This is a hard one for me. Being the obsessive, justice-hungry basket case that I am, it's hard to pick just one thing I feel strongly about.
I mean, what do I choose? A ranting post about racism or hypocrisy or today's music industry? A gushing review of my latest favorite show or movie or song? A stinging commentary on today's social, political, governmental, religious issues?
So, really, I should be commended for narrowing it down to only 3 things, just three, that I feel strongly about.
1) The power of music
2) The power of caring
3) The power of prayer
If you know me even a little, #1 should not be of much surprise. Even with as much as I immerse--or attempt to immerse--myself in the infinite universe of music, I am still knocked back on my heels in indescribable gratitude for the way music can make you feel. For the way it can make a horrific day bearable, a bad day good, a good day better. For the ability to hear what's going on inside you; for the means of experiencing something you'd never know in real life. Sometimes I find myself feeling overwhelmed by just how much music exists! (not that all of it is good, mind you: you'd still have to wade your way through the TSwifts and Schoenbergs) It can do everything! In my personal experience, there's almost nothing it can't do: it's made me cry when I needed that release; it's pumped me up when I need the encouragement; it's brought me closer to my Heavenly Father; it's made me invincible, vulnerable, ecstatic, broken-hearted; it's let me blow off steam; it's allowed me to connect with people I wouldn't care about otherwise or never will meet. And it's such a special thing, all at once being both wonderfully universal and blessedly personal. I could go on and on, but I think I've made my point clear. I feel strongly about the undeniable power of music.
I sometimes think I care too much. Not in some dramatic, teenage-romance novel kind of way. But in the way that I think I would have far fewer sleepless nights, less performance anxiety, minimal furious rants, and dry eyes during movies. It would certainly make my life easier. But better? I believe in the power of caring. I believe in the way a simple smile and sincere "good morning, how was your weekend?" can remind a child that someone loves them. I believe in the ability to accomplish great things by putting your whole heart into them. I believe that society can be changed by the simple act of caring. A little while ago, I was talking with an old college professor of mine and he asked what advice, if any, I would pass on to those seeking to enter our field of work. The question made me laugh--what could I, a second year teacher hanging on (sometimes literally) by her fingertips, possibly have to offer? He encouraged me to think about it, sleep on it, and get back to him if I felt I could. So I did. I thought about all the thousands of things I've learned, all the millions of things I've yet to learn, and then I thought about the point. What is the point? Why do I do what I do? A simplistic answer would be to say this: it's because I care. But because I am long-winded and like to see my words on page (seriously, you should know this by now) let me elaborate. The gist of what I ended up emailing to him was this: I am no great musician. I am certainly no brilliant, award-winning pedagogue. I am no great music teacher. All I can do, really, is care. I care about music; about the ins and outs of it, the mechanics that allow young potential musicians to create or find solace in what they do. And I care about my kids: I care about my sweet 6th grade boy who, one day in tears, told me his mom was fighting cancer; I care about my 8th grade girls (and sometimes boys) who get so caught up in growing up that it becomes overwhelming; I care about the little chatterbox who just wants people to like him. And because of this, because I care, I feel more useful than if I was an expert in music theory or a world-famous soloist. My students don't give a darn if I play Bach's 3rd Suite with technical perfection; they're not particularly concerned either way that I know everything about the chord progression chart. If I don't show them that I love them, that I care about their success and well-being, then anything else I say doesn't matter. I believe in the power of caring because I have seen it work pretty big changes in lives. I believe in the power of caring because I have seen and experienced its antithesis, and I know that apathy can have just as much power as caring. To say it mildly, I feel strongly about a human being's ability to care.
I talk to myself. A lot. In public, and sometimes much louder than I intended. I'm not quite sure whether this is a sign of intelligence or insanity, but I do know it's an incredibly annoying habit: like when I discover my full-blown, out loud debate about which peanut butter is better was heard, in its entirety, by the man with the shopping cart just behind me. Sometimes I think it's a sign of the crazies, because I like to talk through my problems out loud to relieve the crowd that is my brain. But it sometimes gets lonely, and I figure once you start answering yourself, it's probably time to stop. The only problem is, when your most common companions are little almost-people, and your parents' phones are dead and your friends are too busy to answer, who do you talk to? I am not knocking any religion with structured prayer systems, but I cannot describe my gratitude for the things I have been taught about prayer. It is not only a way of thanking God or asking for blessings--it's a way to communicate with an all-knowing, all-loving Father in Heaven. At any point in my day--or night--I can get on my knees and tell my worries and triumphs to a loving Heavenly Father. I have felt the weight of crippling anxiety lift from where it's settled just over my lungs, all due to the power of prayer. I have seen impossible things go right; I have recovered hopelessly lost items; I have received answers and peace; I have seen it work medical wonders. I believe in the power of prayer because I could list for you the many times I have seen this awesome and merciful power work miracles in day-to-day life. Prayer was possibly the first thing of which I had my own testimony. The scriptures were sometimes hard to read, and I didn't always find the point in primary/YW lessons on Sunday, but I had several experiences that solidified my belief in the power of prayer. To say I feel strongly about it is a ridiculously limiting understatement, and I don't imagine that I've explained it to any sort of acceptable standard, but I feel very strongly about the power of prayer.
I sometimes think I care too much. Not in some dramatic, teenage-romance novel kind of way. But in the way that I think I would have far fewer sleepless nights, less performance anxiety, minimal furious rants, and dry eyes during movies. It would certainly make my life easier. But better? I believe in the power of caring. I believe in the way a simple smile and sincere "good morning, how was your weekend?" can remind a child that someone loves them. I believe in the ability to accomplish great things by putting your whole heart into them. I believe that society can be changed by the simple act of caring. A little while ago, I was talking with an old college professor of mine and he asked what advice, if any, I would pass on to those seeking to enter our field of work. The question made me laugh--what could I, a second year teacher hanging on (sometimes literally) by her fingertips, possibly have to offer? He encouraged me to think about it, sleep on it, and get back to him if I felt I could. So I did. I thought about all the thousands of things I've learned, all the millions of things I've yet to learn, and then I thought about the point. What is the point? Why do I do what I do? A simplistic answer would be to say this: it's because I care. But because I am long-winded and like to see my words on page (seriously, you should know this by now) let me elaborate. The gist of what I ended up emailing to him was this: I am no great musician. I am certainly no brilliant, award-winning pedagogue. I am no great music teacher. All I can do, really, is care. I care about music; about the ins and outs of it, the mechanics that allow young potential musicians to create or find solace in what they do. And I care about my kids: I care about my sweet 6th grade boy who, one day in tears, told me his mom was fighting cancer; I care about my 8th grade girls (and sometimes boys) who get so caught up in growing up that it becomes overwhelming; I care about the little chatterbox who just wants people to like him. And because of this, because I care, I feel more useful than if I was an expert in music theory or a world-famous soloist. My students don't give a darn if I play Bach's 3rd Suite with technical perfection; they're not particularly concerned either way that I know everything about the chord progression chart. If I don't show them that I love them, that I care about their success and well-being, then anything else I say doesn't matter. I believe in the power of caring because I have seen it work pretty big changes in lives. I believe in the power of caring because I have seen and experienced its antithesis, and I know that apathy can have just as much power as caring. To say it mildly, I feel strongly about a human being's ability to care.
I talk to myself. A lot. In public, and sometimes much louder than I intended. I'm not quite sure whether this is a sign of intelligence or insanity, but I do know it's an incredibly annoying habit: like when I discover my full-blown, out loud debate about which peanut butter is better was heard, in its entirety, by the man with the shopping cart just behind me. Sometimes I think it's a sign of the crazies, because I like to talk through my problems out loud to relieve the crowd that is my brain. But it sometimes gets lonely, and I figure once you start answering yourself, it's probably time to stop. The only problem is, when your most common companions are little almost-people, and your parents' phones are dead and your friends are too busy to answer, who do you talk to? I am not knocking any religion with structured prayer systems, but I cannot describe my gratitude for the things I have been taught about prayer. It is not only a way of thanking God or asking for blessings--it's a way to communicate with an all-knowing, all-loving Father in Heaven. At any point in my day--or night--I can get on my knees and tell my worries and triumphs to a loving Heavenly Father. I have felt the weight of crippling anxiety lift from where it's settled just over my lungs, all due to the power of prayer. I have seen impossible things go right; I have recovered hopelessly lost items; I have received answers and peace; I have seen it work medical wonders. I believe in the power of prayer because I could list for you the many times I have seen this awesome and merciful power work miracles in day-to-day life. Prayer was possibly the first thing of which I had my own testimony. The scriptures were sometimes hard to read, and I didn't always find the point in primary/YW lessons on Sunday, but I had several experiences that solidified my belief in the power of prayer. To say I feel strongly about it is a ridiculously limiting understatement, and I don't imagine that I've explained it to any sort of acceptable standard, but I feel very strongly about the power of prayer.
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