What if they are just as afraid of you?

Fear. Love.

A very wise person once told me that in the morning before class, she would make a choice between fearing her students or loving them. She didn’t want to fear them. That really sat well with me, and the idea of it found a nice little home in a soft spot of my brain. It has yet to leave, and it seems to work it’s way into other areas of my life as well. I find myself questioning things that I might “fear” and wondering if those are valid fears.

I remember signing up for that first college class. I remember how terrified I was of the building I was walking into just to sign up. I remember bringing my dad alongside me for protection if a dragon tried to breathe fire on me. I cannot tell you how scared I was of the faculty and staff. What if they wouldn’t even let me register because I was homeschooled? Would my transcript and diploma be enough for them? The tingling sensation I felt in my stomach when we approached the registration office made me want to approach the ladies room instead.

I remember the sinking feeling in my stomach when the Sign Language class that I had planned to take with a friend was full. I remember knowing that I would have to choose another class to take right then and there, freaking out that I only had a small window of time to decide. Dad suggested that I take an Intro to Art class, but I kept looking at the History of Art class. I have always loved history and art, plus I never got to take a class about art history. It really caught my attention.

I was nervous when Dad wondered why I was adamant about that class. He said, “I thought you would want to take a fun class first.” Was I going in over my head? I didn’t know anything about art history! Not nearly enough to pass a class about it. Then it got worse when I was struggling to find a copy of the edition of the textbook required for the class. Even the lady at the college book store said that they didn’t have it. The company put it on backorder and we wouldn’t get it before class.

The idea of trying to contact my future professor and ask her if I needed a book for the first day made me crazy. I laugh at this now, because I had nothing to be afraid of. This was my preconceived notion of what “real” teachers might be like. Thanks, television and cinema. Thanks, juvenile chapter books (you know who you are, Dolores Umbridge). This was not a valid fear.

As soon as I walked into the classroom, I knew everything would be fine and that my fears were insane. I somehow, rather unconciously, made the decision to love my class and everything about it. The teacher, the other students, the material. I knew I had made the right decision on the class that I had chosen. There was an unexpected warmth in the room. I immediately began searching for the good. Maybe I’m optimistic, but I still feel the validity of the fact that I chose to set aside my fears and love instead.

I got to thinking yesterday morning about all of this and I wondered what would happen if every student could set aside their fears and choose to love their professors, classmates, studies. I wondered what might happen if I could set aside my fear of math, and just appreciate the good things about it. Learn to love it for what it is, instead of trying to change it into something that one former elementary school teacher told me I was bad at. Instead of turning it into the class that could ruin my college career. Maybe I’ll take a math class soon.

Maybe the very same teachers that we fear used to fear some of their own teachers. Maybe if we showed them love instead of fear it would be a little easier for them not to fear us. Not to fear a classroom full of students who won’t show them respect, won’t study, won’t pay attention, will make fun of them in the halls, or will fall asleep in class. Maybe a whole generation of students could change the education system for the better. We all gripe about certain teachers being boring or trying too hard or not being smart enough to teach a subject. Some of us, as hard as we try, might still complain about teachers who are too hard on us. My mom always tells me, “Expect nothing, get nothing.”

If I expect my teachers to be horrible, they will, because that is what I have decided in my mind.

Yes, it is true that some teachers might be psychos who are in this career to do nothing but destroy the lives of children and young adults because it is their sick pleasure but that is few and far between. Most of the time our teachers just want to teach. They just want to open our eyes, minds, hearts, and ears a little bit further. Maybe they want to share an opinion or two. Maybe they are just as afraid of us as we are of them.

I’m going to do my best to continue loving each of my professors. It was easy not to fear most of my childhood teachers since they were parents of friends or my own parents. Maybe that is something I can have as an advantage. Maybe it will help me remember that my teachers have lives and families and friends, and surely they can’t be any more scary than any of my family or friends.

Maybe we’ll start with the classroom, and then we’ll love the world.

Happy Adventures,
Heather

12 hours of staring at a computer. I’ll post tomorrow.

I had a really great blog post forming in my head this morning before I went to work, but after a 12 hour day of staring into a computer screen I think I’ll type it up tomorrow instead. This is like my way of making sure I’m held accountable. I’ve been in a sort of writing rut lately, but I was really inspired this morning and wanted to drop everything then and there to share this post idea.

To tide you over here is a sketch, and a photograph. Or a few. Nevermind. My computer is being stupid and won’t let me upload the pictures onto it. It won’t even register that my CompactFlash memory card is plugged into it. I’m dealing with this tomorrow.

Here’s the sketch:

It’s nothing too special.

Sketch

Just a sketch that I needed to get out. I was using the computer when I suddenly felt the urge to sketch this, so I immediately opened PaintTool SAI and voila. 😉 I only spent about 6-10 minutes on this. I kinda like the style… it vaguely reminds me of some comic books I’ve read before. It’s a headshot, and I should probably work more on the overall figure, but I can’t get away from the expressions of the face for too long. YES, I realize that the body can be just as expressive as a face, if not moreso. I just love eyes.

Happy Adventures,
Heather

I’d call myself a chicken.

Some of you may roll your eyes at this post. Some of you may be offended. Some of you may experience both. I only mean to be vulnerable and honest with you.

I’ve been running scared. I have been running scared from a lot of things. Mostly myself, my opinions, my beliefs, my values, my priorities, and my dreams. I am scared that all of those things are too much and (will) scare other people as much as they scare me. I am afraid that I talk and act in too many parentheses but that if I try to stop everything will crumble around me because I’ll be something else and people won’t know what to expect from me anymore. I am afraid that I won’t know what to expect from myself anymore. I am afraid that I could end up being completely the same as I am now.

I would tiptoe around things and say “I have been SO busy, I can’t believe I have not made the time to blog,” but that would only be about 35% accurate. Being totally honest with you and with myself, I know full well that to a degree I do what I want and I don’t what I don’t. I have come to grips with the fact that some unwanted things are necessary and vice versa. 

I have become nervous about posting lately. I was living in a naive and magical little bubble that I could (or even should) somehow attempt to limit who visited my blog, or who I was aware visited my blog. I figured that only strangers and those I hand-selected (that sounds so terrible, and I am so sorry) would read this. Even though I knew in the back of my mind that anyone could find my blog, read it, have a link sent to them, I was living in denial. I was ignoring the idea in my head so I would be as honest as I possibly could while still being safe and keeping identities of others safe. But is it still being honest if you believe that not many people you know will ever read it?

 I knew that what I was writing was public, and somewhere I still censored some of what I was writing– if only for the privacy or protection of others and myself.

All of this started when my mother confronted me and said that a friend of ours had shared my blog as a link on his own blog. I told her “It isn’t a big deal, oh well, so my blog is linked on his blog, my blog has been linked to before,” but on the inside my heart was racing. My virtual little hiding place had been exposed to a closer community than ever before, and I knew about it. She knew about it. Had she read it? Did she save it to her favorites? In a moment of panic I asked him to please remove the link.

What are people I know thinking about me, but not saying? Why am I even worried about this? Since when did I develop a care in the world for what anyone else thought? Am I ashamed of who I am? Do I even know myself at all? Why is it that these ideas bother me but I will still wear pajamas to church and faerie wings to class? Oh yeah. Pajamas and faerie wings are skin deep. Me, my thoughts, my dreams, my questions– those are definitely deeper. If people reject my pajamas or wings, I can say it is because they don’t really like them. If people reject me, well, that hurts me a lot more. It is the same thing that I have been working so hard to tackle since I started taking voice lessons. The world is my stage, and I have stage fright.

I am genuinely and deeply terrified that people will reject me. Young, old, close, distant, and everything in between it doesn’t matter. I am afraid that I will be just. too. wierd. Another awful thing is that I am afraid to admit to myself that I don’t even know what I really believe. My art teacher, who is amazing, really wants to see me create art based around a platform. Something I believe in, or something I do not. Something that I want to talk about with the world. How am I supposed to do that when I can’t even figure it out for myself when I am alone at night? 

I don’t always agree with everything or everyone. I have a lot of questions, and I ask them. Most of the time. Sometimes I agree, and sometimes I don’t. Most of the people that I talk to regularly know that about me. Sometimes I feel like a terrible person, and other times I feel so right. Most of the time I feel like there is something bigger than myself involved and I cannot deny that I believe there is a mighty, mighty creator out there.

These are some reasons I haven’t been posting as much lately. I’ve been paranoid, but I’m not going to be anymore. At least, I am going to try. Some of the things that you read here, no matter what you believe, may be found offensive. This is me telling you that I am only trying to be honest in my searching, and that I want to be someone who isn’t afraid anymore. I will probably change my mind a hundred times because I’m only 20 years old. I want to learn from all sorts of people. I want to be willing to trust that I am enough; truly and deeply. I suppose you could call me radical. That word has both good and bad connotations in my head, but I guess I might have to face being called anything that people come up with if I am going to be truly exposed and truly vulnerable. Psycho-crazy might be on the top of the list. I do know that I am not using my full potential by doing what I am doing right now. Right now I am trying oh-so-hard to be safe, like a sky waiting for fireworks to happen.

My hopes for this blog from the very beginning were that I could have a place to find myself, and maybe along the way my thoughts might resonate with even just one single person. Heck, I would be happy if even just one sentence out of the hundreds that I write could touch someone’s life for the better and maybe, just maybe, let them know that they are not alone. That is what writers, musicians, artists, and friends have been brave enough to do for me. Expose themselves so that maybe just one person, a person that is sometimes me, might know that they aren’t alone. I suppose that a bonus to all of this public sharing is the opportunity for someone to step out bravely and say that something resonates with them so that the author, artist, or friend doesn’t feel quite so alone either.

It turns out that I learned a lot when trying to write this down. I believe I was overreacting to my blog, this personal space I share, actually being shared with a group of friends and strangers that I am surrounded by often. So this is me, taking off the faerie wings and just being a girl with you. I love my eccentricities but doesn’t mean I need to hide behind them.

Brave Adventures,
Heather

It’s a big world full of small pleasures.

Don’t be afraid. Be love. Be happiness. Be kindness. Be hopeful. Be yourself. But do not be afraid.

You will find everything you need, and a little bit more. That little bit more will be in the small pleasures.

Happy Adventures,
Heather