Nearly Done, Getting Great

The end of the year is upon us.  It cannot come fast enough.

Someone described it to me best in this way.  "It's like when you're driving and you really have to pee.  When the next bathroom is 15 miles away, you think, 'No problem, I can hold it,' and the time passes pretty quickly.  But that last mile?  All you can think about is waterfalls and rainstorms and the need for relief."

I recognize that there will be people who read this and think, "At least you get a summer vacation!"  And they're right.  I could go on and on about how bad the kids are this time of year and how the teachers need summer and how it is fair in its own complicated way.  But I'd rather not excuse away the pleasure of summer.  It is not something I necessarily deserve; it is a gift for which I am incredibly grateful.

B sent me a podcast yesterday called "Lazy: A Manifesto," which was essentially a sneak peek at a book by that title.  The first chapter, shared in the podcast, was devoted to recognizing the merits of doing a little less and exposing our go-to status of "busy" for what it really is: a "boastful complaint," an opportunity to avoid being alone with ourselves.

I am one of these "busy" people, and as this writer wisely points out, it is a condition of my own creation.  People who work back-to-back shifts or multiple jobs, they're not busy, he says; they're tired.  Me, I'm busy. In a job that prides itself in its varying degrees of masochism and which encourages long hours, I am already short on time.  But add to that my numerous and ever-changing hobbies, and all I'm left with is a couple of unfilled waking hours every other day.

Needless to say, this makes dating hard.  The last guy made his subtle complaints.  "I work too much; you have too many hobbies," he said when we broke up.  My coach and I talked about it this past Sunday, too.  I told him I wanted to train on a different day during the summer, so I could spend more time with B on his only day off.  "That's great that you're back in the dating scene," he said.  "...One day I'll be ready."  He waved his hand out over the sand courts in front of us.  "I just have to find someone who's okay with this."

So far, B doesn't seem to mind my volleyball obsession.  I think that's due in part to the fact that he's usually working when I'm playing, but it also has to do with his own ambition, his own search for excellence.  At one point last week, we were going through movies on Amazon, and we ran across the movie Whiplash, a film that takes up certain questions of greatness: what does it mean to be great, what does it take to be great, what does it cost to be great.  In the process of describing the movie to him, we ended up trying to answer those questions ourselves, particularly the last one.  "I made a decision in high school to choose happiness over greatness," I told him.  And it's true.  At NOCCA, we read the works of so many amazing writers whose lives were at best dysfunctional and at worst miserable, even suicidal.  I don't want that for myself--I want to be happy--but I also want to write, and write well.

The thing is, science has shown that dysfunction and disorganization breed creativity.  That is, it's harder to see things a new way when they're in working order.  I read about it recently in my favorite blog, Barking Up the Wrong Tree.  "Ideas," it says, "need to be sloshing around or crashing into one another to produce breakthroughs."

I suppose this is why I'll never be a great innovator; I like order to a fault.  (Though you wouldn't know that looking at my bedroom.)

But I do want to be great.  I want to be a great daughter and sister and aunt and friend and mother/wife (eventually).  I want to be a great volleyball player--maybe not Kerri Walsh great, but good enough to compete with the local best.  I want to be a great teacher.


Friday ends my seventh year of teaching.  I find it hard to believe that seven years have already passed.  I find it hard to believe that I am almost as experienced as the teacher I interned under in student teaching.  Experience creeps up on you, I suppose.  Perhaps greatness does, too.

I am not looking for the kind of greatness that overwhelms the world; I'm looking to do the ordinary things well, to impact the lives of my students positively, however I can.  And, at least according to these recent student notes, I'm doing alright.

Dear Ms Olinde,
Thank you for being the greatest teacher ever.  You taught me so much.  I loved doing the article shares you made us do.  I learned so much about space.  I liked your labs and projects a lot, such as being Teacher for a Day (TFAD).  That was really fun.  I think Innovation Month was the top lab.  It's so fun.  I also love the fact that you gave us one--that's 1 not 2, 1--question for HOMEWORK.  Thank you for being a great teacher.  I will always remember your class.

Dear Ms Olinde,
Thank you for being such an amazing teacher for my 4th and 5th grade years.  I am really going to miss you next year and when I'm in science I will be thinking about you.  I will really miss your "serious humor."*  Overall, you have been an amazing teacher and I will really miss you.

Dear Ms Olinde,
Thanks for teaching me science for 2 years, putting up with me, and making class fun.  It was a pleasure to be in your class, and I hope to see you after 5th grade!

Dear Ms Olinde,
Thank you for being a great teacher and a friend.  By teaching us feet to toes so we can learn about cells to limozones.**  From cell to tree so we can't be beat.  From sweat to meet you are the best teacher ever.  I wish you can teach us next year, Ms Olinde. (sic)

Dear Ms Olinde,
Thank you for teaching me science from fourth to fifth grade.  You are nice, funny, and a fantastic teacher. I have learned a bunch from you that I doubt I would have learned from any other teacher.  You have great control of the class as well.  I know how annoying the boys can be.  I hope to see you again at the middle school when you bring next year's fifth graders to the big school.  Thanks again.

Dear Ms Olinde,
I will miss you so much going to middle school.  I wish I could have you again and again.  I have had a really fun time learning about all the cool scientific things in your class.  I hope you feel very appreciated!

Dear Ms Olinde,
I would like to tell you how great a teacher you were this year.  Science is my favorite subject, and I think you greatly contributed to that.

Also, this one, written as advice to the rising 4th graders:
Dear new fourth graders,
You are meeting Ms. Olinde.  She is very nice.  And helps out in tricky problems.  Also, she is smart and sarcastic (a little).***
ps. Say hi for me!



*What does this mean??
**I think this is supposed to be lysosomes.
***This is B's favorite note.  He likes to reference it when I get a little glib.