RationalSnowflake

Today wasn't special or eventful in any way. It was just another day. So much happened, but so much always happens. As I went through the day, I felt it all getting away from me. It was too much to take in. I want to write about it, but I don't remember it. I'm going to try anyway. Here's a day in my life: 5:00 wake up. Tired. 5:15 go to gym 6:45 shower, breakfast, etc. 7:25 wait for Sam 7:35 drive to work 7:47 get to work. Circle. 7:57 write out my grievances about the attendance process (I was asked to do that). 8:15 power greeting. Saw K, told her I had something for her. Three students hugged me, two complained that I saw them but didn't hug them. 8:33 gave K the book Hyperbole and a Half: 8:35 scramble to gather materials for my tutoring sessions. Wade through the hallway. Lots of hugs, high fives, and "good morning"s. 8:40 class starts. Stay for quiz. Eight students ask for a pencil. I don't have any on me today, so they have to

Content warning: the following post contains details of sexual assault, and can be upsetting. If you feel like it will upset you, please don't feel compelled to read it. These stories happened to me, but they aren't my stories. They belong to all of us. When I was 12 I decided I no longer wanted to be religious. It became increasingly clear to me that religion was just something people made up, and I had stopped playing with imaginary friends when I was eight or nine. It also seemed, at the time, as though non-religious people had more fun in life. They got to eat what they wanted, when they wanted, without having to worry about whether god would approve. They got to go places on the weekend. They got to wear whatever they wanted. It seemed like the secular life was free from a lot of the anxiety that accompanied religion. (I was wrong about a lot of that, and it now seems like people of faith have it a bit easier in life, but that's not really what this blog post is ab

( The opinions expressed are not representative of City Year or AmeriCorps as organizations) According to City Year's website, and what we have been told (repeatedly) in training, we serve students who are most likely to drop out, using an approach based on research from Johns Hopkins University: (image source:  https://blog.five-startech.com/abcs-dropout-prevention-early-warning-attendance-behavior-course-grades ) Students who have one or more of these "ABCs" are much less likely to graduate compared to their peers. The good news is that students who manage to reach the 10th grade on track are most likely going to graduate. The crucial years, identified by Johns Hopkins and City Year, are grades 3 through 9.  I'm working in a high school, but supposed to be focusing on the 9th grade, for the reason mentioned above. Each of my teammates is assigned to a 9th grade classroom, and we go to lunch with the 9th graders. Our rooms are on the same floor as most of

( The opinions expressed are not representative of City Year or AmeriCorps as organizations) I don't often attach significance to objects. If I'm asked to share an object that means a lot to me, I usually struggle to come up with something, and end up bringing in a book. Books are great, but it's the words in them that I really care about. The same goes for all of the letters I've saved over the years. They mean a lot to me, but it's the words and messages they convey, rather than the pieces of paper, that I value. But over the past few weeks I've accumulated a number of artifacts from students, and these objects mean so much to me. I worry that over time I'll become cynical of them and what they meant at the time I got them. Perhaps negative interactions with the students will taint my memory of how great it was to receive them. Or maybe I'll just be sad, and let my sadness convince me that I wasn't actually happy about these simple things. Hopefu

The opinions expressed are not representative of City Year or AmeriCorps as organizations My last blog post received a lot more attention than I expected. Some of the reactions have been positive and supportive, others not so much. I really appreciate my fellow corps members and the upper management people who have reached out to me in the past week. Some of them have thanked me for writing and voicing what a lot of them have been feeling. That validation and acceptance meant a lot to me, more than they probably realize. I also really value the people who have approached me to try to change my mind or to question the assumptions and claims I made. I always want to learn and grow as a person, and getting that feedback has helped me continue to question and explore the impact of what I'm doing. I still disagree with many of City Year's practices, but I'm trying to learn more in order to build a well-informed critique, and offer alternatives. A number of people have encourag

The opinions expressed are not representative of City Year or AmeriCorps as organizations And then she threw her arms around me and said: "Miss C., you're my favorite city year." And just like that, nothing else mattered. All the fucking bullshit didn't matter. The chanting, the team-building exercises, the complete and total incompetence of most of the people I work with... None of it mattered. Just for a second, all that mattered was the little girl holding on to me, telling me that I matter. That I have somehow managed to make a difference in her life. And then he asked me, "Is this right?" And I challenged him. Yes, it was right. He had correctly identified the graph as being positively skewed. Not only that, he'd also written a complete sentence describing the data. I was so fucking proud. It was more than most of his classmates had done, but I knew he could do more. "Alright _, great work! Now I wonder if you'd be able to come up with

The opinions expressed are not representative of City Year or AmeriCorps as organizations I was supposed to have figured things out in college, or at least have some sort of direction. Yet here I am, Bachelor's degree in hand, and clueless. I thought I wanted to dedicate a year of my life to helping people, so City Year seemed like the perfect opportunity for me. I'd be able to figure out my next step, and also be able to make a difference in the lives of some students. The cult-like culture bothered me a bit at first. It was tiresome and irritating, but I tried to ignore it. I'm here for the kids. That's what matters. I thought I'd get used to the culture. I thought it'd become a minor annoyance that I had to endure in order to be able to do what I came here for. But it seems like the longer I stay, the worse it gets. Nothing has changed, except perhaps my perspective, which is becoming steadily worse. I don't want to do this anymore. I don't want t

The opinions expressed are not representative of City Year or AmeriCorps as organizations I often wish I were more normal. By that I mean more susceptible to the influences of society. By that I mean less stubborn. By that I mean more able to just go with the flow. Actually, I'm not sure what I mean by that. Every company has things about it that some employees don't like. I don't expect to ever find a job that will exactly match everything I want and need. I understand this, and it's supposed to make me feel less negatively about City Year and the things I hate about it. But all that happens when I'm reminded of the fact that no place is perfect is I feel more out of place in the world. I watch the people around me get abnormally excited about "earning" pieces of our uniform, and as I think about how ridiculous they're being, I can't help but think about how much easier my life would be if I were like them. Critical thinking is one of the fe

Self-care. It's one of those terms everyone likes to throw around a lot, and as such, it is used in various ways by different people. Unfortunately, it seems like the people who are in the most need of self-care are also the ones who don't fully understand the concept and use it in a destructive way. Self-care has become synonymous with "Self-indulgence," and self-indulgence often leads to self-destruction, which is literally the opposite of what you're trying to do.  Self-care is when you, quite simply, take care of yourself.  I'll be using Maslow's hierarchy as a convenient model for describing basic human needs (there are some insightful critiques of Maslow's hierarchy, but I think we can still learn a lot from it). In his hierarchy, Maslow states that at the very basic level people need food, shelter, and safety, and I agree. Thus, your first step in self-caring should be to ask yourself if those needs of yours are being met. Not just "Am

The opinions expressed are not representative of City Year or AmeriCorps as organizations I saw J sitting alone in the cafeteria, silently looking softly at the room with a gaze that was neither engaged nor disengaged. He sat. I approached him, introduced myself, and asked for his name. He looked up and smiled at me. A genuine smile. They had warned us about the students that will be challenging, but hadn't really prepared us for this. Smiles. He told me his name, and then asked what he was supposed to be doing. As if I knew. The carefully planned schedule for the day had fallen apart roughly 20 minutes in, and as far as I could tell, the adults in the school were as confused as the students about who was supposed to be where and what they were meant to be doing. He'd already gotten his student ID and had been in the auditorium learn about the administrations and logistics, so the only other activity he had to complete was a school tour, which I found out would be starting 30

He's already told you he loves you. More than that. He's shown you he loves you. Day in, day out. When you're in a good mood, or a bad mood. When you want to talk, or just be silent. He's there, caring. You don't have to prove anything. You don't have to doubt. So you're free. Free to be yourself. Truly, completely. Just you. Because he knows you, and likes you anyway. No, he likes you because  of who you are. There's no anxiety. No worrying about what you should say, when you need to be funny, or clever, or attractive. Sometimes you are all of those things. Sometimes, you're none of them. But always, you are you . Then he's gone. And you're left alone, or masquerading as someone else. Someone who is always in a good mood, because sadness isn't fun. Someone who always wants to talk, because silences are awkward. Someone who has to prove, day in, day out, that she is worthy of others' company. ------------------ You're walki

Like pretty much everyone around me, I watched 13 Reasons Why on Netflix, and I have strong opinions. Before watching the show, I heard a lot about it. Some people lauded the way it raises awareness of bullying and sexual assault in high school (and beyond) and their effects on people. Others thought the show glorified suicide, representing it as a viable solution for people struggling with mental illness or who are going through a rough time. I've also heard criticisms of Hannah Baker, the main character who kills herself; some people see her as a whiny little girl who was just seeking attention. Supposedly, the show makes it seem like she receives the attention she sought, even though she was already dead. People expressed concern about the effects of the show on teenagers, worrying they would want to "try" suicide, and not understand that it's permanent, unlike drugs, alcohol, sex, etc. I started watching the show having heard all of these arguments, and I intend

During my first year as an undergrad at UW-Madison I frequently wrote letters to my family (in Israel and scattered across the US), in which I reflected upon my experiences. I think it might be fun to read them now, almost four years later, and see what came true, what didn't, what I regret, and what I'm proud of.  "As most of you probably know, my mother used to write “Dear Grandpa” letters, which she sent out to a very large number of friends and relatives, describing our lives in Israel. When I was young I didn’t quite understand why she did it, but now that I’m the one who’s apart from my family, I can appreciate the need for such letters, and well, the convenience of being able to let everyone know what’s going on in my life at the same time. I don’t come close to having the descriptive and colorful language my mother has, but I’ll try my best to at least convey the facts about my new life here in Madison. I also lack the persistence needed to maintain an ongoing pr