Which matters more

You know, in a lot of ways I think teaching is the reason I have given up writing. My brain gets so overwhelmed by what I do at school that I don't have time to dive into writing. And I kind of hate that. I love the high I get from writing. I feel at peace with the universe when I write something that couldn't make more sense. I don't want to have to give up writing to teach. But given the option I will because I'd rather help the children I can see, than attempt to help those that might never read the pages.

Voiced

In 2003, I found my voice. It wasn't thanks to a guy, or a girl or a catastrophe. It was thanks to the Cubs. I will admit that. And that they were doing well. They looked like they might pull it off and I was having nothing to do with it.

I fought tooth and nail against every Cubs fan I knew. Sometimes to the point of costing me friendships. But it didn't bother me. You should be able to fight for what you believe in. And I believe in the Sox and I believe in not believing in the Cubs. I really hated and loved 2003 all for that. I was bold, brash, cunning, devious. I sweat and screamed and refused to watch the game in fear they would score. Yet it made me me. And I loved it.

This season I'm not the same as that 14 year old punk of a fan.... but I want to be. I'm dying to be. I want to be mean and laugh and joke even if the only one laughing is myself. I want to root for the enemy of my enemy. I want others to understand my logic to some degree. I want to profess my feelings. But I'm holding back. I am biting my tongue when I never have before and I don't want to. Really soon I think the lid on my classy is going to pop. Really soon I am going to ooze hatred. And I'm going to love every minute of it. As long as the Cubs continue to mess up like they always have. If not I'll be wrong and a mess. But I'll be wrong and a mess either way lol. So might as well take a few fans down a few pegs on my way.

Soxdom

Now the topic for the day. Baseball. For the record I am a Sox fan. From the time I started being a Sox fan, I was taught 2 distinct rules for Sox fandom.

1) You HATE the Yankees. You hate them not because they are good (which they are and you know it and you loath it) but because they have bought their rings. They have the highest payroll of any team. Of course they are going to win a lot. And you hate that they can. and 2) You root for ANYONE playing the Cubs. You do this not because they are the other team in Chicago but because they are Goliath. And next to your David, you have to. You are the underdog. Less people like you, you aren't the loveable losers. You have to work hard to get your seats filled, you have to have fire as a Sox fan because you will put up with so much. You aren't liked here. You aren't respected here. How dare you care about a team that isn't the Cubs? What are the White Sox anyway?

So you learned how to be a Sox fan and now that the Cubs actually have a baseball team on the field instead of a laughable B-rated shit-show. You still hold by your morals. The day that made it better was that you won the world series first. As you know, you really aren't much better than the Cubs. 86 years without a World Series win until 2005. Both teams had 2 rings. Until 2005. The year that gave you hope again. You thought for a brief few years that it didn't matter if the Cubs won now because you got there first. You liked being on top. But as each year went on, your argument became less valid. And now, again, now that the Cubs have a team and your team turned into a shitshow this year? You are scrambling. If they win again, you are even. And the thought will make your skin crawl. Worse yet they have a team that might last more than one year, what if you fall behind?

You have always been behind in numbers at the stadium, in fans, in Chicago. You don't want to be behind in rings too.

Beauty the Beast

She slammed her fist into the mirror. It's not like the first time she'd seen it done before. He'd broken the same mirror plenty of times in his fits of rage. The cracks and slivers of the mirror break up the image she can't bare to look at. How did she become this beast of a person? Where was the beauty she once viewed in herself?

She wanted to scream but remembered that she traded away her voice for another chance. Another chance to be the woman he wanted. The woman he craved. Who needs a voice if you have love? Love gives you music on a rainy day to dance to through the streets, it gives you joy that sings from your fingertips from the first time you touch. A voice can be useless. All it's done was get her into trouble anyway.

As she descended the spiral staircase, she looked at her fingertips, the way they barely touched the arm of the banister. She was startled at first, where were her fingernails? She used to love painting them all the colors of the rainbow, just to be her own kind of different. Then the memory surfaced. "Biting your nails isn't normal" he told her. Would she ever be normal? she thought. She screamed as he took out her fingernails as if he was declawing a cat to trap her indoors.

And just like a pet he primped her and groomed her. "You look prettier this way" he said as he drew on more makeup and dyed her hair. Picking out her outfits and picking out her life.

He was being helpful. She used to tell herself. He could save her, she thought. As he took the skin off her shoulders so she couldn't carry any burden. That was helpful. She obviously couldn't carry more anyway. Because every time she tried, she'd cry.
"Why are you so weak?" he asked, as she cried through her pain, her frustration and her agony. He didn't want someone that was weak. So her solution was simple. She replace her eyes with those that couldn't cry. Am I what you want now? Am I good enough now? 

And temporarily she would be. Oh! There would be singing and dancing and enjoying their time together to his hearts content. Until she moved the wrong way and he replaced her feet with wheels. He'd tell a story about the first time they did her makeup and how she enjoyed every minute of it. How dare she say she didn't. "That's not how it was. I remember it." he'd say and soon enough he even replaced her memories with nightmares.

She'd spend her time drawing and writing and speaking in the only way she could. She'd show him what to her was a masterpiece and as he flung it to the floor, he'd scream, "You are not worth it!" He had even managed to douse her passions out like putting out a fire.

She had stood there scrutinizing the mirror shattered from his anger. Her eyes had blackened, her skin transparent. Her voice gone and feet she was no longer able to control. The woman staring back at him was barely a woman at all.

And just then after all these changes and all this time. She was done. She was taking back her life. The life that belonged to him for so long wasn't his. She decided to steal back the parts of herself he had taken.

She searched around the palace for her missing pieces. She found her eyes first. My eyes fill with my emotions. They see beauty and peace. They see monsters and angels, they see love and they see pain. And she replaced the eyes that cry. Because crying may show weakness, but it also makes you strong. She saw her skin and nails next. My skin keeps me together. I need to fight for myself because I am worth more than this. I am beautiful. I am ready to fight back even if no one believes I can. And as she looked for her last missing pieces, she heard the most beautiful sound. A sound she hadn't heard in years. My voice is the only way to be heard. 

She waited until he was asleep and tied him up so he could feel as trapped as she had become. She pitied him because if he had turned her into a monster, what was he? And just like that she left him there trapped and alone. While she had all the freedoms in the world and even more fight than she knew she was capable of.  

Find another room

If you ever find you are the most talented person in the room. You need to find another room."

This explains so much to me. While I ran the preschool, I was the best, I pushed myself but I remained the best. I brought people up but I struggled bringing myself up more. I capped myself because I had no one better than me. My minimum was the best there was. (That's not saying I worked my minimum. God knows I didn't.) But the times the preschool grew were the times I went out to learn more than I already knew. When I reached out to other teachers, when I brought other teachers in, when I explored the internet to figure out what my next steps should be. If I hadn't given it my all, it would have been good. But by giving it my all it was great. 

Also by being the best in the room and constantly upping your expectations, its draining. Go to other rooms to make your job easier. It's so much easier to learn from someone in front of you, someone you can talk to, ask, get advice from. Go to other rooms so that you can work on other things. 

Instead of giving your all to one thing.

The cost of being great at running a preschool was that I lost my writing and my creativity. 

My version of Steal like an Artist: Point 10

Creativity is Subtraction.

I brought this up a bit already too. I like writing because I leave out the lesson. The lesson is up for you to discover. It doesn't have to be my lesson. It can be your own. 

Creativity blossoms in boredom. When there is nothing, you can create everything. 

Creativity starts with no one. But it can create someone.

Creativity doesn't start with an idea. It brings one to life. 

Creativity in so many ways isn't what you have or who you are or what you did. Creativity needs less in order to be so much more. 

My version of Steal like an Artist: Point 9

Be Boring. 

I have always said that preschool murdered my creativity. And I believe that. I was working so hard at being wonderful at that, that I gave it too much. And what I gave it was my time, my effort, my everything. I gave it my writing, my hobby, my passion. 

"Be regular and orderly in your life, so that you may be violent and original in your work." This is a lesson I need to learn. I can't give everything 100%. So I need to figure out what percentages to give what. And to be honest, in a lot of ways I commit and other parts of my life suffer. 

Also, I need a calendar so I can write down my success. A checkmark goes so far. I need this for working out and for writing. I need this to make myself do more and do it consistently. I made this group for that. Now I need to do it every day. 

This one also said to get a log book. Just to write down random occurrences throughout the day. So you have the memories you will remember later. I used to do this a lot too. But I need to go back and do that. 

Of all the points in the book, this is the one I suck at the most. I suck at being boring and I need to fix it. 

Because I am a better writer (and a better person) if I am bored sometimes. 

Creativity blossoms in boredom. It makes you create a more fulfilling world around you. Maybe this is why creativity is so often dead in our society. It is suffocated by the countless and meaningless banter of social media.