We had to put together a piece of writing today that reflected on our first week at Olney high school. The idea was to provide and describe one example of a personal triumph, one example of struggle, and one example of “progress” through difficulty throughout the mega experience. Here’s what I came up with.
Part One: the Triumph
Getting here was the hardest part. Things that come up in my life don’t usually come in flashes or bangs or instants. When I’m reflecting, my life often feels like a slow dirge, a long trail of ups and downs. There isn’t much that’s sensational about it when I step back and look. It’s not a Hollywood Movie or a sports game or a drunken brawl. It’s a lot of walking around, a lot of small talk, and a lot of everyday activities that your average onlooker might call mundane or the usual.
And while I’ve always lived in a life of intensity and pressure, my life feels like the emotions are more internal than external, more in the mind rather than on the skin.
But now I’m here. Olney. Land of lost turns and total recalls. It’s just another forlorn place. No. Maybe not. Maybe it really is a neighborhood. Maybe it is a collection of homes and businesses, life and work and love. I would never have dreamed visiting on a day to day basis before committing myself to City Year. What would Olney offer to me as a random passerby? It would offer an unreasonable, uneducated depression that would seep down while keeping my head in the clouds for . . . for . . . forever. And I do not know how I would escape that.
On one hand, these streets are not for me. I prefer walking around downtown, where the money is, where the power is, where the causes for disinvestments like Olney are. The white men in the black suits looking down from their towers, looking at their ant-like hordes that they know little about on a personal level, laughing and scoffing at the situations they will never see eye to eye. Yes, it’s true, I prefer walking around in the playground of the rich. But I also have always preferred visiting the less fortunate, oppressed neighborhoods, where I can see life that is in more pain or with more problems than my own.
It’s hard to focus in Olney, but at the very least, I know that I’m here on a day to day basis. I report in at 7:15 in the morning and leave everything where it sits at 5 in the evening. This report is ridiculous but at least it’s what I’m feeling. It’s a reflection of how my mind is spinning. I’ve never visited an area that I’m not living in on a regular basis like this. At least since high school. And it’s an area that I do not know and do not know if I will know by the time I stop coming here. But I consider it a triumph. The cold air on the skin. My awkward presence feeling more and more comfortable. I don’t think I’ll be able to call myself a resident or member of the Olney community for a long time, but it’s getting easier. I can stand my ground and not feel nervous. I can ride the bus, with its gas and gears, without wondering where to get on or off. I know that there are areas on all sides of this one that have many things in common with this one but which I will probably never see. I am not afraid to admit faults. I am not afraid to admit comfort.
But I am also not afraid to admit that I’m here and that this is different for me.
Part Two: the Struggle
Everything is connected. How does a firefly find itself in a sea of darkness with a small beacon of light? How do bats learn to maneuver through their SONAR language in a world of speech and vision? We humans struggle and suffer through similar problems. We are all animalistic, with primal desires, primal fears, and primal necessities. We all need to fit in: we are all social with our own unique and shared mechanisms that require ourselves and our neighbors to be in tune and in sync.
I have lived in Philadelphia for a year. I have made good decisions, bad decisions, and strange decisions. I have adapted myself based on my surrounding using such decisions. My greatest struggle since moving out of New England has always been racial. I used to be afraid of admitting this. After living in Philly for several months I thought I was over my unease around such large quantities of non-Caucasians, and I told many people this. It was a great time for me, but it was only partially true. Being at City Year, I can understand that yes, I do feel more comfortable around types of people, including Caucasians, that I am not used to being near. I don’t necessarily look twice when I get on a train anymore, or worry when I’m the only white guy on a bus. I’ve worked with Blacks, Asians, and Hispanics, all of different backgrounds, and I believe that there is some diversity experience under my belt.
But the struggle isn’t over. Now I’m at City Year and have realized that despite being acquainted with diverse populations, my celebration and knowledge of diverse populations is still limited. This affects, primarily in a negative way, the communication between myself and the students I am around. But don’t get me wrong—I am not trying to sell myself or them short. We may all be one great big happy family that can talk about anything and understand where we are all coming from after only a couple of hours together; but I don’t think this is the case. Like a romance or a friendship, things take time to adjust and fall into place. Until bonds are solidified, there will be pain through naiveté and different forms of ignorance. There will be challenge and regret. There will be more to come that will show I have not learned nearly as much as I thought I did.
Part Three: the Progress
What is progress? Progress is reiteration. Progress is upkeep and update. Progress is me showing up to school even though I would rather be getting drunk all the time, some times. Progress is greeting students in the halls even though I have a strong feeling, even if it isn’t true, that the student will not respond in a positive way to me. Progress is becoming entirely selfless at some points so that I can try and see through their eyes. Progress is becoming entirely selfish at some points in order to figure out what I need to do to behave more effectively and grow as a person. Progress is acknowledging the presence of nervousness and noticing that the nervousness can change. Progress is forgetting that the fingers are cold in the morning because it was all that I focused on the previous morning. Progress is typing this up without regrets or second guesses. Progress is not checking my cell phone for text messages from a beautiful girl or amazing best friend, even though some days that’s all that keeps me from breaking down and crying, or quitting. Progress is finding the strength in myself where I haven’t found it before. Progress is sometimes different from this writing; progress is sometimes shutting up and listening compassionately to what other people around me—colleagues in City Year, teachers, school staff, or most importantly the students—are saying so that I will get a handle on my job. Progress is taking on extra duties even though I might lose them. Progress is being okay with losing extra duties I made an effort to get. Progress is never letting go of a sight of the world, even if I’ve always tried to keep an eye on the world, since now the world is different, spinning faster on its surface, and hard to get a real good grip on. Progress is being an adult but not having to try hard to still feel like a kid.
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