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O God! I LOVE conducting!! I mean, acting!! I mean teaching… I mean, being the center of attention doing things I’m just all wonderful at!!!
O God! I LOVE conducting!! I mean, acting!! I mean teaching… I mean, being the center of attention doing things I’m just all wonderful at!!!
Well, because I am so insightful, this isn’t the first time it’s occurred to me that there’s an element of feeling inadequate beneath this lust for being observed—admired—in perfect performance. What is the first time is seeing a fetching child with wispy blonde curls swirling around her face as she twirls and laughs and dances and sings for all the adults in her family, finding her niche, her survival strategy. She’s going to be all right.
It works, too. At least, as long as I’m performing.
Don’t get me wrong—it’s not all superficial. I have a great passion both for teaching and for what I teach that is an integral element of my central self and which is not invalidated by the perambulations of my calculating self. And yet my pedagogical goal of probably the last decade recognizes that performance-centered teaching may not be the most beneficial method for my students, that I’m looking for my own glorification more than my students’ growth: If I really want to be a better teacher, I need to “Shut up, Deb.”
It’s complicated being me. Sometimes I’m a walking manifestation of Rule Number Six: I stand on desks, I make funny faces, I tell funny stories on myself. I apologize easily if I get something wrong. And other times I’m the queen of seriousness. Usually when students aren’t doing what I want. What IIIII think is important. Why, it’s almost like I have two selves!The, well, semi-good thing is that my two selves emerged from guerilla warfare and have been battling overtly for quite a while now. Long enough for it to get a little tiring. Ironically, when I get all f’tutzed over the momentary successes of the calculating self, that’s one manifestation that the calculating self has the upper
hand; that self really doesn’t like herself very much. The central self has a recognition that the other one is not other, but self, and embraces that small, scared child with compassion and acceptance. The central self has long had a tag-line that works the seventh practice: “What is, is.” I mean, I kinda wish the war was over, but I think it’s easier to move toward that when I at least acknowledge that there’s a war going on.
hand; that self really doesn’t like herself very much. The central self has a recognition that the other one is not other, but self, and embraces that small, scared child with compassion and acceptance. The central self has long had a tag-line that works the seventh practice: “What is, is.” I mean, I kinda wish the war was over, but I think it’s easier to move toward that when I at least acknowledge that there’s a war going on.Finally, I’m going to therefore acknowledge that I skimmed the last chapter. But not because I’m wretchedly time-stressed (or at least, not just). There are times in some lives when “giving way to passion” is… too much. Too explosive. Too 
time-consuming. Too dangerous. This is a time like that for me, and it’s not just because I’m doing about 2½ jobs right now, although that doesn’t help. And in those times, it’s not the job of my central self to get on my case for being inadequate and unable to change, but to validate the reality that the time for reaching toward that promise isn’t just yet. To take a deep breath and stop fighting. To remember, in the immortal words of Buckaroo Banzai: “Wherever you go, there you are.”
time-consuming. Too dangerous. This is a time like that for me, and it’s not just because I’m doing about 2½ jobs right now, although that doesn’t help. And in those times, it’s not the job of my central self to get on my case for being inadequate and unable to change, but to validate the reality that the time for reaching toward that promise isn’t just yet. To take a deep breath and stop fighting. To remember, in the immortal words of Buckaroo Banzai: “Wherever you go, there you are.”And that’s a good thing.
Ah, the crucial moment at last, when we realize the war exists between that of the created and real self...
ReplyDeleteI can’t help it but see the spiritual side of it. The “old” man of selfishness, survival, need, fear, jealousy, and so many other things compare it to the “new” man; the giving, fearless, loving, caring, kind of person that really wants to be allowed to exist. It all goes back to the original premise: It’s all invented. Now all we have to do is decide which one we want to share with others. There’s a proverb I’ve heard, the dog that eats the best wins the fight. Which “dog” are we going to feed the central self or the calculating self? I dare say the central self will require the most attention to survive. It will be the most challenging and difficult. But I think it will be worth it! Here’s to our students, their greatness, and to us, for allowing them to be themselves.
PS is that an alligator you're hugging in that photo up there?
ReplyDeleteDebra,
ReplyDeleteFirst, let me say, that I love to read your posts. Your writing is at times a hilarious free flowing thought that I can't help but be engaged in.
I loved reading the evolution of you. I find myself in the same trap. I pick and choose when I want to care. A part of me wants to constantly be rule enforcer and another part of me wants to be a hippie with no rules...just love. When the two merge, I find that the mixture can be explosive at times and at other times a pushover. To find that inner balance, I must let the war rage. There are times when one side is the victor over the other.
Way to write from the heart and post pictures of you being you...
Jess
Your posts are a performance in and of themselves Debra!
ReplyDeleteOf everything you've written here there was one part that particularly spoke to me: "There are times in some lives when “giving way to passion” is… too much. Too explosive. Too time-consuming. Too dangerous."
You sound like someone speaking from experience here. I too have been swept up in the rip tide of passion only to be carried out sea, faced with near drowning and a struggle of a swim to finally wash ashore sun burned, stomach full of saltwater and sand in my britches.