Author: naphtalia

I am an artist, a friend, a sister, a mother, an aunt, a creator.

I hate it here; I’m staying

I can list countless moments in my life when I have said, “I love it here! I never want to leave! I want this to be my life forever.”  In Chicago, in Italy, in Minneapolis, New York City, and surprisingly in my small hometown, I have said this.  It can happen in any moment, spurred by any small bit of well-crafted poignancy.  Perhaps the perfect mojito, a stellar outdoor concert, a bit of flirting with the guy who sells me pizza–give me something that makes my heart go “shuush” and I’m in.

Where I currently live, have lived for a year, I have yet to feel the shuush.  But here I am, staying.  I came for some familial re-connections, stayed at first for a temporary job, and then was offered a long-term job.  And boy was my hand twitching when I signed that contract last month.

One year.  I’m only committed to one year, but it feels like I just signed on till retirement.  I mean, one year may as well be twenty when it comes to teacher contracts, right?  Seriously, everyone keeps talking to me about “building my program.”  And I keep thinking, “Oh my goodness, do I really want to leave a legacy in a program?”

Would that really be so bad?  What is so scary about that?  Isn’t it time to get over your commitment phobia anyway?

Then, there are countless moments in my life when I have said, “This is a step. This is a game-changer. This is a better yes.”  When I boarded a plane, when I learned to make pies, when I accepted a job offer.  It can happen at any moment, spurred by a well-crafted and understood purpose.  It’s those moments that make my heart go “kclunkk” and I’m freaked out.

It’s little by little we build the houses we live in, we build our lives.  Bit by bit, decision by decision, we pile up bricks and mortar and learn to be whole, safe, and welcoming to others, we learn to be home.

Even if I hate it here, I’m staying.  I’m staying because I know there is a plan I can’t fully see yet, but with a foundation this good, the house is going to be strong.

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Lessons from Malcolm McLaren

I may never be so brash or so forward or so boldly brazen as I make my art, but the ideals of punk rock will always remain philosophies I cannot and would rather not escape.  There is nothing so valuable as truth and honesty–those old buzz words.  Transparency and authenticity–those new(er) buzz words.

Real art comes from reality.  It draws from real perceptions and communicates in clarity and stand alone-ness.

Here are some lessons I gleaned today from Malcolm McLaren’s TED (not sure it was actually at TED) talk in October 2009:

  • Better to be a failure than a benign success.
  • Do not lose the ability to see the artistic value of the banal.

Here is McLaren, who famously led the British punk rock fashion (with Vivienne Westwood) and rock scene (managing the Sex Pistols) in the 1970’s, discussing authentic creativity verses karaoke culture.  This talk was given about 7 months before his death in April 2010.  If you’ve ever wanted to know how someone ends up in a certain way, McLaren explains his path of development in a rather interesting way.

Let there be no karaoke art from me.

*Note McLaren’s beautiful and classic sweater in the video–a far cry from 1970’s punk rock.

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Where does the sinking feeling come from?

Where does the sinking feeling come from?
How can it pull and push at the same time?
How does it suck inward
so far that it lugs itself inside out and back
again just so
tight
with you stuck to its sides?
How does it crush from the shoulders
down and in, but leave the head
alone enough to know just what is going on–
and still send the head debauchedly spinning around its gravity?
How is its silence louder than any music?
Where does the sinking feeling come from?
How was it made so potent?
That place is surely a battlefield of sorcery.

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Little to No

There is little to no way
that I am that off.
Then again, I have been tricked
A time or two.
I could be totally unwired
And not even realize it.
Crap.

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Packing


I am packing for a four-day weekend with wedding deal and all I have so far is the shoes for the wedding part.  I dress from the shoes up.  It’s been an hour and a half.  What have I been doing?  Watching “This is the Voice!” or something?  (I do advise always singing the theme song for that show instead of just saying the name.  It’s exciting that way.)  Maybe I’m supposed to leave it all behind.  The dog days are over.  It’s summer.  Lighten up.  Come on, kid, throw some stuff in a bag.

2

Confession #3: The Bachelor

Things I learned while watching The Bachelor:

  • Be open.
  • Sometimes love really is like skydiving, repelling down a building, etc; you really do have to leap off of some internal ledge.
  • Speaking what’s on your mind makes a world of difference; if you see something good, say something good.

Things I learned while watching The Bachelorette:

  • Your gut can be wrong.
  • You have to hear the words, not just speak them.
  • A good guy knows how to take a deep breath, look you in the eye, and say something real.  Then, a keeper will act on it.
  • There is definitely something to be said for consistency.

These may not be hard and fast rules to live by.  I am clearly not an expert on relationships.  TV is clearly manipulated and manipulative.

However, there is some truth here that I would do well to remember in the coming months.  Someone once asked me about my weaknesses in relationships and I said, “This little heart of mine.”  I said it right off the cuff, but it was so true.  My heart seems to get me into as much trouble as is does reward.  My heart just goes for it, gets beat up a little, and gets scared.  So the next time an opportunity arises, my heart shies away.  I sometimes wonder if I’ve missed somebody on those off times.

Of course, it’s all in God’s time and good time and all of that, but as summer really starts to rev up, I think I’m ready to go again.  Despite the hang ups and the confusion and the crazy feeling of being a contestant in my own life, here I am.  I’m running off my own tower of insecurities with only a little hope to get me safely back to the ground.  Hope that I want to employ to keep my heart open to someone who could be a real, true parachute.

Here’s a bit of a song from a few years ago:
I choose to dive to the ocean, running right off of this mountainside.
Yes, I know you don’t think love has wings for a heart my size.
But I still want to know just how far I’ll go
If I fly a little, try a little.
Watch me fly.

I guess some things just don’t change about a person.

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Out of the Library #3

Today was library day!  I love library day.  It’s as great as, well there’s nothing like library day.

Or maybe I could say it’s as great as when Big told Carrie she was probably the last person in New York who still checked out library books.  Certainly, I don’t go to the library to try to be Carrie Bradshaw’s precocious little sister, but it’s not such a terrible association on the surface-y, girlie, city and technology lover part of me.

I go to the library because it has been the most consistent institution of my life.  The library has no pretense (never has) and it has no marketing strategy and I love that.  It’s just a library.  It’s a big building.  And it holds books, which hold knowledge.  And it’s free for anyone who’s willing to traverse it’s paths.  It’s the epitome of “be yourself” advice, which was the best advice I ever received from a friend. When I grow up, I want to be a library.  *wink*

Here’s what I checked out today/recently (I did have to renew a couple of these from last month, so they’re making the list again):

  • Talk Now! Somali (DVD)
  • A Grammar of the Somali Language by J.W.C. Kirk
  • Essential English/Somali Dictionary by Aasaasi
  • A History of Small Life on A Windy Planet by Martha Collins (poetry)
  • The Weather of Six Mornings by Jane Cooper (poetry)
  • Stories about Aunties edited by Ingrid Sturgis

I am on the waiting list for:

  • Bossypants by Tina Fey

I am ready to laugh at myself learning a new language, be inspired by crafted words and natural imagery, and be challenged to be more of an aunt than I am.  And then I’m more than certain I’ll be ready to laugh at someone else, namely Ms. Fey–I’m sure she doesn’t mind.

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Favorite Sounds of the Day

At day’s long end, I called up my sister to check in on her galavanting (I like to think she’s galavanting) summer in Colorado.

The sound of her phone ringing, even though it is surely some kind of digital reenactment of “her” ring, suddenly became my favorite sound of the day.

It held some kind of cheery hope I didn’t realize I was even wanting to hear.  But yes, I was longing for that hope of a good conversation. The hope of a funny story and a moment to laugh and listen.  My sister always has something to share, so there is little need to talk about myself–that oh so tiring act.

Of course, my sister does prod and pull and eventually gets me to tell her all the things I shy from sharing.  But this is a hope, too, as I hear her phone ringing.  It’s the hope of connecting with someone who really knows your story.

Other sounds I enjoyed today:
“How’s work today?” and “Did ya make it to church today?”  were both asked of me by a very adorable and cheery young environmentalist guest at work.  *crushable

“I am totally buying you a Julius! I missed you.”  was said by a leader and friend at work.  *inspiring and motivational

“Sommmebbbbodyyy to loooovvvvee!!”  was sung by a co-worker unexpectedly at the end of our shift.  *tension releasing

“How deep the Father’s love for us.”  was sung by a new worship team friend this morning.  *humbling because I know He knows my story, too.

(Clearly, I worked today and it was a long day, but the smiles and niceties were abundant.  I am grateful.  Also, I wrote this on my phone after calling my sister. Thanks for being inspiring.)

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Some Space

I finished a large music festival the first week of May with the high school choir that I teach.  It was exactly what I expected it to be.  Large numbered choirs with near perfect vowel sounds and heartfelt teachers whose only non-reservation was “last year” and “next year” comments.

The next week was full of intense rehearsals, including choreography for our Spring Pops concert. Between missing kids and huge attitudes, we somehow pulled it together enough. We even handed out some awards.

Then came another seven rehearsals to prepare our original (composed special for our choir) song for graduation. Each day, I put all my energy into teaching notes and persuading students that the song was worth learning. One by one, they got on board.

Our final day of class, which included an individual performance test, was fantastic. I had never seen those kids happier and more cohesive. I was pumped for them and for graduation. Reading their finals, I realized just how much these students had grown this year. About 95 percent of them wrote something to the effect of, “I have never been as confident as I am now because of choir.”

Graduation day came and we gathered to sing together one last time. I noticed many of my students in weak and emotional states; a stark contrast from two days before at our final. Sadly, one of our graduating seniors (not a choir member) lost his life the night before graduation.

The student body was clearly shaken in the wake of the tragedy. I was also shaken.

This past week, I found myself tethered to my bed each morning and up far too late at night. I didn’t realize how exhausted I was from the wake of May and graduation until I woke up this morning and felt myself again.

It is a blessing to be silent, to hold your tongue, to at least pause.  Proverbs talks about the wisdom of no comments.  I see myself protected by a closed gate over and over again.  But oh, do I long for a space to spill my coffee!

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Morning

Morning,
fresh and bright,
innocent of how
I might
whittle away your light,
don’t leave me.

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