Winter Camping with LaSalle

--- From the LaSalle School eBulletin ---

NEW YORK - March 27, 2012 - Last month, LaSalle's Recreation Department organized a winter camping trip for five boys. Alex Branch, a Montana native and currently a Lasallian Volunteer, was one of the trained and experienced staff that accompanied the youths on the trip. Alex kept a journal detailing his impressions of how the boys approached different situations and reacted to the many challenges such an excursion can, and did, present. What follows is his personal account of the trip.

"A lot of preparation goes into a winter camping excursion, and students Rob, Jason, Jordan, Eli, and Mike did a great job of being present and positive about the process. It took us about an hour the night before and another 45 minutes the morning of to get all our gear packed and get on the road. Each boy had a pack with about 25 pounds of gear, including a one-person tent, heavy winter sleeping bag, foam sleeping mat, extra clothes, and their fair share of community gear - cooking stove, cook-pot, pan, food, etc.

We set off mid-morning and drove to the Hogtown trail-head on the east side of Lake George, northeast of Pilot's Knob. There was less snow and ice than we expected the first day, and our four mile hike into Fishbrook Pond, around the back side of Sleeping Beauty Mountain, went smoothly. We ate a short lunch at Dacy Clearing, about one mile in, then climbed up and over the southwest ridge of Sleeping Beauty and past Bumps Pond to Fishbrook, finally arriving there at about 3:30 in the afternoon. There are two ADK lean-tos on opposite shores of the pond, and from our vantage point at the first the territory around the second looked more suitable for tents. The walk across the frozen pond was a first for the boys, and put a couple out of their comfort zones, but they showed their incredible sense of adventure and trust in the staff by following us across.  


The late afternoon weather was pretty chilly, dipping below freezing and spitting bits of rain and snow as we set up camp, so our second order of business once the tents were up was getting a sizeable pile of dry wood and a hearty fire to cook our dinner on. Cooking and eating dinner took until well after dark, and with the temperatures hovering around freezing, a long day behind us, and a long day ahead, bed was a welcome sight for the boys at about 8:00. Most of them didn't even want to stay up to roast marshmallows!

The next morning started beautifully. The clouds cleared and the sun came out while we sipped on hot chocolate and cooked a hearty breakfast of scrambled eggs, sausage, and English muffins over the camp stove. We left camp about 10:00 AM and set off for the summit of Sleeping Beauty Mountain. The trail offered quite a bit more ice the second day, much of it a frozen cascade rather than an actual trail, and gave some of us reason to strap on our snowshoes as we climbed. From camp to summit is a 2-mile trek, and the view was well worth it. We ate a quick snack and paused for a photo opportunity while taking in the views of Lake George and the surrounding area, then fled the wind and headed down the mountain. 

The trail down confronted us with many more challenges than our first day, mostly as rivers of ice, and going was slow for the first mile and a half or so. Eventually, the trail leaves the frosted northeast side of the mountain, snaking around to the south face and the shining afternoon sun.  It was a blessing to make it to dry ground, though the boys did seem to enjoy the challenge of sliding most of the way down the mountain.  We finished the last couple miles on good, more or less level trail, and made the van about 1:45. After a quick lunch we hit the road back to LaSalle, returning safely to campus about 3:30. 

We spent until dinner getting unpacked and debriefing the trip. The boys felt positively about the 

experience, rating it a 7 or 8 on a scale of 1-10, and had plenty of compliments for their team members. As part of debriefing, I also asked kids to describe an obstacle they overcame to be successful, and this trip offered plenty. Boys talked about the ice, the length of the hike, the weight of the packs, the weather, and a few other things, all the while identifying their achievement of the summit as worth the effort."

Evidence

They would call this evidence, if they knew better what it was.  Evidence of what?  Well, of many things.  Evidence of a disrupted state of mind, perhaps.  or evidence of the neurochemical affects of long term stress.  maybe evidence of a broken heart.  evidence of a crime.  What matters is that it is evidence, and nothing else.  Just like the evidence everyone knows, this evidence will be carefully documented, cataloged, put into zip-lock bags, and tucked away in a dark room with a cage for a front door until the time arrives for it to be taken out in the light again and put it on display for some noble 12 to ponder.  When all is finished, though, when the flashbulbs have burnt themselves out, when the newspaper headlines have yesterday's date on them, then again this will just be evidence, tucked away in a dark crowded room with a cage for a front door, a room full of evidence.

A little about climbing

I remember first climbing when I was 6 years old.  A vertical rock/cement embankment holds up the road along the Whitefish city beach in Montana, near where I grew up.  At its greatest height, the embankment perhaps reaches 15 feet.  When my family went to the beach, I could never resist the urge to climb the rocks.  My parents blessed me by happily looking the other way.  They knew I would do it one way or another, I've always been a bit impetuous, and rather than have me pursue in secret what some might deem "dangerous," we've often agreed that I could do what needed doing, so long as I spared them the details.

That first climb did not, I regret to say, start anything.  I didn't continue from there to become a world class competitor or a first rate climbing instructor.  In fact, except for two or three high school Friday nights at the Summit Fitness Center in Kalispell, I didn't climb again until college.

This is where my story about climbing gets a jump start ... to nowhere.  I climbed maybe 10 times in college, over the duration of my entire four years.  I climbed outside a couple times with some friends, but mostly pushed my limits on the occasional Friday night in a gym in Concord, CA with SMC Outdoor Adventures.  My dedication to the sport?  Pithy.

The first time I really committed to climbing, my friend Johanna invited me to tag along on a trip to Joshua Tree Nat'l park over a Thanksgiving holiday.  I bought a pair of shoes and a harness and off we went.  JTNP is a climbing pilgrimage for many, but my trip there would make only a lackluster beginning to an anticlimactic story.  The truth is, climbing has never been, and still isn't, a big part of my life.  I love to climb, but my commitments mostly lie elsewhere - whitewater kayaking right now, snowboarding and soccer when I was in high school, hiking and studying in college, and so on.  In spite of this, if somebody asks me, "Do you climb?" I say "Yes."  I say yes because there's another question I have an answer to, that every climber has an answer to, and that non-climbers hardly even ponder.

"Why climb?" **

Climbing is a lot like learning how to do math.  The easiest problems challenge you for a little while, but are fairly easily overcome.  The hardest problems look impossible, and the inexperienced don't even know where to start.  As you master the easy problems, you learn new techniques to try on the harder problems.  Learning the technique takes time, and learning to apply it takes even more.  You build up your strength, practicing how to recognize when a technique is right to use and when it isn't.  The longer you practice, the better you get.  Sometimes you feel like you're more confused at the end of the day than you were at the beginning.  Sometimes something that looked easy turns out to require a trick you haven't learned yet.  Sometimes somebody else sees the problem differently and easily passes what's been stumping you for days.  Some days you feel like you can do any problem on the page.  Some days you leave every answer space blank.

 I love to climb because I love to fail.  We take our LaSalle boys to a cliff in Cropseyville where I spent an entire year falling off a route before I finally sent it.  The moment of accomplishment tasted sweet, much sweeter for the bitterness of my failures.  For me,  the dichotomy of failure and success bears the essence of climbing.

People who fear failure don't climb, because climbing guarantees failure, over and over and over again.  I don't mean climbers want to fail all the time, but they understand the inevitability.  As soon as a climber steps off the ground and onto the rock, he accepts the risk that the rock will bruise equally his ego and his ass.  The climber who falls and gets back on the rock anyway takes his energy from the challenge.  Falling stops sounding like failure to him and becomes a kind of motivation, a fuel for the fire of his determination.  The climber dances and fights at the same time, one minute loving the rock for its own sake, the next for the spirit and drive of competition it evokes in him. He caresses its curves and moves in perfect concert with it even as he considers the best way to conquer its every steadfast challenge.  He would love the rock even if it posed him no challenge, but the love would be a kind of stale marriage, tedious and wearisome.  The dynamism of their love comes from the challenges between them, from their constant trading of failure and success.

I love to watch a group of climbers attack a boulder problem.  They take turns falling off the rock, slowly but surely figuring out what move to make where, and how.  The energy of the group grows with each little success, and the elation of the first climber to send the route reverberates off the walls when he (or she) cries out in triumph.

We climb because the rock is a puzzle, and only the joy of finishing a problem exceeds the fun of working on it.  Another problem, another challenge, always waits on a different rock, on a different day.

**A quick note about some entry-level climbing terminology.  Climbers call a whole climb a "route," and if the route is long enough to be broken into different sections, those are called "pitches."  Different pitches are usually distinguished by places where climbers can rest, such as a ledge.  There are routes on walls and on boulders.  A route up a wall "requires" a rope (some people free climb 2000' faces, but it isn't normal).  Bouldering is a kind of climbing that stays close to the ground and relies on spotters and crash pads for protection - no ropes.  Usually, a bouldering route "tops out," meaning that you can walk off the top of the boulder, rather than having to climb back down.  In bouldering there are no pitches, though there might be several routes up a boulder.  Bouldering routes are usually chosen to include a particular problem or set of problems.  A "problem" is just what it sounds like, a place on the rock requiring a particular, usually difficult, kind of move.  In bouldering, when you finish climbing a route, we often say you "send" it (I have no idea where this term comes from).

Rest in Peace, Brother

Today is one of mixed emotions for me.  Brother Donald Mansir, F.S.C., has died.  Admitted to the hospital only the day before yesterday, he died last night.  Cancer destroyed his body.  Whether he knew before that he had it, I am not sure.  Whether he did or not, BroD, as we often called him, lived his life well right to the very end.  One of the last conversations we had (over a year ago, sadly) was seeking my 'expert' economic advice on whether he should pay the deposit on his apartment in Italy in US dollars or in euros.  Donald dedicated his life to living, and to living for God.  He saved Christians from persecution in the Middle East, and he saved his students from the persecution of bad translations in the United States.  He changed the course of his students lives in truly tangible ways, and he inspired everyone who met him.  I am truly saddened by his passing and by the knowledge that I will not share his company again in this lifetime.  At the same time, I am sure that his loving soul has been taken into God's eternal embrace, and this is a thing to rejoice over.  I believe BroD was prepared for death, and I am grateful God took him quickly.

Brother, you are missed.

May you rest in peace.

Alex

Summer is FINALLY over

This will seem silly to most people, but summer is my least favorite season.  I find it hot, humid, crawling with tourists no matter where you go, and it makes me feel lethargic.  Fall is prettier.  I like winter activities more.  Spring has better kayaking.  To add to all this, summer is the most difficult time of year in my job.  Kids have more free time, hotter tempers, and even less motivation than during the rest of the year (which means I have to work harder for less of their effort).

Not that summer is all bad.  Actually, I had a pretty good summer.  I took 3 weeks off work, 1 of which I spent in Montana.  That was great.  I went to a good high school friend's wedding, I visited one of my best friends, I took a trip to Missoula, and I went camping in Glacier.  Plus, summer in Montana isn't hot.  The temperature still comes down to the 50s at night, but it's light out from 5 AM to 11 PM.  Yeah, Montana was definitely worth the while.

My other 2 weeks I had off were spent at Lasallian Volunteer orientation in Romeoville, IL (at Lewis University).  I won't go into all the details, just suffice to say that it was a solid gathering of volunteers and was filled with seminars on all sorts of good topics; plus some epic sand volleyball matches at night. 

Post-orientation, 5 of us also took a few days to volunteer at a middle school just opening up in North Philadelphia.  Saint James School is being reopened as a San Miguel Nativity school, and it was an honor to be a part of this new cornerstone in the underserved neighborhood.  To give you just a brief glimpse into what this school (and all the San Miguel Nativity schools) does, think about the fact that St. James has an income limit.  Families that make MORE than a certain amount can't send their kids.  With no hesitation, this place can lay claim to one of the many mottoes uttered in our Lasallian circle, "the least, the last, and the lost."

That was the core of my summer, bookended by work and work.  Although kids at LaSalle do have summer school, I was gone for most of the summer session.  That means that most of the time I was working was holiday time.  Activities start at 12:30, run to dinner, and continue after dinner until 8:30.  Playing games with kids all day long might not seem like such a burden, but believe me, it can be.  Somewhere between 4 and 8 hours spent swimming in the humidity, suffering the blazing hot sun.  It amazes me that kids came out for activities at all considering the weather, but when I think of the alternative of sitting in their rooms or playing ping-pong, I guess it makes sense.  So, I played a LOT of football, basketball, and softball.  I played a little frisbee, some soccer, some capture the flag, plenty of dodgeball.  I broke up a couple fights.  I provided plenty of emotional support and emotional first aid, plus some physical first aid here and there.  I took kids on a couple hikes, did a camping trip or two, spent some time with them rock climbing and caving, and tried to keep myself and them fairly well entertained all summer long.  It was tough work, but we made it through, and now a new school year has begun.

We're off to a fine start with fall sports, playing flag football 2 days a week, ultimate frisbee 1, and indoor soccer 1.  Indoor soccer was the first event, and tonight was like what might happen if a swarm of bees were to descend upon a crowded petting zoo.  Kids screaming, pushing, cursing, hitting, and kicking each other, all in the name of the game.  Most nights, most activities are not like this.  I could tell from the moment kids walked in the door tonight that it was going to be a difficult one.  Some staff shenanigans didn't help matters, and I was glad to see everybody leave in the same condition as when they came in.  C'est la vie.

I went kayaking this last weekend.  I ran the Dryway section of the Deerfield in western Massachusetts on Saturday, and surfed a pretty pushy wave on the Housatonic near the town of South Kent in Connecticut on Sunday.  It was a pretty good couple days, definitely pushing the level of my paddling.

I don't feel like I've improved all that much since I've been in New York, but I can at least happily say that I haven't backslid.  Like anything, too much time out of the water definitely dulls one's ability to perform, and so even though my paddling hasn't pushed my limits much since I came here, it has at least been consistent enough to make me feel like I'm at least staying or improving slightly.

I don't like life update blogs because I'm never sure what exactly to say or how to say it.  I doubt if anything I just wrote was really very interesting to anyone, but I don't know really what people are expecting to read.  I'm also ending it rather abruptly.  Sorry.

As always, if you have any comments, suggestions for topics, or thoughts for the good of the order, please feel free to post them here or send me an email.  I hope I get to hear from you soon.

Alex

It Began as an Icon - LVs Ride

It Began as an Icon 

Al Cassidy Reflects on LVs RIDE

Re-posted from LVsRide.com/social

I got the call late one afternoon in September 2010. I had recently completed work on a new Lasallian Volunteers’ website, and was on to other things—primarily any assistance I could offer with the LVs running in Memphis, TN, for their upcoming annual marathon fundraiser.

“Al,” Mari Anzicek began, always mispronouncing my name Ale with her Michigan accent, “Mario and I are planning a cross-country bike ride and need a logo. There will probably be more to follow, but for now, we really need a logo. Are you in? Can you help?”

I’ll admit I was a bit burnt. We put a lot of energy into that new website, and there was a whole host of other things since early 2010 we created new to help promote the future work of this 20+ year program. I needed a break. But, I cannot say “no” to a challenge… albeit slightly unclear.

“Why don’t you and Mario do some additional planning, then check back with me in, say, November?” I suggested as my temporary mental leave.

No good. They already had a rough route planned, were getting in touch with a friend who led bike tours, and picked the brain of Brother Ed Phelan about his 2001 ride across the country (the Spoke ‘N Word Tour). We needed to get going right away simply because this thing was really going to happen.


So, I put my head to it and came up with a few options. After some discussion and tweaking, we had our logo. Let’s move on, we said: we need a website, we need flyers to promote the ride, we need email blasts, sell sheets, business cards . . . whoa whoa whoa! Slow down!

“I’m actually not crazy about this logo,” I told Mari one morning.

“So,” she said, “we’re announcing the ride in the newsletter this month, and it needs to go to print by Friday.” And in typical Mari fashion, she followed with something like, You have until the end of the day to come up with something new or we’re just sticking with this one.

Gotta’ love Mari. To the point. Since we (Mario, Mari and I) had already pored over enough biking logos to give us a lifetime of dreams about cranks, derailleurs, and cogs, I had some additional ideas sitting around. After a few sketches and some tweaking, I switched the logo to black and red, and voila! — it was complete.

“Looks good!” said Mari. “Let’s get this newsletter to print!”

With this new logo icon established, it really set the groundwork for how all the advertising materials were going to look. A website came together quickly and roughly by early November (just after the arrival of my 2nd son). Right after Christmas, we had a well-formed brochure telling about our journey, the cause and the need for funding. Come March, we had enough riders to start the trip. Bike jerseys and t-shirts with the icon emblazoned on them were ready to out the door. We were ready to leave our mark on this country. Things were going fairly well. But what was that about the well laid plans of mice and men?

Mari gets the call from the courthouse. She is summoned for jury duty, a major case. Could be a long one. I take the helm on the communication efforts, among other things. While trying to encourage additional fundraising pre-ride, finalizing the bike jerseys and t-shirts, I helped solidify a van & trailer with graphics, secured a videographer capable of creating a remarkable documentary of the trip, and planned a basic road map for capturing the day-to-day ride through an online journal. It was a lot of work. Then came some relief.

I already had the brain of Brother Ed by my side whenever I ran out of fresh ideas, now I was getting another brain familiar with communications. Elizabeth Jodice, from the D.C. office, was tasked with securing media attention and (as if that wasn’t enough) she even volunteered to update the journal on a regular basis. A break from the daily grind (not a single cyclist left for Oregon at this point mind you) of LVs Ride was in sight!

Once Mari was released from her jury duty and I saw the van wrapped with new graphics —then helped Tom Ludzia off from St. James School in North Philadelphia in a freshly-packed van filled with camping and bike supplies—all I had to do was get behind the wheel of my email and phone for updates along the route. But they never came. Silence.

“What happened?!” I wondered aloud. The ride planning was off to such an amazing and providential start, and then darkness settled above, clouding the promise of progress. The ride seemed to go dormant within the first few days. I was so completely concerned that somehow we had failed to do something right. The icon we created and placed on every last bit of material was lost in the mountains of Oregon, never to see daylight again. Okay, I wasn’t that concerned. But it had dawned on me that when you create a campaign based on a single icon, and you hope it will reach many eyes so that it reaches a purpose, you tend to get a bit frantic when it disappears.

But after learning how blessed (perhaps cursed) some of us are to live in these highly connected cities where internet and cell phone signal peak at a constant, I learned that the upper midwest is quite dark and free of such modern-day triumphs. I look back and realize how the riders truly struggled from more than just aches, pains, sleepiness, thirst, hunger, lack of motivation and more. I also realized how unimportant that icon really was in the grand scheme of things, but somehow it found a new role. The icon wasn’t just to simply identify the ride, it helped many remember they were pedaling for this common cause.

Cycling the final two days of the ride—no, I wasn’t biding my time to await the final glory, mind you, it was just convenient for me living in the Philly area—it made me realize how incredible it is that we received any update at all from the road. Riding your bike can be a lot of fun on any given Sunday—the wind gently blowing through your hair, the sun beaming in the midday sky, swans swimming in the pond as you pass by. But try cycling for upwards of 12 hours a day, and add continual requests for stories and videos on how you are feeling about it all, you would probably be about ready to toss your cell phone into a ravine or push the camerman down a dirt hill.

From the time I began working on LVs Ride until the day I joined them in dipping our tires in the Atlantic Ocean, my 2nd son is almost a year old. In the time they set out to ride, so much more happened than just a stop in some new, unkown city greeted by complete strangers every day: my fist son recently turned 3, I spent my 4th of July with family in Virginia, I visited a camp for Philadelphia children a few days per week, I got to see “The Bean” in Chicago and watch a tv show filming, I celebrated with my father his 81st birthday, my sister her expected daughter, and I spent time with my own family nearly every single day of the week. That’s not a terrible summer when you consider that the team of riders dedicated 60+ days of their life to pedal nearly every single day of the week until they felt they could do no more. And each day when they were done, they slept. And when they were done sleeping, they either got up and did it all over again, or they went to a most needed part of the city where they helped aid people who in need of assistance. I only did the riding part for two days, and I was still recovering days after. If you were include even one of those service days in between my two days of riding, I’d be out for a week I think.

My two days riding next to the national team made me realize a lot of things, but mostly that I’ve missed a ton of opportunities to be selfless in some important ways. I learned that life will work out the way it is supposed to (thanks Brother Rich) so long as you are willing to put in the effort each and every day (thanks Tom Ludzia). I learned that when things get really difficult, you need to: get a song in your head (thanks Kenny Latta), shush your restless soul and consider how others are feeling (thanks Beth Ford), have a laugh and smile (thanks Alyse Gay, Zac Ufnar, Melissa Spahr, and Glenna Krzyzanowski), take a quiet moment aside (thank you Karen Giroux), think and reflect and respond delicately (thanks Tom Cook), stick together through the thick and the thin (thanks Mike & Stacy Leard), keep it loose (thanks Kelly Towns and Casey Wilson), worry less about the end and be in the present moment (thanks Mario Ragghianti), be positive, hilarious, and insightful (thank you Ed), take the lead even if everyone can’t stand what you are about to say though you know it may be best for the group (thank you Mari). I also re-learned that no matter what icon or imagery I come up with to help reach an audience, what lies beneath a sunburst of gears, spokes and a red star is the heart and soul of every person who gave whatever they could to make this thing real.

I have also continued to reaffirm my forever belief in “providence.” I’ve called it many things in the past: coincidence, karma, fate. But it all means the same to me. All roads lead to the same place, and so long as you are willing to allow the road to take you there—you will be cared for. Though the cue sheet may lead us astray from time to time, the destination is always the same, and we must have faith we will eventually find our way.

As we’ve heard it all before, it is the journey—the people met, the places seen, the food eaten, the games played, the needed helped, the curious entertained—that matters. But it doesn’t hurt to have an icon at your side.

Struggle

Is it weird to struggle with not struggling?  It sounds weird, for sure.  I just have this feeling like everybody around me is working so hard, and I'm not.  It's like they're all running into the wind, trying to get to someplace in particular, and I'm running with the wind at my back, but nowhere to go.  Or something like that.  People all have these goals that they work toward, and they work so hard, and they seem fulfilled by the working, and I think that's great.  But I don't feel like I have goals, and I don't feel like I work that hard, and I'm not sure if I feel fulfilled very often, or ever at all.

For example, I am currently a Lasallian Volunteer.  It's this awesome volunteer program associated with the De La Salle Christian Brothers that places recent college graduates in ministries around the country for 1, 2, or sometimes 3 years.  The volunteers are mostly teachers, teacher's aids, tutors, or something like that, though my job is a little different.  I'm a recreation coordinator for court-adjudicated boys in a residential placement facility (less politically correct, you could read that as delinquent teenagers in a no-bars form of juvenile detention).  My job is great.  I'm responsible for organizing after school and weekend activities for the 70-80 boys living on campus. These activities range from football, softball, and basketball, to rock climbing, caving, and camping; plus whatever else I can think of and convince kids to try.  The job is perfect for me in a lot of ways.  I love to play these games, I like kids (I think), I got to move to someplace I had never been, and the financial end does not place me in quite such dire straits as the word "volunteer" often makes people suspect. 

So what's wrong?  Nothing.  Nothing, that is, until I start to look at the experiences many of my fellow volunteers are having / have had.  The pain of leaving home, of moving into community life, of teaching, of trying to build relationships with coworkers and students, of trying to meet almost impossible expectations, of despairing at the truly dismal prospects for some of these kids.  I don't seem to have those pains, and I kind of have to wonder what that means.  I wish it meant I'm just well-adjusted and a good fit for the job, but that seems pretty unlikely.  Good though I may be at carrying out the technical end of the work, my relationship building skills leave a lot to be desired, and that's the heart of what we do.  I think my mile-wide independent streak might have a little to do with it, but I'm pretty sure it's not the whole answer.  I think the truth might be that I have somehow settled into a sort of complacency (also called comfort), and that this is turning into a form of indifference.  It isn't that I don't care about whether or not these kids lives are changed for the better, it's just that I'm no longer sure this place has the tools to be the catalyst for that change.  As a result, I think I'm gradually seeing myself less as an agent of change, and more as a member of the status quo.  Recidivism rates for youth in residential placements average 70%.  That's HUGE!  That means 7 OUT OF 10 of the boys I work with will end up back in the justice system, probably incarcerated as adults at some point.  My school keeps being recognized by the State of New York as one of the best at this work, and yet I look at the numbers and can't help but feel like we are just another oppressor, restarting the cycle over and over again. The tragic truth is that the wind is coming out of my sails and I'm not sure it's coming back.  My peers are full of enthusiasm, and that enthusiasm is the source of their pain (after all, the struggle can't hurt you if you don't care about how it ends).  My enthusiasm has so waned that I no longer share their pain, and that realization is the source of my pain right now. 

What's more, this suspicion of indifference I have isn't limited to the Lasallian Volunteers.  I feel a little indifferent about the future of my life, too.  I have a loose plan for where I'm headed in the next couple years, but I don't feel like that plan is in the true form of goals, and I don't feel like I'm working toward it that hard.  I feel like everything is just kind of slipping by me, like I'm failing to notice life as it happens, and I don't think there could be much worse a way to be.  If you aren't noticing life, you aren't living, and if you aren't living, you're dead.  I'm becoming the walking dead, a 21st century zombie. 

So, for all those peers of mine currently struggling through the pains of trying to be good teachers, maybe of failing at that, of being unemployed, of being dissatisfied with their statuses, know that at least that pain is a form of life.  It may not be the best form, but it's better than indifference.  Good luck finding your way to happiness.  Please wish me the same.