Curtain Call

I have never understood teachers who think they only have something to teach their students and nothing to learn from them.  I think I will probably always surround myself with teenagers and people who are younger than me, simply so I can look at the world through their eyes. The eyes of people who are navigating the world often much more courageously and boldly than I did when I was navigating those same waters. But for me the irony is this: I am once again navigating some of those same waters. I have changed careers and once again become a student. I am once again trying to figure out what all of this newness and possibility means for who I am becoming. It is scary. And exciting. Often overwhelming. But exhilarating.

Last night, I had one of those moments that I will always carry in my heart. It was a rare moment with a handful of my former students (but now current friends) piled into my little bitty living room. We were raucous.  We were silly and serious and told lots of stories. We reminisced and we filled each other in on the new stuff in our lives.  There was all love and no judgment.  No one was "in a better place" than anyone else. No one needed to pretend they were "successful." I didn't feel the need to apologize for my constantly underconstruction house or the fact that there was dust on everything if you looked too closely. They didn't care about the surface.  And I could only hope I had something to do with teaching them to look into people and not at them. To dig a little a deeper to get to the good stuff.

Somewhere around 12:30 people started to peel away and head home. I found myself in the kitchen with four of these dear people and we talked while I cleaned up the remnants of the night. And we had that exhilarating conversation that can happen in the late night/early morning hours.  I did a lot of listening during those last few hours. I washed dishes and commented periodically, but got to listen to the ideas of people who see the importance in learning, people who are doing really interesting things and thinking some mindblowing thoughts. People who are also feeling a little stuck where they are right now, but are not viewing it as a terminal condition.  We talked a lot about the world, politics, religion, God, and how one play, one experience changed all of us.  We talked about how our choice to become vulnerable and intimate and let down walls with each other was worth the risk. It made our art better, and it made us better people. I shared a story with them about my own hurt, and it gave our collective story even more meaning.

There are experiences in life that I wish I could bottle and shelf.  And then those times when I am feeling insignificant, perhaps broken or wounded, a little lost, and a lot weary, I could take down those bottles, blow the dust off, and sip the sweetness that is community. Acceptance.  The understanding that someone can really see us when we aren't really sure we can see ourselves. And by seeing ourselves through their eyes, we can feel less alone.

And as I hugged them out the door and bid them safe travel, I locked the door behind them knowing that I am a little bit selfish. Knowing I probably gained more from these people than I could have ever taught them. Knowing that I don't even begin to have it all figured out, but I am so grateful that there are some people in my life who don't expect me to pretend that I do, and who would probably be disappointed if I acted like I did.