Value Added

Posted on by stilllearning2b

When I interviewed for my current teaching position, one of the questions I was asked was to describe my value added. The interviewing committee wanted to know what worth I would bring to the school outside of the usual classroom duties. I described my passion for wellness and how I could help the staff and students with education and motivation with food and fitness. I guess my answer was acceptable, since I got the job:)

That question stayed with me over the past three years. All too often, people’s assets and strengths remain hidden. In a school environment, great leaders and planners and problem solvers often hide behind their classroom doors in an environment that may not reveal all of their strengths. And, unfortunately, sometimes liabilities are visible while assets are buried (I think about one former coworker who always missed meeting but was amazing at parent phone calls, which we rarely witnessed).

It’s all too easy to make assumptions about what someone brings (or fails to bring) to the table. But we only see a piece of the story. A part of the environment.

In a relationship, your partner may not be hiding some of his or her assets behind a classroom door (unless you’re married to a teacher, that is!), but it is still easy for strengths to hide and for you to fail to see some of the value added that your partner brings to the relationship.

I was aware of this in my own marriage this past week. I was on spring break, so I had time at home during the work week. I could overhear Brock conducting his business from down the hall and it reminded me all over again how expert he is at assertive negotiations. That’s a side of him I do not normally witness. I revealed some of my own value added by planning, shopping for and installing over 150 plants in a single day. He knew I could garden, but had never actually seen me in action. He was puzzled (about a third of them are roots and rhizomes still buried beneath the soil) but impressed.

We often fixate on what our partners don’t have; we ruminate on their weaknesses and liabilities. Next time you find yourself complaining about what isn’t there, try focusing on the value added that they bring to the relationship. If you feel like some of your strengths are unappreciated, ask yourself if they are hidden. We often assume that others are aware of all that we do, but there focus is on their thoughts and tasks. It’s okay to share your value added.

We all have strengths. Reveal them. Share them. Embrace them.

You are valuable.

And if you’re ever in Atlanta and have a talent for weeding, please give me call. I’ll be happy to see your value added:)

Closed

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I used to be obsessed with finding closure.

I pursued it with the intensity of Tiger chasing a tennis ball, convinced that it contained the peace I so desperately needed. I yearned for it at night and awoke frustrated when it hadn’t been gifted to me in my slumbers. I kept searching for the one thought, the one idea, the one fact that would seal my past away behind an air-tight door. I feared that closure would not be possible within the limitations my circumstances provided. I worried that I was dependent upon him to create that closure. I was concerned that I needed an apology or at least an answer to form that seal against the pain. An answer and apology that I knew I would never receive.

I started to believe that my closure would forever be incomplete, a door ajar allowing the whispers of the past to carry through.

And that thought scared the hell out of me. So I used that fear to drive my search for the elusive closure. I had to be creative since I had few answers and even fewer signs of remorse.

Closure is closely linked with understanding. If we know why something happened, it’s easier to accept its occurrence. But sometimes circumstances don’t allow us to sift out the truth from the past. But you can create your understanding even when you don’t have all the answers.

I started my search for understanding by learning about and systematically affixing labels to him: sociopath, narcissist, addict, etc. None seemed to truly fit, but they allowed an anchor for understanding. Next, I assembled pieces of the past like a giant puzzle, looking for patterns and ideas that fit. Slowly, an image began to emerge of a man that carried a dark passenger, a man that was defeated by his shame and his secrets. My conclusions may be accurate or they may be entirely woven of fiction. But it doesn’t really matter where understanding comes from; it brings relief regardless of its origins.

I had hoped that understanding was enough to bring closure. It was not. It answered the “why” but still did not alleviate the pain. My anguish was still a doorstop propping open the door to the past. So I focused on being thankful, using gratitude to soften the sorrow. Allowing the perspective of the bigger picture to bring purpose to the pain. And it helped. But closure was still hiding. I felt like there was still some unanswered question that kept me from being able to reach a conclusion.

Eventually, I tired of the search. I stopped looking for what I couldn’t seem to find.

I figured closure would remain a dream for me.

But then I drove by my old house last Friday and felt nothing but gratitude. And I realized that I had finally had it. My search for closure is now closed.

Sometimes the best way to find something is to stop looking for it.

Sometimes you have to trust that doors will continue to open before you can close the one you came in through.

And sometimes dreams do come true.

‘Cause He’s the King

Posted on by stilllearning2b

In my freshman year of high school, I had an art class during the last period of the day. The art teacher’s six-year-old son attended the elementary school next door, which released an hour earlier than the high school. Every day, about five minutes after the start of class, the door to art room would open and that small kid with a big personality would stride into the room, greeting the teenagers as though they were his friends.

On one day in particular, his personality had the entire class entertained. He walked in as usual (except this time with a Superman cape tied around his neck), proceeded to the front of the room and placed his hands on his hips. By this point, all paintbrushes were down and all eyes were on him.

“I have an announcement to make.”

We started chuckling at the idea of a kid barely out of diapers making an announcement to teenagers (who, of course, know everything).

“I named my penis last night.”

I looked over at the kid’s dad and noticed the blush spreading to his hairline. I don’t think genital epithets were on the lesson plans for that day.

“What’s his name?” called a kid from the back row.

“Elvis. ‘Cause he’s the king.”

 

I could use a dose of that confidence right now. Okay, maybe a bit more “king of the world” and a bit less “king in my pants,” but you get the idea. I envy that confidence found in the young. Before they have time to be hurt. Or to fail. When they can wear a Superman cape and believe that it really does provide super powers.

 

I’ve been on spring break this week and I’ve been using the time to finalize the preparations for my next career. And it’s real now. I’m no longer just in training for the next step. I’m taking it.

And maybe I should be wearing a Superman cape. Or at least some super hero undergarments. Because I’m scared.

It’s hard leaving something you know for something you don’t. It’s hard leaving the comfort of confidence for the fear of starting over. It’s hard releasing what you have been doing even when you know that it is past its expiration date.

Put me in a room full of math teachers, and I quickly emerge a leader. Throw me to the lions in the form of a group of teenagers, and I can tame them. I can factor any polynomial, write songs to help kids remember and write a pass to the nurse’s office while simultaneously writing a lesson on the board. In my teaching life, I may not be king, but I know where I stand and I am confident in my knowledge and abilities.

But just because it was right for me then doesn’t mean it is right for me now.

Just because it is known, doesn’t mean it is all that I will ever know.

I hate the feeling of not knowing the answers. Of being the novice. I used to read the textbooks before the start of the semester so that I wouldn’t walk in a complete neophyte. But there are some things you can only learn by doing. Some things that cannot be mastered through books or courses alone.

I keep thinking back to my start in teaching, to those first days in a classroom with only the most minimal of substitute training. I was petrified, yet the students never knew. I had no idea what I was doing, but I learned more every day. The uncomfortable feeling of being an imposter was fleeting and was slowly replaced with an expanding confidence.

And it will be that way again. After all, new is always temporary.

 

As I work to gain the confidence to release the old to embrace the new, I have so much empathy for those of you that had to make the decision to leave a dying or dead marriage. Even though my divorce was an end I never wanted, I’m sometimes thankful that the decision was made for me. I didn’t have to make the difficult choice to release a hold on the known and drop into uncharted territory. I just had to figure out how to survive once I was in free fall.

And since I might get some strange looks if I wear a cape with my heels, most superhero underwear comes only in kid’s sizes and I refuse to name any part of my anatomy “Elvis”, I’m going to have to go with something a little more subtle – a new background on my phone. And I’m breathing:)

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Rerouting

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Almost four years ago, I moved to an area across the street from a park that had a four mile trail along the Chattahoochee. I walked or ran that trail several times a week for the year and a half I lived there, often with Tiger or Brock (or both) in tow. I knew its every twist, anticipated its every turn. I could anticipate the areas that would become impassable with rain and the sections that would crack and split in the heat of the summer. I was one with the rhythm of that trail, every step metered to match its demands. I could traverse its terrain almost subconsciously, as its topography was etched into my brain.

Once we moved, my almost-daily visits to this particular trail trickled to once every couple months. On one visit, not too long after the relocation, I stopped short on a particular section of the path. The trail used to continue straight ahead, dipping down into a creek where you had to cross over carefully placed stones, before climbing again on the other side. On this day, the trail in front had been disguised, tree limbs and stones dragged onto its packed soil to dissuade use while a new trail, still rough and somewhat undefined, veered off to the right and wound around the peak, meeting up with the old trail on the other side of the creek.

I resisted the urge to blaze ahead through the old, familiar trail. Instead, I tentatively took the new route. It was narrow, even treacherous in places, as it had yet to carry many feet along its virgin soil. It felt awkward traversing this new path within a known hike. Alien. It forced my brain out of its subconscious attention into a more focused space. I had not learned where every root or every rock lie in wait to catch an unsuspecting foot. I didn’t know which rocks across the water were secure and which only offered the illusion of a firm foothold. I felt myself slow as I paid attention to every detail until I was back on familiar ground.

With each visit, that new section of trail became more worn and more defined as the old trail slowly disappeared into the woods. Today, I realized that the old trail was indistinguishable from the surrounding woods; the only way it exists now is in the memory of those who have walked its path. And the new trail is now wide and firm, secure where it was treacherous and explicit where it was was subtle.

It’s uncomfortable when our paths are rerouted. It’s natural to resist the change. Walk it enough, however, and what was new and uncomfortable simply becomes the norm.

Marital Limbo

Posted on by stilllearning2b
marital limbo

We had one of our good friends over the other evening. He was recently divorced when I met him a few years ago, although Brock knew him through much of his marriage. In the past several years, he’s been dating, at times sporadically and at other times with more intent. He even contemplated moving in with one woman not all that long ago.

So I was shocked when I heard these words out of his mouth the other night –

“I never want to get married again.”

I was shocked, not because I think marriage is the best answer for everyone. And I certainly understand shying away from matrimony after enduring the pain of divorce. I was shocked because marriage seems to fit him. He’s stable, healthy and loyal. He has goals and doesn’t shy from hard work to achieve them. He has grown as a person and has developed many healthy relationships around him. When dating, he is a serial monogamist, developing deep relationships with one woman at a time. And I’ve never sensed any bitterness about his past.

So why the anti-marriage stance?

And then yesterday, I read this post from Matt over at Must Be This Tall To Ride. He talks about the time spent in marriage limbo when he slept in the guest bedroom for over a year. I winced while reading it; it certainly sounded like a special kind of hell. Neither married nor single. Like living in a home destroyed by a flood, yet unwilling or unable to let it go.

And I thought about my friend. He lived in marriage limbo for a long time. He was married, yet in the most important ways, had no wife. They orbited around each other with little chance of connection. And when they did connect, it was ugly. The divorce, in many ways, was a relief. An untethering to a lame duck marriage.

His memory of marriage is not a good one; what was good has been sullied by the time spent in limbo. No wonder he is shying away.

My experience could not have been more different. I never spent time in a decaying marriage. I never visited that marital land of neither here nor there. I was in marriage heaven and then instantly plummeted into the fires when it ended. My bad memories are not of marriage, but of marriage ending.

So perhaps that’s part of why I wanted to be married again.

 

My curiosity is piqued – is there a correlation between time spent in marital limbo and desire to be married again? What’s your story?