Monthly Archives: December 2018

Post Semester Slump

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Photo by jurien huggins on Unsplash

That pile under the covers in the picture at the top of this post.  This is not me.

But it could be.

My friend, Wes, wrote this hilarious rhyming poem Facebook note for day 6 of our joint 30-day writing challenge, and I’m over here, like, “Um, I can’t think of a topic easy enough for me, in my post-semester mush state, to write about.”

So, I’m going to write about exactly that: post-semester slump.  That feeling that many students, teachers, and academics get (at least, according to my Facebook & Twitter feeds) where you’re hanging on until the end of the semester, and then you either physically get sick or mentally check out as soon as you’re on break.

I still have numerous things on my to-do list (i.e. my “I’m going to do this once I’m on break because I don’t have time to get to it during the semester” list) to get done, things that both need to get done (some with deadlines, others because I have no other time to do them) and things that I enjoy doing (I mean, as much as one can enjoy things that require focused brain functioning) but I am straight over doing anything but listening to some music with my scented candle next to me, staring at some flowers, and maybe, just maybe, indulging in some binge junk Food Network shows.  I am literally so checked out that I am bitter that I need to heat my oven to warm some Trader Joe’s mini-quiches (why on earth can I not just microwave these quiches like their normal, larger counterparts?!).

Okay, well, rant over, 150 word goal met.  I’ve got to make a choice now, either to get on that to-do list, or open up my TV app and start that senseless television train….

Dr. Hsieh’s Final Reflections Fall 2018

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Some of my Masters students writing affirmations & appreciations for our “We’ve Got Your Back” activity

The preservice teacher candidates in my literacy courses are required to write a final reflection at the end of the semester talking about how they’ve changed or stayed the same in a variety of areas over the semester.  I also try to do a final reflection each semester, a reflection on what I’ve learned from my students and myself and where I am as I head into a period of rest.

This semester was hard, for many reasons.

As a naturally empathetic person, it was challenging because so many of my students suffered deep personal losses.  In each of my 3 classes, at least one student lost a close family member, either suddenly or after a lingering illness.

It was also challenging because my students, like me, but perhaps for different reasons (or similar reasons), were doing a lot: taking many classes, working multiple jobs, supporting or caring for family members, all while negotiating transitioning professional identities–either transitioning from one professional role to another, or into their first professional career as teachers.

Honestly (and this is going to sound whiny because I actually should have a full teaching load of 4 courses), it was also challenging because I was teaching 3 classes (70 students) with 3 different preps (although 2 courses had some overlap) and making course revisions to all of the classes to meet the needs of my students.  In other words, good teaching is just hard when done at a large scale.  For each of the 8 course assignments, I gave to my preservice students, I spent 10-20 minutes (minimum) per student, not only reading and assessing, but giving extensive, personalized feedback to each student. If we average that to 15 minutes per student x 53 credential candidates x 8 assignments, that’s approximately 106 hours of just grading, and that’s a conservative estimate which doesn’t include initial feedback provided with an opportunity to revise.

Finally, it was hard because I traveled and served a lot.  I went to 3 conferences in the Fall and made a family trip over the Thanksgiving week holiday.  Conference travel (even local travel) is exhausting and keeps me away from my family.  I still have to make sure my classes get the material when I’m gone and often I’m using that time to grade so I can conserve some time with family.  I also was elected chair of faculty council, am serving on 2 search committees, am chairing a national organization awards committee, am helping to co-facilitate a faculty inquiry group, and am helping to develop curriculum for a local after school program. Oh, and also trying to bring a greater acknowledgment of Asian American voices to two national literacy education spaces. None of this left me a lot of time to write (for work or personally), reflect, and spend time with people outside of my family.  And that was hard, because those things I didn’t have a lot of time for are also the things that give me a lot of life. So, in that way, I’m going to work on doing better.

But, this semester was also incredibly beautiful in so many ways.  It was exciting and hopeful, with moments of joy and insight.

  • I got to celebrate my 40th birthday with friends that are so incredibly dear to me, some of my very favorite people in the world
  • My son is hanging in there through an initially rough transition to middle school, and earned his first degree black belt in Tae Kwon Do.  He’s got friends; he doesn’t complain about school every day; he’s doing well in both American and Chinese school.  He still hangs out with his mom and talks about video games and youtube videos.  We’re doing okay.
  • My daughter moved up 6 months early to the 4-year old class, didn’t stand with her hand in her mouth during the entire preschool Christmas performance (like last year), and in fact, was in every single part of the performance, from the handbells, to the singing, to the dance piece, with a cameo in the nativity story.
  • I got to reconnect with so many friends and meet new people at the conferences I attended.  It’s sometimes great to get out of one’s own space.
  • My Transformative Teacher Education Fellowship small group, awesome teacher educators doing amazing things in diverse places with different groups of students — getting to talk with them regularly constantly inspires me.
  • The Caminos Faculty Inquiry Group that I’m part of and help to facilitate.  AMAZING teacher education faculty from across the university working on integrating more culturally responsive practices into their courses, curriculum and instruction.  Inspiring.
  • I have a book contract with a small publishing company. (Now I just need to write the book)
  • I’m on the AERA program 3 times to present research, each time with colleagues that I absolutely love, and once as discussant for other amazing colleagues
  • I ran a half marathon under 2 hours, a huge benchmark & goal for me.
  • I got to hang out with my cousins (and their kids), see my brother, and meet my new baby niece.
  • I get to sing every week with my church gospel choir and rehearse every Monday. Seriously, this is such a blessing.
  • We get to hire a new colleague! It’s been 3 years since our last tenure track search in my department and it was 3 years before that when I was hired, so the possibility of a new assistant professor in secondary education with an emphasis in literacies is super, super exciting.
  • My entire EDCI 530 class, which I basically completely redid this semester, was just inspiring. Working with local educators (our Masters students) committed to making a difference, using 21st century frameworks & culturally responsive & sustaining pedagogies; unpacking problematic discourses that plague our society and hamper educational progress and rewriting them to envision what education can be. This classroom community was magic.
  • I made a difference with my students. Last night, in a sharing circle at the end of one of my preservice classes, a student said that at many moments during the semester, she wondered why she was even in the credential program, but that when she was in class, she felt like she wanted to be a teacher again.  This young Latina woman, full of promise, from our local community, who is already working as an aide in schools, has so much to contribute.  It hurt my heart to hear her doubts, but it made me feel honored to provide a space where students could remember why they wanted to teach. Her story is not the only one. E-mails, cards, students staying at the end of class to say thank you.  Every word a gift for those hours in front of a screen typing feedback.

It was a rich semester, a powerful one, a long one, but a great one.  I’m so, so grateful to be on this journey and to learn alongside my fellow travelers.  And that’s the best note to end this post on: gratitude.

 

My Boy

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Our temporary “pet”: Sir Ma’am Sparky Swift snacking on an apple slice

Leave it to my son to recognize gender ambiguity in a snail (collected from our neighborhood during a dog walk to bring to school for “snail races” in science) and acknowledge it, along with ideas from his mother and father, in a 4-part name: “Sir Ma’am Sparky Swift.”

This encapsulates the charm of my boy.

12 years of an old soul in a young person, awkward and quirky, funny, mature, with selective hearing but ever-present love.

It’s such an honor to be my son’s mother.

He is the best of both his parents: loyal and loving, brilliant, responsible, creative, driven and fun.

But, he is also all of our insecurities and some of our faults, which somehow seemed to miss his sister: unsure of his place in the boy world of adolescence & middle school, worried about his present and future (except when he’s not), driven by the fear of disappointing those he loves, forgetful whenever things aren’t according to routine (ahem, forgetting to turn in fundraiser money, forgetting binder on bus, forgetting his trombone at school over Thanksgiving break).

As I watch him transition from child to teenager, and see the glimpses of the adult he’ll be, I tear up at the thought.

How did my little newborn become almost as tall as I am in the blink of an eye?  When I blink again, will it be to blink away tears at his high graduation? At his wedding? When he is holding his own newborn?

I don’t know the future, but I am glad for this present, to hang out with my son and talk about our favorite Food Network shows, drink milk tea with boba, eat lots of great food (and instagram it), and go to musicals.  While I probably will never quite be able to share in bonding over video games in the same way as he can with his dad, I am grateful for Nate’s appreciation of who each one of us in the family is, and I am grateful for who he is.

He is extraordinary. He’s a keeper.

(Unlike Sir Ma’am Sparky Swift, who will be returned to a non-plastic, natural habitat soon…)

Choosing Wisely

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Photo by Qimono courtesy of Pixabay

Now that I’m on day 3 of the 30-day writing/ blogging challenge that I’m doing with my friends Wes & Darlene, the ideas for blog posts have started rolling.  Today, I thought about writing a post on the idea of beloved community or a companion piece to yesterday’s piece on my daughter about my son.  Those posts will be forthcoming and I’m excited to write them.

But honestly, today, I just don’t have the time.

Last night, over late night happy hour pumpkin cheesecake, my friend Patty and I were having a conversation on ROI (return on investment).  She is on my “life advisory board” (alongside my husband and some trusted friends–Yafa, you’re on it too, it just never actually meets…I consult you all individually)–the people who give me valued advice about not taking on things that aren’t worth my time, who know my values and commitments (and my tendency to do too much), and who tell me when they think I should probably let something go.  I’m more likely to listen to them than others, but I still (CLEARLY) don’t listen enough of the time.

So, today, with a million different commitments and 41 assignments to grade, I’m just going to write this blog post on choosing wisely, which sometimes means choosing the easiest thing that will help you honor your 150 word daily commitment. I’m working on letting go of this standard of profundity all the time, and being willing to be just good enough more often in these 30 days (and hopefully in life outside of this blog).  I suppose my desire to always do my best holds me back from sometimes from doing things I want to do, knowing that I could do them better, if….  But, as my current best self says, this was the best choice I could have made today; this is the best I can do in the moment, and that’s alright.  It’s just a blog post.

Choosing wisely doesn’t always mean choosing the hardest, most reflective or best idea.

Sometimes we need to choose that which allows us to survive. Wisdom shifts.  I can shift too.

Just leaving this here to remind myself.

My Girl

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Artist: Johana P (with aid from her father)

“Mommy, I made you a rainbow, all in my favorite color (orange) and then I put a heart because I love you, Mommy.  And then, see, Papa helped me write, ‘I love you, Mommy!” I made it for you”

“Sweetheart, it’s beautiful! Thank you so much. Mommy is going to hang it in her office.”

“Mommy, that’s a good idea.  That way, when you miss me, you can look at my painting and remember that I love you.”

My girl is 3 and a half.

She sometimes throws inexplicable tantrums, tells me, “I don’t like that plan,” and refuses every meal option we give her at dinner time.  She is disappointed when she has to go to school, and excited for home days. She is sad when I have to leave for a work trip or a choir practice. She tells me that I pick the best presents and clothes for her.  She loves arts and crafts, reading on the couch, and children’s programming (at the moment, her favorites are Nature Cat, Phil the Cat, Daniel Tiger, and a few Puppy Dog Pals and Doc McStuffins episodes for good measure). She sings and runs and tumbles and talks.

She is frustrated then she is happy. She is terribly upset then made better with a hug.

She is my mini-me. She is my heart. She is my inspiration.

I love you, Jojo. I’m so grateful to be your mommy.

Doing Too Much or My Mythical Best Self

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Mandatory Credit: Sean DuFrene / Photographer, Marketing and Communications
Long Beach State University

[Before I begin this post, I’d like to give props to my friends, Darlene & Wes Kriessel, who inspired me with their spousal 30-day blogging challenge. Darlene’s first post on pushing through and writing anyways reminded me that I need to do the same–prioritize writing, prioritize myself, do the hard things, especially when the hard things are the things I love.  So, thanks, Darlene (and Wes too, of course).]

Last week, at the end of one of my classes, I apologized to my students for not really feeling like “my best self” all semester.  They were somewhat incredulous and asked what my best self would be (they hadn’t noticed the deficiencies that felt glaring to me, as I was staring down a pile of unfinished grading, at the end of an exhausting semester).  I pondered then laughed.

“I guess my best self doesn’t really exist anymore.  She’s who I would be if I could only focus on any one of the things that is important to me in my life: like if I only focused on being a mother to my children, or on teaching 1 class, or on my research and writing.”

It was a laughter of recognition as well as one of indictment. Guilty of doing too much. Guilty of blaming myself for “not doing enough.” Guilty of striving for perfection instead of acknowledging the beautiful humanity of sometimes just getting it done.

It’s been another semester of doing too much. I know that this is as much a reflection of passion as ambition; service as much as veiled hubris, but I also know that it comes at a cost. I can feel it in the tightness of my shoulder muscles & clenched jaws; I can hear it in the tantrums of my 3.5 year old and the “yeah, you’ve been gone a lot” of my 12 year old; I know it, in what hasn’t gotten done (research & writing) as much as what I’ve pushed through.

Next semester already looks to be more of the same, a lot of work travel, an added Chinese class that I’m taking as a student, supervising student teachers, serving on search committees, attending family events, writing deadlines, church service — the list is long, and that’s just what comes to mind at 10pm on a Sunday night. I see my image of my best self fading into a meme-like oblivion, and I know I need to let her go….or let some of these things go.

It’s easier, in the moment, to let go of the perfectionism. So, starting today, my best self is the self you get on any given day, at any given moment.  This is what I’ve got. And if you need the me that’s smiling in the picture at the top of this post, maybe you can just bookmark this page and come back to visit her here.

Mile 11

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A picture of me, before the start of the last Long Beach Half Marathon wondering what I had gotten myself into…again.

Most people who know me (in real life) know that I am a runner.  Three years ago, about 8 months after my daughter was born, I began training for my first half marathon.  In October, I finished my 9th half marathon and my first under 2 hours.

While I haven’t been running for the past few weeks because I’ve been sick, this morning I felt a strange and familiar form of tired that only comes on rare occasions:

I felt Mile 11 tired.

My typical half marathon runs are all about the first half of the race.  If I can finish Mile 6 as close to 50 minutes as possible, then it’s just about holding on until the finish line.  At mile 8, I begin to feel tired but still feel strong.  At miles 9 & 10, I feel less strong and more tired, but still feel like, maybe I can break 2 hours.

Then I hit Mile 11.  And generally at Mile 11, I hit a wall.

Mile 11 is the point on the course at which I have exceeded my long run distance (my team generally trains up to a 10-mile long run) and I can no longer deny how tired I feel.  As much as I try to convince myself that there’s only about 20 more minutes to the finish line, I just feel like I’m done.  I try to pep talk myself into remembering what it feels like at the finish. I try to focus on the funny signs and people on the course.  I try to make sure to take water (and now glucose based gels).

But there is no denying that I am tired.

And usually, all there is to do, is to keep going.  To just put one foot in front of the other.  To push through.

It is that point in the semester.  It is week 14, mile 11.  Two more weeks until the finish, several more assignments to assess, multiple meetings to chair and attend, classes to design and revise, holidays to prepare for, Christmas performances to attend, charity events to support, looming deadlines for conference proposals, research and writing I’ve put off all semester. Despite being sick, I’m coming into a tough final stretch having prepared well for a strong finish.

But there is no denying that I am tired.

So, as I round the corner to finish this week, to finish the semester, to finish the year, I greet you, my fellow runners (both real and metaphorical) with love and compassion.  We are almost there.  We will get there, and we’ll get there farther and faster together.  Hang in there.  The finish is around the corner, and if we’re lucky, we’ll get shinies and treats at the end.

Reflections on Humanizing Connections

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Tiny wildflowers among the rocks in the Coachella Valley

The end of the semester always comes fast and furious, with myriad assignments to grade and curriculum to cover as 15 weeks culminates with “trying to get it all done.”

And usually, I get sick in the midst of it.

I used to have my body trained to not get sick until the end of the semester, operating on pure adrenaline until final grades were submitted and then collapsing in a heap of exhaustion to spend all of winter break ill.  Now, with a 3-year old, exhaustion comes early, and I have, for the last two years, spent November and early December fighting some type of laryngitis + virus that keeps me away from my normal morning runs and forces me to slow down, sleep more, and be more intentional in speaking.

And with that, I remember to reflect.

This morning, after grading a couple of fieldwork reflection assignments from my preservice candidates, I was struck by both students’ focus on the importance of recognizing students’ assets, social-emotional learning and literacies.

I teach secondary literacy classes, and generally explore disciplinary and content area (general) literacy strategies to support student learning, with a mix of 21st century literacies including technological literacy and the 4Cs from the P21 framework.  However, I’ve been really thinking about my teacher education practice because of some professional development opportunities that I’ve had over the summer (namely the Transformative Teacher Educator Fellowship summer institute and the Center for Reaching & Teaching the Whole Child summer institute, particularly with a focus on the CASEL social and emotional learning competencies) and have been trying to integrate mindfulness practices and a focus on more humanizing approaches to consider students as whole people, particular students of color, English Language Learners and students with special needs/disabilities, who have often been marginalized or defined by what they are not rather than by who they are.

From week to week, this sometimes feels like exploring the rocky terrain and sinking sands of a trail I don’t know (as I did last week when trying to come back from my illness). But this morning, I read these fieldwork reflections and was inspired by my credential candidate students who framed the students they worked with (in 1-on-1 tutoring experiences) in terms of their assets, and funds of knowledge they brought to the classroom from their homes and communities.  Both reflected on the importance of humanizing approaches and how it will shape their practices. One drew from a student’s religious background to show how math and tessellations were a part of Islamic art, engaging the students’ interest in a concept that hadn’t previously seemed relevant. Later this same candidate, after an incident involving the student he was working with and another adult, was able to pull the student aside, discuss his behavior, acknowledge his emotions, and then work with the student to resolve the situation so that the student could reintegrate himself into the classroom.   The other student noted the importance of making sure that the student she worked with felt stable (and grounded) before moving on to the academic content at hand, learning patience and persistence and that the lesson wouldn’t always move on exactly as planned.

In seeing my candidates’ reflections, it reminds me of the importance of the work of educators.  When we remember to acknowledge what students bring to the classroom, to work with it (rather than trying to work around or ignore it), and to respect students’ humanity, we build and rise together.  It is inspiring. It is energizing. It is humanizing.

Even in our most human moments, at the end of the semester.

Humanizing Academia

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The mountains near Palm Desert taken on the last day of the Literacy Research Association annual meeting last week

It is Monday morning and I am beginning my week already tired.

I have a lingering upper respiratory infection that has been around for almost 3 weeks now, practically preventing me from two of the most important activities in my life: running and singing. I thought I was feeling better enough to do a desert trail run with my friend Jung on Thursday morning and sing with my church choir on Saturday evening, but my body has since assured me that my hubris was simply that, and I’ve been relegated to over-the-counter cough medicine, tea with honey, and a nighttime humidifier to inch towards the end of the semester.

Not being able to run, and becoming exhausted when I try to sing, has, however, reminded me of the importance of writing and reflection.  There was a time, during my early academic career, when I lamented about how hard writing was and then again why writing was hard because of the internalized suppression of my writing voice, but in my journey, I’ve come to love and value writing, thriving most when I have a daily writing practice and when I make the time to write in the midst of a heavy teaching and service load.  For me, reclaiming my identity as a writer has been part of humanizing this journey, allowing myself back into my work and allowing my voice to shape my teaching and research as well as my life.

So, in that spirit, I want to just take a moment to recap some of what I haven’t really made time to write about so that someday, I will look back and remember this semester.

First off, in less than 2 hours , I will (hopefully, unless it’s full) register for my first undergraduate class in almost 20 years, as I begin my journey towards reclaiming my heritage language and a lost part of my identity through a second bachelors in Chinese studies. With a lot of humility, I’ll enroll in a 4-unit Chinese 101 language class and begin that class in late January.

This journey has already been humbling. Entering as a non-traditional student, I haven’t known how or when to register or whether I would actually get into the class. Beginning this degree as an associate professor (and professional), I’ve found it really challenging (already, before the class has begun) to balance the course timing (4 hours/ week) with work commitments including conferences that I know I’ll need to attend, and search committee obligations.  I’ve already had to ask for help and plan far in advance and deal with the fact that my grade may be impacted by my other life commitments.  It’s made me even more empathetic as an instructor and it’s caused me pause as someone who is incredibly privileged in many ways (especially in relation to academia) and who is experiencing such challenges even before I step into a classroom.

Secondly, I have been inspired to write a somewhat fictionalized young adult memoir about losing my mom in high school.  I haven’t said this out loud except to my husband, but where else better than to the whole world on my blog?  I have journals that I kept of that painful year and a half between her death and my high school graduation and I think it’s an important story to tell.  But, I also know that it will be hard–a different kind of hard from the rejection (and scathing critique) of reviewer 2 on an academic journal article–a personal hard.  It is a type of hard that I may not have been ready to deal with until now, but I know that this is important, if only for me, and I’m committed to making it happen.

Finally, this is the first semester since I was awarded tenure and promotion to Associate Professor.  Many dear friends, at the academic conferences I’ve been attending, have been asking how it is on “the other side” of the tenure review. It’s hard to answer this since I want to be helpful and hopeful, but am feeling drained, as I’ve had a heavy teaching and service load this semester and am pivoting my research trajectory to include research in newer areas for me, which means it’s going slower than I’ve hoped.  I suppose the best thing that I can say about being “on the other side,” is that I no longer feel as obligated to justify or make apologies for who I am as a person, scholar, teacher or academic (although I still struggle with all of these apologies because of the environment of academia).  I am working towards embracing all of who I am, imperfections, struggles and successes; tenure and promotion has allowed me to do so with more freedom and confidence.

There is joy in this struggle.  And though I started this Monday morning (and this blog post) tired, I am ending the post encouraged.  Making space for my humanity, for the people and activities that I love, and for reflection, always leaves me feeling humbly in awe of the life I get to lead.  I am grateful in spite of my exhaustion, and exhausted in spite of my gratitude, but that is, what I suppose, makes me who I am.