Brick Walls

I read a lot. And when I read, I make connections to many different parts of my life.
When I read for pleasure, I sometimes align myself so deeply with the hero or heroine that it is almost hard to say goodbye to the characters when I get to the last page. I feel compassion for their struggles, as well as joy in their successes, as though it was actually something that was happening to me.
When I read for teaching, the ability to focus on the theories and practices can sometimes blur on the page. But, there are times when I feel the excitement of finding that one strategy that will help the little boy in my class who just can't get it. I find a problem to solve that I can't wait to share with my class, to see the "aha" moment of discovering the solution. (See if you can figure this one out- my grade 2/3 class could: You can't hold it. It weighs nothing. You can see it. When you put it in a can, the can weighs less. What is it?)
And when I read for self-discovery, for personal growth, I get to experience my own "aha" moments, and I apply them to my life. They aren't always successful. The changes that I make aren't always well-received by the people closest to me. But, the impact that some of these ideas have had on my life makes the unbalanced chaos that the people around me might see and feel, worthwhile.

In my last post, I described how I had been struggling with writer's block the past few weeks. Ironically, there were many other brick walls that I was faced with during the same time frame which were frustrating and, at times, zapped the energy out of me. This analogy of the brick wall was something that I first read about in the book "The Last Lecture" by Randy Pausch. Terminally ill with pancreatic cancer, his book was a tribute to the last lecture that he made- a lecture about achieving our childhood dreams. One theme that repeated itself throughout his writing, was the idea that we are all presented with obstacles or "brick walls" on our quest to achieve our childhood dreams. But, these walls aren't there to make the acquisition of our dreams impossible, or to let ourselves believe that the dream is so out of our reach that we should just give up. Instead, "Brick walls are there for a reason. They give us a chance to show how badly we want something." (p. 79, Pausch). "The brick walls are there to stop the people who don't want it badly enough. They're there to stop the other people." (p.73, Pausch).

One of my dreams, or perhaps three of my dreams, has been to first nurture, then guide my children to be responsible, to be kind and compassionate, and to be happy and at peace with the choices that they make. There are many days as a mother that I feel as though I am sliding down the brick wall, back into a pit of mud at the base of it. Can that look of annoyance, of pure negative attitude really be directed at me? Can those angry words being thrown at me truly be what my child thinks, how my child feels? Not only have I slid down the wall on days such as these, but I am buried in that thick oozing mud up to my waist trying to find a desperate handhold on the wall in front of me, trying to pull myself up and out. How do I get out? How do I start the climb up that wall again? I remember what the dream is. I remember that the brick walls of parenting are there for a reason. Some days it is easy. There are days that are filled with laughing, teasing; days filled with pride in each other. These are days that I feel as though I am almost over the wall. But, then the other days- the days of anger, the days of being scared- suddenly creep back in again. But, I know how badly I want the dream. I remember that I want my children to be caring, responsible, and happy. I know that I want that dream for my children more than anyone else does, and that makes the brick wall surmountable.

Everyday Passions

My writing has always been a way for me to escape. It allows me to release what is building up inside of me. It lets me air the negative, but also lets me remember the positive. I sometimes have to remind myself of the feeling, the high, that I get from putting my thoughts on paper. For the past few weeks, I have been consumed with report cards, curriculum expectations, medical issues, the drama of motherhood, the daily living of life. I tried to sit down to write. I wanted to recapture that moment of euphoria when I have finished a post. But, for some reason, the words were stuck. I needed to find a way to climb the wall of my writer's block. I had to write again to rekindle the connection I have made with so many women. I had to write again for me.

I keep various journals, depending on my mood, depending on the purpose of my writing. I read through many of my pieces hoping to renew the inspiration. As I was reading, the pride of seeing my own words on paper grew into that desire to write again. One piece in particular was written shortly before I created "The Chocolate of Women". It was written at a time when I was building the passion I feel for my life and all of the people and things that I have in my life. It was written in the spring, when the world reawakens, when it is easy to hope. The journal that I chose to write in on that spring day is called "Passion, every day".

May 24, 2009: "Only passions, great passions, can elevate the soul to great things." (Denis Diderot) I am sitting on my back patio, sipping my coffee, listening to the birds, the sound of my neighbour's water hose as it soaks the dry ground, breathing in the scent of my purple lilac bush, feeling like I am on vacation at a northern Ontario resort. I want to revel in the feeling of being away from my life, even if it is only for half an hour. For this small bit of time, there are no unwelcome interruptions into my thoughts- internally or externally. The sun is feeling warmer now, almost hot, so bright on the white pages of my journal. I love late spring; the world is alive again, and has breathed new purpose back into my soul. I feel the drive to make my passions grow. In the dark days of winter, I was afraid that I had lost that drive or buried it so deep that it would take years to resurface. But, each day I feel its return and welcome it with open arms.
Today's passion is my garden. The beauty and colours of my gardens inspire me to tend to them, learn more and watch them grow and mature. Today, I add life and beauty to my outside home. I am so lucky to have the means to spend a glorious Sunday pursuing this passion. It is not a chore. It is the beauty of my life.


As I read this journal entry this week, chips of my writer's block fell away. I wanted to feel that passion again. I wanted to remember all of the small things that have healed me, and have allowed me to grow into the person I am. I wanted to write.