Tuesday Morning (one of my favorite times of the week)

It's Tuesday Morning -- this song by the Pogues has been one of my favorites for a dozen or so years (it's older than that, but music doesn't really happen till a listener finds it).  Anyway, "I thought of tomorrow..."

• Missy & Sean have been family to me in DC the last few years.  They have a baby now, and another on the way -- but we still carve out time most weeks for dinner or a brunch and a little time to catch up.  Last night, we ate Thai food, and laid on the big white couch and it felt like home.  

• I'm living through a season of "in between times" - one way or another, my plan (hope? goal?) is still to move to Chicago in the relative near term.  But, that means that this summer in particular is sort of a limbo period.  I'm still living in my life in DC, but also there's a timer set on that.  One foot in, one foot out, is a hard way to pass the days.  But, in these in between times, I've decided to try and focus in on art - movies, music, TV, live shows, whatever and wherever I can find it - to help give the present some needed texture and breadth and joy.  Last night, I finished season 3 of Stranger Things, which was maybe the best season yet.  It's an homage to all that I hold dear about growing up in the 80s.  The clothes, the music, the lighting, the pop culture references and the sensibility are all so gorgeously familiar and celebrated in the most flattering ways.  

• My friend Clay called about a work thing yesterday, and as an aside said, "I keep a journal every day of just one sentence from the day" (which is a brilliant way to journal and once again why he's such a delight).  He said, "Random fact: a year ago today, you and I went to go see Ant Man."  Honestly, I love super hero movies, but rarely find them memorable.  I sort of remember that I've seen one of the Ant Man movies - and, while we're talking gratitude, let's put Paul Rudd on the board  - and now that he mentioned it, I can kind of remember sitting in the Gallery Place theater and their newly refurbished giant recliner seats, but mostly it's a blur lost in the ether.  I'm grateful for my friend Clay, who always gets me to up my game a little, in the most delightful and unexpected ways.

Jim: Gratitude for Teaching as a Vocation

Yes, there is at least a grain of truth in the old joke: "What are the three best things about teaching? June, July, and August." Except that the reality is-- two outta three ain't bad (thanks for the tissue) and yes, those two months are wonderful (and maybe even an ideal for productivity in the workplace, but that's a whole 'nother topic). What I write about today are some of the many other reasons why I am grateful on a daily basis for having found teaching as a vocation.

1) Teaching is a Creative Act-- I've never considered myself to be the type of person to have the discipline to practice a traditional creative act-- painting, music, acting, even writing. Teaching, though, has taught me that I AM a creative person, and that the classroom is my performance space. For someone who sees the classroom as a place to transmit knowledge, this may seem counter-intuitive, if not dangerous. On the other hand, if you realize that there are many different ways to learn, that learning has affective as well as cognitive components, and that motivation is a huge part of what the typical teacher has to provide for students, then it makes more sense.

2) Teaching is a Moral Act-- If you've been fortunate enough to have a teacher (or several) that you connected with, who inspired you and left a lasting impression, it may be because of what she taught, but it's more likely to be because of who she was. Just because most schools, public and independent, aren't religious doesn't mean that they aren't places of moral education. The morality I'm speaking of is conveyed implicitly as opposed to through an established explicit code; it's embedded in an ethical and civic set of values (no education can be value-neutral); it's communicated via the modeling of healthy working relationships, generosity, cooperation, clear and healthy expectations, and honesty.

3)Teaching is a Democratic Act-- Often despair at the state of our community, nation, world? Me too. Feel like there's nothing you can do to contribute to its betterment? Not me. As a public school teacher, I believe whole-heartedly in the guarantee of a Free Appropriate Public Education for all, as most recently guaranteed by law in my birth year, 1973. I believe that such an education is a necessary part of a functioning democratic citizenry. As such, when I teach, the act is partially self-serving-- I'm helping to guarantee the future wellbeing of my community, state, and nation. Yes, this is an awesome responsibility. Yes, it suggests that teachers should be valued more than they are in our society. No, neither of those things discourage me from taking on these challenges. Instead, they make it all the more important that the best people be encouraged to pursue education as a vocation.

4) Teaching is a Human Act--Rare is the day that I come home from work not thinking about a meaningful interaction with someone-- student, colleague, administrator--that has added something to my life experience. There is something about the necessity (and when it's lacking, the opportunity) to work on things that can make a difference in others' lives, and in my own. And the cast of characters is constantly changing-- students come and go constantly, and teachers do as well, and each have unique stories, challenges, and contributions to enrich the whole. I've been blessed to have several thousand such folk walk through my door, and though it is hard when some of them leave, the possibility of catching up and renewing our relationships at a later date always remains in my mind.

Mark: Sunday Morning, July 7

Before the Women's World Cup:

So, my intention with this writing project was to try and make a daily practice of being present and grateful, but as it turns out, that's a high bar.  Or, at least it is to start out.  Anyway, here's what I can count as gratitudes from the weekend:

• Friday was one of those days where all day long, things were generally fine - and also a little off.  But Saturday morning, after a good night's sleep, the world felt fresh and new again.  My neighbor (who is very close by because I live in an attached row house) has had this ugly shed on the back of his house that I can see out my kitchen door for as long as I've lived here.  That's nine years of looking out the window and all shingles falling off of an ugly shed.  Yesterday, somewhat out of the blue, when I got up, there were workers in the back, tearing the old shed down.  Where there used to be an ugly wall, there's now a little extra light, that let's me see some more air and the trees across the alley.  I'm grateful for the days when walls come down.

• Saturday afternoon, I also talked to my sister for a bit.  We have been in a groove for the last year or two where we usually talk daily, sometimes more.  She was out with our mom yesterday and it sounds like things aren't going great -- so I called thinking I'd check in on that.  But, it turned into something so much better.  She was sitting outside on their front lawn with Eleanor, who's not just shy of her first birthday.  The baby had been cranky earlier, but was now delighting in playing in the grass.  Colleen said that she'd also been in a bad mood - which was why she grabbed a beer and a jar full of blueberries for the baby and had an impromptu picnic on the front lawn.  The sunshine and fresh air changed them both.  Eleanor, juuuuust on the verge of being able to stand on her own and take her first steps, was smiling at her mom, patting her leg and heart, and cooing into the empty blueberry jar.  Colleen said it made her realize once again that Eleanor is already one of her very favorite people in the whole wide world.  That was a great moment to pop into through the magic of cell phones.

• The DC swamp is hot and muggy as fuck this Fourth of July weekend.  I spent yesterday at the pool with a couple of friends, sipping rose from water bottles, eating gummy bears, and occasionally dipping into the pool.  But, mostly, I tried to keep my gaze set to the blue sky and the giant clouds that were floating by.  The way they changed shape and light as they wafted by.  It was the perfect juxtaposition to the conspiratorial cackling and whispering of my friends (who were a light show of their own).

Mark's Big Gay Gratitude - Monday Night

Honestly, I'm up too late for an over tired forty something who has to see his trainer in the morning.  But gratitude and this writing project have both been waiting a little too long for me to get my ass into gear and my fingers on the keyboards...and so here we are.

The little I've read about practicing gratitude for the benefits that researchers are just beginning to understand is that there seems to be something about being specifically grateful for some good things each day that makes the whole thing work.  So, my tangible gratitudes on this Monday evening are, in no particular order:

• The hour I got to spend watching the new Netflix Tales from the City Update.  One of my longterm shortcomings as a gay in the know is that I've never really cracked the cover in a meaningful way on Armisted Maupin's classic (there's a good chance I just butchered his name, and I'm too tired to google the actual spelling).  And, if we're being honest, this current series is only ok.  But, the stories are both all queer (or queer agecent) and also largely focused on middle aged and older people who are still vibrant and active in life and in each other as a tribe.  It's comforting to watch, and on a Monday night after a long weekend on the road and a semi busy day at work, having some queer art to fall into while I made healthy food for the week and straightened the house, grounded me and brought me back into my own skin that was...soothing.  (Literally, as I typed the word soothing, a bang went off in my alley, and I refuse to look and see if it was a firework or a gun).

• Dan is someone who has grown into my life in large and small ways over the last four months.  We dated for a couple of months last spring, and he ended things saying he wasn't sure we were a fit and I didn't really look back much from there.  But then we ran into each other at the gym in March, and started sleeping together again.  But, somewhat unexpectedly, we started not sleeping together too.  I spent the day after Pride when were both hungover melted into his couch with him.  We check in each night about the day say sweet dreams.  He is my date this 4th of July, which will be our first national holiday together.  The whole time we've been dating this go round, I've been clear with him that I'm trying to move to Chicago in the not so distant future and he in turn is trying to do the same, but in New York.  Friday night, while I was at the beach, he called from New York to say that the interview he'd had that morning had turned into something -- they made him an offer on the spot and he's leaving by Labor Day.  I'm having feelings about his departure, that are letting me know that I've got skin in the game on this one.  It's been a little longer than I care to admit since I was in a thing that actually pulled at me like this, and I'm happily accepting the bitter and the sweet tonight.  

• My friend Dane is a gay in my office.  I think he's cute in a way that I hope doesn't get me an HR file.  But, more importantly, he's also smart and very kind.  We had drinks a couple weeks ago on Pride weekend.  He mentioned that his team - he's part of the Education program, which is much more conservative than the Environmental program I work on - is preparing to move a not small grant to the Heritage Foundation.  Heritage is a classically antigay think tank.  They're smart enough to not say things that directly malign or attach LGBTQ people directly - they just defend the rights of those who are trying to deny us any legal rights or protections.  The education team supports them as a way of staying close to the Trump administration on education policy.  Dane and I did a call together this afternoon with the head of People & Culture for Walton, who also happens to be gay.  I think we were all three nervous in different ways.  Rustin is in a tough spot as someone who seems like he's genuinely with us, but also can't make any promises.  Together, we were smart and productive and I spent more than an hour tonight working on a follow up memo.  I'm grateful for clarity I feel in my gut about this, as well as the people who are in the fox hole with me.  

And with that I'm off to bed, as tomorrow morning will be an unmitigated disaster.  MWAH

Jim: Etty Hillesum's Gratitude

I certainly didn't intend to begin my contributions to this blog on gratitude by quoting from books, but just today I encountered another passage apropos to this topic, and can't resist sharing it. Again, its David Brooks, and this time he quotes from the diary of a Dutch woman, Etty Hillesum, born at the brink of the first World War. On the cusp of that war's terrible successor, Hillesum, never before a religious practitioner, finds herself falling into a life of prayer. Prayer, she finds, is a way for her to make peace with her vulnerabilty and an intimate opportunity to practice gratitude. Before she knows it, a desire to practice prayer for these reasons becomes a compulsion that may come over her in an moment. Gratitude, she finds, is transformational.

No longer [do] I want this or that, but: Life is great and good and fascinating and eternal, and if you dwell so much on yourself and flounder and fluff about, you miss the mighty eternal current that is life. It is in these moments--and I am so grateful for them-- that all personal ambition drops away from me, and that my thirst for knowledge and understanding comes to rest, and a small piece of eternity descends on me with a sweeping wingbeat.

I am so grateful for Hillesum's words this morning, as I feel like they are speaking directly to me. I too feel distant from a religious practice that would provide me with the call and the structure to practice daily gratitude. I too am far too often carried away for hours, days, weeks by "my thirst for knowledge and understanding;" I too "flounder and fluff about." My wife, a proud intravert, recently told me that I live my interior life more intensely than anyone she's ever known, herself included-- and I don't even consider myself full-fledged intravert.  All that said, I have been fortunate enough, as I was earlier this morning, to experience Hillesum's "small piece of eternity" when I give it space to do so. I come away from that experience like someone whose first bite of food after a long fast punctuates their hunger. Sounds dramatic, I know, but that is what it felt like.

I am grateful for convenient ways to quickly be surrounded by the "good and fascinating and eternal," as I had this morning walking the MKT trail here in Columbia, an early rails-to-trails conversion success story. The trail was championed by former Columbia Mayor Darwin Hindman, who passed away just last week, and whose efforts, along with others, made possible a true jewel of a natural, public resource. As I walked one of the many portions of the trail that runs straight and seemingly endlessly through a tree-lined, arched canopy, filtering the sun's light through it like an arboreal Sainte Chapelle, I felt that urge that Hillesum describes. For her, the body's folds and articulations reveal how it is "made for prayer", and I found myself thinking about how often I assume that the most beautiful places in the world are far away and rarely, if ever, achievable.

So I'm grateful for today's insight: that gratitude's pull is so powerful, that the opportunities it presents are so omnipresent when one takes even a moment to look for them, and that its powers, like life's "mighty eternal current,"  are so transformational when indulged, that it need only capture you once, on a trail walk in summer's early days, to remind you of how much it belongs in your life.

Jim: Dostoyevsky's Gratitude

I just started reading David Brooks's new book The Two Mountains, and its good enough that I have forgotten at times that he is the NY Times opinion writer and NPR contributor that I thought long ago I had lost any interest in. Who knew? In a discussion about the power of gratitude, he shares the story of the moment in which Fyodor Dostoyevsky experienced one of the most profound gratitudes ever recorded in literature. Here is the story:

"[Dostoyevsky] had been imprisoned in Saint Petersburg with a group of other revolutionaries and sentenced to die. The men were marched out into a square in their burial shrouds. The firing squad gathered, and the drums sounded. Death was seconds away. Then, at that instant, by prearranged plan, a messenger arrived on horseback. The execution was to be stayed by the clemency of the czar. The original sentences would apply-- hard labor.

One man broke down crying, singing out loud, 'Long live the czar!' Another went mad. Dostoyevsky was brought back to his cell and suddenly was overcome with joy. 'I cannot recall when I was ever as happy as on that day,' he later recalled. 'I walked up and down my cell ... and sang the whole time, sand at the top of my voice, so happy at being given back my life.'

He immediately wrote to his brother: 'And only then did I know how much I loved you my dear brother!' All the small questions that used to concern him fell away. 'When I look back on my past and think how much I wasted on nothing, how much time has been lost in futilities, errors, laziness, incapacity to live; how little I appreciated it, how many times I sinned against my heart and soul-- then my heart bleeds.'

His life, he felt, would begin again. 'Never has there seethed in me such an abundant and healthy kind of spiritual life as now . . . Now my life will change. I shall be born again in a new form ... Life is a gift. Life is happiness, every minute can be an eternity of happiness . . . Life is everywhere, life is in ourselves, not in the exterior.'"

For me, this passage is a master class in gratitude, addressing why it is important, what it makes possible, how it is linked to other crucial emotional habits like forgiveness, reflection,  expressions of love. Dostoyevsky also reminds us that the practice of gratitude is a decision as much as it is a reaction, and one may exercise to salvage situations that might otherwise foster resentment.

I read the czar's treatment of Dostoyevsky and the rest of the prisoners as manipulation (recall that the sparing of their lives was the czar's intention all along) not clemency. Regardless, it's hard to look on (let alone find) the bright side of a sentence of hard labor. Clearly, Dostoyevsky's decision to see his new chance at life as a gift not only saved his sanity, it became a transformative experience in his life. One might even infer that Dostoyevsky's life was made better for this entire experience.

If I can use gratitude to change my life in ways that snatch happiness from the jaws of despair, then I'll have even more to be thankful for. It will, I know, take practice.