Happy New Year!

 It is nowhere near January 1, and although Rosh Hashanah is rapidly approaching, I am not referring to that Happy New Year either. My fellow teachers know exactly what I mean - Happy New SCHOOL Year!

It's been a tumultuous couple of years. First, I chose to leave a school where I had lived and worked for 20 years. (I could write many posts about why.) I moved on to the school where I had dreamed of teaching for my entire career. That year was a true turning point in my career/life. It is a great school and exactly the right place for many students to discover their passions and prepare for elite colleges. It just wasn't the right fit for me. I need a smaller school with a very small, tight community. I need a school that adapts to meet the needs of the current students rather than one that puts the standards first and pushes students to meet them. I worry that I haven't phrased that well. Both schools have very valid ways of approaching education, but I fit my new school better. My new school meets each student where they are and pushes them to be more than they thought they could be. It's not just the school motto, it's also something they do every day. I LOVE that focus on the individual student.

I've now been living on the campus of my new school for just over a week and have really enjoyed meeting new people and starting to find my place in the community. I can't wait for the students to arrive and really get started on our mission. To all my fellow teachers out there, I hope you have as amazing a fall as I am confident that I will have! Enjoy the last few days of your summer!

Coming soon - Vanquished is the Foe!

Every once in a while you have an experience that leaves you thinking, “The world is changing for the better.” Today was one of those days. I wrote recently about “Steve,” who tragically took his own life 19 days ago at the age of 21. Today I attended his memorial service with hundreds of other people whose lives he touched in that short span. As one would expect, the service was emotionally devastating, but I came out of it very optimistic.

 

My optimism actually started when I first read the official statement by Charlie’s family about his death. (Steve was one of the many nicknames Charlie went by.) It was phrased very similarly to what you tend to read when somebody dies of cancer. It stated that, after a long and valiant battle, Charlie died of the disease of Depression. Yes, Charlie took his own life, but I found that phrasing incredibly important. He didn’t die of suicide; he died of Depression – an extremely common disease which is only just beginning to be treated as such.

 

The service focused on Charlie’s kindness, his humor, his humble passion. His friends and family talked about his love for music and sports and helping others. His willingness for playing the guitar for his friends when he was still in the early stages of learning inspired those around him to do the things they loved unapologetically and without worrying about making mistakes or being embarrassed. His was a life of joy, surrounded by incredible friends and a loving, supportive family. He also suffered from a chronic disease whose treatment is different for every patient and even different day-to-day for any given patient.

 

While the speakers today focused mainly on their love for Charlie and the times they shared with him, they also gave glimpses into the different ways that they are dealing with their grief. Geordie – a good friend from high school – has spent time gathering with his and Charlie’s mutual friends to support each other and talk through this tragedy together. Charlie’s sister, Grace, has found comfort in her faith and how her relationship with Charlie brought her closer to her God. His other sister Abby expresses herself through art and processed her grief by creating a video compilation of music, images, and film which showed the many sides of her brother throughout his life. His college fraternity brother, Mack, mentioned the bracelets that his fraternity has made, featuring Charlie and the phrase, “Check on your friends” to bring the discussion of Depression into the open on their campus. Katherine, who was a high school classmate of Charlie’s, talked about not actually being that close with him in school, but getting to know him only a month before his death as they worked together to support the school’s post-pandemic “mega-reunion.” She reminded us to take time to appreciate the connections and communities we share even when we don’t recognize them at the time. Her words introduced the hymn “On Our Way Rejoicing,” which every student at the school has sung before every vacation for many years. My one big disappointment of the day was that we all sang the hymn very respectfully, rather than the way students traditionally sing it, boisterously shouting certain verses. The shouting would have put a smile on Charlie’s face.

 

The most painful, beautiful, and hopeful part of the service today, though, was the reflection by Charlie’s father. As a parent myself, I don’t know how he found the strength to get through his words. First he thanked his family for the love they have given to Charlie and for the strength they have given him through the years and especially through this tragedy. He talked about his love for Charlie and his memories of the “best son you could ever ask for.” The second half of his reflection, though, is what really got me thinking about how the world is becoming a better place. He spoke confidently and with pride about Charlie’s valiant battle with the illness of Depression. He urged everybody present to look deep into themselves and to admit without any shame if they needed help. He talked about the importance of getting treatment and proudly announced that he would be starting to work with a therapist this week to get the “long overdue” help he needed for his own struggle with Depression.

 

After the service, there was all the usual talk during the reception. “So great to see you, but I wish it could’ve been under different circumstances.” Just as common, though, was talk of the reality of Depression, the necessity of getting help, the recognition that, if someone as filled with joy and as surrounded by love and support as Charlie fell victim to that disease, we all could. Hundreds of people today talked openly about Depression, mental illness, getting help. The one topic that was nowhere to be found was shame. These young adults are going out into the world, facing all the challenges our generation has left for them, and they are talking about Depression as the disease that it is – something that could affect anybody, and something that carries no more shame than any other disease. As somebody who has struggled with Anxiety and Depression throughout his life and only had the courage to get help in his 40s, this gives me so much hope. I doubt we’ll ever find a true cure for Depression, but I believe the generation currently turning from teenagers into adults is the generation that will make it a treatable disease – something that is identified much more quickly than it is now, and that is controllable so that you can live a long and happy life with it. A life without shame, knowing that even in the darkest times, there is a way out. We aren’t there yet, as Charlie’s loss has made painfully clear, but we’re getting closer. One thing I’ve learned as a teacher is that, when young people get their minds set on changing the world, it’s best to get out of their way and try to support them as best you can. I hope my generation will listen to these young people and get out of their way. They ARE making the world a better place and one of the greatest privileges of my life is that I get to cheer them on from the sidelines as they go. If we had sung “On Our Way Rejoicing” properly today, we would have shouted the line, “Vanquished is the foe!” I left today’s service optimistic that we will soon be shouting that line about the foe of Depression. It may never go away, but I believe this generation will remove the shame, open up the conversation, and truly vanquish the foe.

The Stages of Why?

 

 

My vaguely annual post to this blog will have a different tone this year. I’ve been processing things for a couple of days and it’s time to try to work through my swirling thoughts in writing. The picture above is my group from the freshman backpacking trip in the fall of 2015 (I think – too many complicated thoughts to do math right now.) This was one of my favorite “Burch” groups of all time. (Burch is the name of the alum who gave the money to start the program.) For a few years after, people would ask me who was in my Burch group and then, when I started naming names, they would almost invariably say, “Oh, THAT Burch group!” This group got along a little TOO well, if you know what I mean. It was all normal teenager stuff, and pretty mild at that, but the group was notorious because of it. What I remember is a group that gelled really well, where everybody got along and supported each other when times got tough along the trail. I’m sure selective memory is blurring the usual trail struggles, but overall this group was a blast. The kid in the red shirt on the far right, with the toothbrush in his mouth, is “Steve.” Over five days on the Appalachian Trail, that toothbrush only left his mouth when he was eating.

I taught Steve and hiked many miles on the trail with him that year. In future years, I was his faculty advisor and his lacrosse coach. I saw Steve in so many different parts of his boarding school life. Even after graduation, I often ran into him when he came to hang out with my next door neighbor, one of his best friends and the kid in the camouflage shirt and blue hat in the center of the picture. The Steve I knew was one of those people who are always positive. He was quick to smile and was always ready for a little fun. On the lacrosse field, he was a coach’s dream. He loved the game and just wanted to play. Whatever you asked him to do, he said, “Sure, Coach,” and ran out on the field to give it everything he had. Everybody knew and liked Steve. He was a good student, although not a straight-A student. The college application process didn’t go perfectly for him, but he ended up at a school he loved (and where I think his sister also attended.) Steve was just one of those all-around great kids who didn’t necessarily have a niche where he stood out, but was good at everything and his presence in any situation made it happier and more fun.

This past Sunday night, Steve took his own life.

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People talk a lot about the stages of grief. I think a more appropriate framing of my thoughts might be the stages of questions. (Please don’t interpret that as a lack of grief. A good amount of time passed between my typing the last paragraph and typing this one as I wrestled with emotions.) The first stage of questions all revolve around “Why?” Why would he do this? Why did somebody who always seemed so happy feel so helpless? Steve had a loving family, close friends, a bright future. Why would he do this?

The second stage corresponds to the anger stage in other frames. Why didn’t anybody stop this? He had so many people who were close to him. How did they miss the signs?

The third stage is where I’ve been living today. Why didn’t I stop this? How did I miss the signs? Why didn’t I work harder to stay in touch with Steve after graduation? Why was I so quick to assume that he was doing great? Should I have seen the signs? Of course I should have seen the signs! I knew him in the classroom, on the field, in the dorm, in chapel, at seated dinner, on the trail. I had more opportunities than anybody else to really connect with him and I blew it. I assumed he was okay. I assumed he had a good support network. I assumed he had people closer to him who were eager to help him if needed and with whom he would be more comfortable sharing any struggles he had. The third stage of questions is very self-centered and unproductive, but working through it is an important step in the process.

I started writing tonight because I am ready to move on to the fourth stage, and writing is the best way for me to get there. This fourth stage involves accepting the permanence of the questions. Why did I assume Steve had a good support network and people who were closer to him? Because he did. He had an incredible network of friends, many of whom have come together to support each other this week as they struggle more directly than I with many of these same questions. Steve had an amaing, supportive family who understood his strengths and weaknesses and wanted him to be the best he could be as long as he was happy. We may never know the answer to why, but self-blame is not helpful.

Finally stage five. The big question here is, “What can I do, moving forward, to honor Steve’s life?” For me, the answer to that question is to do everything I can to connect with future students on a deeper level and to work to maintain that connection beyond graduation – something I’ve always struggled with. I think about some of the incredible people I connected with this past year and the many struggles they face every day. Transgender students. Victims of sexual violence. Empaths who take on the struggles of everybody they care about. Students who feel the pressure to be perfect when incredibly awesome ought to be enough. Young people who ache to share their stories, but find censorship when they try. People who absolutely excel at things that the high-pressure world they live in doesn’t value as much as it should. People who, like me, have trouble asking for help for any number of reasons.

What can I do, moving forward, to honor Steve’s life? I can listen. I can ask questions. I can check in. I can keep up. I can celebrate. I can commiserate. I can let people know that I care. Even typing this out, I’m struggling with writing that I can let people know that I love them. For some reason, that is incredibly difficult for me. Perhaps as a teacher I am afraid that it will be misinterpreted. Okay, I am definitely afraid that it will be misinterpreted. One thing I love about teenagers is the fact that they are so much more comfortable telling their friends that they love them than my generation was (is!) I still don’t think I’m comfortable with saying that to an individual, but as a group, I hope my students know that I do love them. I think a few of you will read this post all the way through, and that goes double for you! Please know that I am here if you are struggling, if you need to talk through something, or if you just need to say FML and have it heard by somebody who cares. Steve was awesome, and always will be. So are you. If you ever reach a point where you feel like there is no escape, please reach out. Actually, please reach out before you get to that point. My goal to honor Steve’s memory is to keep in touch and to help make sure you never reach that point. It’s somewhat cliché, but we never know what others are dealing with, so let the people around you know that they are loved and that you are there to help. It may not prevent every tragedy, but it will make this world a better, more caring and connected place no matter what the outcome.

A New Beginning

Looks like it’s time for my annual post. I seem to get reflective in the late winter/early spring and typing out my thoughts helps me put them in order. 

Three years ago I reached a major turning point in my life. My first marriage had ended and I began a new relationship that promises many years of happiness and adventure to come. My youngest child graduated from high school and went off to college. I also began to realize that I needed a fresh start in my teaching. After 20 years at one school, it was time for a fresh start. That is especially difficult for a boarding school teacher, because it means uprooting everything. When your employer owns your home, you can’t quit your job without becoming homeless. I started a job search and got to the point of being a “finalist” for a job at a school I had always dreamed about. Something didn’t feel right, though, and I withdrew from the process. The next year, I looked around for other opportunities once again. That same dream school was hiring again, and this time, I felt like I was ready. The interview process went well, and I was offered a position. 

As so often happens when you make decisions based on reputation (a somewhat necessary effect of Covid’s not allowing any on-campus interviews), my dream school turned out not to be a great fit. It is an incredible school full of incredible people doing incredible things, but I just don’t fit with the ethos of the school. Should I have figured that out before taking the job? Probably. Would that have mattered? Probably not. Sometimes, when a place has been your dream destination for years, you have to at least give it a shot. I will be leaving this place with no regrets and several hopefully lifelong friends. I will also be leaving with a better idea of what I am looking for in a school.

That leads me to the main question of this post. What does my ideal school look like? It is important to remember when reading this that I am talking about MY ideal school, not necessarily THE ideal school. There is no ideal school; it’s all about the fit, both for teachers and for students. Many top schools are institutions that are bigger than the current student body. Students attend those schools and fit into the structure of that school. My ideal school is one that believes that the students ARE the school. The student body changes every year and the school needs to change every year to reflect that. There are certain pillars that transcend the current makeup of the school and give it aspirational structure, but how you express and strive for those pillars may be different every year. 

During interviews this year, I tried to find ways to express intangible facets of my ideal school, and one of those was the statement, “I love mediocre performances.” I love a school that encourages students to have the courage to try something new and to proudly put that on display for the community. That is something that my previous school did extremely well, encouraging kids to perform in chapel to thunderous applause even when the performance was pretty mediocre. (Thank you, Rev. C!) It is awesome to hear a student performance that is world-class, and I have been so proud of some of the performances I have seen by students who are destined to be professional musicians, but I have also been deeply moved by performances by students who wanted to share their much less polished work with the community, and I have been so proud of the community’s support of them. 

In the classroom, I have taught students of all levels, and I enjoy teaching all of them. I think my niche as a teacher, though, is working with students who don’t realize how talented they are yet. So many students fall by the wayside in math because they can’t connect to the way math is taught in their classrooms. I think my strength as a teacher is in finding a way to connect with those students. I am not as strong when it comes to working with the “top” students who have always excelled in math. So often, those students are all about achievement – top scores on the AMC and AP exams. They know all the tricks and techniques, but do they enjoy solving an unfamiliar problem? Are they ready to fail over and over and to keep trying new ideas to find the best solution? 

This concept has been especially apparent this year. I will return an assessment to a student with a good, but not great score and get lots of complaints that revolve around the idea of, “But I got the correct answer.” Too often, driven students in these top schools are all about getting the correct answer. I am much more interested in the process with which they got there and whether or not they could apply that process to solve other problems. At my previous school, I created new classes in Multivariable Calculus and Linear Algebra for those top students. These were based on challenging problem sets they could work on collaboratively. When the students got too focused on the “correct answer,” I would simply tell them the answer, and ask them to fill in all the details in between. 

As I learned about different schools over the last three years, this focus on process rather than product has led me to the International Baccalaureate program (IB). The IB math curriculum seems to fit really well with my ideas of how math should be learned. Last year I was offered a position in an IB school and almost accepted, but the school did not feel quite right. From what I have learned since then, I made the right decision. All my suspicions about the school were well founded. This year, as I explored the opportunities out there, I connected with another IB school. This school seems to tick all my boxes when I think about what I want in a school. It is a little bit smaller, has the community feel I am looking for, adapts every year to the needs of the student body, and features mediocre performances every week at its all-school meetings. It does not have the name-recognition or the financial resources of my current school, but prestige and money are much less valuable to me than happiness. I have accepted a job at this new school and am very excited to get started learning how to teach IB math. This involves yet another interstate move and a pretty big pay cut, but I am blessed with a fiancée who is ready to adjust so that I can be happy. The future has never looked so bright for this newly gruntled math teacher, and I look forward to enthusiastically updating this blog next spring after living in such an exciting community more most of a year!

Wow! This blog still exists! I wonder how long it has to sit dormant before it is closed automatically. I only post when something causes my thoughts to spiral out of control and I need to sort through them. 

Tonight’s post is brought to you courtesy of the chapel talk tonight at the school where I teach. I’ll describe the chapel talk a little bit more in a minute, but my musings here are not really about that talk; they were just inspired by it.

One of the best and worst things about teaching, especially in boarding school, is that the student body completely turns over every four years. When we make a policy change that will be unpopular with the students, we know that it will be completely forgotten in four years, and mostly forgotten in two. This also sets up a strange contrast in perspective between faculty and students. I have been at my current school for 20 years, so I have seen many changes and the ebbs and flows over the years. For the students, the school begins when they arrive as ninth graders. Whatever they encounter in that first year is assumed to have been the same since the founding of the school. That is an incredible opportunity for them. Anything they do differently is brand new and an amazing contribution to the school, even if it has been done many times in the past. One of the absolutely wonderful things about that is that it is completely true for them in their experience. They DO instigate and develop the changes they make. Their accomplishments are completely real and novel, even if they’ve been accomplished by other students many times in the past. I love that about teaching, and especially love seeing how students put their own signature on the things they do. Even if they’ve been done before, they’ve never been done in quite this way before.

So where’s the tension that is causing me to write tonight? That tension is in the realization that institutional memory is short. That is absolutely necessary for the success of the current students, but also sad when you realize that the accomplishments of students who meant so much to you in the past have already faded into the past. As a teacher, all the students from the past are still a part of my experience and it hurts to see them and their accomplishments forgotten. That doesn’t cheapen those accomplishments in any way, and if they weren’t forgotten, it WOULD cheapen the accomplishments of the current students. The tough part sometimes is celebrating those current students while hurting for those from the past.

It’s probably time to offer a little more context. Today’s chapel talk was by an incredible young woman who will be graduating this spring. She is awesome - an incredibly talented thinker, a tireless worker, and an empathetic leader in the community. She often underestimates her abilities, but in a way that makes her work harder and really appreciate her accomplishments. She also is an avid and talented dancer. Her talk today was about how, when she arrived as a ninth grader, the dance program at the school was very small and not considered a “cool” thing to do. She danced, but was embarrassed about it and tried to hide it. She talked about how difficult it was hiding a part of herself that was so central to her being. She then segued into how important the dance instructors have been to her development as a confident young woman and how much pride she feels in seeing the dance program grow over the years. She talked about how much it meant to her when the dance team received their first ever standing ovation. In her experience spanning four years at the school, every word she said was heartfelt and true. From the perspective of somebody who has been here for 20 years, every word was also completely false.

Almost 10 years ago, my daughter started as a ninth grader at this school. After running a season of cross country in the fall of that first year, she decided to try the afterschool dance program as her winter sport. The program was very small and many on campus didn’t even know it existed. That winter, she fell in love with dance, and over her 12 seasons at the school, she danced for 11 of them. She and a couple of classmates decided they wanted to grow the program and make it an institution. They did just that. Dance became a “cool” thing to do. Their crew grew year after year as they learned different styles of dance and choreography. My daughter and her classmates led extra “captains’ practices” on Saturdays so that those new to dance (like my daughter) could catch up to those with years of prior experience. The instructors were from an outside, world-renowned dance company, which was an incredible learning experience, but meant that the student dance captains had to take care of most of the internal executive tasks that coaches would normally do. By their senior year, these dancers were performing to packed auditoriums with screaming fans. The faculty children all wanted to be dancers and would dance like crazy during intermission and after the show. My daughter is getting ready to start working on her PhD in Computer Science, has beaten cancer, and is a tireless activist for those in need, but watching her development as a dancer and as a leader will always be one of the things I am most proud of her for.

After my daughter’s class graduated, the dance program shrank again. There were some very talented dancers, but there wasn’t that core pushing to grow the program. That set up the perfect situation for tonight’s speaker to arrive on campus as a ninth grader and partner with the new full-time, on-campus director of dance to build a brand new program. Their accomplishments have been amazing, and they are definitely worthy of the praise they are receiving. There is just a part of me that can’t help thinking, “What about my daughter’s experience?” Teaching is a constant cycle of connecting and letting go, celebrating the here and now without forgetting the past. This time it was personal, so I’m having more trouble reconciling it all in my head.

The final thought bouncing around my skull tonight is my own legacy. I’ve devoted 20 years to this school but will be leaving for a new opportunity at the end of the school year. How soon will I be a distant memory? Once this year’s ninth graders have graduated, will anybody even know I was here? Naturally everybody wants to be remembered, but in a lot of ways I hope not. The school will be in the hands of the faculty and students who inhabit its halls, and they need to make it their own. I have a couple of classes that are my “babies” because I am the only one who has taught them for years and I have structured them very differently from other classes. I hope whoever teaches them next year does something completely new and different with them. This thought also gives me the confidence to try to do the same and make a mark on my new school next year. Schools are living, breathing institutions that need to resist the urge to get stuck in the past. That’s easy for the students, but much harder for us teachers.

Back to tonight’s chapel talk. It was insightful and inspiring and I fully celebrate the speaker’s accomplishments. At the same time, I have to say…

To Layne, Maya, Morin, Natasha, Natalia, Liz, Claudia, Joy, Brian, Connie, Felipe, and all the other student dancers and instructors from the Dana Tai Soon Burgess Dance Company – I remember. Your accomplishments are permanently etched in my brain and my experience, and you will never be forgotten. Thank you.

 

The Singing is the Best Part

The Singing is the Best Part

Yesterday I attended the Memorial Service for a former student, Mark Herzog, EHS Class of 2011. I have attended far too many services for students lost much too soon, but this one really hit me hard. Mark was, simply put, one of the most impressive individuals I have ever known. His friends and family spoke eloquently about his many passions. Having grown up in Bristol, TN, he recently graduated from Harvard Medical School and was embarking on a career of revolutionizing rural medicine. While an undergraduate at Duke, he made his passion for the outdoors an integral part of his life. He was a competitive triathlete and loved to hike and climb. He celebrated his graduation from Duke by completing the John Muir Trail in California with a friend. He also had a passion for people, and as many people attested at the service, made whomever he was speaking with feel like the most important person in the world. In between his graduation from Medical School and beginning on his quest to change the world, Mark took a trip to experience the beauty of New Zealand, where he fell to his death in a climbing accident.

Listening to the reflections at Mark’s memorial service, I was struck by many things. It was clear that the 15-year-old Mark that I knew was exactly the same person as the fully grown adult so many people spoke about. Two moments during the service especially resonated with me, though. Mark’s best friend since kindergarten, Brendan, spoke about how Mark never wasted a minute, and told stories about how, when they were on a fishing trip, Brendan needed to take a few minutes to rig up the fishing rods and get everything ready, so Mark went for a run, or when they went to a restaurant for dinner and Mark pulled out his textbook to study during the 10-minute wait for a table. Mark’s brother John, told similar stories, but the way he phrased it really struck me. He said that Mark hated to waste a minute and spent every moment of his life actively doing something important to him, whether that was climbing, reading a journal article, doing push-ups, or – this is what struck me – spending focused time talking with a friend, or just being still. He hated to waste a moment, so he was always focused on actively pursuing things that were important to him, like “just being still.” That apparent contradiction says so much about who he was, and who we all should try to be.

The other moment that really resonated with me was when another favorite former student, Chelsea, spoke about her friendship with Mark. She told a story about chapel at the school where I teach, when she was assigned to sit in the balcony and Mark was assigned to sit on the main floor near the front, where she had a good view of him. She noticed that, during the hymns, he sang with extra energy and gusto. Having attended hundreds of high school chapel services as a teacher, I can attest to the fact that singing the hymns is definitely not considered cool. After chapel, Chelsea admitted needling him a little bit about it, pointing out that he really seemed to sing his heart out, which was especially surprising because he was not exactly a trained singer. While most teenagers in that situation would be embarrassed and try to deny it, Mark responded that Yeah – he loved the singing. THE SINGING IS THE BEST PART. I know I’m paraphrasing Chelsea, who was paraphrasing Mark, but that phrasing is how I will remember her reflection. That phrase struck me as exactly the way I want to live my life.

For Mark, the singing was the best part, so he put all of his energy and joy into it. When he was talking to a friend, or even a stranger, learning about them was the best part, so he put all of his energy and joy into that. When he was running, biking, swimming, climbing, working with a patient, fighting to secure a grant to develop anti-suicide programs among native peoples, or simply being still, exactly what he was doing at that moment was the best part, and he put all of his energy and joy into it. Imagine a world where we all did that. Don’t be afraid to express and share your joy. Take time to focus on the people around you and make them feel like they are the most important people in the world. Similarly, take time to actively focus on yourselfyou’re your own needs. Actively seek out and appreciate the beauty of the natural world. Work to be the best you can be at the things you love. Why? Because The Singing is the Best Part.

Reboot

It's been two and a half years since my last post, and so much has happened in that time. This is the first post in my reboot of this blog. The goal is to post once a week consistently. If nobody reads it, that's fine, but this is a very effective way to work through my thoughts.

First - why has it been so long since I posted? The past couple of years have been difficult. I didn't feel like my old self, and with the encouragement of my wife, I started to see a therapist. That was one of the best decisions of my life and I encourage everybody to do the same. We need to destigmatize taking care of your mental health. Through the therapy process, I was able to identify and start working through my issues with C-PTSD and anxiety. I have rediscovered myself and am so much closer to being the person I want to be than I have been in years.

Now - what is rolling through my mind tonight? I was talking to a dear, dear friend this evening and briefly complained about the attitude of some of the kids on my team during lacrosse practice this afternoon. As she so often does, my friend challenged me to think about those interactions in a different way. She suggested that they could be exhibiting their own anxiety, resisting the vulnerability of trying something new on the field, and only being willing to do the things they feel they are best at. (The short backstory is that I was complaining that kids refused to play a different position during practice even though the alternative was not playing at all.)

The thing I found most interesting about this interpretation of the situation is that we were both assuming anxiety for the kids, but handling that anxiety in different ways. She hypothesized that the kids were unwilling to take the risk of doing something they don't think they're good at. I, on the other hand, saw the opportunity to play a different position as a low-risk situation. If you are playing out of position, then there are no expectations on you. As long as you try, it is impossible to disappoint. Both of these perspectives are good examples of the manifestations of anxiety, and I've been trying to figure out the difference between the two. I think the main difference is where somebody gets their validation or invalidation.

I suggest that the player who refuses to play out of position is somebody who self-validates or more likely self-invalidates. If he plays badly in the new position, he will feel terrible and blame himself. He can't be satisfied with his effort unless he is successful and is worried that he will be disappointed in himself. My interpretation of the situation is based more on my history of not wanting to disappoint other people. If I play out of position, then I can't disappoint anybody. It's not my position - I shouldn't play well there. I suppose it's similar to the "You can't fail if you don't try" attitude.

This attitude is something that has really changed for me over the last couple of years of blog silence. Two years ago, the anxiety of disappointing others was almost crippling. Now I am back to the person I want to be and really am - still definitely an introvert, but eager to try new things even if I risk failure. That's a result of becoming more confident in who I am and liking that person. I think my number one goal on the lacrosse field needs to be to help these kids become more confident in who they are and like themselves more too. Courage is a habit, not an intrinsic, immutable quality. How can I help my players and students (and myself) practice courage? That is the most important question.