on Thanksgiving, only to realize I need to take better care of myself. Time spent with other families, that make me realize that sometimes I'm homesick because I live far away. Learning how to reach out to others who I think need my help, but also knowing that I can't fix them. Dealing with criticism after a harsh but seemingly accurate review from my supervisor. Pleasantly surprised by other people, only to become crushed in disappointment when they don't live up to my expectations.

12/09- Finishing the semester, feeling loved by the kids at school and their families through their generosity, reconnecting with friends that I felt I hadn't seen all semester. Enjoying the time spent at home with my family. Reconnecting with people I hadn't seen since high school and starting to realize how petty my insecurities were back then. Feeling like I want to trust God wholeheartedly, after how He's provided for me through this past year. Acquiring confidence to lead community group.

I realize in writing this how much I tend to focus on relationships, being liked and creating harmony with those around me. That's one of the main threads running through my year: what I did, with whom, and when. But I also grew a lot, learning more about myself and the world around me. Knowing that I am in San Francisco for a specific purpose, learning to be an educator who will facilitate reform and inspire others.

Ra ra ra ra raaaaa

2009-12-29T09:24:00.000-08:00

I have the Lady Gaga song in my head. Or I have ever since my brother picked me up from the airport in Pennsylvania and we blasted it in the car on the way home.
I always have this resistance to going home at first, once I'm there and more adjusted, I'm more comfortable, and then it's hard to leave and come back to life here.
I kept thinking on the plane ride yesterday that I live far away from home. Not that it's good or bad, but that I never realized how far it was before. It's usually my parents coming to see me versus me coming to see them and so sometimes I forget how long the plane ride/travel process can be.
And every time I come back to the city, I get a little anxious. Maybe because I worry about what I've missed or what I've committed myself to for the next few days, weeks, months. I get an email about books and I'm already thinking about next semester. I see my room and my unfinished painting and other art projects and feel like I need to finish. I take kids on their scooters on the sidewalk and people make comments at us or try and run us over as we are walking by. I drive my friend Claudia's car and worry about whether or not I'm parked legally or read the sign for street cleaning correctly.
I'm only here for a few days before I head to Tahoe, but here's to coming back to SF in 2010 and not necessarily finding something to get anxious about. I might just have to dance out my worries to Lady Gaga in the meantime.

Christmas Eve

2009-12-24T12:31:00.001-08:00

This used to be a day filled with anticipation building for Santa, reading Christmas stories, and going to the candlelight service at church. Now, it's about Christ coming, the real reason; as I sat in traffic today in York (go figure!) I thought about how often we get that wrong.
I had lunch at Panera bread with friends from middle and high school youth group. God has brought us back together, year after year, even though you may not have not thought so. We've been all over: Micronesia, California, Africa, but we meet back together at the same table each year.
I think that's been the trend this past year: the moment I get disappointed about some allusion I've been creating in my head since childhood, the next I'm pleasantly surprised about what God is doing instead. I might not be at Berkeley getting a masters, but I'm in a program that I love and can get an education while staying at my job. I am not engaged or even close, but God is refining me through so many of my relationships. I feel like I'm finally beginning to heal from ones that have wounded me in the past with the community I have surrounding me.
I can still carry on the traditions of the Eve before Noel, running with my friend Claire, going to church at midnight, spending time with my family. Just because childhood is over doesn't mean I have to be an adult necessarily yet, but I do need to let go of some of my childhood expectations. Ways of thinking the world should be, when it's not. Jesus still came into the world, even though it wasn't perfect.

Peanut butter pretzels

2009-12-08T23:16:00.000-08:00

I'm eating them because I didn't have time during class to stomach any more than a salad. I feel like all I can do these days is snack and then move on to the next thing- be it filling out a case study, writing out Christmas cards, or helping a first grader who needs my attention.
It's hard this time of year, to rest, to stop, to wait. I'm trying to be patient this Advent season and see what God has in store.
So far, He's teaching me a lot:
I'm back to taking MUNI after my bike had two flat tires
I can lead my peers just like I can little kids
I can decide to care less what other people think about me
God has more for me than I know or want for myself
I can go and do administrative tasks in the classroom and not be any less of a teacher
I don't have to prove myself with my grades, like I once felt like I had to do
I don't know if people know me in the way I want to be known... (that's the most revelatory one yet)
And lastly, that I have a lot to be thankful for. Not just the 5 things that my roommate Lisa made me come up with during the holiday season that I worked for Louis Vuitton two years ago...

On Jordan's stormy banks I stand

2009-11-29T23:01:00.000-08:00

Is how I should be approaching Advent, knowing that "Chilling winds nor pois'nous breath... sickness, sorrow, pain and death are felt and feared no more," because I'm bound for Promised Land. Promised Land that is after holiday craziness, final projects and papers in classes, finishing up three more weeks of school.
I used to love, love this time of year- more for the magic of it, believing in Santa (until I was 12!), and feeling the warmth of Jesus. Now, I'm withdrawn from the materialism and hype of it all, trying to get back into the daily reflection of Advent.
I want to be like Mary and say, "God, do what you want with me," surrender everything. I don't know what He wants me to do. My cousins asked me, "Meg, are you going to stay here for a while, in California? What does your family think?" My answer didn't really do it justice, but yes, I feel like I'm here for a reason, even though there's lack of quiet and space, sometimes sunshine, and cool nights without central heating.
It may be because there's a mom sitting next to me whose kids I have in my class at church. Or because I can feel known by my community. Or because being with my best friend or eleven year olds makes my stomach hurt from laughing.

I'm blogging

2009-11-24T18:52:00.001-08:00

Watching the Hills, en route to Los Angeles in the air, so much for minimizing the multitasking. I could even use my iPhone. I made it through the first semester of getting my teaching credential, almost. I had an observation today, I don't know how it went, but I'm thankful to have five days out of the city. And to have turned in projects for my classes, with one in each to go. The overwhelming feeling is starting to recede.
I came home at 3:30 from work. I made the bus to the airport, I navigated BART even though I didn't have change for my fare (the man behind the counter changed my twenty for four fives and told me it never happened).

Today was epic

2009-11-17T20:51:00.000-08:00

Because I was able to take constructive criticism for what it was and not crumble to pieces.
Because I could not turn in an assignment that wasn't necessarily due and take my time with it.
Because I am going to try and go to bed early.
Because I rode my bike home on Turk in the rain.
Because I reasoned through situations, thinking that they might have to do more with other people than they do me.
Because I decided that I may not need to please people as much as I think I need to.
Because I feel God's presence in my life now more than I have in a really long time.
Because I could work at school and not feel pulled in ten million directions.
Because I found out that I'm loved by first graders from their parents.
Because I got an encouraging email from a friend.

Detoured

2009-11-15T23:13:00.000-08:00

I just saw this documentary about Rogue Wave's drummer who needs a kidney transplant. I love Death Cab for Cutie and all things associated with them- Great Heights, Zoe, both bands at the Greek Theater with my hip uncle and auntie.
It wasn't until just now that I realized my precious lease on life. I've been spending a lot of time lately back in my old patterns of self-pity- so and so doesn't like me, I get made fun of and laughed at, I'm always messing up, I have an overwhelming amount of schoolwork and work work. I'm trying to be myself, but I just end up wanting to please everyone around me. It's like the sixth grader today who told me that all of those things that I try to fill my life up that aren't God is like chewing gum and tricking your mind into you being full just because you are chewing. I thought that was profound. I wish I could have said that thirteen years ago. They also told me no boyfriend, no problems. So right.
I went to Land's End today by myself to check out the rocks and the waves crashing over them, trying to feel that God was going to sustain me through the waves breaking and at times, drowning the rocks. That wasn't a middle schooler who told me that, but one of their parents.
My feelings keep detouring me away from the reality of the situation- that God loves me, that He's excited about me, that He's doing a new thing in me. It might mean singing Beatles songs to Laguna Honda patients on a Saturday afternoon or sharing my life with kids. I want to trust that it's going to be better than the detoured path I've set myself up to take.

City lights

2009-11-08T17:42:00.000-08:00

I'm sitting on a Sunday night, looking at the city of San Francisco. Anticipating a David Gray concert. Smelling a new vanilla bourbon Voluspa candle. The fatigue of the last few weeks caught up to me this week, manifesting itself in my contacts glued to my eyes, groggy mornings, and afternoon naps. I laid in the park yesterday, today I laid on the couch.
I'm realizing that living here, things become more stressful sometimes than they would somewhere else. That I need some space every once and a while to be by myself, write papers, read a book, connect with God. I don't have to be doing something every minute or think about what other people are doing while I'm resting, what I'm missing out on.
Babysitting last night, I thought about how it would be hard to be home all of the time when you have kids. My lifestyle is so opposed to being home and still, it never happens. Spontaneity actually refreshes me, planning seems to zap the energy from me. I feel more expectation when there is build-up.

Fall break

2009-10-30T10:16:00.000-07:00

Like all weeks off, I have high expectations for what I will accomplish. I will paint everyday, write a novel, get ahead with my school work, clean out my room, deep clean my apartment, see everyone that I haven't connected with in a while, write letters, finish incomplete projects, take naps, post photos, spend time in silence, listening to God. The gist is that I would do things that I wouldn't normally do. This week did take on that shape, but in a way different than I could have expected. I did spend time with my family and we dined at fine establishments and biked over the Golden Gate Bridge. I saw my pregnant cousin for the first time since she told us she was pregnant. I got a new makeup look with my mom, fixed my bike, found my lost keys.
For some reason, it's Friday and I'm the slightest bit disappointed that I didn't finish all that I had set out to do. I watched more TV than read books, got less sleep than I planned, and still fill disorganized come Monday.
I think that's how life works: when we set these expectations that are impossible to meet, we will never satisfy all of the requirements for us. I set a reminder each day for noon that said "God is showing himself to me by..." Each day, there was something incredible happening at noon- whether it was an engaging YUTES conversation, a view of the San Francisco bay, looking at powerful art, or getting my makeup done sitting next to my mom. That's what I will take away from this week, that everyday God chose to reveal his love to me in a unique way.

The Decemberists wrote a song about me

2009-10-19T22:29:00.000-07:00

They didn't really, but I would like to think that they did. It's the first time that I've liked my real name, Margaret, hearing it in their Hazards of Love performance yesterday. Sometimes when I'm at festivals with huge groups of people, staring up at the stars, sober as can be, I feel God most. Amidst all the craziness, he's there and he's maniacally dancing along with me. Even as I shove my way through the crowd, hand out Clementines, and laugh with my friend Matt, He's there.
For a long time, I've been having a hard time feeling like He is around. When I'm overwhelmed by kids crying and unable to write their name on a piece of paper, I don't know where He is in that. I don't know where He is in helping me to get all of my homework done. Or trying to get to counseling at twenty to six, only to realize that the MUNI downtown has been flooded and there's not a cab to be flagged down in sight.
But He's there, just not in the way that I think He is. He's there by surprising me with Papalote burritos at community group, when I was resisting going. Or when one of my fifth graders tells me that she is going to be Michael Jackson for Halloween and I can't keep it together by not laughing. He's there when I get told I'm pretty by a six-year-old because my eyes are like saucers.
He's in the community, the sermon about complaining, spending time with new and old friends at a music festival. The new Sufjan-sponsored Shannon Stephens album. Me planning my "Where the Wild Things Are" lesson tomorrow. In San Francisco, on 7th and Harrison. At French-American, on Oak and Franklin.
He's with me, as near as my next breath.

I learned a lot last week.

2009-10-12T09:36:00.000-07:00

They say that teachers are the best students. In that case, I'm doing pretty well for myself.
I not only single handedly led a class of squirming first graders who told the teacher they learned "Nothing" when I was teaching, but I learned how I'm feeling will erupt all over the place unless I take care of it sooner.
I also learned that these hard times are refining me and bringing me closer to God. I'm writing a good story for myself, according to Donald Miller.

It's interesting that in the Bible, in the book of Ecclesiastes, the only practical advice given about living a meaningful life is to find a job you like, enjoy your marriage, and obey God. It's as though God is saying, WRITE A GOOD STORY, TAKE SOMEBODY WITH YOU, AND LET ME HELP.

Before I learned about story, I was becoming a fatalist. I was starting to believe you couldn't find meaning in life because there wasn't any meaning to be found. But I don't believe that anymore...

I don't ever want to go back to believing life is meaningless. I know there are biochemical causes for some forms of depression, but I wish people who struggle against dark thoughts would risk their hopes on living a good story- by that I mean finding a team of people doing hard work for a noble cause, and joinng them. I think they'd be surprised at how soon their sad thoughts would dissipate, if for no other reason than they didn't have time to think them anymore. There would be too much work to do, too many scenes to write.

Although I've dealt with giving up, recently. I've become disillusioned with my part in the story and I don't know where I fit in. I don't know what my small piece can do to affect change. But it's a small jigsaw piece that the greater whole can't be complete without.

I think that this is when most people give up on their stories. They come out of college wanting to change the world, wanting to get married, wanting to have kids and change the way people buy office supplies. But they get into the middle and discover it was harder than they thought. They can't see the distant shore anymore, and they wonder if their paddling is moving them forward. None of the trees behind them are getting smaller and none of the trees ahead are getting bigger. They take it out on their spouses, and they go looking for an easier story.*

*Taken from A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, Donald Miller (in italics) with my own insights interspersed.

I'm feeling...

2009-10-05T23:28:00.000-07:00

Clarity for the first time in a few weeks. I'm finally going to try and process feelings when I feel them instead of letting them pile up over time, culminating in a breakdown after Bluegrass on my friend Pryor's couch.
Guilty after setting the boundary to not go to my public school today, I saw one of my fifth graders on the street on my way home in the Mission.
Sweaty from riding my bike home, I did even the Fell part of the Wiggle at night.
Nervous to have my supervisor come tomorrow and observe me in the classroom and then talk with me about it.
Hopeful about people learning who I really am.
Excited to learn more about myself and how I cope best with the stress that I'm facing daily.
Unsure of how the kids will be tomorrow; if they will stage a coup as my friend Joe says.
Validated in how I feel at school, after one of the teachers wrote me an email and told me when she's free in case I need a listening ear. That's never happened to me at FAIS before.
Sad that my friend Pryor is on her way back to Tennessee now.
Overwhelmed by injustices in the world.
Scared about future relationships, how I will inevitably mess them up.
Confident that I am who I am today, growing in grace, dealing with my feelings and emotions.

Finished?

2009-09-27T21:52:00.001-07:00

I just finished my first paper of my life post college. Well finished... I'll never actually be done. That's part of the problem with me being unable to finish a painting or leave the classroom: there's always something more that can be done. I remember nights spent in college when I couldn't leave the computer lab until the wee hours of the morning, until I read over the paper one more time. I couldn't just say, "I'm done with it, I'm finished, it's now out of my hands." I'd rather spend the time until I got my grade back worrying and anxiously formulating what I had mistakenly analyzed.
I'm attempting to let go of this, to heal myself from certain expectations I placed upon myself while an undergraduate. Some of these ideas weren't healthy for me or my mind. As I start on this new adventure, I'm excited to see what learnings I can undo and renew.

Things I don't want to forget

2009-09-22T21:40:00.000-07:00

as my mind overflows with information like students' names, how I can get from point A to point B on my bike, there are certain things that I want to remember about this time in my life...

Like I contemplate life on the way home from Oakland on Tuesday nights driving back over the Bay Bridge and seeing the city all lit up.

Like the entire K-5 population of my public school in SOMA where I'm student teaching shouted "Going to college!" after being asked "What are you going to do when you grow up?" or the one girl in my fifth grade class whipping around her hair extension (I made her throw it in the trash).

Like I locked myself out of the house today, after not being able to find my keys this morning (they were in the basket by the door where I left them).

Like I combined two works punctuation and sanctuary to make the word PUNCTUARY. One of my classmates told me that was such a Meg moment, it was.

Merried

2009-09-20T20:07:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was the first time that I knew a bride and groom, their families, the pastor, and most of the bridesmaids, groomsmen. It made it all the more powerful to see such a momentous occasion take place having seen the process firsthand and God's provision in both the bride and groom's life.

I got choked up hearing Karl Digerness play "Fairest Lord Jesus," reminding me of San Francisco's own Sufjan Stevens. I got to have two lovely dates, Dan and Skylar, looking out for me, as well as great friends and roommates to share the event with. Pryor and I were the two remaining people on the dance floor.

Living in San Francisco can be like living in a dream sometimes; it doesn't seem real. What I have here I haven't experienced anywhere else. Yesterday was proof: two good friends joining together to serve each other. Never before had I heard that analogy used at a wedding, but it was the most selfless love I've seen.

As hopeless as I feel about dating here, I am excited to see what God is doing here and now in our community. Nathan plus Julie is evidence of that.

Saved

2009-09-16T21:54:00.000-07:00

I wish I could believe that God loves me unconditionally the way that my six-year-olds do after loving me a week. The way that they love you no matter what clothes you threw on that day or even if you brushed your hair. They think that everything you do is great and they get excited when they find out that they live nearby you. You almost don't think that it's genuine because they are so effusive, even my second graders from last year. I want to believe that God rejoices in me the same way that they do, but most of the time I can't imagine why he would. Or how He could do that for everyone, but love me uniquely because I am who I am. For Meg Garner, not putting me into the "vacillator" box, as Maggie said.
Watching the movie Saved, I realized that there are some things about Christianity that make me despise that part of me. How we can manipulate God to do certain things and how we can use Him to explain away our own issues. The ultimate message is one of grace, which I can take away- grace within their relationships with each other and from God. Mary doesn't understand how God could somehow tell her to have sex with Dean and then get pregnant. I don't understand how God really has the best for me, ie I don't want to trust Him most of the time. I worry that my plans will never happen. I can just barely make out how God has provided for me in the past-sometimes I can see it, feel it, I did in Africa. Other times, I feel distant- I don't know where God is in me going back to school, where He is in all of that. I'm feeling silly that I will work hard for two years and only have a teaching credential, not a master's degree. At the same time, I'm realizing what an honor being a teacher is and how I'm not ready for it yet.
I want to understand that people are telling me things for a reason, that I don't have to get it right then or take immediate action, that I can let their thoughts sink in and process through them later. I don't want to deflect positive comments or constructive criticism.
Ultimately, I want my identity to be in the fact that I'm saved, not that I'm a teacher, student, good friend, loved by people.

Debriefing

2009-09-13T23:22:00.000-07:00

I had forgotten about how I felt in Africa, how I knew that I had to depend on God, until seeing Maggie's Sudan presentation today. A wave of emotion swept over me, tears ran down my cheeks as I saw the cherubic faces of Sudanese children, orphans.
I let last week, with its mounting assignments, classroom aspirations, and larger-than-life expectation, overwhelm me. I couldn't connect with people because I was frustrated with myself. I couldn't go to sleep because I was anxious. I couldn't be alone because I didn't know how to dig myself out of the hole I had started to dig myself into. I found ways to be sorry for myself, things beyond my control, even if they didn't exist. Everything became an enabler for self-pity.
I needed my friend to confront me today about how I was making her feel, to take charge of my assignments and get my readings done. Everyday, I'm learning more and more how to surrender what I think my life should be, what the world wants me to live for. It's better with God- He took me to Africa, He's brought me back to painting, He's provided me with a wonderful community. He's even using me to reach the middle schoolers of the city. I don't need to sit around, wallowing in self-pity and self-loathing, for not getting my teaching credential sooner or liking boys who I think like me back.
It's been almost two months since Africa, here I am still wondering, "What's next?" Africa came back to me this week in the form of a call from Hope4Kids, an encouragement about my art, and a facebook message from a dear friend. I have to surrender, let go, trust God with what He has for me tomorrow, the day after that, and the day after that.

GLEEful

2009-09-09T22:52:00.000-07:00

I want to be glee-ful, not just because I watched the TV show right now. But because I have the opportunity to further my education, help other people with my gifts, and share my life with other people. I have a huge easel in my room now, with a painting on it, that reminds me of what I'm working towards. My creativity has dramatically increased, although sometimes at the expense of procrastinating now that I'm back in school.
In this season of engagements, weddings, babies, and whirlwind romances, I want to be happy for my friends. I also want more than anything to be content with myself. I was alone more than I had been in a while over Labor Day weekend (even in my apartment). I did okay with the silence and the lag times. I even relished in it yesterday on a walk through the fog of the city at twilight.
Today, anxiety hit me like a ton of bricks. Maybe it was the Blue Bottle coffee I had at lunch, my nagging urge to check my email throughout the day, or my insecurities about school resurfacing. I found myself alone after school, unsure of what to do next. I didn't have class to go to, I could rest and be content. I couldn't, I kept feeling like there was something I should be doing. I should finish my painting, work on this project, finish my reading, call this friend.
I've figured out that I look to the distractions to keep me from thinking about myself, when sometimes that's the very thing that I should be doing. I can more easily engage with other people, which will consume my head space. Rather, I prefer that than getting stuck in my own cement mixture of uncertain thoughts and relentless self-sabotage.
I don't need the external affirmation as much now, I can spend hours pouring over my books excited about what I'm learning, I can watch glee before bed and feel hopeful about the day to come (even though my school would never let us perform Push It in a school assembly).

I'll follow you into the dark

2009-09-03T23:01:00.000-07:00

Rachael is blaring this song which always makes me nostalgic for college, France, early days in SF. I had a realization tonight that I don't know how to accept praise or affirmation, as much as I love it. I'm trying to believe the idea that I'm worthy of compliments, that other people love me. So far, I've come to terms with God's love for me and subsisting on that. It seems like every time I assume that other people are going to affirm me, I'm disappointed. I would rather not count on it than be heartbroken, craving something I'm never going to receive.
Dan, a close friend and YUTES leader, made me think about the way that I view myself. If I can't even believe what he tells me to be true, that I'm amazing, not necessarily worthy of being loved (because none of us are). I don't have to seek boys out, they will be lucky one day to come to me because of how great I am. In the society in which we live, in the times of failing in my attempts to have a relationship, in my life of running around from one thing to the next, I find having a relationship impossible. I don't even have enough time to check my email these days, let alone respond.
I tried to give up, surrender today, as I was sorting markers into organizers. I was frustrated with not feeling valued by the new teacher whose taken on Deirdre's maternity leave. Everything I did today she re-did in her own way. I spent too much of the school's money yesterday on supplies for the room. I missed the meeting for the first grade teachers because no one told me what time it was at. I struggled being neutral, not complaining, not being dramatic about my situation at school. I have a job, I like my classes which will enhance my work life. I am inspired by my classmates, who can understand where I'm coming from. I want to get to know them, to share our exhaustion and frustrations together.
This new schedule of class and school has me feeling overwhelmed, but it's given me less time to dwell on self-pity and negativity. I don't consider myself a writer, since I told the beatniks tonight at the Divisadero Art Walk that I didn't think I could write the first line of a story for others to continue. It helps me process things, once again feel the twinges of the feelings I had while writing that post. Live in the now, even if I am headed to the darkness.