Been

“Well I’ll be your rainy day lover, whenever the sunny days end…”

May 26th, 2018

The Blue Ridge Mounts are immense and sprawling, and the valleys of rolling hills in between are certainly not to be ignored, either.

Meredith’s wedding day began with the ominous promise of rain, rain, and more rain. As I headed toward the venue with a carload of bridesmaids, in a car separate from the bride, I couldn’t help but curse the downpour – I mean, ANY day but this day…

“Yeah, I know we knew this was probably going to happen, I just want it to be perfect for her, you know???”

Radar forewarned of a rain-filled day, and the drive to the orchard/vineyard where Meredith and Aaron would be married seemed only to confirm what we already knew: the clouds were misty and dark.

Once we all got settled in the adorable historic house, flash flood warnings blared through all of our phones. Bridesmaids nervously hushed their phones, trying to shrug off the alarm as “Princeton warnings,” laughing and reassuring the startlingly calm bride.

On this day of my sister’s wedding, the cacophony of clatter and chaos hardly muffled my mild panic. I gazed out at the fog-draped Blue Ridge and began contemplating the subtle art of moving from “being” to “been”

One moment, one phrase, or one decision holds the power of making the present tense suddenly past tense. How does one adjust to a new normal, and when are you able to finally acknowledge your past tense “you?”

As a general note of explanation, Fall 2015 began what would become three of the most important, transformative, and emotionally exhausting years of my life. In 2015, I not only fell in love with a community and a profession, I fell in love with an album called “Brand New,” by Ben Rector. What follows are journal entries and memories associated with a song lyric from each track on this album. This album filled me, and still fills me, with joy and hope, and whenever I hear these songs, I am transported to a different time and place. That feeling is bittersweet, much like this closing reflection of my time in Inez. Disclaimer: the word count on this one is up there, people. You’ve been warned.

1. “Make Something Beautiful”

“Please let me make something beautiful, a thing that reminds us, there’s good in the world. A thing that reminds us there’s still something out there worth fighting for…”

February 18th, 2016

Mornings are seriously the worst. As a first year teacher in her second semester of teaching, I feel like I shouldn’t be stressed every single morning, and yet, the butterflies are here as usual.

I feel like an imposter teacher nearly every day – even when the lesson goes really well, there’s always this nagging feeling. The voice in my head keeps reminding me “you were not trained enough for this kind of responsibility.”

Shaping young minds? Yeah, right. I mean, I really hope I am, but of course I worry I’m not helping them at all. Am I actually hurting them?

They deserve better. They are good and capable and pure, for the most part, while I am just a mess.

2. “Brand New”

“Like when I close my eyes, and don’t even care if anyone sees me dancing, like I can fly, and don’t even think of touching the ground…it’s the way that I feel when I’m with you…brand new.”

May 4th, 2016

I only have ten days left of my first year teaching, and I cannot help but feel a multitude of emotions. Sometimes I’m so exhausted I can’t be happy or sad, and other days leave me feeling all of my emotions at once…

I got to take my Honors group outside to read today. As I was looking around the group, at each of their faces, it hit me in that moment: I will miss them. I will miss this so much. All of them. Next year, even though I know I need to let that group move on and embrace a new freshman class, I will miss them.

10 more days with my first official classrooms, my first official students, and my first official job – a job that I love. I’m eternally grateful, and genuinely excited to watch them grow over the next few years.

Sometimes, these kids make me feel like a better version of an old me. I have love overflowing and abundant…

3. “Paris”

“I remember who we are, when we’re being young and dumb…”

October 6th, 2015

It is a relief to realize a world does exist outside of Inez, after working for a couple months now.

I was flying in an airplane yesterday evening, on my way to visit my grandparents in Florida, and I’m constantly in awe of the view from up above. Now, you have to understand I don’t actually enjoy flying. Every jolt of turbulence, no matter how minor, sends my mind spiraling to my inevitable death that is bound to occur.

Now I’m in Florida and I find myself watching movies with my grandparents. All the good parts of movies, I realize, normally involve the main character flying somewhere beautiful and exciting. For instance, right now, I’m watching “The Prince and Me,” and the main character is flying to Denmark to find her Prince. (If you haven’t seen it, go watch it. It’s a classic)!

A lot of the more memorable experiences of my life started and ended in a plane, so I am grateful that I have had to face my fear of flying many times.

With that being said, my flight to Florida resulted in many, many thoughts. Some were about the future, some were about the past, and some were about the present. My thoughts about the present revolved around the fact that I was totally unsure if it was possible for me to completely immerse myself in the here and now.

Even as I listen to my grandmother recount her “love story” – the story of how she and my grandfather started dating – I find myself caught between eras. There is the era of love she discusses, which is obviously many years ago. Though my grandparents are still very much married and in love, the love that she described is a type that one reminisces about. It is a fairy tale, of sorts, that took place in the past. Of course, we are all sitting in the living room together, in this same moment, talking about those days in the past, meaning we aren’t really in the present.

Then, as she talks about how she fell in love, I also look to the future. I see a future of love for myself, but I’m not sure how that love will start. My friends and I always wonder about these things: have we met our husbands? Will we get married in our twenties? Will we have 12 kids? Will we be financially stable? Oh, and HAVE I MET MY HUSBAND YET?

My roommate and I were talking about our plans “after Teach for America,” and I told him that sometimes I feel really uneasy. Planning for the “after” of something that just started seems both inevitable and unsettling. I feel very happy in my current role, surrounded by the people I find around me, and yet. I still plan for years from now. I want to be a Fulbright Scholar. I want to return to Tanzania to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro. I want to join the Peace Corps. I want to get married. I don’t even know what I want, because I want so, so much.

These discussions in the “here and now” take me backwards and forwards, and I’m entirely convinced that we as humans live our entire lives in this LIMBO. We become convinced that things in life won’t play out quite like they did BEFORE, and never quite as good as they may in the AFTER, in the future. Present is never quite good enough, which is why I have always struggled to embrace the idea of living in the “present.” Our entire lives are made up of experiences and memories that color the current experiences we find ourselves in…

4. “The Men That Drive Me Places”

“Oh, isn’t that just the way it goes, you’re dealt a good hand, and you get celebrated…”

November 26th, 2017

I think guilt is one of the most terrifying weapons in life.

I feel guilty because my parents are wonderful. I feel guilty when my mom and I fight. I feel guilty when we don’t fight. I feel guilty for leaving. I feel guilty for staying. I feel guilty about my inability to help or fix every single situation. I feel guilty because I overstepped – I shouldn’t have tried to fix it.

I don’t think I am called to guilt. I think I am called to move and do and see and serve and love. Is that what this Peace Corps thing about? I hope so, because all of the people telling me how good and noble and selfless it is have no idea what I’m battling on the inside. And then I feel guilty about feeling guilty. What’s up with that?

5. “Fear”

“And I remembered who I was when I learned to dance with the fear that I’d been running from.”

March 2017

Courage isn’t a gun in your hand. I mean, it can be, but it’s not the only way someone is courageous (thanks for that reminder, Atticus).

Courage is sending a student out of your class, knowing that it might be the only thing that allows them to take a deep breath.

Courage is having a conversation about RACISM with a student who hates all Muslims.

Courage is challenging students who use the word “retarded” by asking them to choose a better, more descriptive, non-derogatory word.

Courage is being able to meet with a parent who dislikes you. Courage is standing your ground and not lowering expectations to make said parent happy.

COURAGE is advocating for students who have been lost in the shuffle. Courage is trying to calm a student with Autism in the middle of a tantrum – even though he’s twice your size.

Courage is allowing yourself room to keep growing. Courage is me.

6. “Note to Self”

“Don’t let yourself worry quite as much, it’ll end up fine enough it always has up until now. Something else, you should think of other people a little more. You shoulda thought of that before, ’cause of everything you’ve written down, this is the first note that you wrote for someone else. Note to self.”

October 26th, 2016

Here I sit, home from Asheville, working on my Vision. In that vision, I’m supposed to figure out what I want my class, and all it’s moving parts, to mean for my students – 5, 10, 15 years down the road. Imagine having 137 students to think about, care for, and worry about. I can’t imagine what I want my own life to look like 5 years down the road, much less each individual student’s life.

And yet.

I see one student, who is 100% positive school isn’t for him. He’s working as a mechanic in Inez. Work is steady, but not busy, because, unfortunately, the area has only continued to lose families due to mine closings. I see my student changing the oil on one car, and I see one man approach the garage, looking burdened and distracted.

“How can I help you,” says my student, clearly not having caught on to this man’s despair, staring into the belly of the car in front of him.

“Well…you see… I just found out I got laid off at the mines, and wouldn’t you know it, my back tire just blew out a little ways up the road. Listen, I know you don’t know me, but could you possibly come help me change the tire? If not, I get it, but I was just kinda hoping…”

In that moment, I imagine my student remembering my class. He doesn’t know why, but he remembers some quote about “walking in someone else’s skin,” and something about sympathy. Or was it empathy? He has an oil change to finish before his customer gets off work, but he finds himself nodding his head. He grabs the wrenches and the car jack, smiles lightly, and heads out of the garage.

“I’m sorry to hear about your job. Let’s do something about that tire.”

They both walk off, not really understanding why it is we do the things we do, as humans, to show each other kindness…

This snapshot moment I imagine for my student is worth all of these relentless questions of love and value and disgrace and honor. They are unanswerable – quite literally – but never seem to leave me alone. So, what is love? Love is finding the better parts of living, showing kindness and compassion, all the while realizing that some things in life aren’t going to be flawless, and you handle those things with grace, too. But what does that mean day to day? Who knows. My students and I don’t always love fully – it’s often messy, blurred with lines of fading and shifting complexities.

I am reminded tonight of another moment in “We Are Marshall.” It is the moment at the cemetery where Coach Lengyel is trying to remind the players of their purpose. He reminds them that technically, the score doesn’t matter at the end of the game. What matters, instead, is remembering those you play for. Honoring them, the players and family lost in the plane crash, is as simple as trying their very best.

Coach Lengyel says, “If you do that, if you play like that, we cannot lose. We may be behind on the scoreboard at the end of the game, but we cannot lose.”

I feel like I’m disgracing my students, sometimes, not knowing how to do this thing called love. Not knowing which ways I can help without hurting. Not knowing when I should be firm in my expectations, while still showing compassion. After a very exhausting first quarter, a weekend getaway, and some imagining, however, I am sure that I agree most with Coach Lengyel in his pre-game speech. I’ll walk into the classroom tomorrow, and I will try to be tough and effective, while still trying to love each student. I may be behind – on data submissions or email reminders – but if I try, and I love, then I cannot lose. If I remember whom I’m playing for, I won’t disgrace them. Hopefully, they’ll show others kindness, too, and in that, we cannot lose.

7. “Like the World is Gonna End”

“If we found out that the world was gonna end on Tuesday morning, what would everybody do? It’s funny how the thought of that can make some things real important, and a lot of things seem pretty worthless, too.”

June 5th, 2017

As I prepare to enter year 3 in the classroom, I have compiled a metaphorical piece of advice for new corps members entering the classroom. The advice is as follows:

“If you had told me two years ago that I’d make lifelong, best friends here, I wouldn’t have believed you. If you had told me two years ago that those friends would actually feel more like family, I would have laughed. If you had told me two years ago that the memories I made with those people would make tears run down my face and make my heart physically ache to laugh and remember, I wouldn’t have believed you. If you had told me two years ago that these students would teach me way more than I could ever teach them, I wouldn’t have believed you. If you had told me I’d be getting ready for year three, I would have laughed (especially after that first month). And yet. It’s all true. Believe me. Don’t sweat the small stuff. And really, in this crazy job, in this crazy world, most of it’s small stuff. Show up, get ready to love a whole lot more than you think you’re able to, and you’ll soon be the one imparting advice on the next crew to step into Appalachia.”

8. “Crazy”

“Last night was crazy, yeah we tore it up again. Kicked off our shoes and went to bed by 9 PM.”

March 2016

Since teaching, I go to bed as early as possible, and when I visit friends, like I just did this weekend, the fact that they want to drink and stay out late and wear clothes I, well, never did…it makes me feel super boring and super out of place.

Yikes…that was word vomit.

But it was TRUE word vomit. I feel like I’m an old woman. I feel like this isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but sometimes I feel like I’m just out of place.

9. “Almost Home”

“One million miles of fear and beauty, I could not explain it even if I tried.”

*Current thoughts about this whole big messy fun crazy important experience.*

10. “30,000 Feet”

“I’ve seen couple places I never thought I’d see. I’ve walked into harder times, I’ve walked out the other side. It seems like you end up getting what you need. Yeah, looking down from 30,000 feet, life’s been good to me.”

11. “More Like Love”

“But the funny thing is anytime I’ve gotten what I want, it lets me down. Now I just wanna look more like love…This whole world is spinning crazy, and I can’t quite keep up. It’s the one thing around here that we don’t have quite enough of, so I just wanna look a little more like love.”

April 13th, 2017

Some days, teaching makes me feel more like myself than I ever have. Other days, however, I feel; like I”m very much the opposite of myself. Today, 5th period was being…well…5th period, so I started to get mad. Like, REALLY mad. They kept asking me “why are we doing this,” blah, blah, blah. When I tried to give the TFA-approved answers, explaining real world connections and all that, I was rewarded with sassy remarks and more questions (definitely posed to undermine whatever scrap of authority I have left this year).

“Ms. Putorek, I don’t want to do this…”

Well, unnamed child. Guess what?

I don’t care.

I don’t care that you don’t want to read out loud.

I don’t care if you hate this book.

I don’t care if you hate me.

I don’t care if you hate English.

I don’t care if you don’t feel like this information matters to your life.

I just do not care…

And that’s because I literally care so damn much.

I’m still trying to learn how to love without lowering those expectations, but I’m really tired. How do I love these kids the way they need to be loved?

May 26th, 2018

Luckily, I was shaken from my musings by shouts of “it’s stopped raining – let’s get these pictures in quick!”

Meredith and Aaron opted for the “first look” moment, so Amanda and I walked her out to her groom, and then we ran back to the house so they could have their moment. When Aaron turned around, the world blurred for me, and I feel sure it blurred for him, also.

The pictures were taken, and the light drizzle of rain could hardly stop a ceremony that had been planned for a full year.

No one can prepare you for a moment you’ve imagined your whole entire life. As much as I swore I wouldn’t cry, anyone who knows me, knows I was an absolute wreck as my father walked up the porch steps, opened the door, and escorted Meredith out of that house, solemnly down toward her new self. A violin track played softly in the background, her dress was a vision I never could have dreamt up, and I swear in that moment I saw our shared past and her separate future. The “I Do’s” were said, a hymn sung, and the bridal party greeted with a much needed glass of wine at the end of the aisle, post-ceremony. (Praise the lord for wine. That’s all I’ll say here on this point).

Meredith and Aaron later shared their first dance (as a married couple) to a Ben Rector song off an earlier album. The song talks about loving in the sun and the rain, and it not only ironically became a literal representation of that day, but a metaphorical prediction for their life together, I would imagine.

As I was driving back to Inez for my last week in the classroom, wouldn’t you guess it: a NEW Ben Rector song started playing on my Spotify. (God Bless Ben Rector).

Windows rolled down, sun shining, daydreaming, these words spoke to my soul and reminded me of so many truths:

“No matter who I might become or who I’ve been before, I will always be yours.”

Even as we move from “being” to “been,” we glimpse, at specific moments in life, the very most sacred parts of our selves that can’t ever change. This is true for MereMere and Aaron. This is true for my students. This is true for my parents. This is true for me.

I have been a teacher. I have been loved.

I will be okay in this new opportunity, and will more than likely be on the receiving end of new moments that make my heart ache in all the best ways.

Inez, you’ve been an absolute life-changer, and I am better because of you and all of the people that call you “home.”

And now… on to the next adventure.

Paz,

Halie