The great divide

From an early age I have been both familiar with and fearful of the ex-gay Christian movement, AKA Exodus.  I can remember hearing vague references to the 'good work' they were doing, helping to turn wayward gay Christians back to Christ.  My personal journey out didn't start until later in college, but Exodus and other similar organizations pushed me away from organized religion--not necessarily due to philosophical disagreement, but more for survival's sake.  It took the intervention of wonderful individuals from other churches I attended, who, knowing my sexuality was likely not hetero-centric, embraced me and gave me an intellectual and historical re-education with regard to faith and Christianity.  When separated from all the excess baggage humanity piles onto it, organized religion can be a beautiful thing.

That brings me to the recent announcement from Exodus that it's closing its doors, after issuing a direct, and what would seem, heartfelt apology.  It's a bit shocking to me. Welcome, yes, but shocking. The awful power they exercised over the minds of an entire generation of gay youth drove a wedge between what could have been a lifeline for acceptance. 

The coming out process for anyone at any age is always unfolding.  You can be out with your friends, but not your family, or with your family but not your parent's friends... or not at dinner when the minister comes over... the list is complicated and endless.  I look forward to the day that I can have a rational dialogue with gay evangelicals about their scriptural understandings, or not, as long as they can be gay and safe in their religious belief system.  

My general Buddiscopalian understanding is a direct outgrowth of my struggle with this whole mess.  

Falling Away

I periodically rummage through my online data, sifting out the trash from my growing digital footprint.  While happily sorting I came upon a blog written in 2005 with some of my colleagues at school, exploring "Web 2.0" skills.  It's a boring discussion, as most educational blogs are, but as I read through the comments, I realized that some of the voices blogging on that page have passed away. Good friends and colleagues leaving their impression on a topic that is, to most, a dusty piece of edu-jargon, speak to me again and I'm smiling, but also tearing up a little.

Things are forever falling away.  That's not to sound macabre. It is a fundamental aspect of our existence.

I spent a rather grueling 3 days in a silent meditation retreat.  It was painful.  I wasn't used to sitting half-lotus for more than 15 minutes at a time.  I was hoping, as all retreat goers do, for a miraculous insight into the this-ness of being.  I just knew, if I could avoid letting my mind focus on the future or past, I would be, if not peaceful, at least a better person. It didn't work out that way. The only thing I took with me was our teacher's constant reminder to let thought, emotion, sensation, all rise up, acknowledge them, and then be present as they pass away.  It helps.  But it hurts.

Back to the present.  I can smile knowing that my friends no longer suffer.  I can honor their lives best by acknowledging their memory and remaining present as their words pass before me.  I honor them with the most fundamental aspect of being:  breathing in and breathing out.

Transitions

Over the course of the last semester, I've transitioned to my new role on campus:  away from 'Arts Director,' with a class load and on to 'Associate Head of School for Arts, Technology, and Administration.'  It's a mouthful, but fairly representative of the scope of my responsibilities.

It's fascinating to watch the reactions of other members of my community.  The reality, in my mind, hasn't shifted all that much.  I still do much of what I did before, only now I do more of it, if that makes sense.

The biggest shift I've felt centers on the changing relationships I have with faculty members and administrators on campus.  They're waiting, I assume, for guidelines regarding my hierarchical standing--where does this newly-titled thing fit in our reality?

Titles can be both barrier and catalyst...

I had an intriguing conversation with a colleague last night.  She mentioned that she didn't really know what my educational philosophy was, or what I thought about the art of teaching.  I suppose that's fair.  Her duties would rarely allow her to observe me with my students--which, I believe, is much more representative than any resume-driven, jargon-clouded, treatise I could vomit on to a piece of paper (Sorry.  Had to get that application fatigue out somehow).  My response surprised me.  I explained that teaching a choir class, or any music ensemble, is more about building community and consensus than about the training details.  The pedagogy, for choirs at least, has been well-tested and continually improved since the middle ages.  The core competency, the real center of ensemble, lies in convincing a group of diverse individuals to buy into the composer's vision and to simply trust each other (and, by extension, trust me).  That's what it's always been about.  That's what all great teaching is about.  It's also what good administrators should strive to do.

So, though I'm changing my role, my past experience still guides me. I have to make sure the title doesn't get in the way of the conversation.  I need to be sure that I'm helping my colleagues trust the vision, and through enthusiasm and compassion, hope that by extension, they can trust me too.

Aspiring Head's Conference, Alanta

My first reaction- observe.  When confronted by a new experience my most common reaction is turtling--hiding, and seeing where the danger might be.  It takes a few moments for the  affable, gregarious side of my nature to kick in.  It's forced, but it looks natural.  All those years of performance do pay off at times.
Seems like a good group of people here.  No one too overt, but there is a bit of jockeying for some semblance of social structure.  Funny looks to be the currency of exchange.  Make em' laugh.
Now the much harder part for me.  In the midst of the chaos and the information, turn back to the breath and become present.  Especially now.  In these moments of insecurity.  Open the mind and the heart and listen.  Cool observation is a methodology that breeds cool response. 

Saving Miss Oliver's

Just finished reading the assigned book for the Aspiring Heads Fellowship.  A bit smarmy, but I think it accurately reflects the pressures and pitfalls of  a headship.  I think. 
Reading it draws me to think more carefully about my reaction to setbacks.  Do I have the necessary strength to exit a situation gracefully, or would I be a stubborn bastard?
I look back to experiences at my current school and can see a little of my own actions in each character.  I'd like to think I'm more empathic than the majority of the characters involved, but I'm probably self-delusional on that point. 
I am excited about the prospect of the personality inventory we'll get in Atlanta.  It looks as though it will be a refreshingly direct assessment from, I hope, really frank people.

Heading home

Part two of the Aspiring Heads experience.  I was extremely grateful for the feedback and information I received from the 360 degree assessment cycle.  It helped me come closer to a more holistic understanding of my own perceived faults and how they might factor into  a head search.
It's nice to know there are other ambitious people out there.  Sometimes I feel like the aspirations I have in my career are confusing to my colleagues at school.  They can't understand why I'd want the extra stress or the thankless work.  I finally feel like I'm able to articulate some semblance of an answer. I want to help make the future leaders of our world humane.  I want to be at the helm of organizations that see the transformative power of education as a tool for social engineering writ large on the world. I want them to understand, appreciate and embrace other ideas and cultures, reaping the benefit of our wonderfully amazing world. It can happen. 
I was so pleased with the diversity of thought I witnessed this week.  I have a renewed sense of hope.

Planning Time

My mind is turning once more toward the work I must do to prepare for a new school year.  Some of it is minutiae, frenetic little pulses of 'copy this' or ' find that resource,'  but the more interesting side of my planning cycle is the dreaming--those crazy new ideas I want to convince myself and others to tackle. 
This year my list is shaping up like this:

1.  Forcing my upper school choir to love sight-singing. 
2.  Helping the choir kids fall in love with Bach.
3.  Pushing for an arts week theme that incorporates art and money somehow.  Gotta make it catchy too.
4.  Pulling out all the stops for the Lessons and Carols concert.
5.  Heading out on a development ask with our new director.
6.  Building a new display area in the VPAC lobby and raising the money to do it.
7.  Preparing a tour concert for Spain.
8.  Getting the piano program off to a good start financially, while welcoming our newest faculty member.
9.  Convince myself to stop making so many lists.
10. Get back to regular yoga.
11. Get my materials search-ready.
12. Plan full faculty in-service and getting the Christmas party planned next week.
13. Helping out with the board retreat.
14. Remembering to breathe.
15. See number 14.

I'll add more as the year progresses.  Hopefully I'll also prune a bit as I see the circumstances change. 
So, that's the plan, but, as with all good plans, there could be changes at the drop of a hat.  Illness, death, joyful meanderings... life in all its wondrous, crazy complexity, all of it can happen to you.  When I look back at my list, the gradual paring begins and I remember that I didn't leave much room for love, and joy, and well-being.  That's what concerns me most about school life and eventual headship--pulling myself out of myself and experiencing all the beauty around me. 
As my life continues to unfold, I am reminded that joy, just like any other addiction, is habitual.  To experience it fully, I must continually return to it.  With that hope in mind, I amend my plan:

1.  Find joy in every circumstance.
2.  Be present in the midst of the joy around me and in me.
3.  Breathe.
4.  Repeat.