In the process of slowing down, it is infinitely simpler and easier to notice the beauty around me. The grey rainy skies blend into the rooftops and bare-branched honey locust trees in my backyard, afterlight echoing a hollowing, a sense of endings and beginnings shifting in and out of each other.
I found these words in music as I journaled on one of these winter mornings, finding myself instinctively guided to listening, shaping, shirting, and creating how I am feeling in this present moment.
I hope you pause a moment, look around, and see what speaks to you, too. Creating found poetry is simple, calming, and creative.
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.
Three months into my new job, I’ve made some discoveries about teacher and students and education – and myself. Now that I’m no longer in the classroom every day, I’ve had some space to think about the larger education community, and the impact the pandemic, remote learning, and now hybrid teaching have had on us.
I’m noticing a HUGE sense of exhaustion, regret, looking to the past and focusing on what “normally” happens that didn’t happen in the last fifteen months.
Educators are having trouble making themselves feel successful about education. It’s understandable – what we’ve been asked to do is unprecedented, undervalued and over the top of what any teaching contract outlines.
Educators – teachers, administrators, counselors, support staff – have all given everything they have to make this year come close to “normal”.
And, with the grind of “pivoting” their instruction, digitizing lessons and books and lab materials, engaging students hiding behind black Zoom boxes since March 2020, and now facing the ‘learning loss’ that will be documented for us thanks to standardized testing, educators are struggling.
So what do we do to support each other? To create a space of safety, community and acceptance for educators?
If you don’t know Katrina’s work, you’re in for a delightful experience. Katrina, a published author of several books, a mother and wife, and a believer in “celebrating the gift of each ordinary day” has brought clarity and thought-provoking writing to me. And in the March 16 post, I responded in the comments with this:
This year, I made space for my self. Amidst all the cramped physical and mental space of the shelter-in-place, I found the space to be still. To turn off the Zoom classes and stop grading papers, to make space to meditate, to watch the squirrels try their best to upend my birdfeeders, and to see my adult children strive to adapt to the changes in college, wedding plans, and living spaces. Through it all, my self has been given wings to try out – and the space to fly.
I didn’t respond not only because I wanted to read the book Katrina was offering. Rather, I wanted to be part of the magic I saw in her simple acknowledgement of what she HAD made, what brought her ordinary joy and beauty despite the tragedy exploding all around us.
And surprisingly, I won the book anyways.
Katrina writes of author Beth Kephart, who published a memoir titled “Wife/Daughter/Self: A Memoir In Essays”:
How do we become the people we are? How are we shaped by those we love, by those who hurt us, by those who see us more clearly than we see ourselves? How do we choose one path over another, releasing our grip on old dreams even as we’re compelled to envision new ones?
How do time, pain, love, and loss finally pare away all that isn’t needed, leaving behind the essence of a self, a truth, a way onward? Is it possible to write one’s way into understanding and acceptance, into healing, into faith that who we are and what we do is enough?
Being in community with Katrina and Beth makes me feel like making something is possible, even now when like so many educators, I’m feeling drained and depleted and need to mentally and physically coerce myself to my writing desk every morning. It’s not easy, putting aside the tumult of the world and allow for words to flow out, to go back through journals and posts and manuscript drafts to make sense of decades of thoughts about teaching and parenting. But that’s what I’m doing, inch by inch.
I’m trying to make something positive out of this year. Are you?
A few things I’ve made along the way:
I made videos for my students to say hello when we started remote learning in March 2020:
2. I made bread..lots and lots of bread:
3. I made vases of garden flowers to bring the outside in:
4. I made time for exploring:
5. I made yard decorations for graduating high school seniors:
6. I made extraordinary discoveries on my walks:
7. I made masks:
8. I made new teaching spaces:
9. I made a new way to do the first day of school:
10. I made surprising discoveries in new books:
11. I made opportunities for kids to collaborate and have fun online:
listen to the joy!
12. I made a trip to the beach to see my mom:
13. I made time for sunsets in favorite places:
14. I made Christmas memories:
15. I made a job change:
16. I made myself happy:
17. I made myself present:
18. I made a road trip to see my daughter…finally:
19. I made coffee…lots and lots of coffee:
20. I made promises to myself:
It turns out, the last year wasn’t a loss at all. I made more than I thought…and I’m feeling courageous about the future.
What about you? What have you made in the last year?
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.
I’m not going to write an end of the year post about how awful 2020 was. I’m not going to tell you, either about how I had to dig deep (I did) to come out the other side of the year intact. In fact, I’m not going to talk about 2020 at all right now – except for all the AMAZING books I read!
I learned to love my Kindle and free ebooks from the local public library. I also learned I really, really like people who like books (you know who you are!).
And according to my website statistics, lots of people who read jenniferwolfe.net liked books in 2020, and also like lists of books and book recommendations!
In 2020 I surpassed my Goodreads goal of 70, and wound up reading 76 – unless I finish The Silent Patient tonight, then it’ll be 77 (I’m also reading and loving A Promised Land, but there’s no way I can finish it tonight – it’s awesome, but I NEVER stay up till midnight)! This year I read lots of historical fiction and memoir, as well as some powerful non-fiction, young adult fiction, anti-racist books and works by inspirational new writers.
One more thing about 2020- I really committed to abandoning books that didn’t catch my attention in the first 1/3. I’ve had that creepy realization that there actually ARE a finite number of books I can read in my lifetime, and I’m not going to waste one more minute on a book I don’t love – or at least, like very strongly.
So, the books below are ones I actually liked/loved enough to finish! And the 17 BOLD titles with ** are my 5-star MUST READS! I hope you make it to the bottom of the post – there were some FABULOUS titles pre-COVID!
Also – if you DO make it to the end of this post, I’ve listed some of my FAVORITE picture books that I use as read alouds to my 7th graders! And if this list of books in 2020 isn’t enough, be sure to check my 2019 and 2018 lists, too!
so 2020, right?
DECEMBER 2020:
Normal People by Sally Rooney
The Night Tiger b Yangsze Choo
American Dirt by Jeanine Cummins**
The Family Upstairs by Lisa Jewell
This Tender Land by William Kent Krueger **
NOVEMBER 2020:
Shadow of Night (All Souls Trilogy, #2) by Deborah Harkness
Red at the Bone by Jacqueline Woodson
Searching for Sylvie Lee by Jean Kwok
A Discovery of Witches (All Souls Trilogy #1) by Deborah Harkness
OCTOBER 2020:
The Book of Lost Friends by Lisa Wingate
Prairie Lotus by Linda Sue Park
Something Worth Doing by Jane Kirkpatrick
The Hard Way Home (The Star and the Shamrock Book 3) by Jean Grainger
The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt**
SEPTEMBER 2020:
I ordered this book from a used book seller – imagine my surprise when it arrived, gently illustrated by a kindred spirit!
The Dutch House by Ann Patchett**
The Nickel Boys by Colson Whitehead
Blue Horses by Mary Oliver**
The Vanishing Half by Brit Bennett
The Emerald Horizon (The Star and the Shamrock#2)
Born A Crime: Stories from a South African Childhood by Trevor Noah
The Star and the Shamrock by Jean Grainger
AUGUST 2020:
This title is EXCELLENT for teachers during virtual teaching and learning times!
Hunger: A Memoir of (My) Body by Roxane Gay
A Woman is No Man by Etaf Rum
Inheritance: A Memoir of Genealogy, Paternity, and Love by Dani Shapiro
The Gown by Jennifer Robson
Conjure Women by Afia Atakora
The Distance Learning Playbook by Douglas Fisher**
Small Great Things by Jodi Picoult
The Water Dancer by Ta-Nehisi Coates**
White Fragility: Why It’s So Hard for White People to Talk About Racism by Robin DiAngelo**
The Fountains of Silence by Ruta Sepetys
JULY 2020:
Blended Learning in Action by Catlin Tucker**
Stamped: Racism, Antiracism, and You by Jason Reynolds**
Save Me The Plums: My Gourmet Memoir by Ruth Reichl
The Heart’s Invisible Furies by John Boyne**
What I Know For Sure by Oprah Winfrey**
Heads of the Colored People by Nafissa Thomson-Spires
On Agate Hill by Lee Smith
Across the Winding River by Aimie K. Runyan
The Boston Girl by Anita Diamant
JUNE 2020:
Golden Poppies by Laila Ibrahim
Mustard Seed by Laila Ibrahim
Yellow Crocus by Laila Ibrahim
Opium and Absinthe by Lydia Kang
MAY 2020:
What the Wind Knows by Amy Harmon
Where the Lost Wander by Amy Harmon
The Paris Hours by Alex George
A Fire Sparkling by Julianne MacLean
The Universe Has Your Back: Transform Fear to Faith by Gabrielle Bernstein
The Other Wife by Claire McGowan
The Ragged Edge of Night by Olivia Hawker
APRIL 2020:
Inside Out by Demi Moore
One for the Blackbird, One for the Crow by Olivia Hawker
Between Breaths: A Memoir of Panic and Addiction by Elizabeth Vargas
The Parisians by Marius Gabriel
When We Believed in Mermaids by Barbara O’Neal
Miss Mary’s Daughter by Diney Costeloe
MARCH 2020:
Verity by Colleen Hoover
Braving the Wilderness by Brene Brown**
A Pledge of Silence by Flora J. Solomon
The Dressmaker’s Gift by Fion Valpy
The Path Made Clear by Oprah Winfrey
This Terrible Beauty by Katrin Schumann
The Dressmaker by Kate Alcott
The Widow’s War by Sally Gunning
The Third Angel by Alice Hoffman
MARCH, pre-COVID
Sea of Memories by Fiona Valpy
I had just purchased these for my classroom library the week we shut down in March 🙁
FEBRUARY 2020 pre-COVID
The Outer Banks House by Diann Ducharme
The Bridge Home by Padma Venkatraman**
A View Across the Rooftops by Suzanne Kelman**
JANUARY 2020 pre-COVID
This book…so strangely beautiful. Thank you, Lisa Highfill!
With the Fire On High by Elizabeth Acevedo**
How To Catch A Mole: And Find Yourself In Nature by Marc Hamer**
The Wife Between Us by Greer Hendricks
PICTURE BOOKS: MY FAVORITES
I read aloud to my 7th graders every single day during 2020 – I didn’t count these in my yearly total, but they are worth mentioning:
La Princesa and the Pea by Susan Middleton Elyr
Each Kindness by Jacqueline Woodson
The Day You Begin by Jacqueline Woodson
Fry Bread by Kevin Noble Maillard
All Are Welcome by Alexandra Penfold
Come With Me by Holly McGhee
Hey, Little Ant by Phillip Hoose
Swashby and the Sea by Beth Ferry
We Are All Wonders by R.J. Palacio
Wolf in the Snow by Matthew Cordell
You Hold Me Up by Monique Gray Smith
Woke Baby by Mahogany L. Browne
Antiracist Baby by Ibram X. Kendi
When Aidan Became A Brother by Kyle Lukoff
Tomorrow Most Likely by Dave Eggers
Small World by Ishta Mercurio
Bilal Cooks Daal by Aisha Saeed
Max Attacks by Kathi Appelt
I’m Worried by Michael Ian Black
Mommy’s Khimar by Jamilah Thompkins-Bigelow
Introducing Teddy by Jess Walton
Hair Love by Matthew A. Cherry
Gargantua by Kevin Sylvester
Mali Under the Night Sky by Youme Landowne
The Whispering Cloth by Pegi Deitz Shea
My Beautiful Birds by Suzanne Del Rizzo
Alma and How She Got Her Name by Juana Martinez-Neal
Add these titles to your bookshelves!
You made it! Now, please tell me what were YOUR favorite books in 2020? Any of these?
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.
It starts again with the breath, the in and out that we rarely pay attention to. The impermanence of breath, the pause at the top of the breath in, the pause at the bottom of the exhale.
Somehow, every time I close my eyes, breathe deeply and ground myself, the breath brings thoughts of the impermanence of life – of me, of those I love, the job I do, the dog by my side, the moment. Tears trickle silently as I try to focus on anything else – usually unsuccessfully.
Thich Nhat Hanh says, “It is not impermanence that makes us suffer. What makes us suffer is wanting things to be permanent when they’re not.”
Is this just another way of saying I’m middle-aged? That from now on, the shift from what I know is true and solid is somehow slipping into something more supple, more pliable? Is impermanence permanent?
My county, along with most of California, and increasingly, states across the country, find ourselves locked down again. The COVID ‘break’ that many people took is coming full circle, the relief of impermanence from the virus, just for a fleeting second, now takes an ominous turn. The permanence of family gatherings, of kids coming home for the holidays, of snuggling together on a rainy day in front of the fire now feels different. Less joyful, more anxious. The thought that Thanksgiving will always be a time for togetherness is certainly tucked away this year. I watch the line for my neighborhood COVID testing wind around buildings and parking lots, extending blocks and blocks on a sunny afternoon. The media reminds me incessantly to be safe, this won’t be forever.
Breathing in, my happy place – Carmel, CA with mom.
The permanence of the death counts, the positivity rates, the inescapability assault our senses. Shake our security. Heighten our fear.
Impermanence today
Kobe Bryant’s tragic death sure reminded many of us of life’s impermanence – do you remember back to January, pre-COVID? Twitter feeds and the thousands of posts on Facebook of him smiling with love at his daughter, and you can’t help but feel it. Reminders to just ‘tell someone you love them’ or ‘don’t hold back’ feel genuine and true…but also far too simplified.
Now, our vulnerable worry about going into the hospital and never coming out.
Turns out the Kobe messages may have been a somber prelude to the rest of 2020.
Life just isn’t that easy right now. We don’t always remember when we should. We cut people off in traffic and push for the shortest line at the grocery store, even when the person behind us has less to purchase. In our own little bubbles, we forget to lift our eyes to the server behind the counter and don’t take the time to write teachers a thank you or to send a quick text telling a friend how much they mean to us. Those who have gone before us are lost in a daily rush of to-do lists, rather than altars.
The present moment
How often do we notice the pause between the breath – the ending of the inhale, just before the beginning of the exhale? Do we forget to stop, to honor beginnings and endings, each extraordinary moment of our lives?
On a beautiful blue sky afternoon, I heard an unexpected whhhhooooossssssh and saw this out my window.
Impermanence is life. Nothing lasts, despite our resistance. We fight change, instead of embracing it. It’s unavoidable, yet we try to avoid change at every opportunity. We want our kids to ‘stay this age forever’ and wonder ‘how did the time go so fast’ when they celebrate their birthdays. We can be standing in line at the post office, on an ordinary day, and look up and see that suddenly we are the oldest one in the room. Perhaps the only one wearing a mask.
Planted narcissus after my dad died last fall…as they sprout, the robins return with moments of joy.
Much more impermanent.
Like the flow of the river or the breath of wind on our cheek, nothing stays – especially this instant, this presence in this exact moment is all that we have.
This present moment is all that is permanent. Let us begin our appreciation right here, right now.
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.
Two days ago, they grazed gracefully in the green grassy meadow. Babies spotted black and white and grey kicked their hind legs and nuzzled their mothers. Their unique markings caught my eye as I drove down the two-lane road, not sure where I needed to be at that moment.
Last night they caught my eye again.
This time, mothers and babies huddled close as the tule fog drifted in, coating their meadow with grey light and dropping dew on their wool. And as I glanced back to the road, John reminded me of how nervous he felt driving towards the headlights, the two of us, together. Parenthood always brings that anxiety of abandonment, the fear of leaving our kids parentless when we’re just having a normal day. Always the anxiety of ‘what if’. Always bringing me out of the moment.
‘Look at the sunset,’ he suggested. Ever cautious, he typically reminds me to keep my eyes where I’m going. If you look ahead, he shares, you’ll get where you want to be.
But tonight was different.
The sky, an exhale of pink and silver and mauve was not to be ignored. The first sunset of 2020, caught by chance, brings me to tears.
We’re reminded to make resolutions at this time of year, to identify what is wrong with us and our life, and try to fix it. As if just saying it, or writing it down at the stroke of midnight will somehow result in a different me. Drawing attention to an ‘all or nothing’ mentality as if it will spur me towards some sense of ‘betterness’.
My tears don’t stop as I pulled into Home Depot. The sky glows over the Berryessa Hills as I wipe my eyes with the cuff of my sweater and take a breath in. I make my purchase, and as we drive home the sky is dark, sunset replaced by stars shimmering energy drizzling down. I feel my breath like stardust now as I stop and start, careful to focus on the road ahead. Breathe in, breathe out. My intention surfaces with every inhale, a desire to pay attention – the intention to breathe in what I’m about to create.
The possibility of moving onward.
I don’t need the resolution to be outside, to search for your spirit. Every time I look up, the birds or the sunset or the stars of a fleck of spirit dust in candlelight refocuses me, reminding me that you are everywhere and nowhere all at the same time.
I have intention.
I have daily practices beginning with my first breath of ‘thank you’ as my exhale hits the floor. It’s the same me as yesterday and the day before, just another reminder of the divine presence all around me.
I won’t see every sunset in 2020, no matter the strength of my resolve. Some days I’ll see sunsets on social media and wonder what I was doing that was more important. What could possibly take my focus away from right here, right now? I won’t hear every moment of birdsong outside my window. And I’m sure some days I’ll repeat my mantra ‘onward’ just to make it through.
But I will remember my intention of breath, my hope for the possibility of moving forward. I’ll feel your breath like stardust, shimmering down on my shoulders when I don’t know which foot to put first. I’ll know your spirit soars over me with a birds-eye, omnipotent view, reminding me to enjoy life. To breathe. And to just start again tomorrow.
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.
