Hell yes, I will come on your yoga and meditation retreat. I will meet you where I meet myself. I will sing loudly on the way up the mountain. Yes I am of Generation X. I still know all of Dark Side of the Moon by heart.
I am still growing up. It’s fun, remember? It’s also great to go nowhere be seen by no one answer to no one. I will listen to NPR and my books on tape, and I will stop to think and forget to get going again. Yes, turning into my mother (still) wild and earthy hippie she is.
I will laugh about the permanent bruise on my hip because where is my body in space? Where are we anyway?
I will dance with my child and sip coffee and fill in the boxes. crossword and Sudoku. bliss. leisure.
I cannot sit still just like my 5th graders. I need to hold a fidget spinner. My brain at times won’t stop. I will pull at the weeds and not plant anything this year. The garden will volunteer tomatoes. And maybe a pumpkin.
There is a cardinal. Home for a while. I will walk and walk even though my arch hurts and my heel hurts and I stretch beyond what I thought possible. That adjustment in me has yet to come.
I am bold. I speak my mind. I am hard on myself. And then I am not. I get lazy then busy then I just cannot deal with the world.
I love the routine but I want a shake up. I am still that girl on the train. Running that race, swimming the lake, learning guitar. Singing and singing with all my heart.
I am still losing my tent at a music festival. I am still playing house too soon. I am dancing in a light up hula hoop in my wedding dress. I am still lost and totally and completely one hundred percent myself.
Thank you for reading. My name is Samantha. I teach 5th graders everything from Language Arts to How to Be a Good Human. I also teach creative writing classes, workshops, and lessons. I still want to be a writer when I grow up.
your official statement on this issue your seething gas-lighting comedy act obscene and vile as if your actual chastisement gains anything you are not her teacher her grandfather her anything
try humility on for size say the words well done! congratulations! genius! the youth will save us! I want to strive to be you when I grow up! you are a role model for generations to come! what an inspiration! listen to the children!
yet she is another flick of ash in your way discarded and discounted disqualified by you a bug on the windshield a little girl on a swing set
she’s got her eye on you your criticism crying and complaining for a half a second before casting you into the ocean some debris to steer around for better things to do with her time
take your seats the lights are low plenty of space behind the curtain it is a curation desert an empty gallery
that’s art? you ask you like to push time so what did you do Saturday Squanderer he said, practice this chord until your fingers bleed
like learning to whistle she said, you might pass out through your fingers more air, less tongue mean it make it echo to call the dogs off the mountain to hope they don’t come home skunked again or worse, quill-nosed or not at all
find a rock so you can brag about your ability to manifest crystals imposter on a trail what was it all for
you won’t go through that velvet opening your hands are too tired for the heaviness of that drapery or for what the audience might not see
Author’s note: This is the beginning of my thoughts on this. Yesterday, the world lost another beautiful person to cancer. I will miss my friend Grace, who was a shining light to so many people. She had the most courage and strength of anyone I have ever known. And as a former teacher of both her children, I will stand protector of them, even if from afar, forever.
You go to the kitchen anxious. This is no way to greet your husband and the coffee he just made. But there it is. It’s almost sunrise. You cannot place your worry, and so it lingers in a physical need. You wrap your arms around his body sideways. He turns to you and wraps you into his chest. Fridge door light on you both, his hand releases the half and half.
He knows you. He knows your answer will be that you don’t know what’s wrong. Nothing is wrong. Everything is wrong. He’s on to you. He knows that you have been awake for a while. He knows that unconsciously you made a decision you might regret. Or not. It doesn’t need to be decided now. He isn’t psychic. You have patterns. He caught you still dreaming.
You both do the counting on your fingers and the deep breath you exhale. This exercise comes from the book you brought home to read with your son. You are worried that your son worries too much so this is a book about kids with anxiety. You know you brought this book home for yourself, too. You try the gratitude.
I’m grateful for you and for peanut butter and jelly.
He was in the middle of packing your child’s lunchbox. You sound silly to yourself, always the harshest judge. So you add intellectual silliness.
It’s just an amazing combination of flavors.
Your worries were there a minute ago. What was wrong? Hadn’t you been spinning since 4:30 or so? Is that the time the SSRI begins waning? Maybe you should up the meds. Maybe you should blame Mars for being so intense in your chart. Maybe blame the constant government chatter, the nothing that is being done, the injustice, your social media show and tell, is it enough? is it too much? The bills to pay late.