Monday, July 30, 2012

Help

I get a weekly newsletter from the President of the Indiana Associations of United Ways. It is a mix of helpful tips, things to think about and general silliness. In an organization that can tend toward taking itself too seriously, I appreciate this mix.

This gem was in today's newsletter:


One Piece of Advice
Who can resist the request, “Can you help me?”  Most of us get caught up in showing we are competent and able to do our job, but the United Way job is about getting other people engaged in the work.  United Way work is not about going early, staying late and doing as much as possible ourselves.  We must have the confidence to ask others to help, not because we can’t, but because asking is a strength.  Ask for a specific task that is obviously achievable.  Then start with, “Can you help us?” 

I wonder: Do we think of asking for help as a strength? 

When I work late, it's as often because I became paralyzed during my work day as it is being truly busy. The paralysis sets in when I am putting myself to new and possibly insurmountable tasks. So asking for help would be pitiful, akin to my children's whiny "I caaaannnnn'tttt DOOOOO it." 

But would it? And when I'm overwhelmed, whether it's because of fear paralysis or truly having too much to do, I never think that asking for help will be the solution. Working harder seems to always be the solution. 

So I need help: in transforming how I think about help. And in getting out of my paralysis. 

The thought that the solution is so easy as asking for help is great. However, how does one know whom to ask? 

The permission to ask, and the advice that asking is strength cause a paradigm shift that is one I would like to embrace. 

Do you think of asking for help as strength?




Tuesday, January 10, 2012

Wondering...

At a Christmas party, I was talking to my dear friend Emily. Emily's really good at so many things & I'm really fond of her. She started my beloved book club and was my pal in grad school (which she completed and I have not). 

She mentioned (as an aside, I might add) that a friend of hers from college makes $160,000 a year working as a grant writer for an educational supports company. I was floored. I would LOVE to make that kind of money, but mostly I was floored because one of my bucket list items is to become a full-fledged successful grant writer. 
I either asked with my shocked look or the actual words,"Over $100,000 a year as a grant writer!?!" 

Emily replied, "Oh, she writes grants to help schools who want to use her company's products find the funds to purchase them." 

Emily's offhand statement about her friend got me thinking: My job is to find community needs and gaps in services and then work to fill those gaps. My job requires seeking and procuring grants. I love to help people find solutions to their desires & needs. Heck, I could DO a job like THAT!? I know that there are no jobs like that in Muncie, but what about in Indy. Could I set my sights higher than where I am.

And then I've been approached recently about several grant opportunities locally. I've been planning, strategizing and gap-filling in all my free time. I'm working to learn more about non-profit work and once again asking myself if I want to go for the degree that I've half-completed-- what I call "An MBA for non-profits" or if I would actually like to complete an MBA from a REAL business school. 

As I work on my "40 before 40" list (inspired by Heather Sari Miles), these issues really come to the front of my mind. Completing my Master's Degree AND writing successful grant applications are two on my list.

This former Career Counselor keeps asking career questions, but not finding any answers.

Friday, January 6, 2012

Love Alone

from Watch for the Light: Readings for Advent and Christmas
January 6th reading is a poem by Gian Carlo Menotti

Love Alone

The Child we seek
doesn't need our gold
On love, on love alone
he will build his kingdom.
His pierced hand will hold no scepter,
his haloed head will wear no crown;
his might will not be built
on your toil.
Swifter than lightning
he will soon walk among us.
He will bring us new life
and receive our death,
and the keys to his city
belong to the poor.

Saturday, March 26, 2011

Happily Ever After

I found this poem I wrote a few years ago while cleaning today. It seems worthy of dusting off & sending into the Intraweb.

An Ode to my True Love on the back of a School Announcement
Or Why Fairy Tales are bunk and True Love cleans the Kitchen

I never believed that Disney understood True Love.
As a child, the Tramp seemed trampy and Lady deceived.
But of course I was moved by the spaghetti.
Weren't you?

My skepticism continued, tainting all the trashy romance novels thieved from my Mother's bookshelf.
Scoffing at the silliness with my whole 75% of my heart,
Convinced I'd live a life more savvy and urbane
than the available media provided.

Heart-throbbing aside and knee deep in adulthood,
Discovery discloses
that one of the Sexiest things a man can do
Is feed the kids breakfast.

My worry used to be regarding attraction,
But as our waistlines grow, so does my continued affection.
Our commitment can be credited as much to arguments as vows,
to secret concession than sexy trysts.

Because, my dear, our love is about the way our lives are irrevocably intwined,
Like ivy on bricks:
We could get rid of it, but it would be temporary and leave scars.
I'd much rather tame and train the beast that is our love.

With the compassion used for training an elephant
Powerful enough to pull away, but content to let the weak chain
Tether him to the spot he prefers.

I like to think of myself as the ball and chain
you choose
From joy not from concession.

Because the only thing Harlequin and Disney have in common
is that the romance ends
when the Happily Ever After begins.

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Learning

Yesterday I attended the Indiana Conference on Learning put on by the Indiana Student Achievement Association. I went as a partner in the Delaware County College Success Coalition. Really, my boss is a partner of the CSC, but she couldn't go. I'm so glad I went.

Mike Mattos, the Keynote speaker, was inspirational. I arrived late (two accidents on 69, anyone?? Arg!), so I didn't hear his introduction or the Official Welcome from the State Superintendent. My introduction was a question, "What are your educational aspirations for your children?" As I settled into my seat, others discussed the question and wrote down answers. When everyone had finished he asked, "How many wrote that your child would be competent in the State Standards?" The tone in the room changed when he posed that question: There were a few embarrassed chuckles, some distinct shifting in seats and glances aside. The teachers at my table almost hung their heads in embarrassment  when he asked the crowd, "For how many of you is that your school's aspiration for their students?"
 
It is really eye opening to go into a conference where the assumption (by the audience) is that everyone there is an educator. It was like the gloves were off, and the true attitude of teachers toward parents was revealed, I suspect because it was a "safe" environment. One break-out session was lead by a state Department of Education staff person. She was presenting a new law regarding Graduation Plans; her attitude seemed to be that "we MUST deal with parents but since they are in-adequate deadbeats, we can't expect much from them," AND "I know you all [teachers] only want to do the minimum to observe the law." I went to the session thinking that this would be a marvelous tool to help students and parents know what their working towards. It might be, but it certainly wasn't pitched as such.

In another break-out session I attended, entitled "Home Visits and Other Parent Involvement Strategies," the snide comments were a dime a dozen. The well-dressed middle-aged woman sitting next to me kept leaning over making, "who are they kidding" kind of remarks. I suspect she mistook me for a teacher. If she had known that I fit more under the demographic of "parent" than "educator" I purport she would not have been so conspiratorial nor talked so openly about the impossibilities of the strategies presented. Which have had such radical success in a small urban elementary school in Kentucky that uses approximately $1,000 less per student than other elementary schools in the same district! This school has achieved success - almost 80% of their students pass state standards - using less money. Because they've changed their school culture. That isn't what their presentation was about, but it was apparent from the team of teachers and the principal that were present.

Later in the opening Keynote, Mattos showed a study done by the Pew Charitable Foundation that quantified the number of instructional hours it would take to teach all the federally-mandated standards. What The Pew Foundation found is that to meet the current standards it would take approximately two thousand additional instructional hours over the course of students' school careers: an impossible standard. (Incidentally, to add 2,000 instructional hours to a student's school career would be adding approximately 24 instructional days to a school calendar: from 180 to 204. Making this change would surely press schools toward year round school. Something I think needs to happen anyway. I digress...) So teachers are being asked - nee mandated - to work toward impossible standards.

I wonder if ALL of us - parents, teachers, community members - are working toward unattainable goals. How could our students not fail if we're all failing all around them? Of course teachers are frustrated and throwing blame around - they've been asked to do an impossible job. So I'm going to cut them some slack. I'm going to change my attitude toward teachers and forgive those neigh-sayers. They're just trying to stay afloat. Well, so am I. So I get that.


Believing that all children can learn is the place to start. I believe if we adopted a new paradigm that change could happen: If we as a community started to believe that ALL CHILDREN can learn, then I think we would see more students succeed. If non-educators started asking for whole-scale reform instead of trying to figure out which teachers are good and bad, then we might get somewhere. As it is, teachers and parents are all working really hard toward similar goals, but in different directions. We need to start thinking MORE about how to all be on the same team, working toward the same goals than trying to blame bad teachers, bad unions or bad parents. If we all think our kids can learn and act that way, maybe we can begin to make some progress.

My next step toward progress: I'm going to be a mentor. Project Leadership matches adults with students enrolled in the 21st Century Scholars program. I'm committing to mentoring a college-bound high school student once a week. I can't do a lot, but I can do a little. Maybe you should think about doing that too!

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

Loss

I have a secret to tell you. Let's keep it just between the two of us, ok?

I don't know what I'm doing.

I know this comes as a surprise to you. I do my best to come across confident and certain, but often I'm giving life my best guess. I'm lost. I'm often at a loss.

Loss and lost. They are both from the same etymological root of either the Greek word lyein "to loosen, untie, slacken," or the Old English word  losian meaning to"be lost, perish." Other options are that it might be from Proto-Indo-European root leu which means "to loosen, divide, cut apart, untie, separate." Harkening from these roots are: forlorn, analysis, paralysis and - everyone's favorite - electrolysis.

It's helpful for me to look at this list, to think about the age-old connections these words have. When I get lost - whether I'm lost on my feet, in my car or in my brain - I become paralyzed. Cut apart from rational thought. Lose the ability to take action. Lost. Action perishes. To become UN-lost, what do I try to do: analyze why I'm stuck. But in analysis, just like paralysis, the action is inaction. The action of analyze is to sit still & think a little more. Still lost.

Yesterday I was sitting at a coffee shop. While enjoying a cup of tea with a co-worker/friend, we were gently interrupted by a nice older woman of nondescript age. After she left, my friend leaned in conspiratorially to say, "Can you believe she's over 70!? She's a marvel."

My friend continued, "Her father died several years ago and was buried near Kokomo. When her husband and daughter were returning to Muncie from the funeral, they were in a car accident. Both of them died."

I'm stricken. See, my loss and lostness is very circumstantial. A product of my lack of vision, of my lack of clarity. But true lost-ness comes in situations like that dear woman survived. Burying a husband, daughter and father in the same week. Lost. Loss. Losing. I know nothing of any of it. So instead of analyzing why I'm stuck, I'm just going to stand up and move. I figure I'll get un-lost in the process.

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

Reading, wRiting and 'Rithmatic

One year for Christmas I received a box, a paper box, the kind that offices get with 10 reams of paper. In it were 7 (or is it 8?) hard bound books, brand new with their crisp pages and shiny sleeves, lovingly wrapped in pink and yellow tissue paper. I remember opening that box in wonder, carefully extracting each of Laura Ingalls Wilder's books, enraptured. The following weeks and months my love of reading was solidified, as I wandered the Big Woods and the Banks of Plum Creek. I read them slowly that year.

However, in 5th grade, I re-devoured them. A week was spent in a cloud - I shivered during the Long Winter and experienced the flutter of new love riding way too fast with Alonzo in his buggy. I despised him as he spent money and wasted Laura's toil on the Homestead. "Susie, SUSIE," my mom called, but I didn't answer: I was no longer Susie. If she'd have called "Laura, LAURA," I'm sure I'd have come running. Awake until all hours of the night with a flashlight under the covers, I then spent the next day in school with the book on my lap, reading at every opportunity*. (*Really, it's the only time I remember willingly disobeying the rules.)

Reading is my favorite escape. But I haven't been reading lately. I've a stack of articles and books on my desk and in my handbag. I take them from work to home, home to work, and back again. Just as the barren years of college when I read neither for work or pleasure, I am again finding myself too overwhelmed with work to enter into the joy of reading, but too tired of it all to bring myself back to work when I can rest. I despise this time in the waste-land of not reading. I'm never sure what starts this barrenness of input, but I don't like it a'tall.