Rejection Letters

The real sign of blog neglection (and I may have just made this word up) is when I have to enter in a couple of different passwords because it has been so long since I have logged into this site that my password is no longer saved. So, after an embarrassingly long time away, I am excited to dust off my keyboard and start writing a little bit again.

I recently finished reading Marie Forleo’s Everything is Figureoutable (and I saw her speak! With Brene Brown!) and it really lit a spark in me to make more time for what I feel is important to me. And typically, I would be the first to tell you that I am already so crunched for time that something just has to give, and this blog just can’t compete with the other tasks vying for my time. But when I read this book, and there were many, many pages that stuck with me – I highly recommend this book – there were a couple of quotes that have yet to leave my mind.

Really, the concept behind these quotes is something that I have preached for years, but mainly to and about other people, when really I am the one who should take this message to heart. Every single person on this planet is busy, and if writing is important to me, I will make the time for it.

So, here I am. This is probably my favorite time of year because the weather is finally, finally starting to get cool(ish), college football is in full swing, I feel like I am finally really getting to know each of my students and getting into a groove with my schedule, and it is when I get to introduce my favorite writing assignment of the year. And I get so much energy from the process that goes along with this assignment.

 I know I have posted about this assignment before on F&F, but each year I look so forward to introducing the This I Believe essay to my students. It is a chance for them to gain some confidence in their writing skills as we move into tackling STAAR-style essays, and selfishly, it is a chance for me to get to know my students on a deeper, more personal level, giving them a safe space to open up about who they are and what matters to them.

And this year I took a little bit more time to set the stage – taking the time to complete some Brene Brown Core Values work, various writing responses and personality tests, and of course, sharing sample This I Believe essays. If you were to Google “This I Believe”, you would get thousands of hits. I always share a couple of strong essays with my students, and then I take the time to write and share my own This I Believe essay, explaining to my students that if I am asking them to be vulnerable and share their stories with me, I can model those expectations by sharing my story with them.

The share date snuck up on me a bit this year, so I did not get to spend as much time as I would have liked on my essay, but it was a really powerful moment for me to stand up and share this with my students, and I am hopeful that they found it to be just as meaningful.

I believe in rejection letters.

And the number 34 is one that will remain etched in my mind as I begin training for what will be my fourth full marathon. ‘Marathon’ is a word that causes many to cringe, and elicits many, “You’re crazy. I could never run that far”, or, “I don’t know how you do it” comments. I cannot deny that perhaps I am a little bit crazy, because to me, there is nothing better than being awake before the rest of the city, having the entire Rice Jogging Trail to myself while watching the rising sun paint stripes of pink and yellow and orange across the sky as I log mile after mile in the typically warm and humid Houston air, eventually catching a glimpse of other runners while on my second or third loop.

Running allows me to feel free while at the same time tapping into my competitive side, pushing myself to be better than I was yesterday. I have always been one to chase big goals, quite literally in this case, and a few years ago, I set a really big goal of qualifying for the Boston Marathon. Most marathons let you in if you simply agree to pay the entry fee – yes, we pay good money to experience some real pain – but the only way to gain entry into this particular race is by running fast enough.

So I threw myself into my training – running six days a week, wondering if I had lost my mind as I sat in bed rubbing the sleep out of my eyes and eating my pre-run banana and peanut butter after waking up in the early part of the 4 o’clock hour to get in some speed work before a full day of teaching, followed by an evening of coaching.

I swore off any food that I didn’t deem healthy. I said no to many things that might have caused me to sacrifice precious sleep. I even brought my own meal to my family Thanksgiving dinner after my dad assured me that he was absolutely not going to cater to my dairy-free, gluten free, some may say fun-free, diet. But he was out there cheering me on marathon morning all the same.

And on January 14^th, 2018, I ran a marathon time that would qualify me for this prestigious race. It was a day I will cherish for the rest of my life, feeling like the hours of hard work and sacrifice truly paid off. But just eight months later, the Boston Athletic Association informed me that I wasn’t quite fast enough to gain entry into the 2019 race.

There is a cutoff to the cutoff, you see, and I was 76 seconds shy. I let myself pout for a quick minute before tightening the laces on my Brooks and throwing my hair back into its signature braid, choosing to get back up and start the cycle all over again. And on November 18^th, 2018, I ran a time I had been training to run all along, again qualifying for the Boston Marathon, this time with an even greater sense of accomplishment knowing that I had not let this initial rejection get the best of me.

But when I checked my email on September 25^th, 2019, I learned that, for the second year in a row, my fast wasn’t quite fast enough. This time, though, I missed the cutoff to the cutoff by just 34 seconds.

It’s hard to put into words how that kind of rejection sinks in, knowing all of the work that I had put in to make this dream a reality. For the second time. Admittedly, it is a tough pill to swallow. To think back on every nailed workout on tired legs, every 4:30am alarm, every “no” I gave because I was so locked into achieving this goal. It’s hard not to wonder where I could have given just a little bit more.

I feel as though I could write a book about all that running has taught me, but as I took a few steps back and really reflected on the greatest lesson running has given me thus far, it’s perseverance, and the importance of showing up. In the dark. In the rain. In 100% humidity or in 30 degree winter weather. As cliché as it sounds, great things take time, and this big goal of mine isn’t going anywhere.

Tomorrow, I will wake up and tackle my next training run, keeping those rejection letters, that are taped to my bedroom mirror, at the forefront of my mind, trusting that with each step, I am inching that much closer to my goal.

Perseverance through setbacks and failure isn’t easy, but I think about how much sweeter the moment will be when I do get to run this historic race. And more importantly, I think about how much more equipped I am to handle any sort of difficulty that is thrown my way. It takes grit and determination to overcome any obstacle, and these rejection letters have taught me to always choose to persevere.

This was a very raw experience for me to share, as I learned of this “failure” just two weeks ago, and it is not something I had shared with many people prior to this, even with those who are very close to me. However, I felt it to be incredibly important for me to share, and unsurprisingly, I found the writing process to be helpful in giving me some uninterrupted time to process my thoughts and emotions as they related to this experience. It has been really easy for me to put a smile on my face and say that I am going to come back even stronger this next training cycle, while still feeling like all that I gave to this effort was not quite enough. That I am not quite enough.

Post Philly Marathon with my cousins

But through putting words down on paper, or Word Document, if you will, I was able to come to the conclusion that I really am in a place where I am grateful for the chance to keep fighting and prove to myself just how mentally tough I am. For the chance to better myself and not settle for anything less than my best, even if I have no idea what my best is.

I chose to share this story with my students because running is something that means so much to me, and I am glad to be able to share that part of me with them, but even more than that, I think perseverance is such an important word for high school students, especially freshmen, to deeply understand. They are going to face many obstacles and setbacks throughout the course of these four years – and beyond – and the harder they can lean into perseverance, the better equipped they are going to be to process them and continue to move forward. It has become common practice for millennials to give up when things don’t go our way (if I could insert an eyeroll emoji here, I would), but for students today, because they have so many other options and activities available to them at the touch of a button, it’s really easy to give up what’s not going well in favor of giving something else a try. I don’t think that’s always the wrong idea, necessarily, as it can take trying a couple of different things to find what it is you are passionate about, but giving up should never be the immediate reaction.

I may not experience Boston until I am 80 years old, when the time I have to run in order to qualify is slightly slower, but I can guarantee you that I will not let go of this goal. Because when I do achieve it, it is something I will be able to look back on the next time I hit a bump in the road. I know that much of who I am is because of the many ways in which I have had to persevere, and I am hopeful that by sharing my story with my students, they can grasp the importance of that as well.

This I Believe

Every year I tell myself I’m going to keep up with my blog during the chaos of volleyball season, and every year I fail to keep that promise. I tend to forget just how crazy my schedule is at the start of the school year, and blogging is without a doubt the first thing to go. And I wish I could say I was busy doing all these crazy exciting things, but I’m just trying to keep my head above water with all that I’ve got on my plate. I’m not sure what has prevented me from getting a firm grasp on my schedule this year, but I've definitely had a tougher time of it.

And I plan on – one day in the near future – writing a whole post that gives an update on how my fourth (my first year kiddos are seniors!!!) year of teaching is going,

the whole point of logging back into my blogger account is to share what is, without a doubt, my favorite essay of the year: This I Believe. I have posted about it before, but I think this year’s due date came at the perfect time. I love that this essay is our first big writing assignment of the year because it allows me to get a glimpse into my students’ writing skills, yes, but even more than that, it allows me to get to know them in such a way that I learn what matters to each one of them. It offers them the opportunity to share with me a story or an experience that has led to that belief. And man, do I get some incredible stories. They are real and raw and vulnerable and funny and passionate and every year I am truly humbled that they are so willing to share their stories with me. Because their stories matter. I was grumbling about the nearly 130 essays I wanted to finish grading before the weekend ended, but at the end of the day, I cherish the opportunity to provide feedback to every one of my students. And shout out to Google Classroom for making that back and forth conversation SO incredibly easy. 21^st Century Learning, for the win!

Anyway, I told myself that I would write a new This I Believe essay each year to share with my students as we began this project. Last year I wrote about running in the rain as a means of conveying the belief that the magic happens outside of our comfort zones. This year, I took one look at my overflowing letter basket to know that handwritten letters would be my vehicle to talk about the idea that it’s not necessarily the words we say that mean the most, but the time given to physically writing them out.

I believe in handwritten letters.

In a world that is so laden with technology, the seemingly simple act of a handwritten thank-you note or birthday card tends to be replaced with a quick text message or a Facebook post. Sure, the ease with which we can type out a text is a definite convenience in our jam-packed, busy lives, but there is something about putting pen to paper that makes whatever is being communicated even more personal. It’s the loopy way she writes her L’s, or the way his handwriting is only legible if we close our left eye that forges a connection more special and long-lasting than opening a Snap.

Both of my grandmothers were (and are) big on the art of handwritten letters. My dad’s mom lives in Philadelphia, and at the start of each new month she sends me a simple note, often written on a piece of scrap paper, wishing me a happy month. She has never missed a birthday, nor a holiday. And I’ve got a whole basket overflowing with 25+ years’ worth of notes and cards scribbled in her thin cursive.

My mom’s mom passed away a few years ago, and she was without a doubt my favorite person on this planet. She lived just 10 minutes down the road and I saw her virtually every day, but she never overlooked the simple joy that came from looking through the pile of mail in the entryway and seeing a card personally addressed to me. Now that she is no longer with us, I cherish every word she ever wrote even more so than I did when I first read them.

Maybe it’s something about the older generation that has the insight that some of us “youngins” may be lacking. We grew up in a world of instant gratification, multitasking, and never-ending to-do lists. They grew up in a world that required patience and cursive and taking the time to do things right.

It’s not even what the letters say, as many of them are variations of the same message. It’s the time a person took to write me a tangible birthday card filled with sweet words as I celebrate another trip around the sun. The time a person took to encourage me through a tough season. The time a person took to congratulate me on a job well done. The time a person took away from doing something for his or her own benefit to do something that would make my day. I believe in handwritten letters, and I believe in taking the time to brighten someone else’s day by letting them know that they are more than worth a couple minutes of my precious time. It’s not the message that we remember; it’s the time and energy that went into it.

Many of my students’ essays unsurprisingly blew mine out of the water, and some of them have stories at 14 and 15 that I still can’t quite wrap my head around at 25, but I think if I expect my students to be vulnerable, I can do just that by modeling it for them. And I more than needed the reminder that came from reading these essays that teaching is such an absolute privilege, no matter how trying some of my days may be.

Oh, and how about those ASTROS! 27 outs to earning history. This World Series run has been nothing short of thrilling, and it could not have come at a better time for this city. Just like Jose Altuve, I literally love Justin Verlander, and here’s to hoping he can seal the deal tomorrow night!