the tao of pencil sharpening

There are many moments during my day that allow for quiet reflection. Standing on the playground watching the Kindergartners cross the monkey bars, preparing eight trays of graham crackers and yogurt, and, last week, meticulously sharpening 200 colored pencils by hand. These are the times when I tend to drift off and get lost in my imagination, imagining, for better or worse, the adults these children will become. Like in Annie Hall, as the children in the classroom stand up one by one and profess to what they are as adults: the drug dealer, the depressed housewife, the thief, etc.

The elfin, mousy brown girl with braids reading in the corner an introspective librarian; the blond rough-and-tumble five year old running with the football past the fifth graders a quarterback prom king; the skirted girl splayed out in the tanbark an actress on Broadway; the withdrawn girl with tousled hair a single mother always searching for the wrong man; the pudgy, tired, lonely pale boy a pudgy, tired, lonely, pale man.

Though it is likely not beneficial to typecast these young children when they have not yet begun to blossom into adults with all their frailties, I find it almost impossible to keep from doing it. I know, though, that life is a winding road, and I hope for those who seem to be on an unfortunate path that the road leads toward unexpected happy endings.

where i am

There is something within me that I am constantly struggling against that makes it difficult for me to accept where I am at the current moment in time. My parents have told me that since birth I've been high energy, always working on something, running somewhere. This tendency can have its benefits, but in the last few years it has made it difficult to just ... be. I'll get a job, then after a few months be ready for something new. I can't help but think one, five, ten years down the road. I know all of the reasons, theories, meditative techniques to establish a state of moment-to-moment awareness, but for some reason I have a hard time putting it into practice.

Therefore, every day, I tell myself:

don't overthink
don't jump to conclusions
observe with non-attachment to the outcomes
don't think of where else you could be
appreciate those around you with new eyes
today, this moment, is all you have
be the mountain, unmoving

A Tranny Valentine's Day?

Ah, the innocence of children.

Friday at work was a whirlwind of candy, paper hearts, screaming children, and ... tranny Valentines. That's right. What do you tell a Kindergartner, excitedly showcasing her Valentines from school, when one of said Valentines has a photograph of transvestites? The answer is: nothing.

The afternoon had been progressing normally, though a little amped up by sugar, when an angelic blond darling sauntered up to a fellow teacher begging her to read her her Valentine. Though I was across the room, I heard the sudden gasp of the teacher and turned to see the five-year-old looking up at teacher in confusion. Teacher then walked over to me, followed by the innocent, and said, "You've got to see her Valentine." The front seemed tame enough, reading, "This Valentine doesn't have any trans-fat, but there's another secret hidden inside." It opened to a large color photograph of two awkwardly dressed transvestites pushing shopping carts down the vegetable isle of a supermarket.

Normally, I try not to laugh at things the kids give me in seriousness, but this was one of those moments that I could not stop myself. I actually had to walk to the bathroom because I was laughing so hard and didn't want to have to explain the reason for my laughter to the poor little girl. The whole way to the door, I was trailed by, "Why are you laughing at my Valentine, Erin? Why?"

The Valentine was quickly put away, but the little innocent just could not seem to resist going and looking at it every half hour or so. When her mother came to pick her up, we quietly warned her of the card's content, and began to usher them out the door. As they walked outside into the night, I distinctly heard the little girl say, "But Mom, this one kinda looks like a boy ...".

I walked to my car laughing so hard I had to wipe tears from my eyes.

don't be afraid

The cars in my neighborhood are covered with bumper stickers -- "Keep Fairfax Weird," "Fairfax: Mayberry on Acid," "Obama", etc. -- and usually my eyes glaze over reading them in their similitude, but I saw one recently that made me stop and take notice. It said simply, "Don't Be Afraid." This short phrase strikes me as very profound. It often seems as though the people all around me are filled with fear: the mother at the park screaming at her son to get down from that tree, the boyfriend who beats his girlfriend because he's afraid she'll leave him, the suburban housewife afraid to go walking at night, the angry masses who would deny marriage to people in love, the government that "detains" people endlessly, the crossbearers on their knees praying for salvation, the policeman walking down the street with his hand on his holster ... I could go on and on.

What if, instead of fear, we turned to love? Do people who are afraid live longer? Go to heaven? Spare themselves from horrible accidents? Or do they merely live anxious, hate-filled, isolated lives?

The National Rifle Association, an organization based completely on fear, has more than 4 million members in the United States. That is a huge number ... but it's still less than 2 in every 100 Americans. So I guess it's not as dire as it seems; 98% of the population is either too lazy to join the NRA, or are hoping for something better.