The Valleys and the Peaks

I watched a documentary this weekend called "14 Peaks". It's about a Nepali climber named Nims Purja who, along with his team, attempts to summit all of the 14 highest peaks (8,000 meters) in the world in seven months. Their dream was called "Project Possible" and it seemed impossible. They actually did 3 of the mountains (including Everest) in 48 hours. Insanity. For the last one, the Chinese government had blocked all access to it and the entire worldwide climbing community (and outside of it) got involved in petitioning the Chinese government to let him climb it. They finally got permission and the footage of the first part of that climb and the insane weather around made me think they were going to get that far only to have to give up. However... the subtitle of the movie is "Nothing is Impossible" and they certainly proved that.

Spoiler alert, they succeeded. And in just over six months time. 

I've always thought it was interesting how mountains are used as metaphors for two completely opposite things. They are used to describe the obstacles in our paths, the seemingly impossible, as they were in several of our praise and worship songs today, and they are also used to describe the peak experiences in life and the "valleys" are used to describe the hard times. 

I've watched a lot of climbing documentaries lately ("Free Solo", "The Alpinist", this one, "The Dawn Wall") and have started to follow some climbers on instagram. What I have realized is that most climbing deaths don't happen on the ascent or from the summit. They happen during the descent. I've read a little bit about why that might be, and I don't have a theory of my own because I'm not a climber (I just might be a little obsessed with it), but I think that the riskiest part of a climb being the descent fits in with those contradictory mountain metaphors mentioned above.

In all of the climbing documentaries I have watched, not a single climber being interviewed has ever one time said, "And that was my last mountain. I am officially finished." In fact, at the end of every interview and article, the journalist will ask, "So what's next?" and they always have an answer, even if they are evasive as to the details at that point in time. 

The descent of the mountains, the valleys between the mountains, they are all part of the process of moving toward the next mountain. 

If you want to see the metaphor of the mountain as the obstacle, that definitely works. When I watched Nims and his team approaching each of those 14 mountains and the camera panned up, I thought HOW ON THIS ENTIRE EARTH can they look up at that and think of reaching the top. 

You know how they did it every single time, usually while the camera was still panning? They started walking. Not even climbing at that point, just walking. And then the walking turned to climbing and the climbing turned to defying gravity and completing the impossible by summiting the peak.

Goal accomplished, right? They'll usually make some statement like that, take a pic of themselves giving a thumbs up, etc.. And I guess as far as the record books are concerned, they did it. But as far as the climber and his or her life is concerned, it's not finished until they are safely back down.

But then once they are down, all they want to think about and do is plan for the next trip up the next peak. The valley is the obstacle to get through in order to have another "peak experience". 

And on.

And on.

And on.

And I guess that's how this life rocks on too, huh? It's a series of valleys and peaks, and somehow the valleys and the peaks are both the obstacle and the high, the rest and the work, the grief and the joy. 

Still Enough

 There are about a thousand things I cannot publicly say about the 2021-2022 school year but I'll just give you the understatement of the year and say:

It's been a challenge.

And because I can't stand to see teachers make vague comments and then wonder if it's my kid they're talking about, let me also offer this clarification:

The kids in room 220 have been ZERO PERCENT of the cause of that challenge. I always tend to adore my students, but this year it has been above and beyond. The absolute most perfect little AP class, a group that makes me feel completely comfortable and loved every single minute, a group that is so dang mature and perceptive that I sometimes wonder how they are real... An awesomely fun senior English class last semester, a group that never gave me a dull moment and worked hard... A Holocaust Lit class that could not have been a better group of human beings, just a joy to teach and so focused and caring and smart and kind... a senior English class this semester that laughs at more of my pitiful jokes than any class ever has and that has a higher level of attention to Macbeth than I have ever seen, plus they are just sweet... an English II Honors class that came out of nowhere and fell into my lap and that I have decided was a singular gift from God meant to reward me for making it to May this year, they are so perfect. So the kids? The kids are fine. Better than fine, actually.

But this year has been hard and in some ways it's only getting harder and big changes have come and are coming on a lot of levels and I've had to work through a lot of things for myself over the past month and a half. It's not a secret to say that turnover in education is currently very high and only projected to climb higher, and that is true at the local level as well. And truthfully, it's tough to be the one "left there", in a sense. I don't judge those who have left and are leaving, not one bit. But I have realized through some pretty heartbreaking dreams I have had (one in which I woke sobbing) that I have some abandonment issues that this is awakening. I am also revisiting some really deeply buried insecurities that I haven't seen in about fifteen years or more that center on "settling" and "selling out". 

I remember in high school, hearing all of those around me talk about wanting to get out of Cleveland and feeling like there was something wrong with me because I wanted to stay. I remember in college, switching my major to English and knowing it was what I was meant to do, but also hearing it echo in my head, "Those who can, do. Those who can't, teach." I remember (and it still happens today) talking to others about their lives and their jobs and, when asked about "what's new with you", only having this to say: "Oh, same things as the past 21 years, just living in Cleveland and teaching and raising a family!" 

In my heart, I don't feel like any of those things are "just" things. I am doing exactly what I planned to do, what I longed to do, what I set out to do. And truthfully, most days I feel that I am doing all of it pretty dang well. 

But in this mad rush for the door that is happening nationwide, I don't have the option to go. Would I, if I did? I don't know. I think if several things in this state go the way I think they are going to go, I would very seriously consider it. I would miss the kids something fierce, but I might go. But the fact of the matter is that it doesn't matter because the option for me does not exist. I am here. Where I will stay until I turn out those lights in 11 years for the last time and take my $3/sick day or whatever it is and my stacks of novels bought from McKays with my money and my bulletin board of photographs and my yard sale purchased furniture and my 4.0 Banquet trophies and my bags of student letters and cards and drive away from 850 Raider Dr for the last time.

So because the option to go isn't there, I am in a situation where I have shape my perspective in whatever way I need to for me to be able to peacefully stay. I have to to find the good in the things I will be living with for 11 more years and see that as self-preservation, not selling out. This week I had to do some hard work inside my heart and brain and sort through these feelings and thoughts. There were tears and there was pressing down on the bruise and wounds, pressing that didn't feel good but was necessary in order to see where the hurts were that needed to heal. 

At the absolute height of rifling through my rolodex of emotions this week, literally out of the clear blue, I got a fb message from a former student who is probably pushing mid-30's now. And it shouldn't be surprising to know that God used this kid-turned-man to say exactly the words my heart needed to find the strength to face the inner demons and to find what I needed to move forward. The number of times this has happened in a 21 year career, when I have gotten a message in one of a hundred different formats and platforms that was precisely what I needed to hear (and often from a completely unexpected source, either a kid I didn't even get particularly those to or from a "kid" who is now a grown adult with a family of his or her own), is innumerable. God has always used the written word to encourage me and I love His timing.

So to every teacher out there who is feeling some of what I was feeling or all of what I was feeling or possibly even more and bigger of what I was feeling... 

Claim this message for yourself too today. No matter what has changed, and no matter what WILL change, you are "still enough". Now excuse me while I go cry again at the impeccable timing of this beautiful message.

Everything Flows Downstream

Image: New River Gorge NP, Endless Wall Trail

 Last night, on a rare kidless weekend, Kraig and I seized the opportunity to attend a film festival I had heard about that was happening in Chattanooga, the Lookout Wild Film Festival. It was absolutely an incredible night of films, both shorts and the feature length ("River Runner"). 

We saw these films:

• Our Theory of Human Motivation  (3)

• Homeland –  Undiscovered Trails Of The Kackar Mountains (4)

• Camp Yoshi (10) 

• Kyra: An Olympic Story  (8)

• The Wanderlust Women (8)

• Latitude (9)

• The Outlaw Sport (8)

• Spirit of the Peaks  (42)

• Katie (10) 

• The River Runner  (86)

I absolutely loved "Our Theory of Human Motivation", "Camp Yoshi", and "Katie". In one of them (possibly "Spirit of the Peaks"), the statement was made that "everything flows downstream". It was referencing water sources and pure water and the fact that the snowmelt is what provides water for those downstream and that we don't think about even the smallest ways that we pollute such as the wax from snowboards, and so on. But the minute it was said, it struck me.

Everything flows downstream.

Everything we do has repercussions "downstream". Everything we say, every action we take, every decision we make. It is all going to impact other people in some way, and it's also going to impact us in the future. We may not see the immediate consequence or benefit (because this doesn't have to just consider the negative side), but it will show up eventually.

What are we putting in the water today, in the world and in our lives, that's going to impact us in the future? Are we taking care of our business, are we making positive choices, are we considering the other people around us? Or are we dumping our trash, making rash choices without considering the future, polluting the lives of those around us? Do we make things better for our future selves and those who are impacted by us, or do we make them worse?

It's an image that is going to stay with me for a while, I feel certain. I plan to ask myself regularly if this is something I want to see later, if "downstream" for this situation or decision or action will look favorable or unfavorable.