Social Graces

I sit in the Little League stands, where I have made a four-year career of watching the games, but never engaging too much with the crowd, of cheering for my child, but not so loudly and wildly as to offend. And so it is, when a parent tries to strike up a conversation with me, that I am at a loss. After all, I have, as my established four-year career record shows, come here to watch baseball. My eyes are on the field. My mind is on whether or not my child, or his team, will have a good day.
 
Yet, after I leave the game, I realize that I have missed an opportunity. My lack of social readiness in that moment could easily be written off to my lack of sleep from an overnight of work. Had I pushed through, however, I might have learned something new, made a new connection, come away with new knowledge.
 
Once upon a time, when I was a Booth PA bemoaning the fact that my estimate of the show's length didn't match the reality, a wise director told me that the real test of a PA actually had very little to do with estimating time. More important, he said, was whether you were the kind of person with whom people wanted to spend long days in the control room. You didn't have to be the best timer, or even tell the best jokes. But you had to feel and act like part of the group. And have the group feel that way about you.
 
I've heard it said that in much of life, half the battle is just showing up. Perhaps, then, the other half is in the "social graces"--not the ones having to do with the right fork and with not wearing white shoes after Labor Day, but the ones that make your time in the bleachers about more than just baseball. Lack of sleep aside, I can stand to do a little more with the social graces. Because, in the control room and in the bleachers, doing the job is about more than just getting the job done. It's about being a person with whom people like to share the space. And being that person is useful pretty much anyplace you go.

Small Fish, Big Ponds

With the tremendous school choice in New York City, it is mightily tempting to go for the biggest, the best, the places with the most to offer. After all, that choice gives you exposure and access to everything that might possibly interest you. Whatever it is, you can find it. Whatever it is, it is there, only awaiting your discovery.
 
As I watched my daughter receive a few of the many hundreds of awards given at her school, I was struck by how many directions the students there had explored. Though they had all attended the same school, it almost felt as though they had gone to many different ones, so varied were their interests and fields of expertise.
 
I could argue that this made for a building full of strangers, each pursuing his or her own individual passions, separate from the others pursuing other passions. Yet, as I heard the student cheers each time an award was announced, I realized that these are clearly not strangers. While they may travel in small groups based on their interests, these kids make up a school not so completely different than the school I attended. Sure, it is bigger. Okay, there were probably people with whom my daughter never even crossed paths. But it is also a place where she, and a whole lot of other kids, found a little bit of what would start their paths. As I stare at the giant auditorium, I am keenly aware of the idea of being a small fish in a big pond. It is easy to lose your way in that big pond, and to feel sometimes as though you will get eaten. It is also possible to experience things the little pond would never have allowed, and to grow in ways the small pond would have made impossible.
 
We all sometimes find ourselves feeling very small in that big pond. But if we are lucky, and persistent, our survival skills there can make us ready for the ponds--and oceans--to come. Would we choose again to be that little fish in that big pond? Hard to say. But having been there, we are now stronger swimmers and more interesting beings--a little more ready to approach our next big--or small--adventure.

Comfort Zones

It may be simpler to do what comes easily. But it may be more exciting to do what we've never done.
 
It may be easier to take on jobs we totally know how to do. But it may be more satisfying to take on ones that challenge us.
 
It may be more pleasant to make our own decisions about our days. But it may be more eye-opening to go with someone else's decisions once in a while.
 
It may be more comfortable to stick with what feels safe. But it may be more freeing to try what is a little scary.
 
We can live in our comfort zone, where we make the choices, stay with the safe, do that which we know. But when we step out of our comfort zone, we experience and learn in a whole different way--and we may end up being more comfortable for it.

Standardized Test

As we cart yet another child to yet another test, I wonder, how do all these pieces fit together for success? How is it that crammed in information and filled in bubbles paint a picture of the person who lives in my home? Perhaps they don't. Perhaps they are simply steps in a process, a process as much about learning one's own capabilities as about proving one's own capabilities. 

As I go through life, I rarely have to fill in bubbles, but I quite often have to make choices when I don't know the right answer. I rarely have to show up in a crowd of hundreds, armed with particular pencils, but I quite often have to come prepared and face a crowd of strangers. I rarely take tests that are scored, but I quite often feel tested by tasks I've never done before.

Each day, we face tests that seem far from standardized. How do we hold up? Do we learn the strategies? Do we make educated guesses when we need to and learn to say nothing when that is the better choice? And when we walk away from each test, are we able to clear our heads for the next one, and realize that each test is simply one small part of a much bigger process?

We are done with this test, and good results or bad, we move on. To the rest of life's standardized, and not so standardized, tests.

Creative Juices

Sometimes, it feels as though all of our creative juices have seeped away, into the daily tasks and the mundane responsibilities. We wonder what happened to the sparks we remember having, to the projects we recall creating, to the magic we're sure we once made.

Yet, every once in a while, we are called upon to do a little something, lend a little expertise, solve a little problem. And we agree, whether we have the time or not. We jump in, whether we feel completely confident or not. And, lo and behold, we find that not only have we done, leant, and solved, we have also restarted those creative juices. While we were paying attention to endeavors other than our own daily tasks, we allowed--even encouraged--our creative juices to flow. We took time that we may not even have had, and we emerged freer, stronger, and, most important, reminded that we still have the creative juices--we've just been forgetting to use them.

It's easy to think that our creative juices have dried up--the hard work of life can leave anyone a little dehydrated. But when we allow ourselves to reach a little, search a little, and drink in what we can, it's amazing how quickly those juices come flowing right back.

Following The Path

I walk the path from home to school, from the corner to the bus stop, from family to work and back again. I cover each path as though I know it like the back of my hand. I set the destination, and the legs just go. After all, following a path is easy, right? We lay out what we want, and then we just follow the path to get it.

Most of the time, however, our paths are not nearly so straightforward. We take a few steps ahead, and then find we have to turn back. We stray from the path, sometimes finding a better one, sometimes just finding ourselves lost. Or we just seem to keep walking and walking, never quite reaching out intended destination.

I start to walk, and I am not quite sure where my path today will take me. But I am walking, and discovering new paths each day. And sometimes, that is all we can do...

Getting In, Part 11: Transitions

For so long, the college admissions process is about winning--picking the "right" school, and then waiting to see if you will be rewarded with the prize of admission. Our children, hopefully with our support, do so much to get to the win--they manage their grades and take tests and write essays. They audition and interview and spend months trying to prove to themselves and to others that they are worthy of the victory, only to find that the work that they have done only sometimes matters, that the "officials" who witness their race only sometimes judge in their favor. And then suddenly, after all the months of training and racing and judging, the whole thing is over. Visits are scheduled, and decisions are made. Deposits are paid, and a single destination, rather than many, becomes the focus of conversation. Where there was confusion and uncertainty, suddenly now there is clarity. Where there were questions to be answered, suddenly now there are plans to be made. Where there was the blur of too much to see all at once, suddenly now there is a point of focus. Where there was competition, suddenly now there is transition, almost as if the competition never really happened.

"Getting in" has happened--our family will be proudly sporting Ithaca College swag in no time. And, as with most things in life, it turns out that the "getting in" is just the beginning. Let the transitions begin...