Life Away from Social Media

I have been thoroughly enjoying my time away from social media. Not only am I getting things done I didn't realize I had time to do, but also I'm starting to feel more comfortable in my own skin. I'm not constantly critiquing every little thing about my life. I'm not constantly unfocused on the people in front of me. I'm actually present. I'm actually experiencing life and realizing how blessed I am.

New Agent (Pending)

While away from social media, I found out that my literary agent was fired. I was crushed because my manuscript had just been sent out to editors. I figured those submissions would be cancelled, and I'd be sent back to the beginning of the publication process. I kind of felt like giving up.

Thankfully, that's not what's going to happen. I will be represented by another agent at the agency and my submissions will be continued. I don't know who my new agent will be, but I am glad things are still moving forward.

New Skill

Today, Joel taught me how to use our espresso machine. I learned a lot about myself as I disappointedly dumped my first attempt of a latte down the drain, and Joel asked, "Do you want to try again?" Half of me wanted to say yes immediately. The other half of me hesitated. Why would I try again when I had clearly failed? It wouldn't be right to waste coffee for a second failed attempt, would it?

In the end, the yes won out. After all, this is my year of trying new things. This is my year of learning new skills. If every time I tried something new I gave up after one failed attempt, I'd never learn anything.

As I sipped on my second latte (still not as good as the lattes Joel makes), I realized that a lifetime of striving toward perfection has crippled me. I stick with the handful of things I know I'm good at, and I miss out on the rest. But the only reason I have the skill set I have now is because I wasn't afraid to try new things as a kid. I tried everything, I committed to the things I liked most, and I learned to be good at those things by failing many times along the way. Learning requires failure, and that's okay.

Baby Steps

Book of the Month

I've completed one book so far this month: A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini.  From the moment I started the book, I could hardly put it down.  I was kind of surprised about that because the book doesn't fall in the typical genre I read.  Honestly, I probably wouldn't have read it if it hadn't been gifted to me several years back.  I know, I know.  I should've read it a long time ago, but I overlooked it as I grabbed a Harry Potter book yet again.

There's anything wrong with reading Harry Potter an infinite amount of times.  I won't lie and say I'm not currently reading the series.  I'm actually reading the books aloud to my five-month-old.  But I'm not counting any of them toward my one book per month.  I can't keep letting other good books collect dust because I am perpetually drawn to Harry Potter.  I'm already thankful for branching out because I would've missed out on a great story otherwise.

New Destination

Today I went to two new places: Bigfoot's Little Donuts and The Little Gym.  The donuts at Bigfoot's practically melted in our mouths.  Joel and I nearly finished both boxes of them.  Part of me wishes we had finished them because I could use another one right about now.  The other part of me is glad I stopped when I did because boy am I going to regret them when I get started on my cardio workout for the day.

The Little Gym was an absolute blast.  Emerson got to try so many new things: forward rolls, assisted walks across the balance beam, bounce time.  She even experienced bubbles for the first time.  She seemed to thoroughly enjoy everything with some slight mixed feelings about the bubbles.  She had her "Moses is about to lick me on the mouth" face whenever the bubbles floated toward her, but there was definitely a bit of awe and wonder mixed in.  I've come to really appreciate that aspect of her little personality.  Life is an amazing adventure to her.  She's constantly filled with wide-eyed curiosity, full-bellied laughter, and smiles that light up her entire body.  She has a true zeal for life, and I know she's only five months old, but it makes me want to be more like her.  Life is too short to be bored.  There is so much to be amazed by if we could just look up from our phones long enough to see it.

New Activity

Last night before bed I was thinking about my last blog entry.  I claimed blogging would be my new activity for the month of January.  I don't know why I made that claim because blogging is not a new thing for me.  I've dealt with blogs for years now.  Even though blogging is not a new thing for me, I'm going to stick with it for this month in hopes that it can resurrect my passion for writing.

2019

I have always been a very goal-oriented person.  If I make a New Year's resolution, I tend to stick with it.  This year, I want to do things a little differently.  Instead of choosing a list of things I want to fix or change about myself, I want to be more open.  Openness isn't really a measurable goal so I had to sit back and think for a while about how exactly I was going to accomplish that.  This is what I've come up with:

First, I plan to remove one thing from my life each month.  That can be a shirt I haven't worn in 5 years, the stack of books that no longer fits on my bookcase, or the time vaporizing act of scrolling through social media.  The older I get, the more I've realize that consumerism and popularity do not bring happiness.  Trying to keep up with others is an endless cycle that often leads to bitterness and frustration.  Trying to achieve goals without having a passion for those goals leads to burnout and exhaustion.  Both routes replace confidence with doubt and zeal with hollowness.  That's not the life I want to live.  For the month of January, I've decided to eliminate social media.  I look forward to relearning how to live where my feet are planted this month instead of constantly seeing what other people are doing (and sometimes envying them for the adventures they are having).

Second, I plan to spend each month committing to a specific activity.  I have a tendency to try something one time and then never do it again so I want to devote a full month to each activity I choose. For the month of January, I am going to blog.  I don't plan to blog for extra money. I don't plan to blog to teach others about a skill that I've learned.  I don't plan to blog because I want others' attention.  I am blogging for me.  I am blogging because I enjoy writing.  I enjoy looking back at old posts and seeing how much I've changed over time and what lessons I have learned or am continuing to learn.

Third, I plan to learn a new skill.  Some months, the skill I learn will correlate with the activity I commit to.  Other months, the skill may be something as simple as learning how to start a fire.  I have always wanted to learn survival skills, but I have always let others take care of me while camping or backpacking.  This year, I want to change that.  I want to be able to help on camping trips.  I also desire to learn a few signs in sign language to use with Emerson.  I'd like to learn how to help with house projects and how to do more DIY projects.  Typically I get overwhelmed by all the skills I want to learn.  But this year, by spreading them out through the months, I have the ability to learn at least 12 new skills, which is very exciting!
 
Fourth, I plan to read a book each month.  I used to read regularly, but that was before social media.  Because I let it, social media shortened my attention span and stole all my time.  I found it a lot harder to focus on books.  I kept wanting to stop reading so I could see what was happening on the internet.  But honestly, I was happier when I spent my free time reading.  I want to get back to the adventures that reading provides.  I have a feeling I will end up reading more than one book a month, but you've got to start somewhere, right?

Fifth, I plan to go to a new destination each month.  Some months this will mean a vacation to a place I've never been.  For example, in January, we are going to Oahu for the first time.  Some months this will be a day trip a couple of hours away.  Some months this will be something as simple as going to a local place I've never taken the time to visit.

All that being said, this year should be a journey out of my comfort zone.  It will probably hold many moments of fear and hesitation, but I'm determined not to let fear and excuses hold me back from truly living any longer.  2019 will be a year for the books.  I'm sure of it.

My Pregnancy & Birth Story

Pregnancy

I did not enjoy pregnancy. I was ecstatic to know Joel and I were able to have a baby, but pregnancy was not fun. Almost a week after I took a pregnancy test, nausea hit hard. Nausea is my kryptonite. I can handle tendon tears and broken bones. Nausea not so much.

The last few weeks of school before Christmas break were rough. I ate half a saltine cracker between each class period and sipped on ginger ale throughout the day. I ordered Preggie Pop Drops, but they didn't help much. I went from being a totally engaged teacher who never sat down to one who sat in a chair at the front of the classroom only giving directions. I sat more in early pregnancy than I sat after either of my ankle surgeries (and I couldn't put any weight on my right foot after those surgeries). My relationships with a lot of my students dwindled in that time. Looking back, I truly hate that. But in the moment, all I could think about was not throwing up in front of them.

Over Christmas break, I cancelled almost every plan I made. I have a Christmas obsession, but I couldn't get off the couch to enjoy the lights, the concerts, the gingerbread houses, or the plays. I was too nauseous. Thankfully, at my first prenatal doctor's appointment, I was able to get a prescription for Diclegis. It was a life saver, and I was able to participate in Christmas Eve and Christmas Day festivities without horrendous nausea.

I had heard great things about the second trimester, but for me, it was filled with allergies. My nose bled every day, and I couldn't breathe out of it at all. My asthma got bad too. I used a humidifier nightly, but I kept a pretty consistent cough and sore throat in that phase of pregnancy.

I felt the best and the most like myself in the third trimester (aside from the big belly and major acid reflux). When school let out for the summer, I started exercising daily. I got up early enough to beat the heat and walked my dogs for 30-35 minutes each day. I did yoga, pregnancy ball exercises, the squat challenge (where you do 300 squats a day), and I kept up with my garden, flower beds, and house work. Each day, I drank a gallon of water, drank 3 cups of red raspberry leaf tea, and ate 6 dates. I felt great as far as pregnancy goes. I had hardly any swelling and no stretch marks. I was certain I was going to have an easy birth and be back to myself in no time. I was also certain that I was going to have Emerson early because of all the prep I had done and the fact that I had started having intense Braxton Hicks contractions every night from about 36 weeks onward. I hoped she would come before my dad had to fly out of town for business.

Emerson had other plans. She didn't want to come early. At my 39 week appointment, my doctor scheduled me for an induction. Even though my dad had already left for his trip, I was excited to finally meet my little girl. I was also more than ready to be done with pregnancy.

The Birth

The night before my induction was scheduled, I started having contractions every 10 minutes. They never got any closer than that so I ignored them as best as I could and waited for my induction. Joel and I checked into the hospital at 2:00pm on July 25. A nurse asked me questions about my medical history and hooked me up to a monitor. She gave me Cervidil to help soften my cervix. I was scheduled to get Pitocin, the actual induction drug, the following morning. Emerson was predicted to arrive sometime the following afternoon. I expected to have a boring night in the hospital, but the Cervidil made my contractions stronger and more consistent. Sometimes I barely had a minute to breathe in between them. When a nurse came in to check my cervix, she broke my water. They called my doctor and let her know, and things got crazy from there. I requested an epidural, thinking Emerson would probably make her appearance in the next couple of hours. I was afraid to miss the epidural window.

Once I got the epidural, Emerson's heart rate dropped. One minute the nurses were putting an oxygen mask on my face and helping me rotate from side to side, hoping to get her heart rate back up. The next minute I was being rushed down the hallway for an emergency c-section. A doctor I had never met before introduced herself. It all happened so fast I don't even remember her name. I was pretty overwhelmed by all the nurses in the room with us, including the NICU nurses who were ready to take Emerson if need be. The doctor cut me open and had Emerson out in no time. She was healthy and perfect. 7 pounds 2 ounces. 20 inches long.

My doctor arrived in time to sew me back up. Joel brought Emerson over to me so I could see her. My arms started twitching, and I got incredibly nauseous around that time. That's the last thing I remember before waking up in ICU. Joel told me I'd had seizures, and no one knew why. My doctor later informed me that I'd gotten anesthesia toxicity because my epidural had been placed too close to a blood vessel. I hadn't had a brain seizure. My spasms were muscle related, and the lipids they gave me made them stop.

I spent the night in ICU. At first, I was upset because my birth had turned out so totally different than I'd expected. I didn't get to have skin to skin time with Emerson. I didn't get to watch her first bath. I didn't get the window of special time just me, Joel, and Emerson. I didn't even get to be with her other than a few minutes here and there to feed her a bottle because she couldn't stay in the ICU without a nurse from the mother-baby floor.

The next morning my mom sat with me so Joel could be with Emerson. We didn't want Emerson to be in the nursery without either of us. I watched Joel change his first diaper through FaceTime, and it was actually quite hilarious. While he was wiping the meconium (the sticky newborn poop) off of her, she peed a fountain of pee. Joel said, "I thought you said girls didn't do that." I laughed so hard, even though laughing was incredibly painful after my c-section.

Around noon, I was transferred to the mother-baby floor. It was a long and exhausting experience with a much longer recovery than I'd anticipated, but in the end, all that matters is that Joel and I were blessed with a beautiful, healthy baby girl. I wouldn't trade her for the world.

How I Got an Agent

For those of you who follow me on social media, you already know the exciting news that I now have a literary agent! What you probably don't know is how amazingly orchestrated my journey to finding an agent was.

It all started with a decision that had nothing to do with writing whatsoever.

Joel and I decided we wanted to find a new church. There was nothing wrong with our old church, but I felt that it was time to branch off from the church I grew up in, the church where so many people knew me as my parent's daughter rather than as me. I had spent many good years at that church, and I loved how many of my students I got to see on Wednesday nights. Because of that time, I was blessed to build deep, meaningful relationships with so many of them. Where I struggled, though, was that I had given so much of my time and energy to teenagers that I had neglected friendships with people my own age. Joel and I had so little time to invest in other young married couples because I was always serving teenagers. We felt it was time to step back from serving so that we could build the friendships we needed to hold us accountable and to go through life with us.

Changing churches led us to seeking out a small group. Instead of going about joining a small group in the traditional way, I messaged a friend of mine who I had met while I was in graduate school. She encouraged us to come to her group one Wednesday night, and we have been going ever since.

That small group is where I met Laura. Like me, she is a teacher and a writer.

Back in February, Laura messaged me about a writing conference (The Alabama Writing Workshop) in Birmingham, AL. At first Laura didn't plan on going to the conference, but it seemed like a great opportunity so I signed up to go by myself (something I usually would never do because I'm awkward).

At that point, I was a little discouraged in terms of writing, and I was hoping to break free of that mentality. I had just recently heard back from an agent who loved my novel but turned it down because he didn't typically work with the fantasy genre, and he thought it would do better with another agent's representation. I was thankful that he liked my novel, but it was discouraging to hear the rejection after checking my email no less than 100,000 times as I waited for his response. At the ALAWW, I hoped to move forward from that rejection and to make some connections with other agents.

Laura ended up deciding to go to the conference, and it turned out to be a nice day (even though we ate lunch with a group of people who talked about eating humans and cannibal recipes, haha). Laura pitched her picture books to Marisa Corvisiero and was signed on the spot. YAY! :)

In August, I signed up for the writer's conference put on by the Corvisiero Literary Agency (the agency run by Laura's agent). Laura gave me a shout out on Twitter for signing up, and that is how I was first introduced to Justin. On Twitter, Justin and I talked a lot about my job as teacher, my students, and writing in general. It was nice to have those conversations with him before I pitched my novel to him at the conference.

About a week after pitching my novel, Justin offered me representation, and I gladly accepted. Now Laura and I get to be church family and agency family.

It amazes me how the decisions we make in life, whether big or small, can lead us down paths we were never expecting to follow. When I look back on signing the contract with Justin, it's not just that one moment that stands out to me. It's all the little details and decisions and people that placed me in the right place at the right time.

In reflecting, I'm reminded yet again just how perfectly God orchestrates our lives. Not only does that comfort me, but also it fills me with joy. I can trust that God has given me a vision for the future, and I need only follow Him in my day-to-day life decisions. He will get me where He wants me to be exactly when He wants me to get there. I can't think of a greater comfort than knowing that God is working behind the scenes of our lives.

Faith of the Skydiver

Years ago, I made a bucket list. It holds the normal things like skydiving and traveling to other countries and the less normal things like riding in a Smart Car (I'm still holding out hope for that one). My parents offered to pay for me to skydive as a birthday present not long after I made that list. But Barnes & Noble happened. I walked out of B&N with a stack of brand new books, justifying my book addiction by convincing myself that the adventures on those pages would far outlast the short-lived adventure that was skydiving. And for a time, I suppose they did.

As time passed, I grew more and more comfortable with reading about other's adventures in fiction rather than experiencing my own adventures. It was safer to live that way. There's no impending danger when you crack open a book. No chance you'll fall out of an airplane and land flat on the pavement, never to get back up again. No chance you'll vomit your guts onto that pavement either (a far greater fear for me than the first).

Being the Type A person I am, I knew I couldn't avoid skydiving forever. The idea of it grew scarier with time, but still, I had written it on my bucket list. It had to be checked off. Lucky for me, I married an adventure seeker. Before I could talk myself out of skydiving a second time, he had my skydiving adventure scheduled and paid for. You can't walk away from that.

I think my fear level the moment we pulled into the parking lot that day paralleled my fear level during the April 27, 2011 tornadoes. I wasn't surrounded by total chaos, but I just knew I was going to throw up. Yes, you read that correctly. My greatest fear wasn't dying. I'd run a marathon without properly training and listened to the potential death announcement that warned non-trained participants not to attempt such a brutal beast. It wasn't even getting injured that scared me. I could deal with that. Two ankle surgeries practically made me a pro at injury recovery. Vomiting, not so much. I'd rather die.

I begged Joel to let me back out, to let me just wait in the car for him to go. It didn't work. I was in the building signing a waiver before I could even process where my attempt to back out had gone wrong.

A man approached us, asking if I was afraid.

"Yes," I gulped.

He assured me that it was normal to be afraid. Most people were afraid to skydive on their first time. I assured him that I, unlike most people, was not afraid of anything but vomiting. He laughed at me and then convinced me that skydiving was nothing like the rides at amusement parks that make your stomach drop.

"Are you sure I'm not going to throw up?" I asked for the fifteenth time.

After he explained that his very pregnant wife had just recently gone skydiving, I was sure that I had nothing to worry about.

Heart racing, I suited up and walked outside with Joel. We took a picture to keep me from focusing on what was about to happen. Really, we took a picture because in this day and time, you haven't experienced anything until you post a picture of it on social media.

Getting on the plane is kind of a blur. I don't remember much until I was straddling a bench in front of a man I'd only just met. He was attaching himself to me. I had almost convinced myself that it wasn't going to be so bad until the plane door opened and we began inching our way towards the hole. The experienced skydivers jumped out the door and were just sucked into oblivion, or so it seemed. The only comfort I had in that moment was the man who was attached to Joel. For some reason, he was talking about Harry Potter, and I knew these men had to be trustworthy if they were Harry Potter fans.

When my partner and I sat at the edge, ready to fall out of the plane, I'm glad I didn't have time to look down. My partner simply rocked us back and forth three times and then we were tumbling through the air.

I thought skydiving would be a huge adrenaline rush, but it just hurt my ears. The good news is I didn't throw up, and my students think I'm either really cool or really crazy because I jumped out of a plane by choice.

Looking back on the skydiving experience, the thing that stands out to me the most is probably the insane amount of trust involved in tandem skydiving. I had never met the man who was attached to my back. Sure, we traded a few casual sentences and sure, he liked Harry Potter, but I put my whole life into his hands, trusting that he knew what he was doing with our parachute. Even though my biggest concern at the time was not throwing up, it still amazes me that I could sit there and trust a complete stranger.

I sometimes wonder why it was so much easier for me to trust a stranger with my life than it is for me to trust the God who is nearer to me than my very heart. In all honesty, my experience skydiving is what my faith should look like. Me and God, sitting at the edge of what is unknown to me but fully known to Him. I cannot look back because looking back leads to comfort and the avoidance of adventure. I cannot look down because I'm not meant to see the full picture. The full picture would be too great a burden, and I would cower in fear, never taking the leap of faith. I can only look straight ahead at the beauty that's right in front of me and thirst for the adventure that's ahead. And when He tells me that it's time to take the leap of faith, I don't have to do it on my own. I don't have to sit frozen in fear with my feet dangling over the edge of the adventure He has planned for me. I simply have to lean back and let Him rock me back and forth, trusting that His gentle nudge will lead me down the path I'm meant to go, and He will keep me safe and afloat all along the way.

The Day We Took No Notes

This is a true story.

It seemed like an ordinary day, and I suppose it was until late that afternoon. My students were taking notes on grammar. I was checking attendance. As I said before, ordinary day.

I read over the last few names on my attendance sheet, and I just so happened to look up in time to see a boy approaching me. He was struggling to say my name because his mouth was filled with a reddish-purple liquid. His teeth were stained by the liquid. My first thought: He's bitten his tongue off. Oh my goodness! I have no idea how to handle this. They don't train you for stuff like this in school. I can't believe he bit his tongue off.

I suppose I was in shock from what I thought had happened, so I directly asked the student, "Did you bite your tongue off?"

The student mumbled some more.

Oh no! Oh no! He really bit it off. What am I going to do?

"What is he saying? Did he bite his tongue off?" I nervously asked a nearby student, one who had been sitting in the same group as the ink-filled boy and who had quite possibly witnessed the whole thing.

The student quickly shook his head.

"No," he said. "His ink pen busted in his mouth. He was chewing on the end of it."

Relief flooded over me. I wouldn't have to deal with the trauma of a lost tongue after all.

"Go to the bathroom," I encouraged the ink-filled student. "Stop trying to talk. Go rinse your mouth out."

The student nodded, his cheeks on the verge of explosion from all the ink and accumulating saliva. He rushed out the door, and I called the front office, requesting that an administrator check on him. As soon as I hung up the phone, another student called my name. I looked toward him. His dark skin was pale as it could be.

"Ms. Shirley," he said, his eyes wide with sheer terror. "I think he's going to die."

If I'm being honest, all I could think was, Why do you care? You told me yesterday that you hated him. Of course, being a teacher, you can't say those kind of things out loud. Instead, I went with, "He's not going to die. An administrator is checking on him right now."

"No," said the kid, shaking his head. "You don't understand. There is poison in ink. He has that poison in his mouth. If he swallows any of it, he's going to die. Ms. Shirley, I don't like [insert student's name] one bit, but I don't want him to die. I'd rather hate him while he's still alive than have him die."

"He's not going to die," I repeated.

"Can we pray for him just in case?"

"Yes," I said. "If it would make you feel better, you can pray for him."

The student smiled and clasped his hands together.

"Everyone," he said, looking at his peers. "Put your hands together. Ms. Shirley is going to pray for him."

All of the students but one clasped their hands together and looked at me.

"No," said one of the girls, her hands clasped together. "Ms. Shirley can't pray for him. She'll get arrested."

"I won't get arrested," I assured her, "but you're right. It would be best if you prayed individually."

"Yeah, I'm not praying," said the student with the non-clasped hands. "I'm atheist."

"Okay, okay," I said, trying to calm the chaos. "How about this. Those of you who want to pray, pray silently. Those of you who don't want to pray, don't pray. Will that work?"

All of the students, the atheist included, nodded. I looked over at the student who had originally requested the prayer. He seemed fine with my suggestion and put his hands together once more. He looked up at the ceiling tiles, took a deep breath, and smiled.

"Hello!" he exclaimed, still looking up.

"Um, that was not silent," I said, trying not to laugh.

"Oops," he said, looking at me with a sheepish expression.

At this point, I could not help but laugh. The rest of the class followed in suit. Almost instantaneously, the student with the ink-filled mouth returned. The ink was gone, but his mouth was now filled with toilet tissue.

"Good news," he said, his voice barely audible through the toilet tissue. "The administrator said I'm going to live. The pen was non-toxic."

The whole class cheered. My non-silent prayer warrior nodded his head.

"I knew he was going to live," he said, confidently. "Jesus told me."

"Did he?" I asked. "You never even finished your prayer."

The class filled with laughter, including my non-silent prayer warrior. In the midst of the laughter, another student's hand shot up in the air.

"Ms. Shirley, can I get some water?" he asked. "I accidentally ate a piece of paper."

What in the world is going on? This is 7th grade, not kindergarten. What's with everyone eating school supplies?

"Yeah, go ahead," I said, having totally given up on taking notes for the day. "Does anyone want to eat a glue stick?"

The entire class erupted into laughter, and moments later, the bell rang to dismiss the craziest, funniest, most memorable class period of my life.