Comps

Posted on by stilllearning2b

In residential real estate, the value of a property is often found through market comps, the comparison of the property in question to other, nearby residences that are similar. Of course, no property is identical to any other, so adjustments are made to the sales prices of the comps to arrive at a value for a given property. It’s as much art as science, learning the values of the various adjustments, adding here and subtracting there in order to create a level playing field.

I like this strategy – using comparisons yet also recognizing individual character and worth. In fact, it’s not a bad game plan in other areas as well, as I discovered this past week.

We just returned from our second (hopefully) annual ski trip. Last year, it was just Brock and I. This was perfect, as I was very nervous about tackling the sport. For some reason, going downhill is panic-inducing for me. Like, limbic system lockdown panic. This only happens when I am the one in control of steering and slowing – rollerblades, bikes, running and even driving. Roller coasters and sitting in a passenger seat on a fast descent are no problem – in fact, I love them.

A huge improvement over last year's newborn giraffe posture! :)
A huge improvement over last year’s newborn giraffe posture! 🙂

It would be easiest for me to avoid those situations that require me to trust my ability to control my speed and direction. Easiest, but also limiting. And, if there is one takeaway lesson from my divorce, it is not let fear ever limit me again.

Last year’s trip was the first time I ever really tackled this fear of the downhill head-on. And it was quite a meeting. Seriously, check it out, if only to laugh at the pictures of me looking like a newborn giraffe attempting to take its first steps:)

This time was a little different. I knew a little more what to expect, which tempered some fear but also provided scaffolding for expectations, which I had avoided year one. Furthermore, we were not alone this time; we were joined by three friends, two who as accomplished skiers and one who was brand new to the sport.

On the first day, I went with Brock straight to the easiest green run that I had skied last year. I was nervous as the lift neared the top, wondering if the feeling of my skis on the hill would be familiar or if my body would remember how to move. It wasn’t bad. I bailed soon after my skis hit the snow, which I also did every time last year. Once I stood up and took a few deep breaths, I was ready to tackle the slope. I never fell, but I sat down (my reaction when panic set in either due to excessive speed or fear that I couldn’t steer around someone) several times. I went down that same slope several more times that afternoon, each run a bit better than the previous.

Yup, that is a hill.
Yup, that is a hill.

But I still hadn’t mastered my nemesis. That run has a short, steeper portion about halfway down. It’s a bit tricky, not only due to the increased decline, but also due to the curve, steep, treed drop-off and the heaps of other beginners who didn’t make it down in one attempt. Each time, I would stop at the top of the hill and wait for a clear (or at least clearer) path. Each time, I would make it about halfway down the slope before panicking and bailing. As the attempts went on, I grew more and more frustrated with myself.

It didn’t help that this time, I was also comparing myself to another – the brand new skier in our group. By about run number three, he was able to make it down that entire green slope without falling. I saw him, another novice, as comparable to myself. So when I fell short, I felt defeated.

I carried that feeling into day two. That, plus a serious sleep shortage and a not-too-happy belly, led to a limited day. But it still had its bright spots.

In the morning, I again did “my” run, this time with one of our friends who is an excellent skier. He was trying to encourage me to give up on the snow plow method of braking (which is what I was taught the previous year) and instead use turns to control my speed. By the end of the run, I was starting to pick up his suggestions and become comfortable in their application.

Brock then joined me on my next run. I had two firsts – I made it off the lift without bailing and I made it down my nemesis without ever touching the ground (which my bruised butt appreciated!). Once I realized I made it down intact, I was distracted and fell soon after. I was surprised to feel tears on my cheeks as I stood up. Tears not from pain, but from the satisfaction of facing and conquering a fear. Not unlike the tears that fell during the marathon.

At that moment, it didn’t matter that there are many that could ski that hill backwards and blindfolded. It didn’t matter that our novice friend mastered faster than me. All that mattered was that I faced my fear, stayed with it and learned to trust my ability to make it through. I had been using comps to judge myself, but I had failed to make adjustments. Unlike our friend, I had some repair work to do before I was ready enough to gain confidence on the slopes. Once I allowed time for those restorations, I was right on track.

By midday, I had graduated to a more difficult and longer beginner’s run. I again made it off the lift (this time one with a VERY steep ramp at the offload) without bailing. And, although I fell several times, I handled each hill better than the last and allowed my speed to pick up more and more. At one point, alone on a lift, I thought of the trust fall activity where one person with eyes covered, falls backwards, counting on a partner to break the fall. Until that day, I hadn’t been letting myself fall. On that day, I learned that I could let go and trust myself to get back up.

By the third morning, I approached the slopes with confidence rather than trepidation. I made it through six beginner runs without falling or bailing (yes, including my nemesis!). My legs were giving out but I could feel that it was no longer as taxing on my mind. I was no longer facing a fear, the hills had become known. Maybe not allies yet, but no longer adversaries.

During the entire trip, Brock had been pushing me to try an intermediate blue slope. I kept pushing back, convinced I was not ready. I think I surprised him when I met him at the bottom of the slope and asked him to run a blue with me. I knew I was ready yet I also knew it would be a challenge. It didn’t let me down. Well, actually, I guess it did, as my flawless beginner runs gave way to multiple tumbles (including a spectacular face plant).

But you know what? I never panicked on that run. I never got frustrated. I didn’t compare myself to the other newbie who had been skiing blues for two days by that point. All I thought about was the progress that I had made.

Because regardless of the comparisons we make to others, we are all unique properties with our own areas of strength and weakness. Rather than trying to compare yourself to the others, work on your own renovations, making yourself the best you can.

As for me, I may never be the best skier around, but I am the best skier I can be. At least until next year, when I plan on mastering those intermediate slopes:)

That ain't no bunny slope!
That ain’t no bunny slope!

I Never Learned This in School

Posted on by stilllearning2b

So December 2013 is another month marked by yet another school shooting. It’s almost commonplace now yet as I looked around the excited faces of our middle schoolers at their annual basketball pep rally this afternoon, it’s unimaginable. I cannot envision one of them turning on their classmates and teachers with a deadly weapon. I cannot picture an armed intruder entering our school.

And I don’t want to.

After Brock heard about the latest incident on the news, he brought up the idea of doing some pro bono training for teachers. This is a man who has made his life’s passion about protection and defense. I have no doubt that his empty hands against a gun would at least result in a fight. He wants to share his expertise so that teachers could be better prepared. I appreciate and understand his motivation and intent.

But I don’t want to.

I don’t like assuming the role of a security officer at school. I am stretched enough as teacher and counselor and social worker and nurse and cheerleader. And playing police defeats those other roles. The roles I signed up for. I don’t know if I possess the capacity for the duplicity required. Middle schoolers don’t respond to clinical detachment; you have to form relationships. But how do you build a relationship at the same time you train how to take them out? Perhaps it is something that can be learned.

ButI don’t want to.

It makes Brock upset. And, I’m sure, scared every time he hears those reports. He knows techniques and strategies that could potentially help. It frustrates him that I don’t want to learn those operations. But I don’t know if I can and continue to work in my role as a teacher.

I never learned this in school. I was taught how to attack curriculum, not people. I was taught how to motivate kids, not take out adversaries. I learned how to break apart the processes of math, not the bones of others. I am sure I could learn these other lessons,  these techniques more suited to SWAT than pep rally.

But I don’t want to.

Maybe it’s my way of keeping my head in the sand. Keeping the possibility at a safe enough distance. Maybe it’s because being a teacher is overwhelming enough and I can’t imagine adding another layer to balance. Perhaps I’m just not made of the right stuff to be able to respond tactically in chaos. Maybe it seems futile because I can not (will not?) dedicate the time needed for real training.

I don’t know.

But I do know that these reports always shake me to the core.

The hard slap of reality delivered with a frightening regularity.

I do know it makes me want to hug my students.

And assure them they’re not alone.

I do know it changes the way I feel, walking into my job every day.

It puts the little things in perspective.

I just read an article today that discussed the first national summit on school shootings. Those involved were trying to come with a profile that would fit the classic perpetrator. And basically, what they came up with was a pretty typical teenage boy. Not necessarily a loner, no more likely to come from a single parent home. Just a kid.

The kind that move through my classroom every day by the dozens.

I don’t want to view each of those kids as a potential shooter.

I can’t.

What I can do is try my best to see each one as an individual. To build relationships. To reach out. To listen. To get help when needed. To reassure and motivate. To build community and trust.

I may not know how to wrestle a gun from someone’s hands. But maybe I can do a little bit to keep it from those hands in the first place.

And hope that is enough.

Ready. Set. Face.

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I have a friend whose young daughter narrowly escaped a tragedy this past summer. Around the time of the event, the mom could speak of it relatively matter-of-factly, with only the slightest tremble of the hands and tightening of voice belying the pain and fear beneath.

For the first few months, mom strayed strong. She distracted the child and went on about life. She held the trauma of the near-tragedy at arm’s length with only periodic glances that confirmed its existence. She was okay.

And then the child got sick. Nothing major, just a normal fall childhood illness, but it triggered the fear of losing her child in the mother.

She was facing what she couldn’t before.

The first time through, she didn’t know if her daughter would be okay. That was unfaceable at the time.

This time through, she knows that her child will be okay and so the pent-up emotions are released.

And now she can face them.

 

Often we begin to face things only when we feel safe.

Maslow talks about how basic physical and psychological needs must be met before self-actualization can occur. When faced with trauma, our basic needs of safety and security must be met before we can address , face-on, the emotions at the root of the pain. If you try to face it too soon, while your existence is still precarious, your mind will grip and refuse to let go. If you fail to face it, choosing to keep your gaze averted, it will become like a cancerous growth, slowing releasing its toxins.

Facing Trauma

Acknowledge that trauma is often too big to process all at once. Think of it like untying a knot, teasing away at it until it unravels completely. Be patient with yourself. It’s tempting to pretend to be healed because of the calendar. But the mind doesn’t understand time. Stay with it as long as it takes.

Recognize if you are turning away from the whole of the pain because it is too big to bear. Be gentle with yourself, Do not force it, yet do not ignore it either. Face it in time. Total lockdown is no way to live for long.

Look for ways to help increase your feelings of emotional safety or security. These must be met first. Look for tangibles that prove you are okay. Have a back-up plan. Find people that have your back.

Breathe. Pain has a way of shutting down the breath, as though the trauma whispers in with each inhale. Allow the breath to flow, releasing tension with each exhale.

Recognize that healing is a process, not a switch. It comes in waves, following the pain. Just because you do or not feel a certain way right now, does not mean you never will.

 

In the first couple months after my ex disappeared, I didn’t feel much. I was scared to open the dams, not sure if the impending emotions would be too powerful to bear. I was still in shock. trying to make sense of it all. And, I was trying to push it aside so that I could attend to the necessities of life.

But I knew I couldn’t do that forever.

I booked a short stay at a meditation and yoga retreat with the intention of opening the dam with the professionals there as flotation devices. I left all of the distractions (which I was so good at using) behind and steeled myself for the face-off: woman vs. trauma. Go.

It was pretty unimpressive. A few trickles of loss. Some tears. Some aching void.

But nothing on the scale I feared.

Because I wasn’t yet ready to face it. Again, trauma doesn’t speak calendar. It doesn’t respond well to scheduled appointments.

It likes to show up on its own time.

Even though I didn’t engage in an epic battle with my trauma at that time, the trip was valuable. I learned that I could let the pain in, that it wouldn’t flatten me. I learned that I could work away at it a little at a time. I learned that I couldn’t force healing on my terms. And I learned that my responsibility was to address the pain when it did arise (which was never at a convenient time).

It’s easy to see pain as a bad thing. But maybe it’s a sign of healing, an indication that you’re ready to address it.

Ready.

Set.

Face.

 

 

Igniting the Conversation

Posted on by stilllearning2b

photo-226

Relationship trauma will do strange things to you. With my ex, I was never timid about initiating a conversation about a potentially difficult topic. I would even wake him up so that we could talk before I went off to work if I didn’t want to carry the burden and fear of the issue all day. Of course, it was easy to “talk” with him about difficult things; he would lay on the affection and soothe me with his words. Yeah, he sure knew how to rock me back to sleep.

Now, post divorce, my communication style has changed. I am more tentative; I tend to hold things in too long, rolling them around in my mind (and often letting them gain steam) before letting them out. Brock’s communication style has contributed to this tendency. He generally starts off by talking at, not with, and then settles into a place where he is receptive and able to listen. I’ve seen this enough to know to ignore the first minute or two, but it doesn’t make it any easier for me to take the plunge.

Enter the talking candles.

After one conversation that I initiated well after I should have, Brock came up with an idea. He pulled two candles – one white and one blue – from the living room and set them on a small table in the dining room.

“These are the talking candles,” he began. “When you need to talk about something, set the white candle on the kitchen island. I’ll do the same with the blue.” He demonstrated this as he talked.

“When we see the other’s candle, we must make that conversation a priority.”

It was brilliant.

We haven’t used the candles much, but they have certainly helped to change the communication dynamics between us for the better. By setting out the candle, it gives the sign that a conversation needs to happen. The other person then has notice and can approach with the right frame of mind. We are less likely to talk while one or both of us is still decompressing from the day and the start-up is much more gentle. I am more willing to be assertive and not as defensive. He is more likely to listen from the beginning and to be more empathetic.

When we are aware of patterns, we can begin to change them. And that is a conversation worth igniting.

 

Sleeping With the Anemone

Posted on by stilllearning2b

 

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I love teaching on a big-picture basis. I like nothing more than seeing the lightbulbs as students master a new concept. I love the challenge of devising new ways to present complicated information. I thrive on the messages from former students that they now understand and enjoy math. I enjoy “adopting” 120 new personalities every year and watching them grow and change throughout the year. Once they have been in my classroom, they will always be one of “my kids,” even after they have kids of their own (yes, I have been teaching that long!).

I love teaching on a big-picture basis, but I can have a tendency to get bogged down in the details of low pay, never-ending meetings and ever-changing legislation. This is never more true than in the spring, as we gear up for the standardized testing season. My eyes and brain blur as I analyze data and compile reports. My energy wans just as the students become ever more excited for spring break and the elusive call of summer vacation. By March, students and teachers can grow cranky with each other, much like a family at the end of a long road trip. Are we there yet?

Sometimes I can forget the big picture.

And, sometimes, a magical moment brings it all into focus again. This weekend was filled with those moments.

I chaperoned an overnight field trip with 200 7th graders to the Georgia Aquarium, billed as the world’s largest.

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The luggage of 200 teenagers!

We arrived at the aquarium Friday afternoon, just as the last of the general public was making their way to the exits. The aquarium atrium, which I had never seen without shoulder to shoulder crowds, stood empty and quiet.

Kinda feel like Night at the Museum! Luckily, all the life was safely behind glass:)
Kinda feel like Night at the Museum! Luckily, all the life was safely behind glass:)

As we were led by our guides on a behind the scenes tour, I watched the students’ faces. Seeing their excitement and curiosity was infectious.

The "wave maker" from the top of one of the tanks
The “wave maker” from the top of one of the tanks
The world's largest tank from above. You can see one of the whale sharks at the front of the picture.
The world’s largest tank from above. You can see one of the whale sharks at the front of the picture.
I love jellyfish, but only from a safe distance!
I love jellyfish, but only from a safe distance!

By 11:00 (waaay past my bedtime1), the girls and female chaperones made our way to the large tank viewing area to bed down for the night.

This was the view from my sleeping bag.
This was the view from my sleeping bag.

I found myself sleeping much like I imagine new parents do – listening for trouble and staying constantly on alert. Every time I do an overnight trip with students, I have much more respect for the huge responsibility carried by parents.

This trip, with its learning and exploration unencumbered by paperwork and testing, reminded me of the big picture. I teach because I love the enthusiasm and inquisitiveness that fuels learning. I teach because I want every child to reach their potential. I teach because I don’t want a lack of knowledge to ever hold someone back from their dreams. I teach to share my passions with the hope that my students will pass it on.

And sleeping with the fishes is pretty cool too:)

I'm used to sleeping with a pit bull, so a whale shark isn't too strange!
I’m used to sleeping with a pit bull, so a whale shark isn’t too strange!