Juggling Act

#Romance is so enticing; we yearn for it. Even the best of us have been known to sneak in a Lifetime movie now and again. I, myself, rarely fantasize. I've never imagined being picked up in a town-car, driven to buy a fantastic and ultra stylish suit on Madison Avenue and then brought (in said suit) to a romantic bistro or rooftop restaurant overlooking the Hudson to eat oysters and gourmet cuisine, and then brought into said town-car to a private helicopter ride around the island, where I would sip champagne and be handed roses, culminating after landing with a drive, no longer in his town-car, but in his private Audi or convertible something or another, listening to the most amazing music, driven for drinks at some swanky lounge, and then finally, to his private penthouse apartment or brownstone or yacht, where the passionate night would continue, only to end with breakfast in bed... Alright, I may have thought about it once or twice. Maybe.

It's nice to whisk someone off of their feet, especially when you don't even know you're doing it. And it's just as nice, maybe nicer, to be whisked off your own feet. And as nice as the above fantasy sounds, sometimes it's the little things that go underestimated and unnoticed. Have we become so saturated with images of Mr. Big and other studs that we've forgotten the reality of the day-to-day? Do we expect perfection... in every which way: looks? Financial stability and excess? Spiritual and mental fortitude? Self-awareness and security? Have our expectations surpassed what's realistic for the 99% in exchange for holding out for a Mr. Robert Redford in Indecent Proposal? Insert extremely long diatribe about The Ex here.

Luckily, I've been in such shitty relationships that a circus clown could look to me. Even luckier, T is nowhere near to a circus clown. So on Thursday night when I called him to confirm our plans to meet on Friday, I was pleasantly surprised. I asked over text if he and I could speak on my house phone - an ominous text to receive I would imagine. Of course he said sure, and so, when I finally did call, I was a bit surprised at first: he was somewhere... a bar? Somewhere loud. But what surprised me more was, unlike previous partners, he actually stopped what he was doing to step out into a quiet spot to talk. T: 1. Exes: 0.

Without having to really delve into, he explained to me what was going on... having a post-work cocktail with coworkers. T: 2. Exes: 0. I asked what we wanted to do the next day. His reply? Don't worry. I've got it covered.

Beg your pardon?

He had it covered. What did that mean? What does that mean? How does one have what covered? This was relatively foreign to me. He went on: we would meet up according to my schedule. When I asked what he meant, he explained that if I needed to go home after work and rest, we could meet up later on. If I wanted to meet him immediately after work, we could do that, too. I should preface, before I go on, that he does have a life of his own and he wasn't giving up his time out of desperation: he simply had off, had the time, and, well, what? Wanted to... make me happy? My mind was abuzz, aghast, absolutely stunned... what did it all mean? I had to talk it through: "So, what does this all mean? I can meet you whenever?"

His words? "It's all about what you want."

DING, DING, DING! T: 20 points. The Exes? 0. The Ex himself, Diablo incarnate (insert excessively long diatribe about The Ex while referencing The Exorcist, Friday the 13th, Saw, and Child's Play)? Well... he has a -13. Or was it -666? I digress.

As a smile crept across my face, and like a schoolgirl talking to her first crush, I smothered my smile as best I could and elected to play upon the cool of TLC's Crazy, Sexy, Cool album. So, I asked him what we would do? It was a surprise, he said. He didn't want to reveal much, but he said it would entail dinner and drinks.

The next evening couldn't come fast enough. Listening to the Think Like a Man soundtrack, I drove into Chelsea to meet him. We would have dinner at a small, Italian bistro with brick walls, several types of pasta, and of course, wine. Timing is everything, they say and two moments after I entered the restaurant, he followed in. I turned, saw him standing there, and kissed him.

Though I was tired from an exhausting week, the conversation still flowed, with a few moments of comfortable silence. He ate pasta. I ate lobster with pasta. I sipped wine and we, goofy as could be, stared into each others eyes. We continued the night with a drink here and a margarita there, only to end at the Clearview Cinema on 23rd where we watched in literary fascination and nerdy unison the film version of The Perks of Being a Wallflower. He had borrowed my copy the previous weekend and had already finished reading it. Watching Charlie negotiate his inner monologue, we negotiated how to lean upon one another without giving ourselves or each other a neck cramp.

As we left, we debated the ultimate question: whose place? Yours? Mine? We chose mine and ended up there 20 minutes later (have to love nighttime traffic in the City - there wasn't any). The next morning, after an evening of cuddling in bed, we awoke and fell asleep and awoke and fell asleep and talked, and talked some more, and talked some more, and... well, let's keep some things private. After all, this is the internet. In short, we spent the day in bed... learning each other. We finally made a plan: we would go for breakfast (yours truly was craving chocolate chip pancakes with whipped cream and high fructose corn syrup posing as maple syrup). Breakfast at 3 pm? Yep. We sure did.

Here's the thing with romance: it sneaks up on you. You don't know when it will infiltrate your life, but when it does, it is like a drug. Addictive. When you meet someone with whom you click... with whom there isn't any pretense... with whom you can be yourself... talk about science fiction, watch Netflix in bed, talk books, writing, have sexual chemistry, and have a mutual love of food, and of course, share your histories, your pain, yourselves... yowzah! I laid in bed, felt relaxed, and really, felt like I could lay there forever without a care.

Our plan was to eat and then part ways. The beautiful thing about romance is also the downfall, perhaps. Now - my history? My history would show that I have had a tendency to make poor choices in the name of love. Giving of myself, all of myself, to the person with whom I am convincing myself will lead to love or with whom I had convinced myself I was in #love already (not to invalidate my previous experiences, but I know what love is, and a lot of what I've had has not been love: think of it as asking for bacon and getting turkey bacon or asking for a juicy, meaty hamburger, and being handed a veggie burger... or asking for a ripe and fresh piece of fruit and being handed a moldy banana...). In any case, the day, the night previous, had been so subtle yet so concrete in its amazement, that I wanted, like an addictive drug, more.

And after the meal? Picture Thanksgiving. I was wiped out. Why don't we go back to my place, watch a movie, and then you can go home. I'll do work for work after, because, after all, that's all I seem to do: work. Work. Work.

Now, despite my best intentions, when we awoke to the end of our movie in bed, I didn't want to leave his side. I didn't want to call it a night yet. I convinced myself it was okay, quickly, and we made plans to go see Paranormal Activity 4.

After dessert and wine outside at a well-done corporate rendition of an Italian ristorante, we saw our movie. Again, not calling it quits, whose place was posed and again we ended back at mine for a second evening of cuddling. Only this time, I didn't sleep so well.

Whether it was the air conditioner, the insurmountable amount of stuff I had to get done for life, or the work I had to do for work, I was equally tired and anxious. I knew it was my doing, but I didn't and I don't feel it was a bad choice at all: sometimes, ya just need a break from life in order to be better at what you do: work to live not live to work, that sort of thing. Still, I couldn't help but wonder, with romance being so appealing, with affectionate being so infectious, with cuddling being so contagious, and with dreamy eyed staring being so stunning, how does one balance romance and life? Is it possible? Do you have to live together to make it happen, since then you theoretically are around your partner all of the time so there is less planning involved? Is there a perfect #balance? Is this an exclusively #gay issue? Or is it always a rushed struggle? It doesn't feel so overwhelming at all to spend time with T. For me, though, a Cancer, and an individual who needs order at home and significant amounts of 'me' time, I wonder if there is a way to achieve a balance, especially so early on in a relationship of such romantic proportions. I'm sure there is; my fear is that I already see him seldom: on the weekends with the oh-too-occasional mid-week encounter. I'm sure if I lived in Manhattan, it'd be easier.

That next morning, after tidying up my place a bit, with T's help (point again!), I drove him home. The morning was beautiful. The air was crisp. The vanilla chai he bought me was necessary. And when I arrived at work, job number 2, I felt inspired. I would not write, in my spare moments, a disparaging, dark, brooding, Hamletesque poem of intensely dramatic imagery and Virgina Woolf sentence structures; instead, I'd write the beginning page to a story of love conquering all-odds. When the mood strikes to write, ya gotta go with it.

Funny enough, somehow, thinking about the time that passes between my seeing my boy, what sits in my gut is not a nervousness, insecurity, or jealousy, as though my not seeing him as often as I'd like will result in the quick and speedy demise of us. I feel rather secure. I look forward to seeing him. I look forward to having time to do me and share with him. 

And if it does not work out with T, I can say confidently I've made a friend for life. After all, the best relationships are where you can be friends with your partner, that person with whom the struggle to find balance between life and romance is a welcome one.

Still, I have to wonder, will I ever get to that Master Pangloss best of all possible worlds version of balance between my relationship and my own individual life, responsibilities, obligations, and the like? The jury is out on that. In the meantime, I'll start putting in requests for my next life. Perhaps, in my next life, this Cancerian will return as a Libra. They seem to do better with the whole juggling act.

Real Education Means Real Challenges

#Education is vital. I think about it often. When I see an adolescent on the train mistreat another person, a total stranger, I think to myself, my, my, how? How did this... happen?
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Do we want to improve our kids?

Do we want to improve ourselves?

Whether you're a businessperson, a fry-cook, an accountant, a parent, or a teacher, we are all educators in our own right.

I once heard it said that the quality of a teacher preparation program does not make a difference insomuch as getting hired, teaching, and in terms of what you learn.

I entirely disagree. 

Just as military service is mandated in some countries, I believe that teacher education service should be mandated for all. I have many reasons for this. I will not go into these reasons at this time except to say that such a restructuring of priorities in our country, in the world, would result in a completely changed culture; those in power, who wish to remain in power, do so through various modes, including the perpetuation of ignorance, and the permeation of opiates among the masses, such as reality television, or the idea that you need certain objects, materials, goods, resources, in order to be happy, whole, and complete within society. Much of it is just plain bullshit, in the end. 

I digress. Insomuch that a society exists as a result of its culture, its culture, a reflection of any given society's core values, exists because of education, in turn. At length, our society in America has gone to shit in many ways. I won't provide the ways in which our culture has spiraled at this time except to say, I'd be willing to debate the issue with any one at any time. 

In order to effectuate culture, to actualize knowledge, to encourage free-thinking at odds with the insurmountable modes of oppression that currently surreptitiously exist within our society, we need quality teachers. My Master's thesis was on this very subject. I can say, whole-heartedily, that good quality teachers result from quality teacher preparation programs based on empirical observation, qualitative and quantitative analysis of various data collected, and the most logical and objective conclusions elicited from that data. Any one who claims that quality preparation programs does not affect teacher quality within the classroom has not experienced, in my opinion, a quality program whereby the difference was clear and palpable. To claim that much of the practice is learned on the job is entirely untrue, but there is so much, so very much, that is learned given the instruction of concept, theory, and then application of pedagogical strategy in real, authentic situations with a variety of opportunities to explore, explain, and reflect upon practices experimented upon. Professional development is critical, but the quality of development depends on the quality of the planning of said development, the determination of the need of said development for any given population of teachers, and the delivery of development in conjunction with teaming strategies, learning activities, time allotted and so forth. In short, "p.d." is better than nothing, but is a poorer substitute for ongoing quality teacher preparation programs. The reality is there are multiple factors that determine a teacher's success and the quality of a program only increases the odds of success. We must look at ourselves as teachers and ask if 1. we would get a job at a nonpublic school that prides itself on its student success rate (extenuating circumstances and variables permitted), and 2. would we be successful at our current school were it not for any number of in-school factors? Did our program adequately prepare us? How did it prepare us? Did it provide multiple avenues of reflection, approach, and experimentation? Did we receive multiple forms of feedback from our academic advisors, teachers, and the like? How often were we in the classroom? How many different pedagogical structures did we practice and then, how many did we push ourselves to utilize despite what might be a natural inclination to us, such as "yelling" as a classroom strategy versus calm speak; or something like the importance of student observation and what we do with that data? Or how we team? Or how we provide feedback? Or why the prepared environment is very important? Or why optimism is and will always be more powerful than negativity? Or how we differentiate to meet our students needs? In short, a quality preparation program will push us to do what is not easy, but what is challenging, what is right, given the complex realities of today's world, and the truth in our common value and belief: that all individuals have a right to a quality public education and that all students, anywhere, can learn given that we provide the right conditions, given that we study how they learn best, given that we understand why they 'do' whatever it is they do, and so forth.

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As professional educators, we must choose to remind ourselves of these facts, especially if we "dislike" a student: 

1. Our first job is to educate. Everyone. Plain and simple. 

2. They are not 'our' kids and we are not their parents; it is not up to us to treat even the most troublesome student beyond a practicum of professional conduct. 

3. We are in the service of education; these kids, and their parents, are our clients. Just as we beco

me irate when mistreated by someone hired to perform a service, and defer to the customer is always right mentality, so too do our kids and we must treat them accordingly: completely neutral and professional. Tone, words, insinuation all carry meaning inferred by our kids and translated accordingly, which thereby causes reaction. We must then recognize we were the impetus of that reaction, whether the child, who is a child, had, like an "annoying" client, said or done anything to precipitate a response from us. This is why there are steps, procedures, and codes of conducts teachers must follow. 

4. Our students are children. We are the adults. Period. We must behave as the example and exemplar at all times. Sinking down to a childlike level is not the same as showing a child you understand but remaining the adult in a given situation. Childlike behavior will illicit childlike reactions. Adult behavior will command respect. This begs the question, what is an adult and what does an adult behave like, questions that would be explored in various programs that teach teachers more than content and basic instructional strategies, but philosophy, theory, history of the development of said points and so on.

5. We must model those behaviors we wish to instill into and see practiced by our students always, regularly, and consistently. How we react to a given situstion will to determine the students future reactions, and thereby may or may not cause problems for us later on, for their own kids when they have them, and for society. This means always taking the high road. Educators are revered as sources of what is good and right and true in society, and that means approaching any given situation, if we want our society to evolve, rationally, calmly, with reverence and respect, with stewardship, with focus, and with positive and realistic high road mentality. Remember our values aren't and don't have to be our kids for those reasons aforementioned. 

6. We must observe, observe, observe and analyze those observations outside of bias to inform our actions, determine reasons for behaviors, and give us understanding. 

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So, we must determine a common language of decency, expectation, uplift, and motivation. Do we motivate through scare tactics? Do we motivate through engagement? Do we force that which a child is not ready to learn? Do we make assuptions about what we think a child should know by now and where do those assumptions stem from? If we espouse multiple intelligences and differentiation, that applies to every aspect of an individual, including behavior. It is not for us as educators to make the case that they need to know a behavior now because they will learn it later on, on the street, outside of school. They are not our own kids! And even though certain life lessons may be learned in raw and unsafe ways, we must model ways to 'deal' and react with grace, dignity, true strength, the strength that helps kids to rise above and not degrade, to critically analyze, to not succumb to emotion but to treat others with kindness and strength of conviction and heart, even in the face of brutality, danger, and monstrous inequality. We must model firmly how Rosa and Martin and other educated greats have acted. 

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In short, yes school is more than academic content, but there is a fine line between what we believe is right and what is right based on guidelines, certain truths, and facts. We can ignore this and succumb, as so many educators do, without realizing it, to the slow demise of complacency and jaded cynicism. Or we can always and constantly work, never taking anything for granted, and evolving within our professional practice by pushing our thought process. Do we want to sink into becoming those teachers we always said we never want to be? Or do we see the difficult and unyielding work ahead and continue in a pursuit of collegiate excellence within our practices? No teacher ever said they wanted to become 'bad' and in our hearts, we all mean well. But meaning well, nowadays, isn't good enough. We have to meet the challenges head-on to prepare our kids to compete in a global society, think critically, become contributing members of society, become life-long learners and thinkers, and find inner peace. No teacher strives to be bad, but complacency is a cancer: It happens slowly and without warning. The realization to a teacher that they've become everything they never wanted to be happens never or when it is too late. Quality preparation programs, ongoing professional growth, the establishment of a culture of collegiality and rigorous academic pursuits, with kids at the heart of every conversation, all contribute to effective teaching and thus, effective schools. 

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In the end, it's hard, thankless, exhausting work. We must see that, recognize it, stare it dead on and say, do we meet the challenge? How do we support each other in meeting the challenge? And what will our future be if we do not? We must look into our crystal ball of cause and effect and say what type of human being are we 'manufacturing' into the world given our current practices? And, do we blame that image that we see on ourselves or on everything else, and why? Because it is easy? Because we have accepted defeat? Education... real education... means real challenges. 

What is love? Oh, baby, don't hurt me...

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Dear Blog,

What's the T?

In two words: Totally Tantalizing.

Some say singlehood affords many opportunities. Self-indulgence. Travel. Sex.

Since I've last written, certainly I have engaged in singlehood. More than some. Less than others.

This was the summer of my TLT: Total Life Transformation.

When you're single in NY for some time - correction: when you're single anywhere for some time - you often find yourself cataloging your options, priorities, and desires.

This past May began a new chapter. Like many New Yorkers, the choice of staying put or moving apartments was on my doorstep. New Yorkers love change. New pair of shoes. New hairstyle. New foodie fad. And without exception, new apartment. My choice was clear: do I renew my lease, or do I leave my fabulous Harlem pad with exposed brick, granite countertop, porn-star shower, and stainless steal appliances? Weighing the pros and cons was a process. Roommates who never paid? Con. Roommate who did pay? Pro. Exposed brick? Double pro. Relatively easy parking for an atypical driver in New York? Pro. Loud noise at 4 am on a work night? Double con. Easy access to dates, sex, and the like vis-a-vis sordid trips to bars or maximum ten minutes on Grindr? I suppose that last is all dependent upon your perspective.

After debating for some time and a failed, albeit enjoyably challenging dalliance with he who I shall refer to as the Activist, I elected to get out of Dodge. In typical New York fashion, I needed a change. Two years in one spot was one year too long.

The reality was, I hated what the apartment came to be: a constant reminder of... pain. I had moved in there with an ex who, without my realizing it, I'd tried forcing into someone he just wasn't. With him, as is often the case, the bad memories were louder than the good. That apartment saw sex, drugs, rock and roll, The Ex (gone back to momentarily  like a cigarette smoker dips into a pack for another fag), and, of course, the passing of my best friend.

I needed to get out.

New York City suburbs are a strange sort of area. But, they were exactly what the doctor ordered. I contacted a good friend from a previous life who happened to be a realtor in a prestigious and affluent Westchester suburb not but fifteen minutes from Harlem by car. I told him I was in the market for a flat, that I was broke, my credit was poor, and I didn't currently have a down-payment. He helped.

Within about a month of making an inquiry with him, I found my new place. A quiet suburban flat in need of much homosexualization (the previous renters had a kid, a penchant for horrible furniture, and allowed the place to fall into deplorable disrepair under their stay). Bluejays pranced in the courtyard, crickets twiddled at night, and street light rarely seeped in. After picturing which 'Color Splash' colors would go where and what items (of which I am still acquiring slowly) would adequately suit this art deco 1920's style apartment, I told my realtor friend I wanted the place. And, through the magic of lightening-quick NY-minute financial saving and wee bit of unexpected parental support, I made it happen. I  moved to the burbs. All while working during my very busy time of my year.

Somehow, during this time, my colleagues slash girlfriends and I planned a trip of epic proportions: we were to go to Central and South America during the summer for an adventure, which for me, a poor and humble public servant awaiting love's knock on his door, was only and barely surmounted by Armstrong's trip to the moon. Costa Rica, Peru, concluding for another friend's nuptials in Mexico at an all-inclusive resort were our itinerary.

And time marched on. I moved. I painted. I worked. I dated. And summer suddenly happened. I bowed out of Pride as well as my birthday, which happens each year around the same time as Pride. It didn't seem right to ring in my 30th and celebrate Pride when I wasn't actually proud; I wanted my best friend there, physically, to help in celebration. My girlfriend's Lauren and Arleni wouldn't have it. They gave me my first ever surprise birthday party. It was perfect. Some old friends from work. Some new friends from work. Libation. Cake. Laughter.

And the summer began. It would go by quicker than New Years, it seemed, and I'd barely have a chance to rest. Between bachelorette parties, birthdays, a date sprinkled here and there, and many day trips, it flew by. South America was here before I knew it.

Something changed in me on that trip. I can't quite put my finger on it, but at mile 25 of the Inca Trail in Peru, as I climbed, sweat dripping, over that final crest to see in the valley beneath Machu Picchu, I fell, or rose (or both) into some sort of transcendental plain. Whether from fatigue or adrenaline, desire and want and need, or actual metaphysical metamorphosis, I found myself... somewhere else. I found... myself. Quietly, I absorbed within me something I'd only experienced a few other times in life; as when I found myself arrived in Venice along the canal at the train station for the first time, where I stood amazed that I... me... had come so far as to be standing somewhere I'd never pictured I would ever be before.

And after that long trip, a trip of purification and cleansing, I found myself amid innocent debauchery in Mexico: sun-kissed along white beaches, pina colada in hand, I drifted into ecstasy and relaxation unlike anything I'd experienced for many moons.

After: Reality, here I came.

And I did. Ready, I fought my way into a new year of work, with new priorities and a new sense of self. Summer was over. And I was healthy, ready, energized, lookin' good, and able. My TLT was officially a success! I had transformed. I was finally and fully greeting 30.

Meanwhile, on August 8th, while I was somewhere below the equator, someone I would come to meet was on his way to New York in his relocation. A sort of mini-TLT for himself.

The universe has a funny way of giving signs, some times. I don't know what the sign is, necessarily, but it's there. August 8th was... is... my best friend's birthday.

Tee and I met on a random night at the bar Therapy. You know the story: boy goes out with his gay friend, other boy goes out with his gay friends, boy stares at boy, boy walks away, boy comes back, boy talks to boy, boy flirts with boy, boy goes dancing with boy, boy kisses boy and the rest is history. I think Oprah did a special on it once.

In any event, Tee and I would go out on several dates after meeting; and in meeting the stereotype of a Southern Gentleman, which he is, most certainly, Tee would offer to and actually pay for much of our goings outs, hold doors open, listen to me, ask questions, stare me in the eyes, make me laugh, and treat me with a genuine respect, patience, and understanding, which I appreciate. If I'd write this blog more-so, I'd get into the details. But this isn't Carrie's Sex and the City column.

Most recently, Tee and I went out to see Rocky Horror. Afterward, we went for drinks at a local Chelsea gay bar.

"Tee, do you want to be exclusive?"
After a brief and penchant pause, "Ya know, it's been on my mind. After I brought it up that last time, I respected that you didn't dive right in. I appreciate it. But it's been on my mind."
And as if seconds were minor eternities, a long sigh met me with baited, though concealed, breath, "I do. I really do." Sealed, next, with a kiss.

Sometimes in life, you just gotta grab what you want by the balls. Figuratively speaking, of course.

And I did. We did. It's new. It's different. It's good. At least, it feels good, and right, and true. And he makes me smile. Genuinely. And he makes me feel amazing. And he makes me forget... everything that has gone wrong. We've already had some of the tough conversations. And as he said when I left him, 'there will be good times and bad times... but I'm excited to see where it goes.' And as I said to him, 'Right now, I just want to learn you, and have you learn me.' And it's true. I do. Despite the nervousness... of which, there isn't much. I feel safe, wanted, and respected by him; and he is kind, and studly, and I smart, and talented, and I can only hope he feels the same way I do.

We spent two amazing days together. What did we do? Well, a lot of nothing. How great that is. 

I don't know where it'll go... but, sometimes the best moments in life are the most exciting, wrought with the most risk and danger, like a white water rafting trip in Costa Rica, or a night time hike without light through the Peruvian Amazon. Change... real change... isn't always easy. I can't help but wonder if New Yorkers change 'stuff' so much to avoid changing the real stuff. The stuff that matters. The stuff that is only recognized in the deep silence of solitude. Despite the fear brought on by previous, dramatic, ever-so-tragic experiences, I'm pushing forward. Pushing through. After all, I am a New Yorker: tough as nails, so tough that I can move to and make work the suburbs. So tough, I can work my ass off at my job. So tough, I can be alone, but now, can be with someone else and remain me. So tough, my doubts only add fuel to my exploration. So tough, I can change.

However this turns out, it seems a fitting last chapter to my TLT. What's next after my TLT? I dunno, but I am excited to see how the "Tee" works out.

Yours,

Not-so-Single Anymore.