22 January 2018

Not so much a poem as a prayer. Not so much a prayer as a whispered thanks. Inspired by Reid Carpenter’s “9 October 2017.”

I started today with a strip of sun against a dark sky.

I started with the sound of thudding feet, the tingle-cold of a Kenyan dawn, the huffing breath of a mile run.

I started with a cat in my kitchen, languidly bumping its nose against my leg, submitting to a pat, a scratch, a pet — always hopeful for a tasty snack.

I started with matcha and overnight oats, filled to bursting with chia seeds, toasted coconut flakes, slivers of almonds.

I started with the words of Paul and Nouwen and the misty morning light, snuggled beneath a blue shuka on a large porch.

I started with my nephew cooing from the confines of a small screen, his smile sudden and bright and too beautiful to bear.

I started the day with grace. May I walk forward in that promise.

On Failing to Accomplish Work

Wednesday, Dec. 6th. 

No, I accomplished no work today.
Other than a handful of blogposts graded,
a handful of comments typed,
a single class taught.

I accomplished no work today.
Despite the proximity of finals,
the growing pile of ungraded projects
making their home upon my desk,
the dwindling number of days
in which to complete these necessary
tasks.

I accomplished no work today.
But I sat with one student while she cried
and another while she talked.
And I wonder what Mr. E. thinks
of this new habit his students have acquired:
skipping 6th period (who needs AP Lit,
anyway?) to come lie on my floor and stare
at my ceiling and let their grief — frustration —
anger — pool into puddles by their feet.

I accomplished no work today.
But I attended a recital
in which a former student made
her violin sing as though it were an angel,
and I partook of tea and Christmas
cheer, and spoke to a colleague
at some length, and braved the art
studio for all of 30 minutes, and ran
3.14 miles (another half hour conquered),
and wrote my daily words.

I accomplished no work today.
But I am sitting on my couch,
in an apartment all my own, drinking
krest from a handmade glass,
and eating the remnants of an
Ethiopian feast (shared this weekend
among friends).

I accomplished no work today,
or yesterday, or — lets be honest —
in a while. And my hope for tomorrow
isn’t very high. But I climbed this week,
and maintained my 750 streak,
and watched Survivor, and slept
barely any hours, and shared a devotion
with my bosses, and hosted
my Covenant group girls, and prayed
with students, and Skyped my cousin,
and lived my small piece
of a large and messy life.

Five Manifestations of Joy

Yes, yes, I’m aware that it’s December. And yes, I am aware I haven’t written since the spring.

There have been some significant life developments since then: For one, I went skydiving. For another, I turned thirty. I also ran a half marathon, spent a week in silence at a Jesuit retreat center, took my first art class since the 8th grade, and decided not to renew my contract. Oh, and I got a tattoo.

So yeah, some changes in the air.

I hope to revisit some (many?) of those topics in the future, but this post isn’t about any of that. Instead, it’s about November, and giving thanks, and the places in my life where I am finding joy (ordinary, beautiful, life-sustaining) at this particular moment in time. So here are five snapshots of my life right now.

1. NaNoWriMo

I spent most of November writing. Or, if not writing, thinking about writing.

Some of you may be aware that November is National Novel Writing Month. When one falls off the writing-wagon, there’s nothing quite like this particular challenge to whip one back into shape. I spent October trying to warm up for the endeavor, following a former professor’s advice to write at least 250 words a day. Even that felt like a challenge (though there was some unexpected poetry to show for it).

I have to admit that while I have won NaNoWriMo on my own (the year I spent in the U.K.’s Lake District), I have only undertaken the challenge, while teaching, as part of a co-writing endeavor with one of my close friends. This November was our third such undertaking, and our third successful completion. While sharing the burden may sound like a cop-out, and is certainly less impressive than writing 50,000 words individually, if you think writing a minimum of 1,000 words a day, while teaching full time, is easy, then I invite you to try it.

The discipline of daily writing is alternatively exhilarating and mind-numbingly frustrating (not to mention exhausting), but also consistently satisfying. And I’m reminded, whenever I undertake it, that stringing words together into sentences and paragraphs seems (even now) to be a central part of who I am. Of what brings me to life and gives me joy. I still don’t know if I really have anything to say — any words of beauty or truth to lighten the darkness or bless others on their way. But exploring the possibilities of language and story certainly lightens my darkness and blesses me on my journey, and, for now, that will need to be enough.

2. Climbing

I think fall 2017 may always be associated in my mind with the discovery of rock climbing.

I’ve had a free membership to a climbing gym, here in Nairobi, for the past two years, and always meant to give it a try. Realizing I was leaving at the end of the year finally forced me into action. I have several friends who climb regularly, so I started inviting myself along, and I don’t think I’m exaggerating when I say it’s been life-transforming.

I have a long history of struggling with stress and anxiety, and learning to care for my mental health has become a top priority these past few years. Exercise is, of course, an important (and effective) way to combat stress, which was a significant motivation for becoming more serious about my running last year. However, as an over-thinker, running still leaves quite a lot of room for mental noise, and quieting my mind is a consistent battle (one I rarely win).

Climbing, however, leaves no room for noise: it requires my complete presence, both physical and mental, on the climbing wall. (Looking back, I wonder if this is one reason ballet played so significant a role during my teenage years and why I was willing to give up sleep to row while I was at Oxford.) Climbing is exercise, but it is also meditation. And since I go with friends, and one has to rest between routes, it also provides room for community.

Needless to say, I am loving it.

3. Community

I grew up in a family that deeply valued community. I shared my room, off and on, with young women who lived with us for months or years at a time, and my parents modeled what it meant to share life with others — to work, minister, and play together, to rejoice and mourn, learn and grow.

Community is probably one of my deepest longings and highest values — and one of the central reasons I find teaching so difficult.  As a single adult (now in my thirties), community is not forced upon me by the demands of family, rather I have to seek it out, cultivate it, choose it. And this takes effort and time (not to mention energy) — all of which teaching leaves me little by way of reserves. Learning how to cultivate balance — how to leave room for life, and not just work — has been another ongoing battle, and while I’ll never claim to have mastered the struggle (in fact, my choice to move away from teaching next year is due — in large part — to not having mastered the struggle), this has been a year of growing in my sense of belonging. Of knowing and being known. Mostly due to my awesome Bible study group and Netflix’s Stranger Things. (If you want to know how Stranger Things can help cultivate community, I suggest you make some food, get some drinks, light some candles, and invite over some friends to watch the show. Repeat the process once or twice a week until you’ve successfully consumed both seasons in each other’s company.)

My lovely Bible study ladies at Sunbird Lodge on Lake Elementaita.

4. Students

I struggled intensely last fall over the decision of whether or not to renew my contract for another two years. I finally compromised by negotiating a one year contract, and if this year has done anything, it has confirmed, over and over and over again, that I am meant to be here, at this time, for these students.

Students who brighten my life, every day, in a million tangible and intangible ways. And sometimes bring me poems, just because.

5. Magnus Joy

This, right here, is my nephew, born November 21st. Need I say more?

 

2016 in Review

This is usually the point in the year at which I post highlights of the 2016-17 school year, or, at the very least, spring semester. Instead, I’m going to post my woefully late summary of 2016.

2016 was a year of running and teaching, of travel and beauty; a year of visiting and being visited.

This is, by no means, an exhaustive summary of my year, but just a few of the highlights.

1. I kissed a giraffe (and I liked it :)).  After two years, finally made it to the Nairobi elephant orphanage and giraffe center.
2. I visited the Nairobi National Park (twice).
3. I went to Amboseli.  While there I saw numerous cheetahs, lions, elephants, hippos, and birds, but the highlight was Mt. Kilimanjaro, in all its glory.
4. I discovered the white sand, blue sea, tropical paradise that is Diani.  Spent both my spring and fall breaks swimming and reading, each time in the company of a different friend (one old, one new), and sipping all-inclusive cappuccinos and icy refreshments (when they weren’t stolen by the monkeys).
5. I hosted several visitors — my parents, my cousin, my sister-in-law’s sister, and one of my closest childhood friends.  In the process I got to explore Nairobi, tick some adventures off my bucket-list, and grow more comfortable in the role of travel agent and tour guide.
6. I finally made it to Hell’s Gate.  And Lake Naivasha. And watched baby hippos roll off their mammas’ backs.
7. I hiked in Karen Blixen’s Ngong Hills.
8. I re-visited Mt. Longonot.
9. I took a five day safari with my parents. Visited Encounter Mara, Nakuru, Sweetwaters, and Mountain Lodge. With a stop at Trout Tree along the way. Saw two leopards and a myriad of everything else — including rhinos (both black and white), tree and rock hyraxes, and so many birds. Such a privilege to share such awe-inspiring beauty with those who first taught me to encounter the Creator within the majesty of God’s creation.
10. I switched from coffee to green tea.  This was a desperate sacrifice born of necessity, and I still drink (decaf) coffee on the weekends, at coffee shops, to get me through my grading (and sometimes when I’m on break), but, in general, my brain is happier, and I’ve grown to love green tea in its own right.  (There’s nothing quite like sitting on one’s porch, at sunrise, wrapped in one’s shuka, watching the sacred ibis fly, sipping a pot of tea.)
11. I moved on-campus after two years living in a small garden compound down the street.  I still miss the garden, but the transition was a good one, if for no other reason than I can now use the track to run after dark.
12. I completed my first year of teaching AP English Language and Composition.  Despite the workload, a joy and a delight.  And rather a success, given the 100% pass-rate my students pulled off on the AP exam.
13. I got to spend my summer visiting faces I love — attending a cousin’s graduation party, meeting another cousin’s girlfriend (now fiance), hiking with a friend in Colorado, visiting another dear friend in Washington, hanging with the sibs in Oregon (missing the one who was working in Alaska), and experiencing my college roommate’s new life in California.
14. I attended an AP Summer Institute and earned my first graduate credit in education.
15. I co-taught a class on my favorite fantasy writers (called “Christianity and the Fantastic”) with a fellow George Fox grad who is both a colleague and a friend.  We first met in a “C.S. Lewis and the Bible” class (ten years ago this spring) so it felt a little like coming full circle.
16. I ran seven miles . . . in one stretch.  Without really intending to.  I guess I’m a runner now?
17. I took my 2nd annual trip to the Aberdares.  A trip that involved friends, books, fires, warm blankets, and lots of good food.
18. I transitioned/am transitioning to contacts.  Though I’ve worn glasses since 8th grade, I’ve never liked them.  Never felt that they were me.  And though I still don’t relish sticking my fingers in my eyes, my childhood eye-phobia has dissipated enough to allow the experiment to be a success.  I made the choice for aesthetic purposes, never expecting to love the change this much — but not having frames in my line of vision?  Bliss.
19. I took a silent retreat at Lake Elementaita.
20. I renewed my contract and committed to at least one more year on this continent, in this country, at this school.
21. I started going to counselling.  Trying to work through nearly three decades of accumulated loss.  And while it’s hard to know where this path will lead, I think it’s at least a step in the right direction.
22. I became an auntie. No, not by blood, but we all know that family is created of more than genetic material.  And the Neufelds (and Neufeld-Pierces) are family.
23. I went running with my father.  And though, at twice my age, he outdistances me in every way possible, I have something to aspire to.  To work towards.
24. I went camping in Wadi Rum.  Slept under the stars.  Ran through the desert.  Experienced the peace and beauty of one of my favorite places on earth.
25. I spent Christmas at home, in Jordan, with all my siblings, all my sisters-in-law, and all my pseudo-siblings (and my new niece =)).  There were many hugs to be had, many games to be played, many traditions to be upheld, many delicious foods to be eaten, and much merry-making all-around.  Joy-filled, delightful, so, so right.

And here are five goals to be accomplished before I turn 30:

1. Climb Mt. Kenya.  (I did, and it was spectacular.)
2. Pay off my Oxford loans. (I emptied out my savings account at the end of February, and am now officially debt free.)
3. Get a tattoo.  (It’s healing as we speak.)
4. Run a half marathon.  With my dad. In honor of our 60th and 30th birthdays. And the fact I’ll be exactly half his age. (It’s scheduled for the 9th of July, in OR.)
5. Go on a spiritual retreat.  At an abbey, or a monastery, or a convent . . . you get the idea. (I actually have two booked for this summer — one in Oregon and one here in Kenya.)