Tag Archives: balance

Space: The Final Frontier?

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I’m not actually talking about that space….

It’s 9:15 am and I’m at the Literacy Research Association (#LRA19) annual conference. My roommate is out at breakfast, I’ve finished some grading I chose to do instead of rushing to an 8:30 session and now I have a moment to think…about space.

First, I think about this space. This is the space to write, the space to breathe, the space to reflect.  Somehow this space seems stolen from the hectic bustle of the conference just a few floors below me, from the hectic end of the semester bustle that I know will come toward the end of the day as students scramble to get assignments in, from my life back home as my husband takes my daughter for oral surgery today and took my son to the district spelling bee yesterday.

Then, I think about the space of this conference, a literacy conference which triggers all the imposter syndrome within me.  I am trained in this field.  I have a PhD in education with an emphasis on literacy, language and culture, but I wonder what that means since my work has always been focused on teacher education, on teacher identity, on the ways that who we are shapes the choices we make.  Yes, there is literacy in all the things.  Yes, I teach secondary literacy courses that expand the boundaries of meaning making and communicating our ideas. But, do I really think that I belong in this space? A space where I have always felt on the margins?

This thinking leads me to the idea of reclaiming space.  I was talking about this with a good friend and colleague last night over dinner after Dr. Marcelle Haddix gave her presidential speech at the conference.  Marcelle talked about the need for disrupting the status quo in spaces that have not traditionally belonged to people of color and claiming our right to occupy literacy spaces, about how critical conversations about race and the systems that perpetuate inequities should be central to literacy research if our literacy research is to matter. She drew from the power of Audre Lorde, Black Feminism and current scholars of color. Her words came at a moment when I felt profoundly isolated in this space, after coming from a poorly attended but critically important session that I was presenting, ironically on the “unnatural invisibility” (Yamada, 1979) of Asian Americans.

After Marcelle’s talk, when my friend and I were going to dinner, she asked me what I thought about the conference and I told her that I wasn’t coming back after this year.  I told her that while Marcelle’s speech had profoundly touched and shifted my thinking, the words coming into my head as I was walking down the hall after the address, towards my room, were, “Not every space.” I told her that I was tired of feeling like the outsider in this space, that my time is precious, that I am finally coming to know what I’m worth, that I didn’t need this space to take that value and time from me.

As we kept talking over dinner, my friend listened, she empathized, then she reminded me of the importance of holding space for people to show up, about time to create a movement or even to create a small change.  She told me her story. I was there to listen and empathize and hold space.

Maybe I will return to this conference space.

I don’t yet know.

So…space…taking up space, reclaiming space, holding space, giving myself space, healing spaces.

I’m still thinking about space.

Unapologetically Showing Up for Myself: Reflections on NCTE 19

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Thanks to the #DisruptTexts crew for having these shirts made

“To make a revolution, people must not only struggle against existing institutions. In order to change and transform the world, they must change and transform themselves.”

Honestly, I wasn’t looking forward to NCTE this year.  In the past, NCTE has been a complicated space for me, one that is as exhausting as it can be exhilarating, and one that is always overwhelming. I came in with a lot of things that I had to get done: on the plane, during the conference, on the way home.  Always all the things, right?

In the weeks approaching this NCTE, I have had a lot going on, and my mom’s birthday (she would have been 81 this year) came on Saturday, my busiest conference day.  There is always a tension in complicated grief on birthdays and anniversaries, so I wasn’t sure how it would all go.

But, it was probably the most beautiful and affirming conference experiences that I’ve had in a long time, maybe ever.

And it was because I showed up for myself.

I have spent my entire life showing up for others: my mother, friends, colleagues, my children, students.  I love these people, don’t get me wrong.  It is an HONOR to show up in love, solidarity, affirmation, coalition, for others.

But in showing up for others, I often forget to listen to myself and what I want or need, relegating those thoughts to the shameful realm of selfishness.

This NCTE something strange happened.

I just focused on being present. I focused on what I needed in any given moment.  I focused on healing parts of me that I’ve been working towards embracing and understanding for the last couple of years: my identity as an Asian American woman.

I went to Asian American (and women of color) author sessions; I facilitated an Asian American teacher panel; I co-presented with my friend Jung about our research on Asian American teachers; we co-facilitated the Asian American caucus open forum and first ever networking event, and I met a lot of amazing authors.

I didn’t push myself to hang out with all of the amazing people I love at NCTE.  If I saw them, we hugged and talked. If I didn’t, I wasn’t running around frantically to make things happen (well, except for when I was running frantically after the teacher panel to Debbi Michiko Florence’s signing that was already over, insert sad emoji here).  I connected with people I didn’t know, but now consider friends.  I met people who I’d only ever seen on Twitter. I spent quality time with people I deeply cherish.

I was present.

I showed up.

I showed up for myself.

I showed up for the little girl who loved to read, who loved the windows into the worlds of others.

I showed up for the teenager who had just lost her mom, and who desperately needed to be seen and understood.

I showed up for the young mother who felt so overwhelmed that she just wanted to become invisible.

I showed up for the Asian American associate professor who is trying to embrace all of who she is, so she can show up stronger for herself and others.

I showed up for the author inside of me, who sees the calling and knows she has a voice and a story to tell.

And you know? Even though there are still all the things to do, I am letting go of some of them, to make room for the best people and the best things, the affirming things, the enriching things, the nourishing things.

So, I am not bummed if I missed you at NCTE. I am not sorry.

When our paths cross next, I will be more present with you because I am transforming.  When I show up for you next, I will show up with more of myself because showing up will be borne of love and choice and not obligation and inadequacy.  I will know what I am bringing to you through knowing who I am.

Much love to all of you who I did connect with at NCTE, whether for a super brief selfie of appreciation and love or a 5-minute conversation or over food, in sessions — however it was, thank you.  I am grateful for your contribution to me, for the restoration of being fully present.

I’ll see you all when I see you all next. In love and with gratitude.

 

Joy

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The picture I found waiting for me when I arrived home on Saturday

Life is about ebb and flow.

For me, there is a constant push and pull between exhaustion and exhilaration; sorrow and joy; absence and presence; feeling competent and impostor syndrome.

All of the things.

But, this weekend, there was joy in recovering.

I got some things done this weekend. I often wish I could say that I didn’t work at all over the weekend, but I honestly probably wouldn’t feel good on any weekend where I didn’t work at all. Part of my passion lies in work-related life, educating, responding to students, answering messages from colleagues, preparing for the week ahead so it feels less frantic.

But I also got some other things done. I slept a lot. I spent time with my kids. I went grocery shopping with my husband and daughter. I cooked dinner tonight for the first time in so long (salmon, roasted potatoes and green beans). I watched junk television (I love junk television so much, mostly competitive reality shows like The Voice and Worst Cooks in America). I sang at church then went home to spend more time with my family. I ate well. It was lovely.

It was not a “perfect” weekend.  I am still not 100%. I still could use some rest.

But there were moments of joy in this weekend.  There were moments where I did the best I could and it wasn’t the greatest, but it was what it was, and I was okay with that.

This weekend was progress and growth, it was the flow of the ebb and flow.  It was love and it was joy.  It was moments of simplicity in the complexity of the everyday.

And for that, I am so grateful.

But, PS. If you see me in real life, I could use support in remembering the simple, the present and the joy in the midst of all-too-busy life.  Please and thank you.

 

Exhaustion

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I am tired.

Like this owl, sitting up, squinting at you through its sleep, I am tired.

I’ve been at the California Council on Teacher Education Fall Conference since Wednesday. Following my Wednesday morning drive, I had an all-day board meeting, and two full conference days (with me returning to my hotel room at 9 pm both nights) after which I proceeded to respond to student work (so that I might try to minimize work obligations over the weekend). Yesterday afternoon, I literally must have looked worse than that owl pictured above because my dean counseled me to get some rest in the afternoon after a roundtable session with colleagues (but I couldn’t because I was facilitating a Special Interest Group meeting later that afternoon).

In a little over an hour, the power at my hotel will go out for 4-hours.   Probably right around that time, I’ll head out. I would like to go to hear my friend give a keynote talk but I am so tired that I am more likely just to head home.

I miss my family.

I have had many more charming and articulate ideas about my blog this week–writing about my daughter’s love of the book series we’re reading (which is one of the best things of my life), writing about my learning at the conference (which has been important in many ways), writing about taking time for retreat (which I thought I would do, but am not doing), writing about time with cherished friends as renewal (which has been a lovely part of this week, but in the midst of doing far too much).

But, this is about my journey, and honestly, at this moment on my academic journey, I am exhausted. I cannot continue doing all the things, even all the things I love.  I have to rest and recharge.  I have to spend the time with the people in the places that restore me.   I have to make the time to rest.

I know that this is on me. I am intellectually aware that this needs to become my number 1 priority at this moment. But, it is my hardest unlearning.

And I am tired, so, so tired.

41

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Today is my 41st birthday.

It’s been filled with love, (free, delicious) food and drink, and with people I love.

I actually super love spending my birthday responding to the messages, texts and tweets that come my way.  Some might say that I should be out there living my best life, but actually, I’m really good with being in here, living my best life.

That’s it.  Nothing super profound today, except for the gratitude I feel to be living this life, with this community, family and the opportunities to contribute that come alongside it.

Also grateful to take this weekend off. I know there’s a lot of things to do in the coming week, but I’m going to get to what I can get to, and that will be what I can get to.

Today, I’m getting to community and family, enjoying the best of food and drink, and living my best life.

It feels like the right way to start off 41.

Growth

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Today was a breakthrough day, in what has been a breakthrough school year.  I have committed to learning Mandarin (my heritage language), reclaiming my time, and making healthier choices in my life.  These things are remarkably uncomfortable.  They force me to move from my comfortable, but futile, state of perpetual busyness to be present to new challenges that push me towards growth.  This is not easy. Some days all I feel are growing pains.  But other days, I can hear, see, and even smell the growth I am engaging in. And I am recording this here to remind myself and to share with those who might read this blog.  Growth is possible, but it isn’t easy.

A slide from a meeting at my son’s Chinese school today

This morning, after a somewhat frantic morning dog walk to our local bakery which almost made us late to my son’s second day of Chinese school, he and I arrived on campus.  He went to class and I went to a meeting (that I had just remembered was happening a few hours before) about AP Chinese & the SAT-II Chinese test.  As those of you who have followed my Mandarin journey know that I dread any meeting at my son’s Chinese school.  Two weeks ago, in his first week of class parent meeting, I understood about 50% and walked away proud.  Today, dear reader, between Google Translate, my background knowledge of the SAT-II and AP Language/Culture tests and the new vocabulary I’ve learned this semester (which happens to be about tests, school & levels), I understood almost 85% of what was going on.  There were a few words that I didn’t get, but I really, really comprehended what was going on, in Mandarin.  It was amazing. It is the first time in my adult life this has ever happened in a real world setting.

Weekend reading for #Ghostsintheschoolyard chat this week

After the meeting, I went to the grocery store and had some extra time before I needed to pick up my son (but not enough time to make the round trip home) so I began reading Eve L. Ewing’s Ghosts in the Schoolyard for a Twitter chat that I’m excited to participate in next week.  This is the second weekend in a row that I’ve read something of my choosing, not directly for my work (although I’m an educator, and teacher educator, so almost everything can relate to my work).  I actually love to read but have relegated myself to reading academic articles and whatever crosses my social media feeds, so reading books is actually pretty extraordinary for me, and I’m remembering my love for reading.

Chicken roasting in Instant Pot for dinner, to be accompanied by sweet potato fries & salad

This afternoon, I did get a few things done for tomorrow (for work), but then spent an hour playing with my daughter and started roasting a chicken in my instant pot.  Cooking and making food that I’m proud to eat and that can last for a few meals during the semester is a pretty big breakthrough too.

I guess all of this to say that change and growth are possible, even after 40 years of seeking endless external validation through production.

Or perhaps, I’m saying, “Winner, winner, chicken dinner” 🙂

The Life-Giving Necessity of Humanizing Spaces

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I have been in a deep funk the last few days…weeks…months, my friends.

Today, I finally figured out (again) what’s been going on.

I have been doing too much.

If you know me, in real life, or via this blog, you’ll know that this is no great revelation and nothing new.

I do too much.

It’s a problem.

It stems from me always trying to prove my worth, and thereby undervaluing my time, overcommitting and refusing to give less than 150% to EVERY SINGLE THING.

It’s not sustainable nor realistic, and it makes me feel terrible, like I’m failing at everything because I’m not present to anything, or anyone.

Thank God for community.

I’m fortunate to have had several text, in-person, and social media conversations over this persistently funky time with people who love me deeply.  It took all of them (and a trip to Target) for me to realize what was happening.

I am not a machine.

The work that I do, the work that I’m deeply committed to, is humanizing work.  It requires me to be fully present to my humanity and the humanity of others.

I can’t do all the things and truly do this work.

I mean, clearly, I can do all the things.  I can get them done, and do them well.

But, I won’t ever thrive as long as I refuse to set boundaries, as long as I fail to value my own worth and time, as long as I am not intentional.

And, what are all the things, if there is no meaning to the work?

If I lose the humanity in the work, if my choices dehumanize me and the work I am doing, what am I actually doing?

At the core, it leaves me feeling like a complete failure, when to the external world, I may be getting the most accomplished.

There can’t be justice, peace, and sustainability, if there is not presence and intentionality.

I can’t create humanizing spaces if I continue to make dehumanizing choices in my own life.

It is the reckoning.

Again.

I know this is my demon, that sense that I am only possibly good enough through the things that I get done. And all the things I am doing are good things. But, there is such thing as too much of a good thing.  And not all the good things are for me in this time.

As I’m writing, my son is watching his 3rd Star Wars trilogy movie in a row on his first day of summer break. Last night, as I finished up some work at 10pm, my husband was playing a networked video game with his brother. My daughter is a bounty of joy and energy and wonders why I can’t spend every moment playing a pretend game, reading a book, or watching a video with her.

They get it.

I have a lot to learn.

As a dear friend said to me this week, “We are all unfinished.”

So, I will begin learning.  I will try again. I will breathe.  I will prioritize time with those that feed my spirit.

I will likely fail.

And it will take me awhile to recognize my humanity, but it’s going to be okay.

I just need to begin fighting for my own humanity and humanization as if the world’s also depended on it, because in some ways, through our webs of mutuality, it does.

So Much Goodness: Negotiating Multiple Identities

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The three pictures above reflect some of the identities I’m moving back and forth between on a daily basis: scholar/ professor/ researcher/ teacher/ student/ mother (not included, Asian American woman, mentor, student teaching supervisor, person of faith, choir member, ministry leader, runner, wife, friend, etc.).  All of these identities, in and of themselves, bring me so much joy.  I’m so grateful to have such a full life, embracing who I am and doing work that I’m committed to, but let me be honest, for a moment, on this blog — negotiating these multiple identities and occupying these different roles is exhausting, and sometimes the intersections of them make me irritable and less than my best self.

This week, I jumped off the plane from AERA and back into my life: figuring out Tae Kwon Do/daycare pick-ups and drop offs, planning my daughter’s 4th birthday party next month, realizing that I was 2.5 hours behind on required lab hours for my Chinese class and feeling super unprepared for my Chinese test on Thursday, inspired by the research world and ready to delve into the multiple concurrent studies I’m working on, building up mileage for an upcoming half marathon (after coming off of an injury), facilitating multiple student teaching midterm evaluations (some of which are challenging situations), encouraging some of my Masters students who are taking their comps while reading and giving feedback on thesis & dissertation drafts for my other graduate students, planning for our Faculty Inquiry Group meeting on Culturally Responsive Teaching in Teacher Ed, finalizing and sending out agendas for a Faculty Council meeting and a Social Justice Ministry meeting, attending Bible Study, doing two loads of laundry, transcribing interviews, coding data, setting up powerpoint presentations for an upcoming conference, planning a new project with a remarkable group of fellow teacher educators.

So much goodness.

But, SO…MUCH…goodness.

I woke up this morning to e-mails from cooperating teachers, coding to be done, observations and a mid-semester evaluation meeting to be had, Tae Kwon Do & daycare pick-up this evening (and not knowing who exactly will do the pick-up based on the timing of my afternoon meeting), dirty laundry to be done, a silly (almost) 4yo (also up early) with made up words to a song she knows, who changed her “treat” for school choice 3x, a slightly sick teenager, inspired to make himself breakfast, but moving slower than a snail in molasses to get out the door to catch the bus.

I sent them out the door and felt my irritation, combined with general apathy and UGH.

Why was I so grumpy? My kids were being their normal, charming, though sometimes frustrating, selves.  The e-mails were nothing unexpected.  I knew the laundry had to get done.  I’ve been excited to get this coding done. I need time to get the powerpoint set up.  I think I did fine on my Chinese test and get a bit of a break over the weekend.  Most days, all of the things don’t get to me.  And I actually got sleep last night!

But, it is perhaps because of that sleep, because today is a rest day from running, because I have a moment to write and pause that the multitude of goodness in my life feels like a flood.  It is a lot.  It is nothing I regret. But, it is so much.

I will not drown.  I will stand. But, I will also breathe and be kind to myself.  It is a lot.  Sometimes my community is my life raft.  Sometimes, I am drifting with a life vest in what feels like shark infested waters.  Sometimes, I am tired of keeping myself afloat.  Sometimes, I can stand on the shore and watch the waves crash around me.  I can make space for it all, gratitude and overwhelm, love and frustration, work and rest.

Doing the Work: Focusing on Thriving — A Post-#AERA19 Reflection

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I just returned from Toronto and the 2019 meeting of the American Educational Research Association.  AERA, for many years, was exhausting, in a way that constituted a seemingly endless search to figure out who I was.  I would often reconnect with friends from graduate school or would connect with scholars whose work I admired, and I would wonder why I wasn’t doing what they were doing, how I could do more, be more, do something different, be someone different, make more time for research, apply the theoretical to my practical.  I would leave feeling conflicted about who I was and the work I was doing.

This year (and last year to some degree) was different.  This year, AERA, while always full and exhausting, was a time of embracing my professional identity, learning from others, refueling, connecting, and getting clear on the work that there is to do.  It also was a time where I was able to see myself through the interactions that I had with others, one of which (Thank you, Sunny!) encouraged me to take the time to write this blog.  I realized that people are reading what I write, learning from my work, and that I have community.  I learned that doing work that honors who I am is not theoretical, but personal, practical and important, with the potential for structural and transformational impact.  I learned that raising my voice is not only important, but essential, in challenging the normative ideologies and practices that, in the words of Bettina Love, spirit murder Black children.

My work, I know, focuses on teachers of color, and Asian American teachers/teacher educators in P-16 spaces.  It focuses on challenging dominant narratives of who teachers (and teacher educators) of color are and what they do, to begin unpacking the complexities of how they navigate and survive in a system not made for them, not made for us.  My work focuses on giving voice to complexity.  My writing (including this blog) reveals the complexities of being a mother-scholar, critical Asian American scholar, teacher-scholar, heritage language learner-scholar, advocate for equity-scholar, anti-anti-Black scholar, co-conspirator scholar among many other parts of my identity.

It is good work.  It is important work.

But this AERA, more than ever, I realized that it is work that will consume me and that could destroy me, if I do not commit to doing the work of thriving and promoting personal and professional sustainability.  As I work to grow as a mentor and as a learner, I am so clear that I need to grow in boundary setting.  There are no shortages of opportunities.  The work is so important.  But, so is my 4-year old who told me this morning as we were cuddling before she went off to preschool how much she missed having someone lay next to her as she fell asleep.  So is my 13-year old telling me about rock climbing in Joshua Tree and appreciating the maple flavored treats I brought home from this trip.  So is my sleep-deprived partner, who always encourages me to do the work and follow my passions. They are also my passions. Even more importantly, they are my heart.

And honestly, so is my time to reflect and to write, both for formal work and for reflective learning.  So is the space to be vulnerable, to be present to the life I have created and am creating.

From that place, we can all grow. It is all the work, but I must commit to prioritizing the work of living for my voice to feel its power.  That is the work, the humanizing work, that helps me see the people in my studies, to hear their voices, to support the co-construction of their stories, to make a difference.

And figuring out that work is such an important place to be.

Cultivating Joy, Letting Go of Shame — A Lenten Journey

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It’s the mid-semester struggle time.

Somehow I thought that since this semester, I am supervising student teachers rather than teaching a full class, I would not feel the struggle that typically comes up in mid-March.

But, in the midst of too many service commitments, multiple spring semester presentations coming up, a mid-term in my Chinese class, my commitment to spending more time with and energy towards my family, data collection, analysis and attempts at writing, I find myself struggling with the typical exhaustion and overwhelm that comes around week 7 of every semester.

Fortunately, it’s also Lent, a time that I’ve taken over the last couple of years to reflect and focus on regathering myself.  This year, my church is engaging in a study around what we are cultivating and letting go. I’ve decided to use these 40 days to cultivate joy and let go of shame.

Cultivating joy has been surprisingly easy and wonderfully encouraging.  Most joy comes through family and community: seeing those I’m deeply invested in thrive around me, spending time with friends (many of whom are colleagues and students/ former students) who I don’t often get to connect with in person, being present in everyday moments with my family, remembering to live purposefully.

Letting go of shame has not been as easy (as it’s my default emotion when I make a mistake), but I’m grateful for the accountability of posting about the journey as I walk it and the encouragement of my family and friends in this respect as well.  Yes, I am on a continual journey of letting go of overcommitment, but I’m also going to be gentle with the fact that 40 years of overcommitment isn’t undone overnight.  I’m going to rely on my “accountability besties” to help me prioritize. I’m going to do what I can, find joy in the journey and let go of the things I really don’t need to feel badly about.

During the busiest, most overwhelming part of the semester, intentionally finding and cultivating joy while letting go of multiple sources of shame inherent in academic institutions, a mom-shaming culture, and a too-busy life, these shifts in perspective goes a long way.  And, in my own way, they are an act of radical resistance to engage in Lent in a way that does not promote continual self-deprivation, but focuses on a regathering of self to fulfill one’s calling.

I’m going to breathe, cultivate, let go, and keep walking.