Explaining My Life - A Tiny Rant

I become a bit nervous and awkward whenever I have to describe what fills my days.  People seem to see it as smaller than they think I should be, so I usually break it down into three parts.

1.  "I teach Writing, Rhetoric and Discourse to college underclassmen at DePaul."  People think that means I teach English.  But, I don't.  I really don't.  I teach writing. And intertextuality.  Critical thinking and reading strategies.  I teach intercommunication and digital technologies.  I teach Aristotle's rhetoric.  Audience awareness, logos, pathos, and ethos. I teach multimodality and discourse communities.  I break down what is ingrained in post-high school brains.  I introduce them to ee cummings and James Joyce (apparently these are no longer mentioned in high schools), tell them to read bell hooks and use Hemingway to teach sentence variety.  

I do not actually teach English.  

But, most people don't know what rhetoric actually means, especially in terms of communication.  So, sure - I teach English.  And definitely mention again that "those who can't do teach."  That will forever cement us as friends.  

2.  "I am a florist."  Fact: most people do not know this is even a job.  Some people assume the flowers just appear wherever they need to be - it is all a magical trick of the eye assembled by little tree elves.  And those who do know that real people build flowers think it is ridiculously easy and almost instantaneous.  

This would be false.  Building a small wedding takes around 14 hours of physical flower manhandling.  This does not include the detailed planning time or logistical transportation time.  And those 14 hours are not usually filled with glitter and rainbows.   There is blood and shredded skin.  My right thumbnail has not been quite right since I discovered it was perfectly shaped to shuck the thorns from roses.  Hives boldly crawl up curiously green arms.  Hours are spent crouched on the floor, twisting wire and tape to make the flowers do what they do not want to do.  Most of the work occurs in the middle of the night.  Too much silence leads to Deep Thoughts; Project Runway usually loops on the tv to keep me company. 

3.  "I nanny on the days I am not trolling around a college campus."  As with the flowers, people think this is also ridiculously easy and a waste of time.  

And parts of it are lovely and easy.  There are moments filled with zoo trips, improvisational dancing and cookie baking.  I have a refrigerator covered with glittered hand prints and hearts that are only hearts if you squint and tilt your head.  But it is not usually a chocolate covered espresso bean of delight.  There are days when my clothes should be tossed in a hazardous waste bin.  I find mashed sweet potato in my wallet.  I spend hours listening to screams that only Hitchcock could imagine as I lead angry little legs through physical therapy exercises.  This past year I spent whole weeks trying to coax one smile from a stubborn little face. 

So, this is what I say when people ask: "I am a professor, and I own my own flower company, and I nanny when I am not doing that.   I don't sleep a lot.  Hahaha.  Ha. Ha."

Ha.  Ha.

Ha.  

I had dinner with a college friend last night.  He is now in his third year of residency at UCLA - he is a neurosurgeon.  I geared up for a night where I would feel that my days weren't quite good enough.  A bit frivolous in a world of technology and science.

Over lobster bisque and bananas foster, we talked mostly about what he does.  

As I kept asking questions - because his field does truly fascinate me, especially with the recent Hartridge medical adventures - I realized something that I had been unable to see before.

Yes, he saves lives.  He can go in with his tools and cut out the bad pieces and put a person's brain and spine back together.  But he rarely speaks to these people.  He deals with brains and disjointed body parts that are dyed a contrasting color.  He is completely disassociated with what makes his patients people.  The saving of their lives is dehumanized.

I may not save lives in the obvious way that he does.  But on a daily basis I improve the quality of life for my people.  And that may be more important.

I know the names of my student's siblings and what they actually hope to do when they graduate, which is unusual for a college professor.  I look into their eyes as they become confident in their communication skills.  I help them become a positive contribution to the world they are part of.

I have watched my little kiddos grow up into amazing people.  The older ones are now high school teachers, dancers, musicians.  The littler ones send me stickered cards and school pictures - postage stamped from 8 different states.  Ingrid, my little 4 year old genius, will call to sing me a song.  In Japanese.  And Madison stood today for the first time.  Instead of crying, she laughed with me.

And every time I build a floral arrangement I do it for certain person and a defined reason.  I create it so that this specific individual will know they are loved.  It does not matter if I know them well or not.  They still deserve a little bit of pretty.

So, maybe I don't dress in suits everyday.  I certainly don't have a set schedule or paycheck.  I don't have a fancy title.  And maybe my ribboned world has more sparkle than most.  More pink.  More bad writing and sticky fingerprints.  But maybe my little patched together existence has more human connection and impact than most, too.

And when I can mash the pieces together - the flowers and rotating charges - it makes even more sense.  It becomes a bit more beautiful.