Colleen Conrad

When I was in late junior high and early high school, one of my closest friends was wading through a series of family troubles.  Leah’s* mother’s re-marriage, a secret about years of abuse, and religious fanaticism were all contributing to a hostile environment in her home.  To make matters worse, she wasn’t allowed to spend time with other teenagers outside of her religion, unless they agreed to attend religious meetings with her.  In no uncertain terms, she was trapped.

Sometimes we forget how little control kids have over their own lives.  They don’t often get to choose where they live, what school they attend, or even the social group available to them.  Leah was a victim of her circumstances, as created by her parents.   

Ask any teenager what’s important to them, and their friends will be at the top of the list. But I remember feeling like we were a Romeo and Juliet story without the sex.  Thankfully, her mother and stepfather chose to send her to public school, which gave her an outlet and an opportunity to meet other kids her age.  I can only imagine what a relief it was for her—what a reprieve from the confines of her abusive home and narrow religion—school felt like.  She was safe there; protected, and free to say what she truly believed.  Also thankfully, I had parents who trusted me enough to let me go to meetings with her (arguably) unstable parents, believing that I was strong enough to stay true to my own beliefs.  I can only assume that they recognized how important she was to me, and perhaps even identified her need for friends outside of the boundaries of her extremist religion.

Leah’s situation devolved further when she gathered the strength to share her story of abuse with our school guidance counselor, setting in motion a chain of events that led to her stepbrother’s incarceration, and further alienation from her parents and religious community.  Mis-identifying her public school as the cause of these “problems,” her parents threatened to withdraw her from school.  Leah realized that she would lose her only healthy support system.  Her lifeline was disappearing. 

So she ran away.  I mean, what else could she do? 

We stayed in touch for some time, but eventually I left home for college, life changed, and Leah and I lost touch.  I looked for her over the years, googling her and asking around.  Finally, she found me on Facebook.  After almost fifteen years, we re-connected and got together just a few weeks ago.  In the two hours that we sat over beers and caught up, I was reminded why I adored her so much in high school.  It wasn’t only the strength and resilience that she had maintained through tremendous challenges (although that would certainly have been reason enough).  Leah is fun.  She’s non-judgmental, confident, self-possessed, and so much older than her years.  And she was like that even when we were kids.  Despite everything that happened to her and around her, she maintains a sense of self-awareness.  She doesn’t apologize for who she is, or for the decisions that she makes.  She’s funny, direct, and honest.  It doesn’t matter how much the grown-ups in her life beat her down emotionally, or how much they tried to brainwash her into thinking the same things that they did.  She shrugs it off and hold tough to who she is.  As a kid, I admired that quality, recognizing how rare it is in another teen.  As an adult, I’m awed by her. 

Sometimes I see other old friends, and I recognize that whatever brought us together when we were young doesn’t exist anymore.  Maybe we don’t have that much in common, or we’ve just naturally grown apart.  But getting together with Leah was so damn easy.  We could have talked for another three hours and not run out of things to say.  It was like we hadn’t missed a beat.  She’s made an amazing life for herself, filled with love, joy, and forgiveness.  She still struggles with her relationship with her mother, but there’s no bitterness in her heart.  I can only imagine the emotional work that she had to do in order to recover from the scars of her childhood.  But nothing has broken her.

Kids don’t have much control over their lives, but Leah accessed all of the resources at her disposal.  She found the love for herself that she needed to make some difficult choices, and to get through the choices that she couldn’t make.  She may not have had control, but she did have power.

I began my academic year with a list of “New School Year’s Resolutions,” but I have a confession to make:  I secretly doubted my ability to keep those resolutions.  The list was just so long.  I ferretted them away in the back of my mind, vaguely recalling them now and again with mild shame and defeat.

So you can imagine that I was pleasantly surprised when I looked back at that post from four months ago, finding that I’d done a better job than I realized of maintaining those goals.  I suppose I’d internalized them more than I thought. 

But I wasn’t perfect.  So now that 2011 is really here, I’ve decided that, rather than making an entirely new list (I mean, what was wrong with the old one?), I’ll reflect on pre-established resolutions.  What can I improve?  What have I accomplished?  To that end, here are my re-resolutions: 

• Be present.  I took on additional class this year, and I’ve found that having more work to do and less time to do it presents a different challenge on the way to this goal.  On good days, I just surrender to the marathon that is teaching six classes in a row.  Other days I find myself distracted by the grading and preparation that needs to be done, and I can’t focus on being in the moment.  I can do better.  The key, it seems, is just accept the chaos.  Embrace it!
• Read aloud.  “Grover Dill and the Tasmanian Devil,” The Princess Bride, A Christmas Carol…I read them all with my students, to my students.  So fun.
• Take my classes outside more.  Um, yeah.  I can do this one a lot more.  I think my creative writing class would especially benefit.
• Take care of my body.  I had a little mid-semester dip in October on this one, but overall I’d say I earned a solid A-.  Even over the holidays, I managed to get to the gym and go for runs.  I could probably cut down on the comfort food a little, but I’ve been prioritizing fitting in some fitness and it’s paying off.  Do I look the way I want to?  Probably not.  But this isn’t about how I look; it’s about how I feel.  And I do feel pretty good.
• Take care of my mind.  This resolution is two-fold, and I’ve done better on one part than on the other.  I’ve found a yoga class/instructor that I love, and when I make a specific point to get to that class my week always feels brighter.  I just feel more at ease.  Writing has the same effect, but I’m afraid that I haven’t had enough QT with my journal.  It does help to have great writer friends and coffee dates with those friends, but I hit a lull in my writing this fall/winter.  Thankfully, I think I’ve made a breakthrough recently, and it seems that my calendar will be opening up significantly in the New Year.  So the writing looks promising. 
• Celebrate Austin.  This is another one that I need to work on.  Of course, it partly depends on my “saying no” (see below) to some things, and “yes” to others.  Balance, balance, balance…
• Resist the urge to over-plan and/or plan too far ahead.  (See above, “be present.”)  This is so hard for me, but I actually think I’ve improved. 
• Publicize BookPeople events and speakers to my students.  I love that place and what they do, and I know that many of my students would fall in love with it like I have — www.bookpeople.com  Unfortunately, I’ve found my schedule to be in unfortunate conflict with  BookPeople events recently.  I’m cautiously optimistic that this will change in the New Year.
• Do the best I can with what I’m given.  I think I’ve managed this one pretty well so far.  But as the infinitely longer spring semester kicks into full stride, I have to keep this goal in mind.
• Teach units and texts that I’m truly excited about.  Our curriculum changed this year, but I’ve managed to stay true to what is right for me and my kids, while working within those constraints.  With yet more changes coming down the pike this next spring, I’m going to continue to focus on this resolution. 
• Be disciplined and efficient with my time.  I don’t know about the efficiency part, but I have been disciplined.  I’ve managed to let go of certain things, prioritizing what I feel is most important. 
• Say no.  I’ve been pretty good about this one, but I want to modify this resolution.  There’s an old saying that “10% of the people do 90% of the work.”  That was definitely true of me for the first five years of my teaching career.  And again, while it’s uncomfortable for me, as a team player, to back off those responsibilities, I’ve found it incredibly important for my mental health.  What I would like to do better is say “yes” to the social things.  I have some amazing friends here in Austin , and I need to make a better effort to spend time with them…Even if it’s a Friday night and I’m so tired that I want to lay on the couch with my hand in a bag of Doritos.

So there you have it.  My Re-Resolutions for 2011.  Is it cheating to recycle an old list?  Maybe so.  But it’s my list, after all!

I went for a run today.  As I went through my pre-run stretching routine, I mentally patted myself on the back for squeezing in a workout during my vacation.  And in freezing-cold temperatures in Massachusetts, no less!

Sadly, my holiday diet of seasonal beer and peppermint stick ice cream pretty much set me up for failure.  My body just wouldn’t cooperate.  So as I felt the cramp growing in my stomach, I decided to make the most of it.  If I couldn’t get my heart rate pumping as hard as I’d like, I could at least enjoy the fresh air and the quiet time.

I always look forward to being at home with my family, but it is also inevitably overwhelming.  Sleeping in a different bed, without any independent transportation, no alone time…Needless to say, no matter how much a person loves family time, family time can also feel like a prison after a while.  So I began to see my run/walk as an opportunity to do some writing in my head; to gaze longingly at the New England houses in my old neighborhood; to reflect on the visits with friends; to admire the snow and holiday decorations; to check in with how I’m feeling about…well, everything.

There were no great epiphanies, and I didn’t feel a figurative light bulb grow bright over my head.  But I listened to my body enough to slow down.  I realized that the workout wasn’t as important as the experience.  Maybe I wasn’t meant to go for a run after all.  Burning calories wasn’t as important as claiming some “me” time.  Something that I didn’t even know that I needed until I got it.

I’m spending my holiday at my parents’ this year, which means that I have an extended vacation in my hometown.  I’m lucky enough to have remained close to several very old friends, despite all of us scattering across the country in our adult lives.  During my stay at “home,” I’ve visited with some of them, and others I’ve visited with online.  This Christmas, I’m going to remember three important lessons that I’ve learned from a few old friends. 

1. I’ve known C* since we were in pre-school together.  We call her “Elfin,” because she’s adorably petite, kind, quirky and whip-smart.  But one of the things that I love most about C is the way that she puts things in perspective.  She is comfortable with almost anyone, and in turn makes others feel at ease around her.  She carries herself with a self-aware confidence, and though she has occasionally expressed frustration that she hasn’t found her “calling” yet, I really appreciate the way that she listens to her heart in life.  She knows that it’s not about the destination, but the journey, and she relaxes into that journey.  Being Type-A, anal-retentive, and high-anxiety, I’m so grateful to have such a calming influence in my life.  She teaches me to chill out and take my time–two things that I have a very difficult time doing!
2. S* and I met in kindergarten, and we were softball teammates for roughly eight years by the time we’d graduated from high school.  Though we don’t frequently see each other, I do hear from her regularly online.  Recently, she wrote on my Facebook wall, indicating that she’d dreamt about me two nights in a row.  “Thanks for giving me some good advice,” she said.  I’m sure that I was just a place-holder; a substitute teacher; a voice; a conduit.  Our brains are tricky things, and sometimes they need tricky ways to convey important information.  But the point is clear (to me, anyway):  Listen to your dreams.  And I don’t mean “follow your dreams” in that cheesy, pie-in-the-sky kind of way.  I mean, literally, listen to yourself.  S’s subconscious was telling her something.  My guest-appearance in her dreams enabled her to hear a message; and whatever that message was, it sounds like she’s listening. 
3. T* is one of those people who is so impressive that you brag about just knowing her.  Our parents were friends and co-workers, so they introduced us when we were babies, and we’ve remained friends.  She was an All-American gymnast at the University of Georgia in college, and got married this past spring.  T came over for breakfast this week, and I was reminded yet again of how strong she is.  (And I don’t only mean because she could crush me with her bare hands.)  T was diagnosed with breast cancer at 23 years old.  After a considerable battle with the disease, she is now cancer-free and absolutely loving life.  She is consistently upbeat, positive, healthy, and quick to laugh.  T teaches me the importance of appreciating every day that we have in this life; she reminds me never to take anything for granted; to be happy with all that you have.  And really—at this time of year, what could be more important than that? 

I like things to be perfect.  I mean, like, really perfect.  The papers on my desk at work are all at right-angles.  I make lists for my lists.  I worry that I’ll forget to pack something for a trip that’s a month away.

Yeah, that kind of perfect.

So, needless to say, I have control issues.  And I’m learning that sometimes, absolute control in my writing isn’t a good thing.  Sometimes my characters are trying to tell me something, but I’m not listening because I want to impose a plotline or a trait on to them. 

It’s become clear to me that I need to relinquish control and listen more openly.  Writing with an agenda isn’t usually productive.  I carry my soapbox around with me too often as it is; I should leave it at home (in the trash?) when I write. 

As I blogged recently, I am currently energizing my manuscript with a major curve ball.  I joked at the SCBWI holiday party on Thursday that there’s a solid 10% that needs a injection of caffeine, and others suggested that heroine or crack may actually be more effective.  (Yikes.)  While I plan to stay far away from the street drugs, I do have something very scary planned.  I’m going to kill one of my darlings.

I was reluctant to do so, because I had an agenda without even realizing it.  I wanted to maintain control over what my characters did, and over every choice that they made.  I wanted my readers to view them in a particular way, and every carefully-planned and orchestrated decision was based on this desire to manage my readers’ reactions.  But come one—how realistic is that? 

As soon as I surrendered to the terrifying, alarming prospect of the Uncomfortable and the Unknown, my mind un-blocked.  I found the direction and energy and momentum that I was missing.

My characters were (and are) trying to tell me something.  Hell, my novel was speaking to me.  Shouting, even!  It was screaming for change, but I was heavy-handing my way through a critical section like a pit boss.  And feeling almost as violent and unfulfilled about it.

So, okay, kiddos.  I hear you.  And I’m listening.

One of the biggest challenges of teaching and writing at the same time is, well, doing them at the same time.  Between lesson-planning, grading, and being in the classroom, it’s hard to squeeze in some quality time with my laptop. 

I’ve noticed that this has been especially hard lately.  But, in all honestly, I don’t think this is strictly due to time constraints.  I’ve hit a rut. 

I’ve been working on one particular section of my current manuscript, but it simply isn’t working for me.  It needs some life.  I’ve tried several things:  Writing prompts, working briefly on other small projects, forging through in the hope that I can go back and edit out the sucky parts.  But, again, when I’m honest with myself…it’s not working.

So it isn’t just the fact that I have another job.  I’m not committing enough time to that project because I’m in a slump.  Two friends inquired about it last night, and I wasn’t sure how to respond.  So I just told them the truth.

Interestingly enough, they both had the same suggestion:  Go big.  Stir s**t up.

So now I think I have a plan.  I’m going to throw a major wrench in my narrative.  I’m going to do something that I hadn’t originally planned (which is always against the grain for me); something unexpected; something uncomfortable.  (Yes, I know what that change will be.  But no, I’m not going to say here.)  I’m going to up the stakes and see what my characters do with it. 

Maybe it will work, maybe it won’t.  Maybe I’ll cut and paste my way through it.  Or maybe it will be just the thing to reinvigorate this mid-novel lull. 

Keep your fingers crossed.

 

My fabulous school librarian, Christy, recently referred me to a book on the 2009-2010 Lone Star list. 

“I still can’t get it out of my head,” she said, holding up a copy of North of Beautiful by Justina Chen Headley. 

Now, I thoroughly respect my librarian friend and her opinions, but I hesitated to pick up the novel right away.  I appreciate good Chick Lit, but in all honesty I’m not typically drawn to that genre.  I worried that Christy’s recommendation would fall firmly into that category. 

And so I was happily surprised when I did—finally—open the book.

North of Beautiful centers around high school senior Terra, who has spent her entire life covering up the dramatic birthmark on her cheek and cowering in the wake of her verbally abusive father.  As she sets out to escape from her father’s control and find a means to negotiate society’s concept of beauty, Terra finds far more than she ever knew she was looking for. 

Headley explores the literal and figurative themes of navigation, lost and found, “True Beauty” and “True North” with grace and authority.  Though the frequent mapping metaphors may be a bit heavy-handed, they did serve to connect the many struggles in Terra’s life.  I found myself frustrated with Terra’s decisions; isn’t that, after all, the mark of a well-developed character?  Headley remains committed to Terra’s motivations and influences, forcing the reader to care about her even as we disagree with her missteps.  By the last page, our protagonist’s emotional journey is tangible, and marked by a moving, refreshing epiphany.

Thanks to Christy for gently nudging me toward North of Beautiful.  What a great navigator she is!

Every year at this time I run a unit with my students on the theme of “humanity.”  We read A Christmas Carol and discuss charity, human compassion, and selflessness.  It’s always a successful unit, largely because we put on a small-scale production of the play in each of my five language arts classes.  Ideally, the play works to each student’s strengths, and increases their overall comprehension of the text.  Most importantly, the kids commit themselves to it with enthusiasm, and the activity leaves a lasting impression in their memories.

This week, right after I’d announced casting and we began our first read-through, one of my students raised her hand. 

“Ms. Conrad,” she said.  “Since we’re talking about humanity and everything, maybe we can put a box in your classroom for a food drive or something.”

This will be my sixth year teaching this unit, and this is the first time that someone has made this type of suggestion.  I suppose I could be disappointed in my past students, or in myself, for that matter, for neglecting to think of it before.  But I’d rather focus on the double-joy of a student connecting our over-arching literary theme to her life, and the character that it shows in her. 

I have roughly 150 students.  Developmentally, twelve-year-olds are inherently selfish.  It’s difficult for them to see outside of themselves and think of others’ needs and feelings.  But it would be a very simple thing to ask my students to contribute canned goods over the next three weeks, in the interest of helping people less fortunate than ourselves.  And I’d like to think that it, too, would be something that they’d remember. 

And so, on this day after Thanksgiving, I’m thankful to know an adolescent who reminds me of the things that we can do for others; a pre-teen who thinks of other people first, and shares that consideration with her peers.  She taught me a lesson about humanity this year, and I imagine she did the same for other kids in the class.  What’s more, I know that she’s not the only one.  I have—and have had—so many students who show a tremendous level of caring and kindness. 

I’m thankful for all of them.

It’s probably a bit overly ambitious, given my erratic schedule and many obligations.  But I’ve decided that I need to set deadlines and goals for myself and my writing life, so my new plan is to writing something specifically for my blog—anything, as long as I can feel good about it—every Sunday.  Unrealistic?  Probably.  Bound to fall through the cracks now and then?  Absolutely.  But it’s a goal, and as goals go, I think it’s a decent one.

So here’s my first installment, which really falls into the category of “Gratitude Journal,” as well (something I’ve let slide, but think about all the time).  As we careen into Thanksgiving, and with it the inevitable holiday season, I always feel a tremendous sense of gratitude and joy.  I know that many find the holidays to be a stressful, even lonely time, and my heart goes out to those individuals.  Do I occasionally find it stressful and time-consuming?  Of course.  But for me, the tasks, the gift-buying, the parties, and the extraordinarily indulgent barrage of food, are all part of a warm and beautiful time.  My husband jokes that he loves the holidays, too, because of my constant good mood and upbeat cheer.  (So unlike the rest of the year, when I’m a giant bitch.  JK!)

I’m well aware that my love of the holiday season can be attributed in large part to the family and friends who’ve always made it special for me.  So here are the people, the things, and the places that I’m thankful for during this Thanksgiving holiday…and throughout the year.

My Parents:  I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again.  I have parents who love me—and each other—and who’ve always made their home a wonderful place to be.  I still feel homesick all the time, because I’ve always known that where they are is home.  Their unconditional love and support gave me the confidence and the skills (or, at least, the confidence to fake the skills) to get through the tough times in life.  Pretty wholesome, I know.  But wonderful all the same.

My Brothers:  One brother with the charisma and charm to woo girls right out of their Jimmy Choos, and another with, well, the same charisma and charm from a wheelchair.  Three Thanksgivings ago my husband postponed his dinnertime proposal when Timmy (then 26 years old) put mashed potatoes in Brendan’s ear (who was 23 at the time), and began serenading him with a little ditty we now call “Potatoes in Your Ear.”  My brothers are fabulous, funny, and they bring life to any party…Including family gatherings.  I wish I could be with them this week, but I’ll have to settle for Christmas instead.

My In-Laws:  Crazy, right?  But my in-laws accepted me instantly, without question, and they’ve welcomed me into their family with open arms.  I’ve started to feel nostalgic for their Wisconsin home, which tells me that they have done much what my parents did in Massachusetts; they grew a family based on love and trust and generosity, and that’s the same spirit that they extend to new family members as well.  I think it goes without saying that not all wives are so lucky.

My Colleagues:  When the going gets rough, I go to my teammates.  My academic teammates, that is.  The people I teach with have integrity, intelligence, creativity, and spunk.  I know how lucky I am to work in that kind of environment, and to call them not only peers, but good friends.  I can call them at night, crying about a particularly rough parent phone call, or drink with them in my pajamas on Saturday evenings (as I did with a few just last night).  On the mornings when I don’t want to go to work, the thought of them drags me out of my bed.

My Body:  We all spend so much time looking at ourselves critically, that we sometimes forget to be thankful for the gift of life.  Sure, I sometimes gripe about my ever-growing thighs, and wish I had better skin or hair (or both), and I wish that I could run as fast as I used to or that my bad knee didn’t swell occasionally.  But here’s the thing—my body has done a lot for me.  It’s given me the opportunity to enjoy two separate athletic careers, in both field hockey and ultimate.  It’s relatively healthy and capable, and not horrible to look at.  And on top of all that, I live in a country where women are generally encouraged to exercise and compete in sports…Activities my body makes possible.  So I’m thankful for my body—big thighs, aging joints, flat hair and all.

Austin:  The city that I now call home is a true gem.  The culture is “hippie cowboy,” as I like to say, which means that cowboy boots are as welcome as peasant dresses.  Barbecue is as hip as tofu, and the dress code is universally “come as you are.”  I love going to shows at the Bass Concert Hall on campus, sitting in the Bier Garden at the bar down the street, and wearing flip-flops in November.  Do I miss the change of seasons?  The friends and family I have in Massachusetts?  The culture of the northeast?  Sure.  But when I had the chance to leave five years ago, I decided to stay and savor the things that this city offers…For at least a while longer. 

Amherst:  Of course, I feel compelled to thank my hometown for the gifts that it has given me.  People, like my dear friends Mike and Sarah, who consistently nag me to move back; places, like Judie’s, which is possibly my favorite restaurant of all time; the universities, the well-meaning political correctness, the chill in the air in the fall.  I grew up in a haven, where I could go to plays on the weekends at UMass and not be an outsider.  Where I could play sports and sing in the choir, without being a total contradiction.  When I got back to Amherst, something settles inside me, like my heart knows that it’s come home.   

My Bridesmaids…Plus Two:  My husband and I celebrated our second anniversary this week, and when watching our wedding video (as is our annual celebration), we commented on how eclectic and special my bridesmaids were.  Nazish and Tessa, both Ultimate teammates and loyal friends.  Dallas and Lifon, who I played field hockey with in college, and whose distance way on the east coast (Pennsylvania and New York, respectively) hasn’t changed our closeness at all.  Rounding out the sextet were Sarah and Claire, who I’ve known since preschool and who, perhaps, accept me most for who I am of anyone I know.  Lastly, I had two friends help with my wedding who, for all intents and purposes, should have been in it.  Megan and Allison, two Austin-based friends, couldn’t be more trustworthy, more fun, or more comforting.  I adore them, and Austin wouldn’t be the same without them.

My Husband:  I consider myself one of the lucky ones.  How can I begin to say how supportive Jason is?  More than anything else, he wants me to be happy, and he does everything he can to make that possible.  He’s selfless and hard-working and, above all, has a level of integrity and character that is truly humbling.  I got him a shirt for our anniversary that reads, “I’m the Snuggler,” because he wants to curl up in bed and be close to me all the time.  (I suppose the fact that I’m the “Hug-and-Roller” means that I’m heartless…But what can I say?  I like my space!)  Jason is a Good Man.  And we all know how rare they are. 

New Friends:  This summer I attended a talk by an Austin author at my local library branch.  As luck would have it, I made a connection there with another aspiring writer.  She and I have since critiqued each others’ work, shared ideas, and committed time to writing together.  She’s genuine, approachable, and extremely kind.  Right now, I’m especially grateful for these types of new friends.  The people who approach friendship with an open heart, and remind me how many amazing people there are in the world.

This is by no means a comprehensive list.  How could I possibly name all of the blessings in my life?  There’s no way.  But there are always more Gratitude Journals and Something Sundays, offering the chance to expound…

I captained a women’s Ultimate team this past season, and it was a bit of a rollercoaster to say the very least.  Ultimate is challenging in so many ways, but one thing that sets it apart from other sports is the fact that it’s player-driven and player-led.  Captains often act as coaches, organizers, trainers, and even “life coaches” (as one of my own players called me recently).  And in the midst of all of that, captains are players themselves, participating on a team with a group of their peers and, in most cases, friends.  Needless to say, captains have to balance a breadth of needs, opinions, tasks, and expectations.  Not to mention their own performance on the field.

At one point this summer, I was struggling with this role.  I was feeling anxious that all of our hard work wasn’t paying off.  That people might not enjoy the season; that we wouldn’t have the numbers we needed; that this little experiment would flop.  And yes, that I wouldn’t be comfortable or happy with the results. 

In one of our many conversations in which I expressed this concern, my co-captain told me, “That’s commitment.  It’s risky.”  And I realized that she couldn’t have been more right. 

While her response wasn’t much of a comfort, it did put things into stark perspective.  You don’t see any success without taking some risks.  I’m notorious for letting my happiness hinge on my expectations, and for allowing those expectations to rest on things that I can’t always control—like wins and losses, or placement in a tournament, or who attends what.  I took some serious risks this season, and in some ways I let expectations creep in where they didn’t belong. 

But now I’m putting on my rose-colored glasses to reflect on a season that meant something, and that I believe to have been important.  A season that changed me for the better.

Part One:  Spring

A year ago I was in a bad place.  I was coming off of a difficult season, feeling alienated from my team and many of my friends.  I wasn’t sure what the future held for me with regard to the sport…And the city that I called home, for that matter.  I wanted to keep playing, but I didn’t know where I fit into the Austin ultimate community anymore.  After several months of agonizing, I received an email from someone that I knew mostly in passing.

Jenny* played for the same college team that I started out with, though we’d never played together.  She’s younger, and began playing after I’d graduated.  Her email asked me if I’d be interested in starting a women’s team with her.  My husband asked me if she was a strong player, and I remembered when, in a scrimmage, she’d gotten a layout-D against me in the end zone.  “Yeah,” I told him.  “She is.”

I wasn’t sure I wanted to head up a team, but Jenny’s email did one very important thing for me:  It opened up my eyes to the greater community, and it made me feel wanted when my confidence was at its lowest.  After years of playing elite-level, high-commitment, expensive frisbee, I was hoping for a change.  I liked the idea of focusing on giving back to the sport with a more developmental team.  And it felt good to know that someone else thought I would be a valuable part of that type of program.  So we began to talk about what we’d each be looking for in a team, and rounded up players from college up to “retired” vets. 

It quickly became clear that the interest was out there.  Our first practice was almost comical, though, and I forced myself to focus on the positive:  We had numbers.  There was a decent turnout on that first night, but halfway through our first drill massive thunderclouds rolled in.  The wind picked up to an embarrassing degree; the sky was black; thunder and lightning started up.  Within minutes, the fields closed due to thunderstorms. 

“If this is a sign,” I thought, “it’s not a good one.”

And after that first practice, if you can call it that, I headed out of town for several weeks.  I left the team in its infancy with Jenny and her very capable leadership, hoping that we’d put enough in place to swim rather than sink like a stone.  Even if we were only dog-paddling.

Part Two:  Summer

When I got back from my time away, it was clear that people were hungry for more.  Our initial plans were for low-key weekly throwing sessions, with the possibility of scrimmaging if numbers allowed.  By mid-summer, our players wanted structure.  They were showing up, cleats in hand, ready for drills, plays, and formal warm-ups.  I was pleasantly surprised, and Jenny and I happily planned out practices.

We began to pick up new Austinites who were eager to have a team—five of them in all.  We combined experienced players who didn’t want too intense of a commitment with younger women still finishing out their college eligibility.  Former league and pick-up players approached us, anxious to build on their ultimate repertoire.  It was a motley crew.  Slowly but surely, we got to know each other and how everyone played.  At one Saturday afternoon practice, players asked for shorter breaks and more challenging drills.  I was, again, pleasantly surprised.  We were new, we were raw, but we were hungry to grow.  We played a scrimmage against another women’s team in the state, winning comfortably, and rode that confidence into our first tournaments. 

Those tournaments brought some challenges, but they also showed our true colors:  We were scrappy.  I’ve been a part of amazingly talented teams who had no fight.  Teams who, when down, folded like a house of cards.  We were not one of those teams.  Sure, we were light on handlers (a.k.a. experienced throwers), and yes, we weren’t all on the same page strategically.  But we knew how to come back from a deficit, and we didn’t give up easily.  We didn’t go undefeated in those tournaments, by any means, but we showed determination.  Even when short on numbers, we rarely had to coax people on to the field (if ever).  We piled ourselves into the houses where we stayed, snuggling into close quarters together and bonding in ways that we hadn’t been able to up until that point.  Things were coming together.

I was already pleased with the success that we’d had.  We were showing character that I hadn’t anticipated, and I was enjoying every bit of it.  Most of all, I felt relationships growing.  Aside from minor frustrations here and there, people were getting along and supporting each other.  There was no ego, no dissention, no jealousy in the way.  When months ago I’d felt alone, I was feeling like a part of a team again.  Like I was finding a new sweet spot in this sport and in this city. 

Part Three:  Fall

After a successful pre-season, I was excited to see how we’d perform in the competitive series.  But if my expectations frequently dictate my happiness, I was in for a major blow.  

Sectionals got rained out, and we lost a large part of our team who couldn’t make the rain date…including several key throwers.  Our numbers dropped substantially, and I realized that we were going to be even more challenged than anticipated. 

Still, we came out of the gates strong in our first game, establishing an early lead against the team seeded just below us.  That is, until our two strongest handlers got season-ending injuries.  First, my best friend Nina injured her already-ACL-less knee.  An eerie quiet settled on the field as we all realized what this meant:  Nina would probably need surgery, and we were short yet another handler.  Jenny came on the field as her substitute, and within minutes tore a muscle in her core and crawled from the field in agony.  Morale plummeted in the already short-staffed team, and I watched my hopes for success crumble before my eyes.  If I had it to do over again, I would have called a time-out to re-group.  But I was on the field, and my head was spinning with anxiety.  The other team seized the opportunity and the momentum, beating us by one in the end.  We were almost too downtrodden to even process the loss. 

We managed to re-group after that game with a brief pep talk, though, recognizing the obstacles now facing us head-on.  Over the course of the rest of the day, I watched newer players step up and take control on the field in ways that I hadn’t seen them do before.  I struggled, no question, to keep my composure and remain encouraging toward my team.  As I told some friends from another team at one point, “I’m keeping it together for my team, but I need to actually feel what I’m feeling.” 

Regionals reflected sectionals to a certain degree; we had moments of greatness, and won most of the games that we “should have” won, though we probably could have won more had we been full-force.  We continued to be fighters, and continued to support each other through some frustrating moments, but I struggled to hide the sadness I felt for the disappointing end of our season. 

In talking to my mother about it, she helped me put things in perspective.  “Things changed,” she said.  “Your expectations needed to change with them.” 

And I remembered what Jenny said to me all of those months ago:  “That’s commitment.  It’s risky.”  I’d started out with low expectations, been pleasantly surprised, and then disappointed by the things that I couldn’t control.  I’d put a tremendous amount of time, energy, and love into a team, in the hopes that it would be a success. 

So was it a success? 

I could control how I treated my teammates; how I planned practices; how I played.  And for the most part I felt good about those things.  If I measure the team’s success by wins and losses, I could argue that it was not successful in comparison to other seasons that I’ve had.  But I knew going into this season that this would be a different team, and in all honestly I wanted a different one.  I was hungry for a different kind of experience.  I finished the season with new friends and renewed confidence in myself.  I felt that I’d risen to the challenge and come out better for it.

So my rose-colored glasses are working pretty well for me right now.  The season may have been a rollercoaster, but as it happens I really really like thrill rides.  Especially when I know that I’ll get off in one piece with my friends at the end.