…. I wish I’d started this homework assignment earlier instead of 3 hours before it was due… it was A LOT of fun, and I’d love to have put more time and energy into it! I wish the content was better… but I guess it’s funnier if it’s NOT! 😉
If you can’t read the tiny text, no big deal… it’s mostly about articles we had to read for class.
This is what the ‘inspirational’ photo says, in case you can’t read it. 😉
(It’s in the rotation of backgrounds on my laptop)
I completed the first class of my graduate certificate program in Children’s Literature!!!
It was called “The Art of the Picturebook,” and I never knew that school could be so interesting and fun!! I’ve enjoyed some classes throughout my college career, but none so much as this! I was actually excited to do homework! WHUUUUT!?? weird… I never really felt like I fit in in any of the other classes or programs I took in the past. I guess I just needed to find the right program. And books have always been important to me. And now I can explore that further! Yaaaaayyyy!!!
“Fol-de-rol and fiddle dee dee and fiddley faddley foddle
all the wishes in the world are poppy cock and twoddle.
Fol-de-rol and fiddle dee dee and fiddley faddley foodle
all the dreamers in the world are dizzy in the noodle.”
This is what the sensible people of the world say, according to Cinderella’s fairy godmother in the Rodger’s and Hammerstein’s musical in a song they sing together about Cinderella’s wish to go to the ball. But together, they discover by the end of the song, that “impossible” can be changed to “it’s possible” with creativity, imagination, hard work, and someone who loves you to help. Like Cinderella and her fairy godmother, I am learning and exploring how to grant my own wish of forging a career doing what I love: writing, being creative, and helping others. I don’t yet know what that career will be exactly, but every day I am making choices to steer myself down the path to get there. And I plan to use every tool and asset I have to help shape my wish out of the supplies I have. And with a little help, and a little magic, I know I will get to the ball!
SUMMARY:
Turning the impossible to the possible is a process – one that requires many things. It requires creativity and imagination. Every day, I am thinking and brainstorming, searching for different ways to achieve my goals. I am on the lookout for new opportunities to embrace that will keep me moving forward, eyes focused on the path ahead. It requires commitment, dedication and hard work. Sometimes the path is thorny, or blocked by a tree. I continue to apply my imagination to identify creative and efficient solutions to remove such obstacles. It requires bravery, and it requires stepping out of your comfort zone. There is a certain degree of anxiety about the uncertainty of where the path leads, but you can’t turn back. It also requires help and support. Not all of us have a fairy godmother to turn our everyday objects into the perfect materials to achieve our dreams. But we do have people who love us. Asking for help is scary and hard, but it is something I plan on practicing. Most of all, it requires hope, and I plan on keeping that hope alive, nurturing it, and seeing it bloom and grow into something even more beautiful.
“But the world is full of zanies and fools who don’t believe in sensible rules
and won’t believe what sensible people say..
and because these daft and dewey eyed dopes keep building up impossible
hopes impossible things are happening every day!”
I didn’t know his name. But he knew mine. It was written in clear, bold letters on the hard, plastic nametag that adorned my green apron.
He knew my name, but he wanted to change it.
“Isn’t Emerald a boy’s name?” he asked.
I was used to strange reactions to my rare and somewhat unusual name, so I laughed. I didn’t choose my name, but I’ve learned to love it.
“No,” I replied, with a puzzled grin, only a little uncomfortably. Did he think I was a boy? My uniform was standardized regardless of gender, and my visor concealed most of my long hair, but I didn’t think I looked like a boy. Did I? My confusion bubbled up exponentially. Why would he ask that? What an odd thing to ask. I’m a girl. My name is Emerald. Emerald is a girl’s name.
I pushed aside my uneasiness and continued to assist him with a friendly smile.
I thought that was the end of it, but then he came to his unpleasant conclusion.
He told me he would call me “Emmy” instead. He didn’t ask. He told.
“No,” I replied, still polite, but somewhat taken aback. Only those select few people very close to me called me by a nickname. To hear those private syllables directed to me by a complete stranger was strange and jarring. It felt wrong. I was confused. I felt that my personal rights had been infringed upon. Surely he understood that a nickname is a sign of familiarity, of intimacy. I had never even seen this man before and he expected to be allowed to bastardize my name? To reduce and minimize it, and therefore me, to fit his own personal inclination. He didn’t have that right, did he?
Brashly, he nodded. “I’m going to call you Emmy,” he reiterated, regardless of my gentle protestation.
Had he not heard me? I had said no. I didn’t want him to call me Emmy. He was old, maybe he had bad hearing? I stayed firm.
“I would really prefer you didn’t. My name is Emerald.” I was still smiling, albeit more hesitantly, but inside I felt violated. Customer service policy as well as common courtesy required that I treat this man with respect and kindness, so I did. He followed no rules, written or socially implied. No one required that he treat me with the same respect and kindness.
The truth was that it should have been my decision. It is my decision. He was rude and he was wrong to insist on calling me a name that I didn’t feel comfortable with. I could have insisted on calling him a name he wasn’t comfortable with. Inconsiderate jerk, maybe? Or stupidhead mcfartface? How would he have felt then? Instead, I told him, I didn’t ask him, again not to call me Emmy, finished helping him, and he complained about me to my manager. He complained because I wasn’t okay with him disregarding my feelings and making me uncomfortable.
I didn’t know his name. But I knew him. And I know I will meet him again in some other incarnation. But I also know that I was right. I am right. It isn’t okay for anyone to call you a name you are not comfortable with. And some things are more important than following a grocery store code of conduct.
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My program doesn’t focus on performance, but should that appeal to you, this program is a great foundation for high achievement. In addition, I can provide you with the basis to continue your own, personalized training program. I simply build on what you are already doing.
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Although I may not be technically certified in the most typical way, and I only currently have one client, I am extremely experienced. Right now, I’m both the trainer and the trainee. Every day I perform innumerable complex exercises to train the most important muscle: my brain.
Yet another random assignment for my writing class.
Spoiler – it’s about… ***rubber bands!***:
such fun.
I’m searching for something. I don’t know what it is. I don’t know where I’ll find it. I don’t even know how to find it. I just don’t know. Sometimes I will unconsciously go to the junk drawer when I’m looking for anything at all. I’m looking for a book that won’t even fit in the drawer, yet I still gravitate toward the drawer. I’m looking for my cat. How would he even get in there? Something inside the drawer is calling me to reevaluate and redefine my quest. I am hesitant to open the drawer itself. Is it worth it? What if what I think I want or need isn’t even in there? But I discard my hesitation and pull open the drawer – sometimes with ease, sometimes with a struggle, sometimes carefully, and sometimes in a hurry.
Inside, the drawer is a refuge. It’s a treasure chest of haphazard miscellany. It’s a delightfully unexpected estate sale bargain you happen upon randomly one late Sunday afternoon. Despite all of these, there is one consistency.
I can always find a rubber band in there.
Sometimes the rubber band is buried beneath an assorted plethora of other small and seemingly helpful, yet ultimately insignificant objects. Sometimes it’s caught in the corner and stubbornly refuses to even consider coming to my aid. And sometimes it’s right on top – front and center and eager to spring to assistance. I swear they’re inside stretching and shoving and jumping and rearranging themselves whenever the drawer is abandoned and shut up tight.
Sometimes the rubber band is new and springy, full of excited exuberance. Sometimes it’s old and brittle and reluctant to leave the comfortable sameness of the drawer. And most often, the rubber band is somewhere between these two extremes. Thin, but resilient and durable. Or thick and tough, but somewhat lacking in its supple elasticity.
Their appearance is rarely a direct reflection of their usefulness, but then appearances rarely are. Big, thick rubber bands have their uses. So do tiny, slender ones. And every combination in between has the potential to facilitate some sort of discovery or creative solution. Despite their visible stains, or the fact that they have already been used tenfold, they endure in their obliging and practical support. If I select the wrong one for the task at hand, they will quickly let me know. And there is always a backup rubber band – a patiently waiting friend ready to help me try again or look at my problem from a different perspective.
I don’t know how they get in there. I can never distinctly remember putting a rubber band in the drawer. They just appear. They seem to know that I will need them someday. I will need their versatile durability and their flexible strength. I will need their constancy and keen enthusiasm. I will need a rubber band.
You never know when you’ll need them, but they’re always there. Watching and waiting- inconspicuous in the dark, yet consistently inspiring in their own, faithful and uncomplaining way.
Mary was fed up with Bob and didn’t quite know how to deal with it.
It had been for some time now that she had realized she wasn’t happy. Her feelings had changed. She used to be content with him. But then, time had passed, and he just wasn’t the same man from before. He seemed somehow less than he had been, just a dim reflection of the man she had first met. She was disappointed. In him, and in herself. Now she just felt empty, even slightly ill around him. Something was missing.
Mary shook her head slowly as she gazed down at Bob as he reclined in the usual chair. He seemed so peaceful. And why not? He didn’t know how hollow and alone she felt. “Had it all been for nothing?” she wondered. She caressed his face tenderly and tucked a lonely, graying hair behind his ear. If only he would open his eyes, then maybe, just maybe things could change. They could change together. Work things out, give it another go. She could be less demanding, couldn’t she? Take less of him? He could make her feel that way again, couldn’t he? That special way she had only ever felt with him, and only at the beginning- completely full of abundance and love? He had been the missing part of her, once. But maybe no one person could ever be enough.
She took her hand away and pondered her situation. Maybe it was too late. The magic was gone, but why? Why had his sweetness faded? When had her hunger for him dwindled away into detachment, and then revulsion? Where was that flavor, that zest, that delicious satisfaction? His essence seemed to saturate the air. Once, that had been an invigorating comfort, but now… she didn’t think she could stomach much more. Mary sighed. It was time to move on. There just wasn’t any room left for him in her life. Or in her belly. She was still hungry, but it was time to find someone new to eat.
I couldn’t sleep all last night, no sleep for me. Which was dumb, but whatever. Fine. Sometimes it happens. I abandoned even trying and actually got some stuff done, which was cool.
But then, disaster struck!
At around 10:00 a.m., I was thinking… “I dunno, maybe I’ll spend today primarily dozing.” But first, I was jammin on my planner when I discovered (GASP!) that the online class (the one I’m actually *interested* in) I thought started THIS Wednesday actually started LAST Wednesday. uh oh….I don’t know how to work the website, what the requirements are, or what’s expected … I don’t even have my books yet! So, after a brief panic attack I had to suddenly restructure my whole day. Gone were plans to play games with friends and take leisurely naps and work on all those fun, creative projects… I figured out the website, and got the general idea of what I was going to have to complete by 11:59 TONIGHT, and then took a 2.5 hour nap.
After I woke up, I completed the first part of the first lesson pretty easily – syllabus review, introductions, don’t plagiarize, blah blah blah. But when I posted my first required discussion board post, I saw that the time stamp said 6:56 PM. Uh…. whhuuttt…? It’s like… 3:56 PM. OH CRAP. This school is in Pennsylvania and APPARENTLY we’re adhering to their stupid timezone.
MORE STRESS. MORE PRESSURE. ACK ACK ACK.
Well, long story short, I finished this weeks lessons and assignments in time.
I guess the lesson is that sometimes unexpected pressure/stressers can actually be highly motivational and conducive to efficient planning, productivity, and accomplishment. PROOF!
I don’t consider myself fancy. Some people may see me as extravagant or expensive. I can appear that way, but more often I reside in nature, ordinary and free. My growth is boundless and I can surprise you anywhere and everywhere, if you let me. Occasionally, I feel weird, unusual, or out of place, but I deeply relish my time spent with those close to me. We radiate courage, we soothe and console and we work together to strengthen one another and expand out horizons. I can lose myself with others, but I am strong when I’m alone. I am natural and abundant and delight in supporting those around me. I can help you be at peace, or I can motivate and inspire you. I bring depth to the world and richness to the trees. I can be deep and comforting or light and carefree. How I choose to present myself depends on your unique perspective. Sometimes I fall into dark moods – the shadows and gloom can overwhelm me into obscurity. But then the light might shine differently and reveal a glimmer of hope and the despair is diminished. The despair is diminished, but I am not. I remain steadfast and brave. I am special, but I am part of something bigger. I don’t tend to be noticed, but I am beautiful in my own way. You would miss me if I was gone. I am emerald green, and I know how to both stand out and blend in, because I am versatile and confident, and I recognize and understand that we all contribute to one another’s individual beauty. When you look for me, I’ll be there. I’ll always be there for you.
It was called “The Art of the Picturebook,” and I never knew that school could be so interesting and fun!! I’ve enjoyed some classes throughout my college career, but none so much as this! I was actually excited to do homework! WHUUUUT!?? weird… I never really felt like I fit in in any of the other classes or programs I took in the past. I guess I just needed to find the right program. And books have always been important to me. And now I can explore that further! Yaaaaayyyy!!!
