Tag: courage

What Would You Do If You Knew You Could Not Fail? – book review and giveaway

Posted on March 21, 2014 by

What Would You Do If You Knew You Could Not FailWhat Would You Do If You Knew You Could Not Fail? 

It’s quite a question, isn’t it? More like being ‘called out’, forcing us to walk our talk, show what we’re really all about.

I love the images that come to mind, and when I read the book by the same title by Nina Lesowitz and Mary Beth Sammons, I fell into an instant pool of understanding. It just clicked with me.

Inspired by memories of childhood literary heroes such as Nancy Drew, Laura Ingalls Wilder, and Jo from Little Women, Nina and Mary Beth set out to create a collection of modern day heroes-men and women who courageous embodied real-life examples of grit and tenacity in the face of tough times.

Part daily motivational, part narrative, the collection of stories in What Would You Do If You Knew You Could Not Fail?: How to Transform Fear Into Courage offers short yet powerful glimpses into lives of men and women who don’t necessarily make the front pages of news websites, nor do they trend on social media. Rather, these heroes and heroines humbly share their stories ranging from community organizers, care givers, athletes,  immigrants, military service people, Holocaust survivors and teenagers chasing their dreams. Their common thread? They are ordinary people, who, in the face of adversity, dig deep and achieve more than they ever knew they could.

Sounds like a great read, doesn’t it?

I particularly enjoyed the organization of What Would You Do If You Knew You Could Not Fail?. Divided into ten chapters, each provides a thematic approach to differing aspects of courage. Each chapter then provides a ‘sidebar’ with inspirational quotes and tips on how to act courageously in our lives, ideas like “10 Courage Rituals”, “Getting Help With Identifying the Source of Your Fears”, “A Checklist to Jump-Start Your Reinvention”, and “Five Tips for Putting Your Passions Out There” offer easy to read, easy to apply strategies that make the reader feel like they, too, can become a more courageous person.

One story that particularly moved me was “Downhill all the way: the courage to become an Olympian” about Foreste Peterson, a local alpine ski racer with aspirations for the Olympics. I’ve written before about my life as a ski racing mother, and how committed my children are to the sport of ski racing, so when I realized that Foreste’s story so mirrors my own children’s aspirations, I wiped away the tears and handed the book to my 17-year-old daughter. Foreste’s words of wisdom? “Show up prepared to brave all aspects of life.”

This decade of my forties has pushed me in ways I never imagined. Mothering, teaching, writing, and developing my voice has simultaneously created both a precarious sense of fear alongside an ever strengthening sense of courage. As my children grow up and away from home, I feel an impending urgency to not only name my fears, but also to conquer them. What Would You Do If You Knew You Could Not Fail? couldn’t have come at a more appropriate time.

If you’d like to win your own copy of What Would You Do If You Knew You Could Not Fail? , please enter my Rafflecopter giveaway. Entries will close March 28, so don’t wait another minute-this book could change your life.

Rafflecopter giveaway.

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Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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I Thought I Knew What Was Best For My Kid-But He Had Other Ideas

Posted on February 12, 2014 by

Ski racing at Squaw Valley

Ski racing at Squaw Valley

I got a text from my 14-year-old son the other night suggesting I check ig – that’s Instagram for parents without teenagers. Intrigued, but somewhat hesitant about what I might see, I clicked over. A quick video popped up, taken from the handle of a shopping cart rolling wildly across an icy parking lot in the dark in Mammoth Lakes, California. Screams of delight pepper the soundtrack, accompanied by the comment “What a way to start off the Olympics with some of our own games #slidinanddrivin”.

Yes, my son was unsupervised, in the dark, far away from home and it made me smile. Why? Because surprisingly, it’s what’s best for my kid.

When he was born prematurely fourteen years ago, he spent the first six weeks sound asleep. Watching him snooze, all five pounds of him curled up with a smile on his face, I figured mothering a boy would be easier than I expected. I figured he would always be so sweet, calm and compliant. I figured he would spend the next eithgeen years or so waking up in the room at the end of the hall, and that if I kept the cupboards well-stocked he would be pretty happy to be home. For the most part, I figured right.

What I didn’t count on was his independent, indomitable spirit. Once again, at age thirteen, he forced me to flip through the parenting handbook of my soul and struggle to determine what was ‘best’ for him.

I never in my wildest dreams imagined that he would voluntarily move away to boarding school. I know parents who have had to send their kids away to ‘save’ them, but for my kid, the thought of not seeing his smiling face or hearing him pad down the hardwood floors on his way to the kitchen each morning left me breathless. Panicked. Terrified.

One thing I was always sure of was that I knew what was ‘best’ for my kid, and suddenly, I was stupefied with his idea that moving to Tahoe to live, learn and ski for the winter was what he thought was ‘best’. As Katrina Kenison writes, my husband and I “owed (him) the willingness, on our part, to refine and redefine our own idea of what ‘the best’ might really mean.”

It started out with really listening to him, hearing his goals, his dreams, his passion, and his rationale for wanting to leave home, leave his friends, his school, and everything familiar to take a chance on what might be. The more we listened, the more possible it seemed. So we let him take the lead, hoping that everything would work out the way it was meant to be, but ashamedly, holding out some secret hope that it wouldn’t.

We had it all planned out. He would live at home through high school, attending our alma mater just like his sister. It’s right down the street from our house, after all. He would ski on the weekends like he always had, ski race for his high school, and sleep in his own bed every night. He’d do his chores, continue his piano lessons, work hard in school and go to college. Maybe he’d even live at home until he got married…that all seemed so safe. So doable. So planned. It seemed like the best path for him – for all of us.

Jon Kabat-Zinn said that “our children drop into our neat, tightly governed lives like small, rowdy Buddhist masters,” Katrina Kenison shares in The Gift of An Ordinary Day, “each of them sent to teach us the hard lessons we most need to learn.” I think of this quote every time my stomach drops with anxiety, which happens on a daily basis lately. Relying on texting, Instagram and the occasional sc (again, for the teenage-deprived parents, that’s short for Snapchat) to get a tantalizing tidbit of his daily life is NOT what I imagined my life would be like a year ago. I don’t see his homework every night, I only hope he’s using the washing machine once in awhile, and have to trust that he’s eating his vegetables every day. I’ve released the control over his schedule to his ‘dorm parents’ and his stringent ski coach, knowing that now it is they who have his best interests in their minds each day.

My son certainly dropped into my life in the most exquisitely, incomparable, and unexpected ways. I’ve been forced to reevaluate my parenting, my expectations, and my need to control his path in life. I’ve stumbled forward, learning to trust that things will work out the way they’re supposed to, to mother by faith, and that maybe the hard lesson I need to learn is that ultimately, we are the only ones who truly know what is ‘best’ for us. All we really need to do is be willing to listen for it.

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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Thanks, Coach, For The Life Lessons

Posted on January 29, 2014 by

17 years later, I'm proud of the woman she's become

17 years later, I’m proud of the woman she’s become

Dear Coach,

We have never met in person, but we have a few things in common. First, we both spend a good amount of our time working with teenagers. Second, we both spend a good amount of time with teenagers who are ski racers. And third, because of our roles, we both make a huge impact on their lives. I’m writing you this letter (after spending two days calming myself down) to thank you for some unexpected life lessons you taught my daughter at Monday’s ski race. I’m not sure if you’ve ever met her in person either, but just in case you haven’t, here’s a little bit about her:

My daughter is just 17, a happy, strong, confident young woman on the verge of graduating from high school. She has been a skier since age 4, a racer since age 7, and has spent endless hours pursuing her passion. My daughter is one of the hardest working athletes I know; she’s sacrificed more than the average teen to excel at her sport, and as a result, she loves every minute of it. She’s even hoping to race next year in college-not because she wants to have a career in skiing, but simply because it makes her happy. My daughter is honest, kind, fair, compassionate and well liked. She’s also a great racer, and because of the mental and physical demands of ski racing, I believe she has grown to be a courageous person. In other words, she’s the kind of kid you’d like to get to know and have on your team.

Now, maybe you had an inkling of my daughter’s spirit over the last few weeks you’ve been watching her race. Or maybe not. I’m not going to second guess your actions here, or unleash my mamawolfe-instinctive-fierceness on you. I simply want to thank you for what you taught us when you threw a temper tantrum and disqualified my daughter for wearing a Go Pro camera on her helmet after she came in first place.

Thanks, Coach, for teaching my daughter that as long as we do the right things for the right reasons, we’re going to be ok. She didn’t strap that camera to her helmet and ski down the course because she was trying to do the wrong thing; in fact, she was given the camera by her coach, who after decades of coaching the high school team, didn’t have an idea that wearing a camera on her helmet would break any rules. She wasn’t trying to hide anything, she wasn’t trying to do anything wrong; in fact, she’s the kind of girl who avoids breaking rules at all costs. Had she known she could be DQed, she would have eagerly removed it. She wasn’t trying to be defiant; heck, she’s never even gotten a detention in 12 years of school! In the end, she accepted that she unknowingly broke a rule, and that since you objected, that was that. Thanks to you, Coach, at the end of the day she could look at herself in the mirror and know she was ok.

Thanks, Coach, for teaching my daughter that it’s not always about you. When she responded to my congratulatory text with the message that you had DQed her, I was shocked. I struggled to come up with words that would become a virtual hug huge enough to console her obvious disappointment, and the first thing that came to mind was to say that sometimes people do things to others because they feel vulnerable, and they project that fear onto someone they perceive as ‘below’ their chain of power. In my eyes, that’s the worst thing  a teacher, coach, or parent can do. It’s bullying, it’s cowardly, and it’s a real show of poor sportsmanship. Thanks to you, Coach, she learned how that feels, and will not repeat your behavior.

Thanks, Coach, for teaching my daughter that winners aren’t always the ones who come in first. Anyone who has been around ski racing knows that if you focus on being first, 99% of the time you’ll be disappointed. Ski racing is about preparation, persistence, and perseverance. And of course, it’s nice to make the podium once in awhile, especially when you earned it fair and square. But ski racing has taught my daughter to always do her best and the results will follow. Do you know that after you DQed her (against the objection of every other coach at the race), that your racers came to her and apologized for your behavior? Those results surely don’t show up on the score board. So not only was my daughter validated by her teammates, but also yours. I sincerely hope that your lack of sportsmanship doesn’t change theirs; in my parent handbook, I’ve learned that kind words go much farther than words spoken in anger or fear. Thanks to you, Coach, she learned to hold her head high-she knows what a winner looks like.

Coach, at the end of that day, as she tried to drift off to sleep, I know she was sad. She’s only 17, and hasn’t had nearly the time to learn about life and its inevitable disappointments that you have. I know she felt loved, and safe, and that tomorrow would be a new day, and that there’s always another ski race around the corner. And I also know that one day, when this monumental experience shrivels into the minute, momentary instant in her glorious life, she’ll be able to look back and smile, and maybe even, for just an instant, wonder if you learned something, too.

With gratitude,

mamawolfe

 

 

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Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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Persistence

Posted on January 12, 2014 by

Persistence

Persistence: Leonard John Matthews

 

You probably have no idea how close I was to giving up. Seriously. Sometimes all the new-year-resolution-I’m-going-to-do-it-this-way-this-year talk backfires on me. It’s my stubborn streak, I know.

 You’ve got to do it for the right reasons, that little voice kept whispering to me. Tell your stories. Use your voice. Share your words.

Sigh. Here she comes again. She’s like a two-year-old, always right in the middle of everything.

But why? my own little voice responded. Can’t you hear the defeat in my voice? What’s the point? It’s not like anyone is listening. I think I’m done.

That little voice never goes away. Who is she, anyway? Sometimes I wish she would dissolve into little snowflake shards, and leave me alone. Fizzle out. Melt away.

Does she talk to everyone this way?

And then just like that, the Universe responded. Shivers trickle down my spine. Seriously?

 Thank you, she said one morning. I love reading your words. They make me smile. How do you do all that?

I wonder if my expression gave me away. Did she really know what I was thinking, how close I was?

Persistence. That’s who she is, anyway.

January prompt-a-day from write.alm – today’s prompt is persistence.

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Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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An ‘aha’ moment

Posted on September 11, 2013 by

Clarity

Clarity (Photo credit: fs999)

I had an ‘aha’ moment the other day – you know what I mean? That moment when some obscure part of your reality clicks into some sort of connection with another seemingly obscure part of your brain, and for just a brief second – longer if you’re lucky – you experience clarity.

I just started into my 23rd year of teaching middle school, so actually, the very idea that I could see anything clearly at this moment is something just short of miraculous. But it was in that early, pre-dawn moment when in an attempt to combine first sips of dark roast with some sort of sense of center, that I stumbled on an article on Daily Good about Gary Klein’s book, “Seeing What Others Don’t”. My sleep-deprived eyes fell into focus and I enlarged the article to ‘read more’….and what I saw really made sense.

Gary Klein believes that we can ‘train our brains’ to see, providing us with insight into, perhaps, something that the poor soul sitting next to you at the cafe might be blind to. Klein broke up his insights into five beliefs, and as I devoured the article, I realized my ‘aha’ right there in the dark morning.

Be Curious.

Ah, this speaks to my academic soul. Perhaps that’s why I’ve loved teaching middle school, the age many think is unteachable – because curiosity hasn’t been killed in their early teenage minds. I’ve realized lately that I place a high value on curiosity. My friends are curious – not necessarily about the same things as I, but they move through their days questioning, wondering, thinking. And they make me do the same.

Candle

Candle (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Let Your Mind Wander.

Right now, my life is stuffed to the brim. I teach, I mother, I write, I serve. I often feel exhausted at the end of the day. The curious part is, when I start (and hopefully end) my days with a moment of quiet, of stillness, of centering, somehow the overwhelm retreats. Often it happens out in nature, either on my bike on the way to work, a walk with my son at dusk, or digging in my flowerbed. I remember a professor at Cal who first exposed me to the idea of ‘centered-ness’, and my grateful soul goes back to her on a regular basis.

Pay Attention To Coincidences.

I used to just say, ‘huh’ when I had those moments of coincidence-until my babies, husband and I got smashed into by a drunk driver. At that moment, I realized that not only was there a reason we all weren’t more seriously injured than we were, but that it was no coincidence that my injury kept me from going to a job I was becoming frustrated with. When I stopped and realized that the ‘smashing into’ that happened literally was a sign that I needed to wake up and take control over my life’s direction. Once I started paying attention, looking closely, and thinking about what was happening in my life, I realized that those coincidences were really messages in disguise for me to puzzle out.

Look Closely At Contradictions.

One of my favorite quotes is by Maya Angelou: “When people show you who they are, believe them the first time.” When people present themselves in contradiction to what I know, or what I thought I know, I’m training myself to look closely. It’s a fine line between thinking about one’s options and living in a state of ‘what if’, but I’ve found that when I really stop and pay attention to that which doesn’t seem to be logical, somewhere in the mess of hypothesis and doubt comes clarity.

Act On Your Insights.

Tree reflection silhouette

Tree reflection (Photo credit: @Doug88888)

This is perhaps the most challenging, yet powerful, step of them all. Self-reflection, centering, thoughtfulness, and curiosity can all take a solitary form – but if these insights, these ‘aha’ moments are to really become powerful forces in our lives, we must walk the talk. For me, it sometimes takes a supreme leap of faith to act on what I’ve discovered-and sometimes, a huge dose of courage as well. Insights aren’t always easy, I’ve learned, but using my voice, using my writing, modeling for my students and my children what I know to be true has gently layered a ladder of confidence that breathes power into my every step. I know I can act. I know I can change, and I know that when I do, I feel the giddiness of slipping into my true self.

So as Gary Klein shares, I believe we can train our brains to see what other’s don’t. We can harness curiosity, relax into wonder, and pay attention to that which at first glance, might not make sense. If we look closely at what’s going on around us, pay attention to the signals, and act rather than react, amazing things can happen.

Go with your gut. Step off the curb, and trust yourself. You might just be amazed with the results.

 

 

 

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Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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