I think too much.

I think too much. That is what one of my school leaders tells me. It's true. I overanalyze. I question myself. I question others. I question motives. I stress. I pontificate. I play things over and over again in my head.


I Google a lesson like I am a CSI detective. I can't stop trying to figure out stuff--what's the best way to do this? What have others done? How can I tweak this?  My teaching will never be good enough for me. I question my decisions and actions each day.


I am a very social person, but I often feel like I don't belong. I am an introverted extrovert. I hate big parties because I am overwhelmed by all the catching up and all the talk that is said a thousand times (e.g. How's work? How are the kids? How's your husband? What's new? How's your family?). These questions matter, yes, but so often I feel like they are answered on a superficial and comfortable and socially acceptable party level.  Most people expect to hear everything is fine; even when it isn't. Oftentimes, we say we are fine; even when we are not.


I am a part of this new writing community. I don't respond to others blogs enough, and I begin to question why nobody responds to some of my posts.  Like, you're not busy, too...I know you are. It's okay.


In my class, I love to give power over to my students. I don't want to be on stage with an audience. I want to see what they can do, what they can create, who they can become.


In my writing, I want an audience. I want people to agree with me. I want people to disagree with me (well, maybe not too much). I seek affirmation of my thoughts and words.


When my students write, I don't always give them affirmation at the end. There is a rubric, there is a grade, and then what else is there? Class moves so fast, so much to cover, sometimes we don't take time to discover...who we are, where we are, where we are going.


So, day 10, why do I still write? I need to learn to write for my own growth. I am not a 12-year-old. I am a 43-year-old. I need to write for me, for my own growth. I need to write in order to continue to discover who I am, who I am becoming, who God intends me to be.


I need to write, so I will see the world as God intends me to see it. Here is what I've seen lately:
The luminescent petals of the pink azaleas.
The white light peaking through the morning clouds.
The horses grazing in the field, tails swishing.
A little girl plopping down next to a homeless man, sharing in conversation, as the homeless man shared bread with the girl and side by side they fed the pigeons. Unencumbered by societal expectations, this 5-year-old engaged this man with no fear and no judgment.
The sadness and stress on the face of a friend whose loved one is dying of cancer.
The house whose front window gets hit by the headlights of each passing car and wondered why the house was build that way and wondered what they think as the lights shine right in their living room.
I noticed the trailer park sign that read "Nebo Road Estates" and began to think of how to some people that small community, with a playground, and parents waiting with children for the bus, just might be their version of estates--and who am I to judge that?


Yeah, sure, I think too much. Thinking too much, that's who I am, and who I will always be. I need a place to let those thoughts simmer. I need to write about all these thoughts, so I can both contain them and release them, and so, I can continue on my journey with my mind open and my spirit pure (or at least, a bit purer than it would be without writing).