adding ginger to your sass

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I have a draft of a post that’s been sitting in my “Drafts” folder all summer long. I stopped writing it mid-sentence, something I rarely do. It partially reads:

I’m not going to start this post pretending I’m going to get back into blogging, or apologizing for infrequent updates.

The truth is… I don’t know why it was so hard to write this past year.

At first I attributed my lack of voice/ desire to have one to wedding planning. Well, we’ve been married for just over (10) months now, and I’m still finding it hard to write.

This past year or so was a weird one. I found myself doubting so many aspects of my life, both personally and professionally. I tried to force myself to socialize with others as I felt myself slipping more and more into self doubt, and, when I actually spent time with others, I was especially cognizant of moments where I no longer seemed to fit into social circles I once felt at home in.

There is no reason at all for the anxiety and weirdness I felt this past school year. I was stressed, surrounded by people who were stressed. Yet, I hid in a cave while simultaneously trying to light a match. It was weird.

At the conclusion of this past school year, I became unexpectedly unemployed during the summer. Sometimes the best laid plans don’t work out. Our school year ended too late for me to find a job that didn’t take away weekends with my wife, and I ended up having my first summer off in years. I used a lot of that time to take care of myself, reading books, actually going to the gym, learning new recipes… I did a lot. But, I did it on my own. I consciously made an effort not to socialize outside of my family this summer, which was the opposite of what I forced myself to do during the school year.

Oddly enough, the exact opposite of what I craved during the school year was exactly what I needed to find inner peace within myself again.

Daytona 2016The ridiculous amount of anxiety that had been growing since January seemed to have melted away. I suddenly grew excited at so many new and exciting prospects for the upcoming year, some of which I can’t even discuss yet. As I sat on the beach in Daytona, soaking in the last few moments of summer during that last week before returning to school, along with the waves of salt water came small, almost minuscule waves of unreasonable fears and anxiety.

Then, it was September.


With the hustle and bustle of the start of the school year also came the reminder of what the first week of September is: National Suicide Prevention Week.

As the facts about suicide are woven into morning announcements, and I’m distracted by hall passes and returned signed policies and procedures, I can almost always count on fleeting moments of thinking about how intertwined suicide was with what I call “my vital years” at Rutgers.

Thoughts of Tyler Clementi remind me to check on my new students, or those who seem to be struggling to catch their groove in the sea of students.

Thoughts of how anxious I got every time I saw a news van on campus after Tyler’s death, and how much anger I felt in the years following his death about how the media treated LGBT+ students on campus light a fire in me to protect those that need protecting.

Thoughts of the interactions I’ve had with Jane Clementi, Tyler’s mom, and how much of a difference the Tyler Clementi Center is making remind me that something good comes out of everything bad.

Then, I think of Lauren.

I think of how she was the epitome of what I wanted to be when I first met her as an underclassman at Rutgers– fierce, brave, proud, and fearless.

I think of how she did everything I did– or vice versa– as I grew older and more sure of myself at Rutgers. We joked once that I was her shadow– she was in the GSE pursuing English Education and navigating what it meant to be a queer educator, and I was as well, only a year behind her.

I think of the fact that I am now forever older and a more experienced teacher than Lauren will ever be.

And, when my students crack jokes at the facts and figures being cited, or when they joke about how tough their year is and how they want to end it, I don’t even stop to think before I call them out on it.

“I had a friend who committed suicide. That’s not something to joke about.”

The words echo, loud and clear. Mumbled apologies are given, sometimes mixed with quiet whispers of gratitude, and we move on.

That’s what September is about– stopping, pausing, and continuing forward into the unknown, even stronger among a mixture of thoughts, memories, and hopes for the future.

“…tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther… And one fine morning— So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.” (F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby)

Welcome to September.

Happy National Poetry Month!

April is my favorite month, for multiple reasons. The most obvious one, however, is that it is National Poetry Month. I’m going to try really hard this month to write a poem a day (PAD), and I encourage you all to do the same. Link up your poems in the comments– maybe when I’m not typing on my phone as I try to fall asleep I’ll make some sort of form or something.

Happy poem-ing!

PAD Day 1

Monster claws within
Yearn to escape and break free
To thine own self: truth