I used to run a life skills group at an alternative high school for 10 at-risk boys. These boys were products of broken homes and expelled from their regular schools due to various run-ins with the law. Many of these boys were one adjudication away from being locked up in jail. All were mandated to see me once a week for 12 weeks in my group.
The boys called me “Miss,” something I learned while living in San Antonio is a title used for women, usually out of politeness, but sometimes as a safe alternative to a name they didn’t remember or know.
Our group met on Wednesdays, and at first, I was met with loads of resistance. How would I, a middle-aged white “Miss” from the suburbs, possibly connect with 10 Hispanic boys that had lived lives the polar opposite from my own? But each week I went, they all showed up, and we formed a routine. The first day, I gave each boy a journal and assigned a random writing topic. Each boy could either write and share, or write and close their journal. Upon finishing, I had to collect each journal and pencil per the school rules, because in this particular environment, a pencil could be used as a weapon. We set group rules, which included one person talking at a time (which was always a problem, as they boys tended to speak over each other); no disrespecting other people’s differing thoughts or views and minimal profanity.
One boy in the group, who I’ll call Angel, was usually unruly during group and spoke out of turn often. I was constantly redirecting him. He was on the physically smaller side, wore glasses and had a slight lisp. I learned he was bounced around from home to home as a young child, most recently living with his Grandmother in Oklahoma. He was sent back to San Antonio to live with his mother the prior year, a mother who, according to him, had various children and men in and out of the home, with case workers visiting on the regular. The past year, Angel made some bad choices and landed himself in the juvenile school as well as my group.
At the end of group, I always asked for a rundown of everyone’s plans for the upcoming weekend. One week, Angel told me he was excited because an uncle was driving him up to Oklahoma after school on Friday to visit his Grandmother, and he was looking forward to visiting old friends in the neighborhood and having the famous peach cobbler his Grandmother promised to make. He was so excited and enthusiastic about the weekend and I could see a shift in his usual body language. I told him to have safe travels and that I couldn’t wait to hear about his visit during our next group. I left the school happy for Angel and his obvious anticipation and joy, something he didn’t demonstrate very often.
The next week I showed up for group, and they boys walked in, single file in their jeans and white t-shirts (the school uniform), hands in their pockets (Standard Operating Procedure for safety in this particular school environment). I saw Angel and said, “Hey, did you bring me back a piece of that peach cobbler from Oklahoma?” He didn’t have much of a reaction, In fact, he didn’t answer me at all, which made me a bit curious as well as worried. Did I say something to offend him? Should I not have brought it up? Did the weekend go awry, with a family fight?
The boys sat down, and I watched Angel. The boys were rowdy as usual, but Angel just sat and stared at the table. We did our journal exercise, and Angel glanced over at me as he wrote. After notebooks and pencils were collected, I asked who wanted to start telling me about their weekend. One boy started recounting about the movie he and his girlfriend watched. Angel interrupted, normally a set group-rule no-no, but one I allowed in this particular moment.
“Miss, I can’t believe you said that about the peach cobbler,” he said. Uh oh, I thought. I blew it. I should have not said a word unless he brought up the weekend. Rookie mistake. I began silently cursing myself for even mentioning the cobbler and his trip.
Before I could answer, he continued. “No one ever remembers anything I tell them” he said. “I told you about my Grandmother’s peach cobbler and you remembered. No one ever listens to me the way you do. My mom didn’t even ask me about my weekend. You always remember what I tell you from last group. I wish I lived with you,” he said.
“Yeah, Miss always remembers what we say, it scares me sometimes,” chimed in another boy, one who recently revealed at the age of 16, he was going to be a father.
To me, asking Angel about his weekend wasn’t anything special or extraordinary – as a counselor, after all, my job is to listen. That moment made me realize the power of listening – not listening to talk next or to get your point across, but actively listening. These boys looked forward to having a person listen to them each week for an hour-and-a-half. The times they all talked over each other was simply because they wanted to be heard.
One of the biggest complaints I hear from children of all ages I work with is that they feel like no one listens to what they have to say. When someone is talking, just listen. Look them straight in the eye when they are talking with you. Ask someone a question about themselves, their work, school, about what is going on in their lives. It’s a small thing to do, but one that can leave a big impact. 10 boys in an alternative high school showed me what a difference listening can make, and what a gift it is to give to someone else.
Recently I was pouting about a real estate deal gone wrong, and when I say pouting, I mean pouting. Big Time. I was in a foul mood, hunched over my computer, pouring over emails and contracts and just feeling, well….blah.
I began searching through pictures of the homes we looked at, especially the one where the deal had gone sour. As I was looking at them, this picture popped up, a picture I forgot about taking, one that I snapped while walking on the home’s nearby pier with my daughter: 
This young couple walked right by me, lost in their own world. They were talking, laughing, pointing things out, enjoying the beautiful beach day. Completely in love – I mean, look how they are leaning into each other! As I admired them, I noticed how young they were. 23? 25? I also noticed he didn’t have a left leg. Something made me snap this picture, not to be intrusive, but only because I wanted to capture a moment of pure bliss and unabashed love.
I began conjuring up the story in my mind. Was he a War Veteran? Did he have a car accident or a boating accident? Was he born without a limb and had to endure hours of therapy and doctors appointments as a child learning how to walk? Did he catch an unexpected infection that came out of nowhere during High School? The backstory didn’t matter. What mattered was that on this day, he was enjoying the beach and the sand and the sun, with a beautiful girl who obviously was gaga over him. They were present in a moment that he might not have otherwise if things had turned out differently.
It inspired me, and made me embarrassed, about my pity party over a stupid real estate deal gone wrong.
Inspiration is all around us. Sometimes it whispers. Sometimes it hits us right upside the head. Sometimes we are too wrapped up in whatever we are doing to even listen or look for it. But it’s always there. We just need to find it.
It made me stop to think about the people in my life currently inspiring me:
- The mom of three boys diagnosed with Breast Cancer
- The friend who made a brave decision to leave a long-term relationship
- A single mom that quit her full-time, benefits-packed job to go back to school to pursue her passion of interior design at age 40-something
- A high school friend that left her Chicago hometown of 40-something years to move to California and try something new
Even during the challenging times, look for inspiration. It’s everywhere, and can make us think about — and react to — things differently.
I recently spoke with a friend who dropped off her third and last child at college, at a university nearly four hours away. She and her husband of 25 years are now officially “empty nesters,” and she was, as any person is in a transition situation, experiencing a range of emotions.
“I’m not ready for this,” she told me, through tears. “I just cannot imagine walking in the house and having it be silent and having no kids there.”
Although she was excited for her daughter and knew it was the proper order of events in her life (educate child, raise child, encourage her to go to school, give her the skills and means to venture out on her own), she was terrified of the change it brought and the unknown shift in the dynamics of her home. There were lots of unknowns in her life that she now had to face.
“Change is hard,” I told her. “It’s simply hard.”
Whether it’s a job, a move, a relationship status, whether it’s by choice or something that is thrust upon us, change is daunting. It’s unnerving. It’s scary. And it’s hard. There are lots of “what ifs” – what if I hate my new job? What if I regret leaving this relationship? What if we can’t afford the new house? What if, what if, what if?
But back to my friend. I wanted her to focus on the positives of her new situation. Instead of looking at the hours of her nights as empty, she can now utilize the time for things that had gone by the wayside in her life – sewing, girl’s nights out (with me, of course!), date night with her husband and long walks with her dogs.
We can either fear change, or welcome it. Sometimes we do both. Some days, the fear takes over. Other times, we thrive and rise up to the challenge. There is no “right” formula for dealing with change, only the one that works for us as individuals. One thing in life is certain: there is constant change, and we need to learn how to manage, accept, and embrace it.
I’m a runner.
I try and run at least four to five times a week, and have specific routes and distances that I run. Depending on the day and amount of time I have, I knock out between three and five miles.
The other morning, I woke up while everyone in my house was asleep. I drank two cups of coffee, laced up my shoes, grabbed my headphones and headed out early, as I do most weekend mornings before the Texas sun becomes unbearable.
My route was set. The amount of time for my run was planned. I had many tasks to move onto the remainder of the day. But something felt different.
A little voice was telling me to break up the routine. Instead of turning right per usual, I turned left and decided to see where my route took me. I ran a completely new course, explored a new neighborhood, and ran one more mile than I originally planned.
I don’t know what it was – the unexpected route. The extra distance. My faster pace per mile. The new surroundings. But it set the tone for the rest of the day. I was energized and felt accomplished. I tackled my list of daily tasks with an extra spring in my step and realized that stepping out of my comfort zone….my usual routine…even on something seemingly as minor as my running route, was much-needed, and long overdue. It was a little piece of unexpected adventure that broke up the monotony of my predicted daily path. It was something different. And it completely recharged me.
Task yourself with this:
Do one thing differently today. Just one.
It doesn’t have to be anything big or life-altering. Eat ice cream before dinner. Drive a different route. Try a new restaurant. Call someone you haven’t talked to in a long time. Do something to break up your normal routine.
See how you feel after you do this, and make it a regular habit. Recharge yourself. You’ll be glad you did.
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