I haven't used my facebook account in a week (well, technically 6 days), but who's counting? Welp. I was.
I haven't used this blog in more than 2 and a half years and didn't miss it at all in relation to my fb account. Which is admittedly, kinda sad. Or is it? I didn't miss it in the way that I thought or imagined. And really I feel like I could have stayed off for some indeterminate amount of time, but that I was ready to come back.
I decided to deactivate on Tuesday morning after I started to feel too connected. The social networking site was suffocating me. I felt claustrophobic. I was posting too much. People were reading it too much and reading into it too much. Too many messages and comments about my musical choices on spotify. And I just needed to get some space from my own internet presence. Which is funny, because besides this dusty ol' blog and my fb account I don't really have one.
When you google my name or image search me, nothing comes up... for pages, or at all. I have a twitter, but only so I can follow friends. I have never tweeted. I didn't even know what imgur was or how to pronounce it until a week ago when I asked a friend about his post. The rapid ascent of instagramming as networking is a little bewildering to me and I just can't keep up. So I am pretty happy to maintain with my fb account and the occasional blog post here or at my professional blog (which will go unmentioned here because I don't want that connection to be made outside of fb friends). I am painfully aware of the power (both positive and negative) of the internet and how a post can leave a lasting impression. Because of what I do, I tend to err on the side of caution, even going so far as to change my pen name on my writing when it is occasionally posted on other sites so that my professional life and personal choices do not intermingle.
But there is a feeling of safety associated with facebook. You have a sense of control. They even have "security settings" meant to make you feel like what you say can't be used against you if that should ever happen. I never friend anyone I haven't met in person and keep a tight lid on who gets to see what posts and pictures. A friend once chastised me for sort of cursing on the site because I should be setting an example. My response. Not here I don't. I am protected. But he was probably right, everyone can see what I am posting if they want to badly enough. I guess I just don't think anyone wants to badly enough. And that is okay. I half post for friends and half post for me, fb is a journal of sorts, especially since timeline. Amiright?
You definitely know you are off the facebook
First was the realization that facebook OWNS us. I'm not just talking images and words and thoughts. I deactivated and 99 percent of my phone contacts went unknown. I had to cull through all my text messages to figure out what number belonged to who. Even people who I know I put in manually were sent to unknown status. Who are you facebook and why do I let you control my phone? Then I was denied spotify, which is a real hardship for those who know me. I constantly listen to my playlists and friends' playlists, use it to keep my aging finger on the pulse and I couldn't use it or see my friends without reactivating my account. I did eventually start a non-linked account, however it was a lonely world without my friends' choices feeding on the side.
Besides these annoyances though, I felt sort of free, which I think says more about me and my choices than the site itself. If people really care about what I am doing, they have my number and can text me. Otherwise, I dunno I'm just using it because I am bored. Which is okay I guess. And while part of my departure was not just because I wanted people to stop seeing me, but because I wanted to stop seeing some people, I missed the banter. Facebook feels like a family of friendship at times. A baby picture goes up or a cute video, someone links their blog or makes an interesting observation and I get to participate in a multi-way conversation (actively or passively) with those I have chosen to keep in my larger circle. And I like this idea. This was what I missed. And so I'm back, ready to be friends with Facebook (and all of you) again. I'm sure ya didn't even miss me and that is fine with me. I didn't miss you either....well maybe a little. You're just so darn interesting.
Monday, March 4, 2013
Monday, July 19, 2010
come away from it...
i promised myself that i wouldn't cry. not during these six weeks. not during the beginning of this program, or in the middle, not in class, or in front of my classmates, or, in the future, in front of my students. but i know myself better than that and i forgive myself my weaknesses.
today moved me and i was overcome with the emotion of circumstance and the reality of our society. i always try to be the rock, the sturdy ship in a storm instead of a current in the storm raging around me. i attempt, in my infinite naivete, to be the one who understands the world i live in, the society i interact with, the person i am. but sometimes there are things that i can't make sense of and i fail at my attempts to be the rock and sink along with the rest. today i was moved and fell below the surface, aware that it was going to happen i haplessly tried to paddle myself up and failed.
there are so many things that i have been experiencing in my classes and outside of my classes, so many things i have been learning and at times struggling to reconcile. but as i said in my previous blog, i really wanted it to just wash over me, take it all in and come out the other side, more or something. what i guess i didn't understand was what that something was. or perhaps i had more hubris than that. i thought i could let it wash over me and leave me unchanged in the most profound ways. i know now how ridiculous that concept was.
let me give a little background. i am not just working towards getting my teaching certificate, but also my special education endorsement, which means that i am taking classes on how to be a special education teacher if i would like. i guess i thought i would benefit from the experience in a specific way. it looks great on a resume and also gives you an insight into the struggles of all students, not just those with learning differences, which can be a benefit in the classroom. i have been told in the past that i would be a good special education teacher from a women who i used to work with who has a son with special needs. i was flattered. i remember the conversation and that my response was i wish i could, but i think it would be too difficult. not because of minor behavioral issues or having to differentiate instruction to accommodate different issues, but because it would make me infinitely sad to see children struggle and their parents struggle and possibly for not much change.
i also think when i thought of special ed kids i generally thought of kids who had tangible disabilities, i never thought of kids who might struggle with extreme emotional and behavioral issues.
today our special education teacher brought her adopted son to speak with our class. he is older now, but he came to speak with us about his experiences in the educational system, to share his life stories and, i suppose, show us that kids can make it out.
his story was full of all the nightmare scenarios you read about but are never faced with in person. he embodied all of the ways our system is failing. failing children of the poor, failing the less fortunate, failing the scared and hurt and angry, failing the provoked and misunderstood, failing the broken and battered, failing those unlucky enough to be born into a system that says a percentage of failure is expected and okay and fine as long as we don't have to see it.
as i sat and listened to him speak so matter of factly about abuse and neglect and misfortune at the hands of the adults in his life i became more and more angry. frustrated at my own complict-ness in the system. thinking i pay taxes into a system that underserves, that allows boys like this to be left behind. i think it is almost too much to fathom when i consider that his is just one story, one voice, representing the thousands across this country that struggle everyday to find food, shelter, clothing, safety, peace, let alone time to find their voices, their intellect, themselves. their vocabulary is one of anger and frustration, abuse and hate, pain and provocation and we did this to them.
we regrouped into our cohort and listened to our teacher answer questions about teaching special ed and specifics about her son. when she mentioned something about disparity or something i raised my hand to speak, sure that my voice and conviction would carry my through verbalizing my thought. but then my voice cracked and the tears spilled out and i was embarrassed at my inability to shut it off. the emotion had washed over me and i could stand it no longer. i felt like we had failed her son, and those that came before him, and those that would follow and that pains me.
i don't like to think of myself as a hyper emotional person, but i am sensitive. i am sensitive to the words of others when they speak to me in anger or hurt, i am sensitive to words of those around me, i am sensitive to thoughtless actions even if they aren't directed at me. i am sensitive to my own anger and frustration which are often expressed in tears rather than fights or fuck yous. i try to understand where others are coming from and many times fail in the attempt. but sitting in that room listening to the words of a man who the system tried to break i felt that i no longer had the luxury of failing. there would be no more failing to see someone else's stories, someone else's perspective or place, there would be no lost attempts at reconciling my experience with someone else's. i don't expect that this next year will be as wholly successful as i want to will it to be, i probably won't love every student or get them all to understand a math concept, but i have hope that i can try. that i can just sit and listen to their story and learn and in doing that, succeed with that child for that moment in that day. and for that reason and a million others, i can't wait to be a teacher.
today moved me and i was overcome with the emotion of circumstance and the reality of our society. i always try to be the rock, the sturdy ship in a storm instead of a current in the storm raging around me. i attempt, in my infinite naivete, to be the one who understands the world i live in, the society i interact with, the person i am. but sometimes there are things that i can't make sense of and i fail at my attempts to be the rock and sink along with the rest. today i was moved and fell below the surface, aware that it was going to happen i haplessly tried to paddle myself up and failed.
there are so many things that i have been experiencing in my classes and outside of my classes, so many things i have been learning and at times struggling to reconcile. but as i said in my previous blog, i really wanted it to just wash over me, take it all in and come out the other side, more or something. what i guess i didn't understand was what that something was. or perhaps i had more hubris than that. i thought i could let it wash over me and leave me unchanged in the most profound ways. i know now how ridiculous that concept was.
let me give a little background. i am not just working towards getting my teaching certificate, but also my special education endorsement, which means that i am taking classes on how to be a special education teacher if i would like. i guess i thought i would benefit from the experience in a specific way. it looks great on a resume and also gives you an insight into the struggles of all students, not just those with learning differences, which can be a benefit in the classroom. i have been told in the past that i would be a good special education teacher from a women who i used to work with who has a son with special needs. i was flattered. i remember the conversation and that my response was i wish i could, but i think it would be too difficult. not because of minor behavioral issues or having to differentiate instruction to accommodate different issues, but because it would make me infinitely sad to see children struggle and their parents struggle and possibly for not much change.
i also think when i thought of special ed kids i generally thought of kids who had tangible disabilities, i never thought of kids who might struggle with extreme emotional and behavioral issues.
today our special education teacher brought her adopted son to speak with our class. he is older now, but he came to speak with us about his experiences in the educational system, to share his life stories and, i suppose, show us that kids can make it out.
his story was full of all the nightmare scenarios you read about but are never faced with in person. he embodied all of the ways our system is failing. failing children of the poor, failing the less fortunate, failing the scared and hurt and angry, failing the provoked and misunderstood, failing the broken and battered, failing those unlucky enough to be born into a system that says a percentage of failure is expected and okay and fine as long as we don't have to see it.
as i sat and listened to him speak so matter of factly about abuse and neglect and misfortune at the hands of the adults in his life i became more and more angry. frustrated at my own complict-ness in the system. thinking i pay taxes into a system that underserves, that allows boys like this to be left behind. i think it is almost too much to fathom when i consider that his is just one story, one voice, representing the thousands across this country that struggle everyday to find food, shelter, clothing, safety, peace, let alone time to find their voices, their intellect, themselves. their vocabulary is one of anger and frustration, abuse and hate, pain and provocation and we did this to them.
we regrouped into our cohort and listened to our teacher answer questions about teaching special ed and specifics about her son. when she mentioned something about disparity or something i raised my hand to speak, sure that my voice and conviction would carry my through verbalizing my thought. but then my voice cracked and the tears spilled out and i was embarrassed at my inability to shut it off. the emotion had washed over me and i could stand it no longer. i felt like we had failed her son, and those that came before him, and those that would follow and that pains me.
i don't like to think of myself as a hyper emotional person, but i am sensitive. i am sensitive to the words of others when they speak to me in anger or hurt, i am sensitive to words of those around me, i am sensitive to thoughtless actions even if they aren't directed at me. i am sensitive to my own anger and frustration which are often expressed in tears rather than fights or fuck yous. i try to understand where others are coming from and many times fail in the attempt. but sitting in that room listening to the words of a man who the system tried to break i felt that i no longer had the luxury of failing. there would be no more failing to see someone else's stories, someone else's perspective or place, there would be no lost attempts at reconciling my experience with someone else's. i don't expect that this next year will be as wholly successful as i want to will it to be, i probably won't love every student or get them all to understand a math concept, but i have hope that i can try. that i can just sit and listen to their story and learn and in doing that, succeed with that child for that moment in that day. and for that reason and a million others, i can't wait to be a teacher.
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