“This is not what I signed up for …” – Anonymous and probably everyone you’ve ever met
We’ve all been there. That feeling when something we enthusiastically raised our hand for days, weeks, or months ago, has drifted, changed from a comfortable, controllable known to a more challenging, confusing, and even frustrating unknown. When we realize the task has been tweaked, our gut starts to sink, and our mind, frankly, begins to freak. What have I gotten myself into? And how can I now possibly get out of it?
For you, maybe it was that time you volunteered to help at a carnival, and someone gleefully suggested that all volunteers take a turn in the dunktank. Or maybe it was the company’s annual all-in talent show that no one told you about during the interview process. I offer this only to say, I was just there too–in that moment and very ready to say, “Later, friends! You can count me out on this one.” And, honestly, I probably would have bolted had I worked somewhere other than here at Belmont Day School.
Working at a school, even in a non-teaching role, you learn with time that these fight-or-flight moments are happening all around you, every day. I can promise you that a similar scenario is playing out for at least one, but more likely, many of our students every minute we’re in session. A kindergartner is learning that he not only needs to design and draw his ideal space station, but he’ll also be presenting it to parents when they visit. A fifth grader gets a bigger part in the play than they had imagined, or even hoped for. An eighth grader is named a team captain, and she suddenly feels the weight of the responsibility she has just taken on.
What happens in these moments for our students is, for me, the greatest strength of a BDS education and of our community. It goes far beyond the simple, “You got this!” (although even that encouragement, when well placed, does help). It’s in the rehearsals of a scene, over and over and over again. It’s in the subtle bump up in playing time for a teammate who pays close attention and cheers loudly from the bench. It’s in the listening, eye contact, and caring for a young student as they struggle with their first attempt to learn the process of self-advocacy. It’s in the light-hearted and shared laughter of students and faculty in those moments of mistakes that let us know we’ve all been there, and that we’ll all get another chance at it. And, it’s in the breathing and movement exercises we’re taught to calm our minds.
This past week, I felt myself seemingly caught in one of these fight-or-flight moments. A wonderful writers group I’m lucky to be a part of, with Dean Spencer, Lana Holman, Barbara Carey, and Tara Lightbody, had planned an open mic night for our fellow faculty and staff. Working from a Lenesa Leana Inspire Grant, our group is promoting a culture of writing at BDS, and the open mic event was an opportunity for colleagues to share original work and writing from our favorite writers and poets. I am loving our group’s work together, but as someone who avoids public speaking unless absolutely necessary, the prospect of standing in front of my peers and sharing my fiction immediately put me in pre-flight mode, thinking, “How can I get out of this?”
However, in the week leading up to the event, I looked to our students and found inspiration in how they face these moments nearly every day. With many deep and controlled breaths, I was able to see and hear clearly as our group discussed our fears before the open mic. One of the group reminded us, “This is exactly what we ask of our students. We help them not only to create, but to share. It’s good for us to be reminded of how that feels.”
When I finally stepped up to share a story, I found myself in front of a community that teaches and supports for these moments, when “This is not what I signed up for” becomes “This is exactly what I needed.” Thank you, Belmont Day.
