We're All Going to Die
"Oooh, let's call your husband and tell him you're trapped inside the building," he said. Two of my colleagues and I were filing out of the Raleigh Convention Center while the fire alarm blared in the background.
I shook my head, "No way, that's beyond a joke; he'd probably have a heart attack on the spot." We stood outside for a while before the building was cleared, and we could go back inside. My two teacher friends and I were at a reading conference. Most of the other teachers there were elementary school teachers, and most of them were also women. In contrast, I was walking around with two men in tow wearing a flamboyant purple shirt and pink scarf. Not to mention the fact that the three of us possess more personality than the entire cast of SNL combined. Let's just say we were easy to spot.
I'd love to tell you about how the conference changed my professional life and that I learned a million new strategies for teaching reading. I gained exactly one useful thing for my classroom -- I learned to draw better cartoons.
Most of the conference is a blur to me. I heard a lot of the same old thing from the same old kinds of presenters, nothing special, except for the cartoon artist. His name is Mike Artell.
I actually remember watching him on public access television as a child in Alabama. He'd come on, tell a story, and draw a cartoon to go along with it. He might be a bit humble looking, but don't be deceived; he's entertaining and engaging. Over a year after the conference, I still remember the advice he gave us about drawing pictures for our students and how it helps them remember things.
In addition to the great cartooning advice, Mr. Artell sent me away with something else. During one of the sessions, he talked about his children's book and shared some of his thoughts about teaching. He began by talking about how afraid people are to speak in public. I sat there thinking, "Where's he going with this?" Surely he wasn't about to praise us all for having the courage to get up and speak in front of a room full of kids, although sometimes it takes more guts than you can imagine.
Like any good teacher, he was just using the idea to make us all think about fear and the things people fear the most. He pointed out that death isn't usually at the top of any lists about fear, something I'd never really thought about before. His entire premise was that the thing people fear about death is not dying itself but that their lives had been meaningless. He then argued, quite compellingly, that teachers' lives are never wasted.
In total I left the conference with a better approach to illustrating for my kids and the inspiration to keep on doing what I do. Not a bad take if you ask me.
However, I can't say that I agree entirely with the idea that people don't fear death. In our culture we are so afraid of death that we aggressively pretend it isn't coming and refuse to accept its claim on life, the lives of others and of ourselves. Think about it. I have one word for you -- Botox.
For those of you who'd rather not think about it, I have bad news. You are going to die. It will happen some day, maybe not today or soon, but you won't live forever. Whatever you may believe about the nature of this life or about what comes after it, no sane person can argue that we're not mortal.
Ironically, I think that recognizing our own mortality can be good for us.
A few nights ago, I had a great conversation with my dad. We were both talking about some of the hard times we and others in our family have faced lately, and the conversation moved around to my grandmother, my dad's mom. She died when I was a little girl of a terrible disease.
"I wish I could have known her more," I said, "not necessarily as a grandmother but as a woman." I have exceptionally good memories of her, and even after all these years I still miss her -- so does my dad.
He said, "You have to remember one thing about Mama. She got up every day, worked hard, and never complained. She understood that bad times can come and that you have to be able to handle them when they do." It does my heart so much good to hear him say those words about my grandmother because deep inside I know that part of her lives on inside of me. When I face hard times, I can tell myself that I'm made of the same stuff she was, so I have it in me to do what ever it takes to make it through.
She's not the only one. I'm the fortunate heiress to a wealthy legacy of strong men and women, grandmothers and grandfathers, teachers and mentors. They are all part of me and make me the woman I am. It saddens me when people belittle their own influence over others. They say things like, It doesn't matter what I do. Nobody cares. I'm only hurting myself. Nothing could be more untrue.
We are all tangled up in this fantastically complex web of humanity. What we do affects other people, even people we don't know. The threads stretch all the way back to the beginning, loop around us, and roll on toward the future.
Want to know how I think about it all? I try to be as conscientious, kind, and loving as I can. I also remind myself that each day I have the chance to leave behind my own legacy when I leave this life, and I want it to be a good one. That's what I'm living for -- not to live forever but to live now as if it matters.
"Legacy" isn't a new song, but it does a great job expressing the way I feel about the way I'd like to be remembered.
Image Credit: maupinhouse.com
I shook my head, "No way, that's beyond a joke; he'd probably have a heart attack on the spot." We stood outside for a while before the building was cleared, and we could go back inside. My two teacher friends and I were at a reading conference. Most of the other teachers there were elementary school teachers, and most of them were also women. In contrast, I was walking around with two men in tow wearing a flamboyant purple shirt and pink scarf. Not to mention the fact that the three of us possess more personality than the entire cast of SNL combined. Let's just say we were easy to spot.
I'd love to tell you about how the conference changed my professional life and that I learned a million new strategies for teaching reading. I gained exactly one useful thing for my classroom -- I learned to draw better cartoons.
Most of the conference is a blur to me. I heard a lot of the same old thing from the same old kinds of presenters, nothing special, except for the cartoon artist. His name is Mike Artell.
I actually remember watching him on public access television as a child in Alabama. He'd come on, tell a story, and draw a cartoon to go along with it. He might be a bit humble looking, but don't be deceived; he's entertaining and engaging. Over a year after the conference, I still remember the advice he gave us about drawing pictures for our students and how it helps them remember things.
In addition to the great cartooning advice, Mr. Artell sent me away with something else. During one of the sessions, he talked about his children's book and shared some of his thoughts about teaching. He began by talking about how afraid people are to speak in public. I sat there thinking, "Where's he going with this?" Surely he wasn't about to praise us all for having the courage to get up and speak in front of a room full of kids, although sometimes it takes more guts than you can imagine.
Like any good teacher, he was just using the idea to make us all think about fear and the things people fear the most. He pointed out that death isn't usually at the top of any lists about fear, something I'd never really thought about before. His entire premise was that the thing people fear about death is not dying itself but that their lives had been meaningless. He then argued, quite compellingly, that teachers' lives are never wasted.
In total I left the conference with a better approach to illustrating for my kids and the inspiration to keep on doing what I do. Not a bad take if you ask me.
However, I can't say that I agree entirely with the idea that people don't fear death. In our culture we are so afraid of death that we aggressively pretend it isn't coming and refuse to accept its claim on life, the lives of others and of ourselves. Think about it. I have one word for you -- Botox.
For those of you who'd rather not think about it, I have bad news. You are going to die. It will happen some day, maybe not today or soon, but you won't live forever. Whatever you may believe about the nature of this life or about what comes after it, no sane person can argue that we're not mortal.
Ironically, I think that recognizing our own mortality can be good for us.
A few nights ago, I had a great conversation with my dad. We were both talking about some of the hard times we and others in our family have faced lately, and the conversation moved around to my grandmother, my dad's mom. She died when I was a little girl of a terrible disease.
"I wish I could have known her more," I said, "not necessarily as a grandmother but as a woman." I have exceptionally good memories of her, and even after all these years I still miss her -- so does my dad.
He said, "You have to remember one thing about Mama. She got up every day, worked hard, and never complained. She understood that bad times can come and that you have to be able to handle them when they do." It does my heart so much good to hear him say those words about my grandmother because deep inside I know that part of her lives on inside of me. When I face hard times, I can tell myself that I'm made of the same stuff she was, so I have it in me to do what ever it takes to make it through.
She's not the only one. I'm the fortunate heiress to a wealthy legacy of strong men and women, grandmothers and grandfathers, teachers and mentors. They are all part of me and make me the woman I am. It saddens me when people belittle their own influence over others. They say things like, It doesn't matter what I do. Nobody cares. I'm only hurting myself. Nothing could be more untrue.
We are all tangled up in this fantastically complex web of humanity. What we do affects other people, even people we don't know. The threads stretch all the way back to the beginning, loop around us, and roll on toward the future.
Want to know how I think about it all? I try to be as conscientious, kind, and loving as I can. I also remind myself that each day I have the chance to leave behind my own legacy when I leave this life, and I want it to be a good one. That's what I'm living for -- not to live forever but to live now as if it matters.
"Legacy" isn't a new song, but it does a great job expressing the way I feel about the way I'd like to be remembered.
Image Credit: maupinhouse.com
Comments
Post a Comment