I was mad at you on Thursday. You see, your predecessor prompted school to release early on Wednesday without much prior warning. The resulting exhaustion from trying to convince excited kids to engage in math instruction and stress from reworking lesson plans had me a bit raw.
And then you showed up. And it was unclear if you were a serious threat or a mere annoyance for Atlanta. And I don’t like uncertainty.
My blood pressure was elevated Thursday night as I obsessively refreshed the website listing school closures. I planned and replanned lessons in my head for every forseeable situation – normal school, half-day with these periods, half-day with those periods and no school but online learning. All with the goal of trying to stay on schedule for the planned test day.
Eventually, I collapsed into a fitful sleep while still awaiting news. The anxious planning followed me into my sleep and caused me to awake just after three.
Apparently the powers-that-be had decided that you were threatening enough that the children should be kept inside. I immediately went to my computer and spent the next hour writing and posting my online lessons.
And once I was done, the anxiety was done as well.
The unknown was now known.
Friday passed without incident. I enjoyed a morning treadmill run before my office hours. I indulged in a weekday lunch with my husband at our favorite Indian buffet. I relished the individual attention I could give to students without interruption via various forms of electronic communication. And I was appreciative that I didn’t have to navigate the streets as the temperature continued to drop.
I awoke Saturday morning to a light coating of ice and snow on the world, the frosting on the cake. The roads were largely unaffected so I merely postponed my grocery run until full daylight.
And that’s when it happened.
The snow, stopped since before I woke up, began to fall in earnest. Whipped by the wind into great swaths of ever-changing forms. I was driving down the road surrounded by the most graceful and fluid dancers, who followed me all the way to the store.
Breath-taking beauty.
So Jonas, thank you. Thank you for that moment that reminded me to be in the moment. Thank you for the lesson about releasing my need to control (I’m afraid I’ll probably need more – I’m in the remedial group on that one!). Thank you for the reminder that my worries easily grow too big for their britches and that I can trust myself to perform even without an abundance of rehearsal.
And thank you for having a bark that’s worse than your bite in Georgia. I enjoyed the snow and I’m glad it’s now gone. As for what you’ve done further north, I doubt you’ll be getting thank-you letters from them. Except maybe from the kids who are getting out of math class:)
The news that my school district will be closed for its fourth snow/ice day rolled in a couple of hours ago. Throughout the past couple weeks, as questionable weather has dominated, I’ve been keeping a close eye on the district’s Facebook page for information.
The updates have been pleasant and helpful.
The comments?
Not so much.
Today, parents are complaining that they weren’t given enough notice.
Last Friday, they complained that we were in school.
Last Thursday, they complained that school was cancelled.
I feel sorry for the system. No matter what decision they make and when they make it, they face criticism.
Because you can’t please everybody.
There’s a lesson in there for me. By my nature, I want to make people happy. I have a tendency to tiptoe around too much so that I’m not an imposition. I try to make decisions that make sense based on the information and that also make others satisfied. And, even though I’m making progress, I can still take criticism too personally.
Yet I doubt the school superintendent is reading these comments and questioning his decision. I can’t imagine he is losing sleep over the complaints that the school district is unable to control the weather. And the thought of him trying to please everybody in a large district is just laughable.
In fact, from my neutral, third-party perspective, it’s obvious that the dissent is simply coming out of frustration and/or fear.
It really has nothing to do with the school system at all.
And isn’t that usually the case?
Responses say more about the responder than the respondee.
And you can’t please everybody.
As for me, I’m just happy I don’t have to navigate any icy roads and I’m enjoying our first snow day with actual snow.
One of the worst car accidents I’ve ever seen happened on black ice. It was several years ago, in front of the school where I used to work. It was a cold morning, well below freezing, but there had been no precipitation for days and so there was no expectation of ice. It turned out that an in ground sprinkler system at the front of a neighborhood had ruptured, spilling water out onto the road in the predawn hours. The water soon froze in the frigid air, becoming an unseen sheet of ice under the shadow of trees. The location was particularly treacherous, as it was not only on a hill, but also an area where people braked hard to turn into the school.
From my vantage point at a red light a block away, I saw one car after another cross the slick terrain, lose control and barrel into oncoming traffic. The engines were revving faster than reaction times so the ping-pong actions of the cars went through several iterations before traffic came to a standstill. Thankfully, on the morning in question, there were no serious injuries, yet the damage was severe. Dozens of cars were totaled. A power line was down. An overturned milk truck’s spilled contents added to the icy mess. And the road was blocked for hours.
Yet nobody involved left their house that morning afraid of the roads. No one took precautions for potential ice. It was business as usual. Until it wasn’t.
I just returned from a walk around my area of iced-locked Atlanta. The roads are still covered in 1/4″ thick sheets of glassy ice, their sides (and sometimes centers) littered with abandoned cars and even school buses. But there is some traffic moving today, the cars carefully maintaining a steady speed and avoiding sudden turns. The folks out today knew to be cautious, the ice is a known danger and they are implementing proper precautions. There are certainly accidents occurring, but few of the severity of the one I witnessed years ago.
Life’s challenges often have this distinction. Some are unanticipated and unforeseeable while others are more easily anticipated. We often berate ourselves when faced with a challenge we did not forecast. I know I did that with my divorce, wasted energy wishing that I had seen it coming so that I could prepare my bug-out bag.
But would it really have been better if I had anticipated it?
Sometimes, even when we know a challenge is coming, we can not prevent it or, like the politicians in Atlanta this week, we take a gamble and choose to not implement those preventative measures. Just the knowledge that my marriage was ending may not have been enough to change the outcome. Or, perhaps I would have gambled on things working out and chosen not to prepare.
Regardless, like the drivers on the roads today, I would have been scared, aware of the potential dangers around every bend. I would have been wary of every step, armed with the knowledge that each one taken could be one that sweeps out my life from under me. Hell, let’s be honest. If I had known that the end of the marriage was in sight, I probably would have been so scared that I would have been frozen in place. Iced in.
Black ice is treacherous because of its ability to hide. Yet its rarity means that we don’t walk around fearing its danger.
It’s funny. I used to view the tsunami nature of the end as one of the worst parts. Now? I’m thankful for it. It was a helluva wreck, but at least I wasn’t scared to drive. And even though the damages were great, there were no fatalities.
Thankful to be warm and home after an adventurous trek home from work yesterday that included a three hour drive followed by a three hour hike (and an awesome husband that met me halfway on my walk with hiking boots and hot coffee!). Many in the metro were not so lucky and spent the night in stranded cars, schools or in emergency shelters. Even though the surrounding cities screwed this up, the stories of the individuals stepping up to help others is amazing. Challenges are so much easier when we have help.
I’ve just returned from my first ever – Gulp! – ski trip.
Experienced skiers – prepare to chuckle.
I was nervous yet excited for the trip. I was looking forward to time in the mountains (always a favorite of mine) and some quality time with my man. The nerves? Those were because I knew that I would have to face my nemesis – downhills.
Sugar Mountain on a clear day.
As we drove the last few miles to Sugar Mountain in Banner Elk, North Carolina, winter suddenly appeared. The temperature plummeted as our elevation climbed and clear skies were replaced by a steady snowfall. The slopes were obscured by the snow and haze. This was probably a good thing since I was unable to see the full extent of the hills!
View from the top. Brock took this one!
Loaded down with gear, I made my way over to the ski school while my fiance went off on his own to tackle the blue slopes. There were 15 of us in the lesson, lined up like dominoes along the gentle slopes of the school area. After learning the basics of the equipment, we were instructed to slide down the hill, one at a time, to practice the “pizza” pose (they’re used to teaching kids!) used to slow down your descent. I was the fifth one in line. Each time the instructor skied back up to the top of the line, I clarified a piece of his directions. I wanted to make sure that I understood what to do. Of course, knowledge is only the beginning – I then had to apply it. When it was my turn, I scooted out of the line and pointed my skis down the hill. With a slight push of the poles, I was off and moving. I was so focused on the placement of my feet, I neglected to be aware of my center of gravity. I overcompensated and started to fall backwards as my feet kept moving forwards. The instructor grabbed my hands and I slid between his legs. If this was a swing dancing lesson, I would have earned a gold star!
It was comforting to be in the presence of other beginners. We were all (way) out of our comfort zones. We were all scared of the skis on the slick snow. We all tried to control our speed and trajectory, some with more success than others. Some gave up. Others were cautious yet continued. And some threw themselves down the hill with reckless abandon. As for me? I’ll let you guess:)
A nervous smile and a comforting hand:)
I only had three opportunities to slide down the hill under the watchful eye of the instructor. Each time, I required his help. At the conclusion of the one hour lesson, I was exhausted. Not physically, but mentally. I kept my fears in check and relaxed into the experience but this took more out of me than I could have imagined. After a brief reunion with Brock, I elected to rest for awhile and then return to the school area to practice some by myself. I was very cautious while I was practicing. There were new skiers and young children everywhere. I didn’t trust my ability to avoid them, so I spent much of my time patiently waiting for a clear path. I did discover a strength of mine during that session – I may stink at going down the hills, but I was the best in the bunch at walking uphill in skis:) New sport, maybe?
At our next meeting, Brock encouraged me to tackle the green slope with him. Now, at this point, I had done maybe ten “runs” down very mild hills that were each about ten yards long. Not exactly a lot of practice! I was hesitant. I am way more cautious than he is and I was concerned that he was trying to push me further than I was ready to go. But I trusted him and it turned out he was right.
Now, this green slope in question is a real run. It takes several minutes on a lift to get the top. Surprisingly, I was okay on that first trip to the top. I was slightly nervous, but okay. Brock was coaching me on the way, telling me what to expect and giving me encouragement. Even with the coaching, I still slid into a crumbled mess as I left the lift.
A newborn giraffe struggling to take its first steps? Nope – me on my first real slope!
That was my first real fall with no swing dancing moves to keep me off the snow. Much to my surprise, I was overtaken with laughter. It turns out that falling is fun. It’s just the getting up that sucks!
After much shifting and pushing and pulling, I managed to stand upright on the level surface at the top of the slope. I took a deep breath, pointed my skis down the hill, and took off. I made it about twenty feet before I fell again, a pile of Lisa shaking with laughter. That first trip down took forever. Sometimes I fell and sometimes I panicked due to speed or the proximity of others and I bailed by sitting down. But I made it and I never panicked. And, I had LOTS of practice in learning how to stand up again!
“My” slope.
As I sat in the snow at the base of the run, I realized that I had carried expectations into this trip. I thought I would be in the “classroom” the entire time. I didn’t think I would be able to complete a “real” run. I thought I would freeze in fear. It felt so good to prove myself wrong.
The next day, I tackled that same run three more times. The first one of the day held a surprise. We were on the lift, about halfway to the top, when I started to violently shake, panic moving through my body. Why was this happening? I knew the course now and I knew I could make it. I guess I had enough experience to be scared but not enough to be comfortable yet. Brock helped me refocus and breathe and the moment my skis (okay, butt – I fell immediately again!) hit the snow, I was fine.
Can’t beat those views!
Each run was better than the last. By the end, I didn’t fall at all and I only bailed twice – once soon after the lift and again midway down the steepest slope. Brock followed behind me shouting, “My baby’s a skier!”
And, I guess I am.
I love those experiences that cause me to revise my view of myself. I always said that I could not go down hills, run a race, cook a meal or write a book. I used to say I could not live without my husband. I like proving myself wrong.
It felt so amazing fully submitting to the experience, letting go and leaning forward into the ride. I found freedom in the downhills which once only held fear. Brock’s support and encouragement added to my trust fund for him. But even more importantly, I learned how to to trust in myself and in my abilities. And, I learned that I when I fall, I can get up again.
A skier!
Thanks to my new friend, Paulette, author of The Persecution of Mildred Dunlap, I am up and running (okay, maybe walking:) ) on Goodreads. I’m doing a giveaway to celebrate. If you’re interested in winning a free copy of Lessons From the End of a Marriage, visit my book page!
Lessons From the End of a Marriage 