littlecolourfulteacher

littlecolourfulteacher

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a little bit sentimental

May 18, 2019

I gave out my “Good Luck To My Year 12 Kiddies” survival packs to each of the Year 12s either in my Tutor Group, Year 12 Music class, or in a lead role for this year’s production of “Wicked” this year.

(YES…WICKED! 💚)

Each was labelled with a green Post-It note with their name + a simple individualised “Good Luck” message; nothing fancy because I’ve been so sick, and certainly not fancy enough to warrant keeping. I expected those Post-Its to be read, enjoyed, and tossed out, and the goodies in the survival pack to be enjoyed well into production week.

Imagine my surprise when I watched an unexpected Sir Year 12 over the course of this week transfer that dog-eared, scrappy, falling-apart Post-It from the back of his laptop, to his diary, to his Music folder, stuck on by a piece of tape that was losing its stickiness + collecting fluff from over-use.

You just never know who are going to be the sentimental ones, and what they are going to get sentimental about. 😊

I didn’t say anything, but it really made me smile. 🥰

struggle is right

April 30, 2017

I woke up this morning feeling small. Less than. Not motivated to move from my comfortable cocoon. That pull of past mistakes and upsets crowding my head, and me unable to take that first step.

So I started walking through my thoughts, one at a time, in place of actual physical steps.

The first thing I thought was that I was grateful for the struggle of those before me. The struggle and pathways made by people who were courageous in their fear, and who knew that the only way to get through the day was one step at a time.

Struggle is right, without it you don’t know what you are capable of because you’ve never left your comfort zone.

Struggle is the first step towards possibility.

Struggle is playful, courageous, ugly, draining, and everything else in between.

Struggle is struggle, but it doesn’t have to be impossible. I realised, as I was on this thought process, that I have words that I can use to tell my story, that through the discomfort, I can actualise anything I want. That it’s not the day or the challenges I am afraid of, it’s the thought of pain. The thought of being hurt. The thought that I can’t handle it.

Without walking through each of these uncertainties, I’ll never be able to find the most beautiful in me. The most resonant, and most authentic.

have to struggle every now and then in order to become able, strong, flexible, stretchy, and supple.

And without getting curious about all the heart-flipping moments, the moments that sting a little, or feel uncomfortable, I won’t find a passage of understanding.

What I have to do is get good at leaning into this, leaning into the work and struggle, and knowing that I have enough capacity, courage, and voice to tell my most authentic story.

I will NOT make everyone happy.

I will NOT impress everyone. I’m not very good at NOT impressing everyone, no matter what front I may put on. I have to remind myself that to get someone’s back up is normal, and even MORE normal if their good opinion doesn’t matter to me!

That the day will move and pass, the minutes will flow, they sun will stretch, and I will get through it.

That I have so much more to give than my worries, and that I should focus on those.

That my world is SO MUCH BIGGER than the tiny little pinprick of a worry that is coursing through my thoughts right now.

That I can do so much to change the momentum of my world and day.

That I am indeed loved. I am not the jackass whisperer. I do not need to make everyone happy and comfortable.

I just have to step forward to do the very best that I am able. 

I can do that.

 

brought to a standstill

April 18, 2017

When I look around me at all the people who are really LIVING LIFE, who are making the most of each moment, who are embodying their ideas and bringing forth new momentum, I realise that there is very little between someone in THIS state of being, and someone who is living the resolutely ordinary, and who wants more.

It’s not much at all. It’s a breath, a single thought, a change in passage of wondering, or working, the extra moment, the start, an extra pocket of time, daring to reach out, or quietly stepping back. It’s a tiny snippet of decision-making. It’s grit, or determination, and a little bit of whimsy and trickster.
For me, the most vibrant ideas have come from watching something for a
moment longer, listening to an idea that I really wanted to walk away from, or the 10-minute scramble rather than giving up at the end of the day. It’s the conversation I started when I was terrified. It’s the idea I gave voice to, when I wasn’t totally sure, but knew it had a heartbeat.
It’s the thing I dared to wonder, when everyone else was not wondering it. My most beautiful relationships and treasured friendships have grown through the slow burn of time, but also the tiny little snippets of wonder and love; the playful snatches, the cocooned tender moments that are gone before I even know it or realise it; oh! I’m learning to recognise them so much more! And in those times where Time really does stand still, breathless from running away from itself, that the pang in my heart is more reverberating, the tears of pure joy spring up faster than ever, and I am brought to feeling in an instant.
THAT is the difference. It’s tiny. But it’s monumental.