On Revision

I proctored an admissions test in my classroom last weekend, an experience that honestly left me feeling disoriented and emotional. This room is exactly the same as it was before Grant was born. But I feel so different.

I texted my friend while I was there, and she offered the following insight:

I anticipate that your new vision, seeing things differently, will become a gift to you and those you work with and among. Revisioning, right?

Right. Revision. Of course. Life, I gotta hand it to you: you sure know how to make this teacher practice what she preaches. There are many parts of the writing process that I urge my students to carefully consider and apply, but none is more important than revision. I beg my students to see this step in the process as space in which the rough gets polished, the raw gets refined, the essence gets culled and the superfluous falls away. Re-vision. Seeing the original draft with a sharper, fresher perspective for the purpose of making the final draft stronger and more focused. True revision is way more than just an edit; it involves adding new material and taking unnecessary material away and changing words and rearranging content. It results in a better final product.

Revision. Re-vision. I love it. I am living it.

I talked to my sister two days ago, and she asked about my job, which is a topic we used to talk about a lot. I've always been a pretty career-driven, type-A, planner-wielding person, and my sister, well, she pretty much saves the world every day in her job out in California, so we have fun talking about what we are each learning and doing. She knows both my past experiences and my future dreams as an educator, and she urged me in this conversation to keep pursuing those dreams. And I will. But I was also able to articulate, for the first time, that some of my dreams are changing.

I still hope that one day I can help lead a school, its students, and its faculty to meaningful, rewarding, enlightening work. However, this experience has helped me slow down and really appreciate all of the people and experiences in my life that are meaningful, rewarding, enlightening. The moment that the nurse practitioner came in Room 317 and told me that Grant may have Down Syndrome, I felt like the floor gave way and I disappeared into a black hole in which the world I once knew no longer existed. And after days of wandering past joyful mamas in the maternity wing on my way to the NICU, I remember looking at Clay and saying, "All I want is for us to be happy." I want Will to have a joyful childhood, and I want Clay to be happy in the midst of all the work he does for our family, and ultimately all I want for Grant is for him to be happy. Forget buying a house. Forget the new role at work. Knowing such sadness, all I wanted was to not be sad. I just kept praying that our little family would be happy and joyful once again and for a long time.

For most of my life, I wasn't content with where I was; I was always looking ahead and wanting more. That's changed. I am now focused on today, on doing my best and on appreciating the beauty in today. And there's a lot of it. When you stop looking ahead, it's amazing all the beauty you see around you.

I like this new perspective. It's not easy for me to always stay in the moment, and I know at times it is important to look and think ahead and do what we can now to ensure good in the future, but I like feeling and seeing life so intensely. The future will reveal itself inch by inch :).

Tonight, and always, I am grateful for revision.