Balance. Is there such a thing? I’ve stopped looking.
This week, I biked to the university library on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, where I took over a carrel on the 9th floor and did research. Personal bliss. But every day can’t be spent zooming through the park and poring over dusty old books. On Monday, I volunteered on a class school trip to city hall, and today I am home with a sick child, who was up half the night, but is now drinking tea and told me I could go and blog. She is reading.
I’m really not kidding when I say that researching at a library is just about my happiest state. Researching, writing. I could do this all day. I don’t even take snack breaks.
Which is why it was odd to find myself, last week, spending a full day as a children’s entertainer at a school, reading my book The Candy Conspiracy to approximately 450 kids, and filling in the space around the reading with age-appropriate activities. I even brought my pineapple ukulele. I was pretty nervous in the lead-up (see happiest state, above). I tested my plan with my live-in focus group before unveiling it to the public: the 8-year-old sang along happily to my made-up songs; the 10-year-old informed me in no uncertain terms that I would be embarrassing myself. Ergo, kindergarten through grade two got to sing and pretend to be Juicy Jelly Worms and Clever Children. Grades three through six got a more traditional author visit, with a Q&A and a make-your-own book project. Each session lasted 45 minutes. At the end of the day, I crawled home and collapsed into dreamless sleep on the couch, like a toy whose batteries have run out. Apparently Robert Munsch did coke. I forgive you, Mr. Munsch.
This is feeling like a randomized news roundup. Let’s continue. This morning I went to boot camp and pulled a muscle in my back. Now I can’t look to the left. I’ve been writing in the car in the evenings when I take my eldest daughter to soccer or theatre, or, like last night, both, back to back. Here is a list of the books I’ve read since leaving France: Brooklyn, by Colm Toibin (you must read it even if you’ve seen the movie!); How Should a Person Be, by Sheila Heti (so Canadianly weird); Tennessee Williams’ The Glass Menagerie and A Streetcar Named Desire; a bunch of short plays; and one more play called Yellowman, by Dael Orlandersmith. None of these are the dusty old books I’m poring over at the university library.
Today marks 21 years since I met my husband. We always remember the buds on the trees busting out overhead. This morning, while he took our sick child at the doctor’s office, I walked the dogs up the street with our 8-year-old to meet his walking-to-school buddies, and he pointed out all the things that were coming to life around us: the tulip in our front yard (only one, randomly placed), the strawberry patch, the buds on the trees. It’s happening! Instead of going on a date tonight, Kevin will be driving our oldest daughter to Oshawa for a soccer tournament. I will be tending a sick kid and prepping for her team’s first soccer festival (non-competitive tournament) tomorrow, which it looks like she’s going to be too sick to play at; but I’m the coach, so I will be there. This is what 21 years has brought. We can do this! From randomized news roundup to randomized positive self-talk. Let’s stop here.
Last night, at Fooey’s dance class I read an article in The Atlantic about the benefits of changing careers in mid-life, or, more accurately, the health benefits of doing something new and difficult and challenging, forcing the brain to learn new skills and patterns. Coincidentally, yesterday I also spent over an hour filling out a career-profile questionnaire at the University of Waterloo’s career site, which asked me to reflect on six “pride” moments in my life, and what skills I’d needed to achieve those; I filled it out thinking I would make an appointment with a career counsellor and get some professional advice on the subject, but the results were so baffling that it stopped me right there. The quiz claimed I was investigative and would be suited to careers like doctor, dentist, accountant, actuary, and a bunch of other jobs that didn’t sound like me at all. I was also entrepreneurial, and careers in that area include sales and marketing, publicity, human resources, which, let’s be honest here, are definitely not me. I scored extremely low in the areas that include work I’ve actually pursued: writer, artist, teacher, and coach.
I had to laugh. The quiz seemed so pointless. The results indecipherable, meaningless. Yes, I’m curious and organized, I’m a risk-taker and I’m logical, I’m assertive and introverted, I’m intuitive and practical, I like helping people and being independent.
(At this point, you may be wondering: why, Carrie? Why are you taking quizzes on mid-life career changes? And for that, I have no answer.)
Upon reflection, the quiz’s results were rudimentary, but the process itself was useful and perhaps revealing. In analyzing it myself (and I do like analysis), here’s what I observe: my “pride” experiences revolve around learning new things. Learning how to swim: I rated learning to swim at age 35 as my highest pride story. Learning how to coach. Learning how to teach. My other pride moments were watching and helping my children learn new things, gathering a group of friends to write together, and when The Juliet Stories was named a finalist for the GG’s, which was a moment that I felt (and feel) I could claim no credit for, yet was nevertheless a moment of enormous pride.
Another theme that I noticed: I love doing physical tasks. I love using my body. I love playing and coaching soccer. I love boot camp. I love walking and running. I love yoga. I loved cycling. I love doing these things alone and with others. Even when I’m injured, I’m physically confident and strong. It brings me great pleasure to move.
I also like helping people, and I like connecting people. I like working with kids. I like being playful. I like shared experiences, such as singing, game-playing, puzzle-making, eating together, gatherings.
In a similar vein, I cherish coming through something meaningful with someone else. It’s what I loved about being a doula. I was able to walk through an intense emotional and physical experience with someone else in a way that was respectful, caring, and supportive.
I don’t know what career these skills and interests are suited to, but I’m quite sure it isn’t an accountant.
My question is: is it a writer?
The Atlantic article suggested that the career change need not be drastic, it may be a matter of adapting one’s career in some way; learning something new but in the same field. The woman writing the article had been a broadcaster, and became a writer: in both, she was telling stories, but in different mediums.
The open doors before me are ones I’ve walked through before, in one guise or another: I’m going to France next week and I will write while I’m there, I will see my work presented, I will do some publicity for the French translation of Girl Runner; when I get home, I’m leading a full day of workshops at an elementary school; and in May, a writing workshop in the woods (click the link and scroll down to find info on “Words in the Woods”). The most unusual door I’ve walked through recently involves coaching soccer.
What I learned when teaching is that I’m a dreadful lecturer, but I’m good at devising hands-on tasks to illuminate ideas or concepts. I like workshops. In a sense, that’s what a coach does: devise practices around themes that get players physically involved in tasks they need to learn and master. I love the challenge of it. I even love the risk of it—that my plan may need to be adapted. That it’s an experiment. That the outcome isn’t known or guaranteed. I feel nervous before practices and workshops, but often elated and consumed while inside of them. And afterward I can reflect on what did or didn’t work; I enjoy the critical analysis.
When I think about doing this kind of work, it excites me.
So here’s my analysis of results.* I want a career in which I get to learn new things, be physically active, help others, experience intense emotions, be creative, and teach through practical and applied means. Writing may or may not be a part of it, from what I’m exploring, although right now, writing is what I know best; I can claim to be an expert because others have recognized my expertise. That said, with enough study and practice, I’m perfectly willing to believe that I could become an expert in another area.
*I have no job matches associated with these observations.
This morning, as on many mornings, I’m expending more brain power than I would like on soccer. Agreeing to be the head coach of a travel team involves a level of volunteer commitment that at times verges on the ridiculous. Leave aside the fundraising, the scheduling of practices, the budgeting, the banking, the forms that require more forms, the deadlines, the meetings, the mandatory training, the communication with parents, and you still haven’t touched on the most important part of the job: the actual coaching. Planning and running practices, trying to elevate and understand each child’s strengths and weaknesses, keeping the training fun but intense, setting up and following an overarching plan for the season. My brain is full of exercises, drills, games, goals, skills. My brain is not used to being used for this purpose!
I was wondering why I don’t take photos anymore. I love taking photos. I thought it was because my photo computer conked out, but Kevin fixed that problem: he loaded software onto a different computer, to which I have easy access. Yesterday, while trying to complete an online evaluation in order to get an official number in order to fill out more forms in order to request permission in order to register our team for festivals, all of which required contacting half a dozen different people at different organizations, I thought: oh, this is what I’m doing instead of taking photos.
This is my new hobby.
Maybe it gets easier. Maybe I should be delegating even more responsibility (and I am thankful for the helpful parent volunteers on this team). But I’ll tell you what. The next time you’re standing on the sidelines questioning your kid’s coach’s strategy, complaining about everything the coach isn’t noticing, check yourself, please. I promise to do the same. The coach may indeed be noticing what you’re noticing. Even if he or she isn’t noticing it, he or she is noticing a million other things that you’re not aware of. The game is the least of it. Really, the game should be the fun part, the peak, the celebration, the reward, win or lose. If you feel like complaining, think of everything that stands behind the game, all of the invisible effort and thought and care …
This is an excellent learning experience, that’s all I can say.
Enough soccer for now. Above, that’s the cover of Girl Runner as it will appear in Turkey.
I spent all day Saturday and all day Sunday at a high school in Hamilton at a soccer coaching clinic. It was not what I’d expected, which is to say, it was really fun! I’d steeled myself for a must-do task, and instead spent half the time playing. A major component of the clinic was to design and lead practice sessions, which meant those of us not leading the session got to be participants, which meant — playing soccer, playing games related to soccer, practicing skills, etc. All classes should be like this.
The clinic’s focus was “games-based learning.” I’m a big proponent of keeping things fun for the kids, and the clinic gave me more tools for organizing and running practices based around play. Which is what soccer is: just a great big game. I came out of the clinic feeling affirmed in my philosophical approach, but also having a better understanding of how to apply my ideas. In a strange way, coaching is like writing a novel: keep it simple! Work with a few broad themes over a season. Develop on themes in practices, building on the work that’s come before. Repetition is fine, but be creative, rework how it’s being presented, or layer on challenges and complexity — that’s what makes it interesting, for both the coaches and the players. Finally, build every practice around a theme, no matter how small, (i.e. improving foot skills), and keep that practice flowing from beginning to end.
How? By keeping it simple. Rules are simple. Instructions are simple. Start with a bare-bones structure and add on layers as needed. Modify on the fly. Recognize when your plan isn’t working and be flexible and humble enough to know that it’s your job to fix it — not the kids’.
I’m organized and like planning ahead, and I’m creative, flexible, and enjoy the challenge of improvising in the flow. Those are my coaching strengths. My coaching weaknesses include less of an intrinsic understanding of the game, which I’ve essentially learned as an adult and only minimally as a participant; I lack some technical and mechanical knowledge. (That’s where Kevin comes in! Plus he loves discussing all of this stuff, so it’s a happy point of connection for us.) My other weakness, I think, is that I can be too flexible and get caught up in the moment, allowing an activity to go in a different direction than I’d originally intended, even losing track of what my original direction was. I need to be more disciplined and clear with my own goals each and every practice.
Which reminds me. I was planning to tell you about my whole weekend, not just the soccer coaching clinic, but here we are. I’m out of time. I hope you had some time to play this weekend too!
Where I’m at, in fifteen minutes or less.
Office, desk, laptop. Dog sleeping pressed up against my right foot. Peppermint tea at my elbow instead of coffee; liking it better this week than last.
Went for a short run this morning. Enjoyed the lightening sky and the birds. Stretched on the front steps.
Kundalini yoga during meditation.
I keep setting timers to keep myself on track. A timer for the run, timer for the yoga, timer for this post.
Writing, writing, writing. That is almost all I’m doing with my days.
In Girl Runner news, tonight I’ll be in Brampton at the library, reading and speaking. Check my events page for more info.
In soccer news: Tomorrow evening, I’ll be at a four-hour coaching course, which ironically means that I have to miss coaching the U16 Boys in a playoff games. On the weekend, I’m spending Saturday and Sunday in Hamilton to complete another coaching course. Last night, I completed an online course, mandatory for coaching certification. So, yes, it’s quite a commitment, let’s be frank. Every time I start feeling weary, I think, I’m doing this for my kid. And that gets me back on track.
In other Girl Runner news, that’s the Italian cover!
Time’s up. Happy Monday!
I love that my birthday falls so close to the end of the year; it’s the perfect time for reflection. Last night I wrote by hand in my journal, as I’ve done for many years now, on the night before my birthday. This is just one of a few simple rituals that make each birthday feel special, squeezed as it is between Christmas and New Year’s. For example, this morning started with a hot yoga class; something I’ve been doing on my birthday since 2009, when I first tried out a hot yoga class. That first yoga class was a treat and an adventure, to try something new, and to steal time for myself. I couldn’t have guessed how it would change me. I was hooked — not necessarily hooked on hot yoga, although that has served me well over the years, but hooked on moving my body, becoming present in my body through physical challenge. I’m now entering my seventh years of serious and regular physical practice: running, walking the dogs, cycling, spin class, weight training, boot camp, kundalini yoga, hot yoga, swimming, soccer, dancing, cross-country skiing.
In 2011, I focused on competition and races.
In 2012, I first learned how to work through injury.
Also in 2012, I joined a women’s soccer team and became a teammate. I hadn’t participated in team sports since I’d last played soccer at age 11. I had a fun season that summer, but we moved to the country and I didn’t play soccer again. Later, I would have said definitively that team sports was not for me; was it trauma and shame from having been, often, picked last in gym class, a lingering sense of not belonging, not knowing how to belong? We moved often when I was a child. I was often the new kid and new kids who are shy are picked last in gym class. But that wasn’t my interpretation at the time; instead, I thought I was bad at team sports. If you’d known me as a teen, you would never have thought, oh yes, Carrie will make a good coach someday. Belonging to a team as an adult changed me, and it has changed my outlook on team sports. Seeing my kids belong to teams, even during times when they’ve struggled, has given me insight into the potential of being part of something bigger than oneself.
Also, it’s just plain fun. Have I mentioned that part?
Today, I turn 41 years old. This is middle age, if you’re honest about average human lifespans. Today, I don’t mind being older. I’m grateful for a body that is able to move and stretch and participate. I do not take it for granted. Much brings me joy in this rich and textured time of life. Connection to my children. Soaking up time together as a family. The adventure of writing. Opportunities to be a mentor, to teach, to coach. Sharing and receiving the ongoing story of our daily lives with friends, with siblings. Getting to hug my mom, and my dad and stepmother. Reading wonderful books. I’m humbled by the luxuries of my life. If there’s one thing I want for the year ahead it is to seek out, look for, and recognize opportunities to serve, to offer what’s mine to give, and also to share. To share a sense of adventure. To have fun. To play. May none of us ever be too old for that.