Is it Essential?

Teaching at home (both my students and my children) has been, to put it simply, an adjustment. No major crises to report, however. Perhaps, in some ways, the fact that both my wife and I are teachers has contributed to quicker adaptation to the new normal in the time of social distancing. We are finding it not just a complicated time where common errands are now accompanied with mild anxiety and masks, but also an opportunity to reflect on everything: our well-being and work, but also on what is and isn't important to us as a family. Or, to use a phrase we hear everyone right now, the "essential".

That word "essential" is all over the news (well, last I checked... I've made it a point to stop following the news and found it refreshing). I've noticed the word used as a divisive term, but have also found it to be a lens through which to reflect on all aspects of life from work to family, Boiling down curriculum to the essential was a matter of necessity and my wife and I find our teaching all the better for it. In fact, I am eager to see how these revisions will further adapt my work to once we are able to return! Before everything was shut down in mid-March, we were a family constantly on the move - home to school to activities to extra work to other activities to family events to home, etc. With no where to go but home, there has been time each day to reflect and seek out ways to spend our time once school work is complete. For me, that time has been for reading and writing... which really means time for reflecting. It has meant time to seek out, and finally focus on, what is truly essential.

This all leads me to the work I have been doing over the last three weeks leading up to this post. Since 2015, I have managed an online resource of writing and contest opportunities for young playwrights (ages 8-18) around the world. This was a side project during my doctoral research that compiled basic information about the field of work being done that had ancillary relevancy to what eventually became the dissertation. It has been difficult to gauge who is behind the over 3,500 hits that the Young Playwrights Map has received in that time, but someone is finding their way there and using its information. About two years ago, I considered shutting down the Map, but a news article announcing that a young writer in New Jersey would have readings of her work in young playwrights festivals in Arizona and New York (both of which were listed on the site) prompted me to keep it going. It was not until social distancing that I had the time to do a proper update of the information listed, which I completed in mid-April. A conversation with a graduating senior from Niagara University (my alma mater) sparked my curiosity about the potential for the Map to do more than just be a listing of information. I have since embarked upon a series of changes that will transform the site again.

On May 1, the Young Playwrights Map will officially become the Young Playwrights Guide. I have a schedule of insights, advice, and video-recorded conversations that will soon populate the site with a renewed purpose to provide tools for young creators to embark upon, and eventually share, their works. I am so excited by this shift and it has been difficult to keep things under wraps. However, in order to maintain our new family schedule, I am beginning to roll out these changes with small updates to the existing online platforms. The Map website got a makeover this afternoon; social media platforms will follow. I'm also putting together the first few video conversations on a branded YouTube channel and will delve into the world of Instagram, too.

It is interesting (and perhaps a bit morbid) to think that if it were not for a global pandemic, I may not have the time to do the work that I have done. (And I am certainly empathetic to the opposite reality that others may face right now). Reflection is an important part of my work as an educator, artist, and researcher, but also having the time to read Ryan Holiday's The Obstacle is the Way launched me into the right mindset to re-brand the Map into the Guide. As Holiday notes in the book - and in other articles about the idea - It is a matter of how we use crisis, or failure, to reflect on what is essential to revise and to keep moving on.

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Curbside Prophet

There are a number of roadside signs near where I live and work that frequently post maxims, sayings, and other quick philosophical sayings. The family-owned auto repair shop is one of my favorites; I also enjoy the fun marketing of a local ice cream parlor. However, today it was a church that had a great, quick saying:

Today hasn't happened before.

Simple and elevating in just four words. It resonated with me personally, but also felt true for the students I teach who are anxious and uncertain about speaking in front of peers in a theatre class. What has happened before is past and we don't know what tomorrow will be. But today is here in front of us and can be whatever we want. Why assume it is the same? Why not make it different? Or at least take a step in the direction you want to go?

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Holding out for a hero!

This summer has been a complicated one (with stories for future posts), but one positive side is it has given me time to work on a number of projects I've had in mind for some time. Can't share details yet, but stay tuned...

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Walking

My grandparents' neighborhood was a familiar one to me as a child. A few other relatives lived nearby and I remember playing with some of the neighborhood kids a few houses down. But when I was about 10 years old, I once caused a panic by leaving my grandparents' house for a walk to the edge of their neighborhood.

The story, as I remember it, was that my uncle took a dog for a walk. I don't remember if it was his dog, or a dog he was watching, but they went for a walk. At first, I didn't want to go, but soon after they left I changed my mind and decided I would just try to catch up. The remaining details of the story are fuzzy to me now, but I do remember seeing my uncle a way up ahead on a path heading into the woods by the river. I don't think I called out to him and probably figured I would just catch up so I went into the woods, too. But I never found my uncle. I passed a number of other people, most of them heading in the opposite direction and back out into the neighborhood.

Different trail near the same area
CNY Hiking

This particular path followed the southern bank of the Mohawk River, a tributary of the Hudson River, which flows from Oneida County in Central New York (near where my grandparents lived) east to the Hudson near Albany. It was summer and the path was vibrant and verdant. I remember a big boulder or two and not thinking much about how far I must have walked, or how long I had been gone until I reached the end of the path by a major road. I quickly turned around and made good speed back to the entrance of the trail where I met up with a very worried family. I don't remember if the police were involved in searching for me, but do remember that I had left the family in that kind of panic.

This "exploring" - as I called it as a child - was something I did frequently. Some times it was a walk on the path through the woods behind my house; often it was a trek across neighborhoods on my bike. No matter the method of travel, these journeys make for some of my most enjoyable memories. Of course for these jaunts I made sure to let someone know where I was going. Once among the trees, I would see how far I could go before I couldn't see my house any more. I also tried to get "lost" and orient myself with familiar sites like friends' houses that backed up to the woods, the river path (the Seneca River, this time), or even the sewage treatment plant located deep in the forest. I continued the practice in college with walks along the Niagara River Gorge and even took to the mountains with friends during summer breaks. I even climbed peaks that, in retrospect, I was ill-equipped to manage. I've been on top of a few of the High Peaks in the Adirondack Park, but the pinnacle of these climbs was Mt. Washington in New Hampshire at 6,289 feet thanks in large part to my childhood friend who makes his living as a mountaineer and guide in Alaska for nearly 20 years now. My boneheaded stubbornness, and a youthful ignorance, also helped. Most people train before attempting these kinds of hikes, but I just went out and did it. (Although I've been mollified in this by learning that Theodore Roosevelt did much the same thing in conquering the peaks of the Adirondacks and even the Matterhorn!)

All this to say that I am looking forward to walking again. It has been years since I've made a habit of it and while there can be a number of excuses why I haven't, perhaps it is best to say that our neighborhood is full of nature and very easy to explore: a good start to get back in the habit. The hikes I've taken with my Cub Scouts have encouraged me, too. And who knows... maybe I will wind up tackling another mountain, or two.

Wrapping up 2017

With 2017 winding down, so has my journey to the Ph.D. I realized when logging in that I hadn't followed up the post about heading off to my dissertation defense. I received a unanimous "pass" and have been working for the last few weeks on revisions and reformatting of the thesis for final submission and publication. That process was completed tonight.

So 2018 will begin with all requirements for the doctorate complete and graduation just over the horizon. I can't wait to get started on the next projects and to continue improving myself in the year ahead. To that end, I am sharing a quote attributed to Benjamin Franklin, which I read for the first time tonight (hat tip to The Art of Manliness Twitter feed):

"Be at war with your vices, at peace with your neighbors, and let every new year find you a better man." - B. Franklin

Happy New Year, everyone!

Reflections on a Road Traveled

In eight days, I will begin the end of a very long, laborious, and incredibly rewarding, journey. While sitting to reflect upon this moment, I am flooded with imagery of roads, and cannot escape the idea of the "end of the road". Cue Boyz II Men... or Shel Silverstein... or Robert Frost... or any of the other road/path/trail/journey metaphors that come to mind. In thinking on these I've noticed that the path typically comes in two varieties: the road that ends and the road that doesn't. For much of my life I have thought that I was following Mr. Frost's suggestion in taking the latter, but recently came to understand that I've really only understood the former.

This is not to say that I view a road as the path to some kind of finite end. There is only so much life experience a person can have before realizing that this cannot be the case. Far from it. Yet it is interesting to see that while I was provided with the example of the road less traveled, my expectations have been closely tied to the cause and effect logic of the traditional road map:

• go to school, get career, get married, get family

When I recently eclipsed a "mid-life" milestone and looked back on a life lived so far, I awoke to the realization that there's much, much more to that equation - more so to the idea that equation isn't quite so logical anymore.

To put this another way, when I was younger, I dreamed of what I might become and the things that I might do, but never fully understood that there would be twists and redirections along the way. What's more, I had turned 40 and recognized that any plans I had in life had stopped at some vague age that I had probably passed long ago. A line from the song "My Shot" in the musical Hamilton has resonated with me recently - "See, I never thought I'd live past twenty" - with Hamilton's twenty being the moment when I reached the end of the road map above. And the funny thing about that "road map" is that as I sat here writing it, I struggled with what punctuation to use at the end of the sentence. Is that the end of a sentence and punctuated with a period? To finite. Perhaps an ellipse to signify the continuation of the path? Or maybe it is as my wife has lately and so poignantly suggested about this entire year of reflection: that what is needed is a comma to signify that there's more to come. That this spot, this moment, this job, this whatever is not meant forever, but is instead just a part of the larger story. I like that idea (and that's a smart person there, my wife).

Yet, as I wrote the words and paused to consider what to do next, I was drawn to the flashing cursor sitting there waiting, rhythmically for me to continue. It was an placeholder, simultaneously active and passive, ready for me to get oriented and move again in a specific direction. If I've learned anything in the process of traveling through life, coming to the end of one road is not a symbol of "the end", but a chance to take - or better yet, to MAKE - some new way forward. It is relieving to realize that now and frustrating to have waiting so long to come to this understanding. But I am here now: ready and excited to take a new way forward and see where else I might go and what more I might learn. And this time, I will move ahead with an idea in mind and the clarity to know that while there might be stability in following a more-traveled path, it is always ok - perhaps nowadays even preferred - to take out a machete and make my own way... Cue Frank... or Kermit and Fozzie... or whatever else might be...