My high school teacher said something in passing that I still use daily.
It was my history teacher, and the thing he said has nothing to do with history whatsoever. Come to think of it, I'm not really even sure why he was teaching history... I guess maybe it was technically Social Studies? Whatever. Either way, it seems to me he should've been an english teacher.
I remember that he was a Peace Corps volunteer before he was a teacher. I remember that he smiled big—and I mean BIG. He'd stand at the front of the class with his hands clasped in front of him and lean his whole body in whichever direction he was talking, but without moving his feet. Like the leaning Tower of Pisa. With his eyes wide and his mouth open, he'd present something he found fascinating and only seemed to stand up straight again once we reacted with an appropriate level of enthusiasm.
One day after class he and I were talking. If I remember correctly, I think I probably hung back to talk about some missing assignment or something like that. With his feet still on the floor, he leaned back against his desk. His normally wide-open eyes crinkled at the corners and he had his chin dipped to the side with his mouth closed. His eye contact was astounding. This guy listened with his whole body.
I'd expected him to say something about when to turn in the made-up work, or maybe some sort of patronizing, back-handed mumbo jumbo about how I'm better than this. He never gave me a reason to think he'd react that way; it was just how I expected teachers to respond to me, I guess.
"How are things at home?" he said.
My chest collapsed and my jaw clamped shut. I must've looked more run-down than I thought. While my heart sped up, I felt my face light on fire. I thought I might crack a tooth. I felt my eyes start watering. Panicked thoughts raced about, trying to figure out how to account for the length of the silence between us.
He just stood there, leaning and listening.
All these years later, I wish I'd told him the truth. And even though I didn't, he still told me casually about how he journaled every single day. He briefly mentioned, just in passing at the end of our conversation, that he kept an entire email account set up just for that. Only his sister knew about it, he said. She had the password in case anything ever happened to him.
Writing is magic for many reasons.
Today, though, I just like it because it has an uncanny ability to make me feel better. It's a chance to clear out the gunk... a window to be curious and a challenge to get creative. Lately, I've sort of been feeling like I've been running on empty. So I'm working on finding some ways to rest and recharge. But writing a few quick notes about running on E helped clarify what that even means.
Fittingly, I tried to shape it like an E.
And I had fun doing it.
From my phone.
In an email.
To myself.
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Have you ever received a gift that you didn't know was a gift?
onward.
For more on this daily column, read the backstory here. And if you know someone who'd appreciate this, pass it along.