I Tore My MCL And You Can Too!

I was leaving swim practice Monday night. I have to leave a little early on Mondays so that I can get to the wonderful Kris Stoner’s house for a bit of community. I was walking through the locker room at the pool and the janitor was mopping. I said aloud to the janitor, “Wow. It’s wet. I should be careful.”

Famous last words. I slipped, heard my knee pop in the air, and then landed on my knees and hands.

An hour later, after a lot of tears and irrelevant X-rays and one sadistic, knee prodding doctor, I was told I tore my MCL. Tearing an ACL ends one’s professional football career. Tearing an MCL puts one in a lot of pain, but one can “easily” recover. So my recovery plan: wear a metal knee brace for six to eight weeks, take codeine, do not stand, elevate knee at all times, and ice every chance I get.

Tuesday I went to school and tried my best to elevate, not stand, and ice. Being a teacher is hard. Being a teacher and then being told not to stand is almost impossible. And I have really great classes this semester. But I made it through the day, went back to swim practice (I know, I know) and then cried in pain that night. Then we were on Thanksgiving break, the perfect time to rest. Well, I did not rest. I cannot rest. I ran errands on Wednesday, went and hung out with friends, and elevated when I could. Thanksgiving I sat and iced. Then Friday, I went to the ER.

They thought I had a blood clot in my leg. Turns out I did not, but talk about some of the scariest hours of my life. As I was waiting for the ultrasound results my mom turned to me and reminded me of the woman I was afraid to make angry when I was in middle school. “Mira. Listen to me, I am the mom, you are the daughter. I am telling you, you must rest. You must let me help you. And you have to relax.” Now, that does not sound scary, but if you know Sebrena, then you know it was terrifying.

I am so grateful for the community I have. From family, to coworkers, to fellow Crosspointe members, I have a wealth of people to help me. I have friends who are willing to drive me anywhere, to cook food, and to clean my apartment. But I rarely ask for help. I am prideful. I have a hard time accepting help. I want to prove that I am not an invalid. I can clean my apartment, wash clothes, cook dinner, and grocery shop. But then I earn a spot in the waiting room at the ER. I have to learn to accept help. I have to trust that people are being earnest in their offers to assist me. I have to acknowledge that people want to be helpful. I would bend over backwards (which with my current situation makes me sick to think about) to help anyone that was in my situation.

So why can I not acknowledge and receive these helpful offers? I feel weak when I receive assistance and I do not want to admit that I am weak. I have been taught to be a strong woman: that I should be independent, thoughtful, and brave. So I try to do that in everything I do. Including tearing my MCL and trying to live a “normal” life. Now, I am not blaming how I was raised. This independent spirit is something that I have procured over the years and is something I am proud of. But I feel that if I do not learn to accept help now, then I am only further hindering my recovery plan.

The song “With A Little Help From My Friends” by The Beatles popped into my head when I began writing this. I need to lean on my friends, for they are there when I am alone, sad, and need help. And for me, the hard part to comprehend is that they want to be there, just how I want to be there for them. So after a not so restful Thanksgiving break and foreseeing plenty more frustrating moments over the next eight weeks, I have decided to ask for help, to humble myself, and welcome aid. So my friends: please keep offering to grab papers for me, to take books across the room for me, and to carry my bags to the car. I want to get by with a little help from my friends.

My new recovery plan: wear a metal knee brace for six to eight weeks, take codeine, do not stand, elevate knee at all times, ice every chance I get, and accept assistance. All of these things will make me stronger. I am sure of it.

Worry and Control and Fear. Oh My.

Worrying has become my default emotion lately. Worry consumes my mind and attempts to coexist with my otherwise positive thoughts. Then Worry gets stronger and bigger and threatens to beat up the positive thoughts. Worry eventually fights Positive, beating him senseless, proving once and for all that Worry is the victor. And this internal warfare just continues each and every day.

Since I was a kid I have been told that I am a "worrywart" by my entire family. I use to blame that on being the oldest and having to assume some type of leadership role in my family, and as any dutiful leader, I must be worried about the people. (Evidently, I also believe I am some sort of princess or queen?) I firmly believe that whatever you (parents) call your children influences them later in life. I am definitely not blaming my family for my present day worrying, but I do think that worrying whilst a child has led to my current misgivings.

I am anxiety-laden concerning a myriad of things each day. And yes, I always overthink everything I say, think, or do. (See here for more of that.)
Will I get all my work done during my planning period? (The answer is always no.)
What does that email really mean? (Typically, it means what it says.)
I have a headache, is this a brain tumor? (No.)
Am I a good enough teacher? (Who knows the answer to this one?)
What is the right answer? (Nobody really knows.)
Does my hair still look ok? (There is a lot of hair spray up there, so it should be fine.)
How disappointed is God because I keep avoiding quiet time? (From what I have been told, he is not disappointed in me.)
What if they find out I am a fraud? (It is ok. They are frauds too.)
Did I respond to that parent in the appropriate way? (Yes.)
When that student said I was unclear, then I went back and clarified, did she really understand or was she just saying she did? (If she did not, she will come back and let me know.)
I am having heart palpitations, this has to be a heart attack, right? (No.)
Why is that guy following me on the Duke trail? (Because he is running too.)

And that is just a snapshot of how my brain works throughout the day. I worry about meaningful choices and decisions I make, but then I feel uneasy about normal, mundane events. I recognize my apprehension, but then I cannot escape those thoughts. This post makes me sound totally crazy, but I know that verbalizing fear can reduce the fear itself. If you know me in any capacity, then you know that I am 95% cheerful and optimistic. I have pretty much been that way my entire life, but worry makes up the remaining five percent and it is something worth talking about.

This weekend, I was fortunate to hear my friend Steve speak about worry, fear, and our attempts to control the outcomes of the monster our fears create. I feel that my fear and worry derive from my desire to control what happens. I am a control freak. There, I said it. I love being in control. And I guess worry consumes me when I know I cannot control the outcome. I do not know how that parent will react. I do not know if people will judge me for saying the wrong answer; that is why I hate riddles and Calculus.

There is a freedom in saying or doing something and then releasing it into the world and then being content in whatever the response is. I am not like that. I release words or actions and then I marinate on them, turning over power to the fear of "what if". In my lack of control, the apprehension and second guessing maturate, resulting in my inability to be content.

So where do I go from here? Do I seek a higher power to guide me and pull me out of this downward spiral? Of course I do. And I want to be able to rest in my relationship with God in all things that I do. But is that a reality? I am not sure. If I am aware of what I am doing and am actively choosing to change my thought process, does that count as making strides to improve myself? Do I need to pray about it? See, even in this, I worry what the correct response is. Overall, it seems as if I cannot escape worry. Perhaps one day I can turn my worry into contentment, slowly relinquishing fear. 

Why I Hate The Holidays

Thinking about the holidays really stresses me out. The commercialization, the forced family time, and the obsessive fixation on Christmas music cause me to despise the holiday season. I use to hate the holidays even more than I do now, but I have relaxed a bit in my old age.

However, in all my Grinch-ness, there is one holiday that may turn this entire thing around. Thanksgiving has always been a low impact kind of holiday. As a child I got to watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, stay in my pajamas all day, hear my mom complain about cooking a ton of food, eating the amazing traditional Thanksgiving dinner, watch some movies, and then go to bed. As I became a teenager, I took a more active role in the holiday. I would offer to help cook and my mom would give me some menial task like sautéing onions or peeling potatoes. It’s probably in those moments in that kitchen in North Durham with the dark brown, stained cabinets and beige countertops that I began to like cooking. I wanted to slice, chop, and stir all the time.

When I went to college I liked the break from school that was always associated with Thanksgiving. Don’t get me wrong, I loved getting a break from school my whole life. But there is something about coming home from college and walking into your childhood home and seeing all the fall decorations and the various pots and pans already being set out in preparation of the upcoming feast. During college, Thanksgiving meant I had someone else to cook for me and I did not have to get up early and run off to class. I still had plenty of reading to do for my classes, but the workload somehow felt less intense. 

In the last few years my parents' divorce has definitely added to the list of reasons why I dislike the holidays. They separated before Thanksgiving two years ago and I remember that specific Thanksgiving being a strange, awkward, and horrid event.

Last year was the first Thanksgiving in my mom's new townhouse. There are already so many emotions swirling around this topic and now facing a major holiday in this new home could result in a major emotional breakdown. Since Thanksgiving is my mom's favorite holiday my brother, sister, and I decided we were going to make it special for her. I came over early and cooked breakfast, we watched the parade, and helped my mom cook dinner. And while we shared what we were thankful for, waxed poetic about the past, and began to get comfortable on the couch I realized that I actually really loved the day. I loved spending time with my mom, I loved starting the tradition of cooking breakfast for everyone that morning, I loved getting to watch the parade, and I loved Thanksgiving. And even though the holidays usually solicit pain for a myriad of reasons, this holiday was actually really great. So great that my heart grew three sizes that day. 

Do I still dislike the holiday season? Yes. But I think I am warming up to it. 

Coach Rahili

Here are all the reasons why I should not be the assistant swim team coach:

1. I do not know how to swim.

2. I do not know how to coach.

3. I can only attend two practices a week.

4. I do not know CPR.

5. I do not own a whistle.

I am confident I had a choice in this matter. I could have said no. But I did not. I really need the extra money, I do not mind hanging out with my friend Emma for a few hours, and I can get some cool coach nicknames. So I agreed. Also, the kids seem pretty cool. And really, how much can they annoy me? I mean, they are all under water.

So I have started compiling all the phrases I can shout at the swimmers.

“You come up for air when I tell you to come up for air!”

“Do what coach says.”

“You need to put on a swim cap.”

“Kick your legs!”

“You must wear a bathing suit.”

“Don’t embarrass me.”

“Swim faster.”

“Hold your breath.”

Suggestions are welcome.

There are several endeavors I have encountered in my life that I have been terrified of: teaching, tech at Crosspointe, leading a LifeGroup, going to dinner by myself, and a number of other things. However, I have managed to face them head on, stumble along the way, and eventually come out unscathed on the other side.

But this. Being a swim coach. I do not think I will be as successful.  I do not think I will learn anything. I do not think I will be helpful in any way when it comes to anything related to swim technique (if there even is such a thing). I can only swim enough to stay alive but I can name two actual swim strokes (breast and back, thank you very much).

Perhaps I can keep track of times? I am diligent with a notebook and a pen. I like charts. Perhaps that is my calling? All of this to say I am nervous, unprepared, and definitely out of my element.

I just hope I do not end up in the water.

Bull City

I find myself defending Durham a lot. I am constantly saying, “Durham is not dangerous” or “I promise, it’s very hipster and trendy now” or “I have never seen someone get shot in Durham” and “yes, it’s safe.” I have lived in Durham my entire life and yes, Downtown Durham used to be considered dangerous. However, in the last 10 years, Durham has drastically changed. Most of Durham is peppered with trendy coffee shops, hipster bars, and delicious restaurants (we were voted Tastiest Town of the South).

Most of Downtown Durham is now filled with burgeoning artists, whether that be music, visual, or food art. That is a stark contrast to the Durham I knew 15 years ago. When the film Welcome To Durham came out in 2007, that only intensified the stigma that Durham was riddled with gang violence. Did Durham have gangs? Yes. Do we still have gangs? Yes. Don’t most cities? 

But it seems as if some people still cannot see beyond Durham’s once sordid history. Would it help if I told you that six new apartment complexes are being built in Downtown Durham and the rent for each apartment is what my paycheck is each month? (And yes, that's not a lot, but I promise they are very fancy.)

There is still this stigma about Durham that I hope is beginning to dissipate. Not only is Durham filled with award winning restaurants but the antiquated buildings now house some of the most popular breweries and dessert shops in RDU. All of this is to say that I love Durham. I have four Durham themed shirts. I hate bumper stickers, but I have a “Durham” bumper sticker. There are secret gems and obvious places I love about Durham. I want to share some of those with you.

1. Nanataco is literally my favorite restaurant right now. Not only is it amazing food, but it's a great price. The lunch special is two tacos with whatever meat (their "dirty" meat is wicked awesome), rice, beans, chips, and salsa for $6.50. I want to go there every single day. And their margaritas are the bomb dot com. 

2. Geer Street Garden is my favorite place to grab a drink in Durham. The inside is small (it use to be a gas station), but the whimsical outdoor seating area makes up for what the inside lacks. And if you go there you must order the pile. 

3. My favorite places to take photos are at American Tobacco and this great wall near The Parlour. American Tobacco has all these striking walls and allows for great lighting that makes really captivating, interesting, Durham themed photos. The top of the parking garages also offer a perfect view of the Downtown Durham skyline. 

In addition to American Tobacco, this wall is stellar for photos. 

But really, this wall on Main Street is awesome. Just look. 

4. My favorite concert venue has to be Motorco. It's a great space for a show, it's connected to Parts and Labor (another cool bar), and a former Riverside student's dad co-owns the venue. There are always food trucks around so after whatever show you attend you can grab overpriced dumplings and pizza. 

5. I'm really torn about picking between these two coffee shops. Cocoa Cinnamon is a super hipster, trendy coffee shop that has fancy drinks with lava salt in them. Straw Valley Cafe used to have very cool indoor seating - they've since done away with it and replaced it with a very pretentious restaurant - but the real draw is the outdoor seating. Either place you go, you are guaranteed to have a great cup of coffee, funky outdoor seating, and a quiet place to work or read. 

6. Breakfast is a three way tie: Rise, Guglhupf, and Monuts. Rise and Monuts have out of this world, knock your socks off, make you want to punch someone donuts. Rise's chicken biscuit makes me want to work there. Guglhupf's brunch menu, gigantic cups of coffee, and pastries are three things I want everyone to experience in his or her life. 

There are so many more things I adore about Durham: Ninth Street, Bull McCabes, Duke Gardens, and about 43 others things. But beyond the institutions, Durham is my home. I will forever defend this city. 

I love Durham. You should too. (Or just let me take you to all my favorite places.)

Being In My Head Is Weird

Ok. This post is probably going to emulate the stream of consciousness style that William Faulkner pioneered. Do not think that I am comparing myself to Faulkner; I am just saying that if this post is a little confusing it is because Faulkner taught me that convoluted, internal monologue sentences can be good. (Maybe. I don’t know. It’s been awhile since I read As I Lay Dying.) 

On my birthday I made a list of all the things I wanted to accomplish over the year. I knew publishing the list forced my hand in providing updates on how I am doing. I have kept up with several: blogging once a week, putting money in my savings account, watching a TED Talk once a week, and making all my friends’ birthday cards. 

Last week I had a weird hour and a half in between grading at Cocoa Cinnamon and attending the Riverside soccer game so I decided it was the perfect time to go to dinner by myself. Let the stream of consciousness begin.

I pull into the parking lot of Foster’s Market already feeling very awkward. I will not be meeting anyone here. I have no friends. Will people think I am a loser because I am alone? I mean, I don’t think people are strange when I see people eating at restaurants alone. But am I kinder than most people? I mean, I know I can be judgmental, but I think I’m a genuinely kind person. Am I? What if I think I am kind but I’m not actually that kind?

I open my car door. 

It’s a great thing that I always carry a book. Going to dinner by myself will allow me to establish some independence. I will not use my phone at all, but I will read. I will not listen to my music and disengage fully from this moment. I will be intentional. I will sit outside, listen to the birds and the traffic, and read my book. I have an hour to eat and read. This will be good. An hour of reading. 

I walk up to the counter. Do I order my usual? This is a cool, new adventure for me. Do I get the salad plate? No, I’m going to be adventurous! I’ll get the chicken caesar wrap and chips and a diet coke. Living on the edge feels so good. 

This guy looks new. He’s looking at me. He can tell I’m alone. There are only six people in here right now. He obviously knows I am not meeting anyone. Why does he care who I am here with? I am literally holding my book in my hand. Does he pity me? I mean, I surely cannot be the first person to come here alone. People do this all the time. I am not a pioneer. 

“Oh hi. Yes, I’ll take the chicken caesar wrap, these chips, and a drink,” I mutter.

“Cool. And you’re name?” He asked.

“Mira. M-I-R-A,” I spell.

“Great. Show this to her when you’re ready to leave. I’ve been meaning to read that book,” he said.

“Oh. This book? I kind of hate it. Don’t read it,” I say/laugh and walk off. I have a way with words.

I scan the restaurant. There are a few people in here but I kind of want some solitude. I’m being a little bold tonight, but I don’t want to be too bold. Let me go to dinner by myself, but where no one can actually see me. But this is for me, not other people. It’s so nice outside, so I’ll grab a seat out there. Lots of cool picnic tables and patio furniture. There is this great, giant wall of ivy on one part of the patio that separates the busy, car infested 15-501 and the restaurant, so I choose a table behind the wall. Ok. There is a table of two women. They’re talking about “the hospital”. Are they doctors? Nurses? They must belong to Duke in some way. They keep talking about showing the new people how to do their job. They have weird laughs. Whatever. I pull out my book and open it to page 232.

“Mira!” that same guy shouts and he sees me and delivers my wrap. 

Wait, how does one read and eat at the same time? My book pages keep flipping. This wind sucks. Oh, cell phone. I’ll put my cell phone on the page to hold it down. No. I can’t. If my cell phone is out I will be tempted to check Twitter and I don’t want to be tempted. Are cell phones truly evil or is our addictive nature to them (or anything really) inherently evil? I wonder if the guy or girl who invented cell phones knew exactly what he or she would be creating. Does he or she know? Is he or she alive? Who is it? I would google it but I am not unlocking my phone. I pull out my car keys instead. 

The sun has begun to set and orange and purple begin to blur the blue sky. This is so beautiful. I wish I had a porch. Oh yeah, read and eat. Reading is going well. These women keep talking. Can’t they see I’m trying to read? How often do I sit at a restaurant with friends, totally oblivious of someone, sitting by themselves, attempting to read? And I have such a loud laugh. I should really tone it down some. 

I finished my wrap and chips. Man, it must be time to go soon. I don’t want to be late to the soccer game.

Fifteen minutes have passed. 

What?! Why does it take my friends and I an hour and a half to eat a meal? I mean, I know we talk, but really. I ordered, got my food, and ate in 15 minutes. What the heck.

Ok, fine. I can read for the next 45 minutes. That’s a lot of time. This will be perfect.

Twenty minutes pass. OK, I hate this book. I really hate it. But I can’t stop reading it. What if something redeems this entire book within the last 10 pages? I would be missing out on a great piece of literary fiction. Maybe I could teach this book to my AP students. And then it could change their lives. Then later on while they’re sitting on their porches watching their grandchildren play in the yard, they’ll say that they had this teacher in high school that made them read this book and at first they hated it but then their lives were forever changed by this piece of fiction and every Christmas they sit in front of their respective fires and read this monumental novel. 

Wow. This book sucks.

Power through. Do I need more diet coke? I mean, I’m running low and I’ve got about 15 more minutes to kill before I need to leave. I could do that. But don’t diet drinks give you brain cancer? Maybe I shouldn’t. Oh wait, here comes someone else. She’s alone too. Should I give her the “hey, we’re by ourselves, being all independent, eating our dinners alone” nod? Does that exist? She’s on her phone. She must be nervous. Or what if she does this all the time and I’m the nervous one? Is there a nod?! Do I communicate? But if the whole point of this is eating dinner alone then I should be alone. I should reflect. I should not try to communicate with anyone. Maybe I should spend the next 10 minutes talking to God. He can hear all of this anyway, right? Is the act of thinking about talking to God actually me talking to God? Uhh, God, I’m eating alone. 

6:15. Time to go.

Being in my head is weird.

Uh, I'm A Photographer?

Photography is a newfound love of mine. Since art is something I have enjoyed most of my life, photography naturally has become a passion. I started paying attention to photography in high school, then I began to assess, breakdown, and analyze the elements of photography, and in recent years I have enthusiastically cultivated this pastime of mine. 

In high school I was head editor (of course) of The Round Table, the school newspaper. Before I became the head editor I was the photo/graphics editor. I had to use a very inexpensive, mostly broken, digital “point and shoot” camera. I had to go to sporting events, musicals, and club meetings and document said occasions. As someone who was not particularly very cool in high school, I felt very cool getting to go onto the field during a football game and glance at my high school crush whilst he sat on the sideline; obviously I wasn’t going to like the star of the team, that would require a true knowledge about sports and I do not possess any desire to know sports. I would then take those photos into our journalism office, a truly safe space for high school me, and would download those photos and practice editing on the first version of Photoshop ever made. Looking back now, that experience was so impactful, since currently I use Photoshop on a weekly basis, and yes, my skills have improved in the last 10 years. 

When I started teaching I was hired to teach English and Yearbook. I had no experience in yearbook, especially since yearbook and newspaper were fierce rivals when I was in high school, but I needed a job. (Little tip, when it comes to education, teachers will volunteer to do anything to get a job.) “Sure, no problem! At 21 years old and a first year teacher, I am fully capable to run a $60,000 business on 90 minutes a day with high school students!” 

As someone who loves learning, being thrust into yearbook was the perfect place for me to be. I learned how to use InDesign, Photoshop (on a much more comprehensive level), how to be a saleswoman, how to manage a small business, promotion, fundraise, take 20 high schools to another state (on planes!) for multiple days, and a number of other skills you are not taught in Education school classes. Among those skills, photography was something I became most invested in during those five years as the yearbook advisor. The most important thing about yearbooks? The photos. Sure, in 20 years you’ll read the stories that accompany those photos, but today, photos are what draw in a high school student to spend $55 on a 368 page, full color yearbook. In addition to teaching the yearbook staff how to create a yearbook, I had to teach the yearbook photographers how to take photographs. I had one idiom that I followed that first year of teaching, “sink or swim” and photography was a great place to figure out which one I was going to do. 

Those five years I was introduced to DSLRs and a better camera creates a better chance for better photos. After our bills were paid each year, with some of the leftover funds, I took measures to fix our older DSLRs, purchased one, and petitioned to get gently used DSLRs donated. Word began to spread that I could take decent photos so I began doing a few random shoots. A baby dedication was the first time I shot anything outside of school. And I loved it. 

I quit being the yearbook advisor two years ago but that artistic desire did not fade, in fact, it intensified. A friend who knew I did some photography asked if I would shoot their family members’ wedding. Wedding photographers cost thousands of dollars and they wanted someone like me, who only had a handful of photo shoots under her belt, to shoot their wedding. (Little did I know what I was getting myself into and that experience is definitely worthy of a totally separate blog post.) Even though I was terrified, I did it; I shot a wedding. I did not get paid thousands of dollars, but it was an amazing learning opportunity. 

After the wedding, I began shooting baby photos, family portraits, and senior photos. And while it is some nice extra cash, it truly is a fun experience. Being able to document someone’s family or precious moment is such an intimate experience. Watching a mother interact with her crying baby, capturing a three year old running through the leaves, and documenting a senior’s mixed emotional journey that is their senior year of high school allows me to view these moments in an alternate way. Writing about those moments in something I inherently think about, but photographing those moments forces me to interact with those images in a very different way. 

With all this talk about photos, I thought I would share a few of my favorites below.