What We Talk about When We Talk about Anne Frank: Teaching The Diary of a Young Girl as a Literary Text

The path might not be easy to find. 

In Nathan Englander’s short story, “What We Talk about When We Talk about Anne Frank,” a riff on Raymond Carver’s “What We Talk about When We Talk about Love,” Englander depicts a reunion between two women who grew up going to day school and high school together. Sitting around a table drinking and smoking pot, they introduce their husbands and their current selves to each other. One woman has become more observant, now a Chasid living in Jerusalem, and plotlines, but then there is usually some philosophical subtext or literary technique on which we focus instead. and the other has become less observant, now secular living in a Florida suburb. Similar to Carver’s “What We Talk about When We Talk about Love,” in which love is not the subject of the story, but awful behavior that could be called anything but love, Anne Frank is not the subject of Englander’s story at all. When the conversation does get around to Anne Frank, she does not feature for even a moment, instead the discussion is of which non-Jewish friend they could trust to hide them, if we were again in a situation like the Holocaust.

Englander’s story, like many of his, is not in the least bit kind to Orthodox Jews, or really, Jews in general, but putting this aside, Englander is right about one thing: when we talk about Anne Frank, the discussion is not usually about Frank or the diary, but about what happened after the diary. Or, more to the point-, what did not happen after the diary: Frank did not grow up to be the writer which her talent promised she would become. She died in a concentration camp at the end of the Holocaust, not from being gassed, but from catching typhus in the abominable conditions of the camp. She died just weeks before she would have been liberated. When we discuss her, we discuss her as a girl who puts a face on the six million victims, who gives a voice to all of those who were murdered. The problem is that we do not usually listen to her voice.

In teaching Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl as a literary text in a high school English class, finding a point of entry was not easy. Translated into English by B.M. Mooyaart, in a manner which I trust to be faithful, the diary does not have a basic narrative arc, because it is a diary and not a novel. The diary is also constrained by the circumstances in which it was written: not much happens to the characters because they are trapped in an annex. Certainly, we teach novels that lack narrative arcs, but usually they are philosophically significant or have great literary merit. The diary, though translated in a style that is far from artless, it is also far from revolutionary.

Before approaching the book with my class, who are all male and Christian, I did not know the history of the diary, and found myself intrigued by the controversies. I originally stumbled into the debates when I came away from the book puzzled by the lack of Judaism. No mention of Passover, which almost all American Jews today celebrate, as well as no Yom Kippur or Rosh Hashanah, also almost universally celebrated. There is mention of Hanukkah, but because their protectors are Christian, there is much more of a to-do about Christmas, St. Nicholas Day, and Whitsunday, a celebration related to Pentecost. I asked Google about the editing of the diary, as I was curious whether the Franks simply did not celebrate Jewish holidays or if they had been edited out. While I did not, at that time, find my answer, I did find controversies over what had been edited out, what had been hidden by Otto Frank (Frank’s father, who made the decision to publish her diary), and who owned the content of the previously hidden pages.

I did find one essay online about the depiction of Anne in the diary, “Can Anne Be Like Margot and Still Be Like Anne?” Tthe authors, Linda Irwin-DeVitis and Beth Benjamin, have conducted a book club as a case study of adolescent girls, using Diary of a Young Girl as a way to discuss some of the pressures of adolescence. As the title suggests, one of their questions pertains to the expectation of young women to be obedient, cheerful, and uncomplaining, all personality traits attributed to Margot, Frank’s older sister. The discussion of Frank as a character in her own book was refreshing, if not enlightening.

I also found a session of the Dead Authors Podcast, featuring Anne Frank. The Dead Authors Podcast is unscripted comedy, in which a fictitious H. G. Wells brings authors in his time machine to interview. Anne Frank, portrayed by Jamie Denbo spars with interviewer Paul F. Tompkins as H. G. Wells. Denbo’s Frank is biting, sarcastic, and hilarious. Her irreverent portrayal emphasizes the aspects of Frank which are truly adolescent and often downplayed: her sense of superiority, interest in sex, grandiose sense of self, and bickering with family and other residents of the annex. As a parody, the podcast takes the jokes a bit far and is not for those with delicate sensitivities. However, it does hit home the cultural expectations of Frank being innocent to the point of unrealistic.

Ultimately, in discussing the book with my class, we talked about being in captivity, family frustrations, the break-ins (universally scene as “the exciting parts, because something actually happened”), the feelings and experiences of teenagers, developing of identity (an overarching theme of the course) and ownership, editing, and publication of the book. Interestingly enough, though all students agreed that if a teacher posted an essay of theirs on social media without permission, they would demand that it be taken down, they found no problem with the publication of the diary, even though Frank had no way of giving consent or approving edits.

My hope is that for my students, the conversation and their understanding went beyond Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl as a book about the Holocaust, and also helped them begin to think about the experiences of others. Whether or not this is true I may not discover, as tends to be the case for most teachers. While we have a long-term view for our students, we do not often get to see what the long-term view actually ends up being.

Sometimes we do not wish to see what is waiting for us.

Maternity Return, or, Learning to Love Adulting

Cute Baby Being Cute

Due to a job change and related move across the country, I was blessed with a longer maternity leave than most. In addition to the usual maternity leave work of healing from the physical trauma of birth and caring for my infant daughter, I also had to pack and drive across the country. When I had free moments, I spent some of them reading and writing, but the majority of time I spent marveling at my daughter, and watching as she learned the world around her. Sure, it was stressful being a new, first-time mom, and there were times when I was not able to get a shower before my husband came home from work. There were certainly early mornings when I did not feel myself up to the challenge of getting up again to feed her. I felt in over my head and wondered what exactly it was that I had gotten myself into for the next twenty-odd years--or, if I am honest--for the rest of my life. But there was truly a lot of joy and wonder and gratitude tempering the stress and naked fear that accompanies the birth of a baby, especially a first-born.

With the short amount of time we had to plan for the move, coupled by our decision to drive across the country, I had little time to contemplate what it might be like to return to work. And then, with starting a new job at a brand new school while designing a new curriculum, I had little time to consider anything remotely introspective. In the morning, I got up at 5:30 AM, fed the baby, pumped milk so she would have something to eat during the day, got myself ready, drove the long (hour and a half) commute, got to school and taught, used any prep time to revise syllabi, review texts, and design lesson plans. Then, came home, took care of baby, talked to husband, made dinner, unpacked something if I felt capable, got ready for next day, repeat. I was grateful that I got to see my husband and baby while they were awake.

It was not until I had been back to work for over two months that I began to feel how painfully I missed my daughter. The days were excessively long, and though I loved my new job, I would think of her often during the day, pulling up pictures on my cell phone and watching videos I had of her dancing, crawling, and singing/howling. The intensity of my longing for her surprised me.

After witnessing the challenges my mother faced as a stay-at-home mom when I was growing up, I never dreamed that I would desire to not have to leave the house to go to work every day, and that I would instead want to be at home with my child. Just thinking about cleaning the kitchen gives me a panic attack, and I truly enjoy teaching, so being a stay-at-home parent is not the best option for me right now. Still, the idea of being home with my daughter to care for and educate her during her babyhood is an enticing one. As surprised as I am to enjoy motherhood and the duties that accompany it as much as I do, I am equally as surprised to realize that the majority of the joy in my life is related to work and not leisure.  

Parenthood is helping me realize that life is not about seeking pleasure or ease, but seeking the meaningful experiences which bring contentment. It would be folly to say that parenthood is easy or always fun. There are times of great fun, but caring for an infant, who can literally do nothing for herself, is challenging and exhausting. And although I will devote many years to caring for her, there is no guarantee that she will always show me gratitude for my endeavors. In fact, it is very likely that as she grows more independent, she will desire to spend more time out in the world and that our relationship will not always be easy or simple. If I raise her right, she will, by necessity, be at odds with me at times. And, having her own interests which are completely separate from myself, she will spend more and more time without my company. While I am so pleased to have her as my daughter and I love her a crushing, frightening amount, my loyalty is to her, her well-being, and her development. All of this is easy for me to say before she can talk, but I hope that I will continue to live by this philosophy.

For now, I serve my family by working and building a career, which both supports us financially and provides me intellectual stimulation, the ability to positively impact adolescents through education, and to discuss my two greatest non-biological loves—literature and writing. My work requires research, patience, and a lot of experimentation in my teaching and curriculum building. All of this involves great effort but brings me great satisfaction. Teaching adolescents, who are experiencing a dynamic and difficult time in their lives, means that there will be challenges for me, as I discover how best to educate them. As in caring for my daughter, my loyalty is to their development, especially their intellectual development. No small task, I assure you, and I take it very seriously.

Though everyone needs downtime, certainly, I find that I have little pleasure in the time I spend on Facebook or watching YouTube. It is fun for the moment, but does not bring the same satisfaction as a good day of teaching or an evening of playing with my daughter. Work brings more rewards than vegging out.

Most probably, these are not new lessons for you, and they are not new for me either. Long ago, I recognized that an evening spent writing was more fulfilling than an evening watching TV. But in the rest of my life, the value of activities that require much of me is newly felt and understood. I spent a good deal more of my life chasing fun, pleasure, and ease than I would prefer to admit. With the rise of the term adulting, I suspect that I am not the only one. Certainly, I had great passions and worked very hard at my jobs as well as at the craft and business of writing, but I also spent a good deal of time working for the weekend and toward vacation as well as just wishing to end my day with leisure activity. When I came home, I wanted to write if I had the energy and alertness, but I did not want to do any other kind of work. Not only did I not want to clean or make appointments, but I actively avoided these and other activities. I did not have the same distaste for cooking, but even so, if I could avoid it, I would. In part, this is a result of my days being long and being exhausted when I got home, but there was also a feeling of being entitled to a bit of rest. I had worked hard and I deserved to be able to sit down and veg out. Even when I had the energy, I felt it unfair that I should spend it folding laundry. How could that possibly be just? Why did I have to spend my free time doing something that would need to be done again the next day or the day after?

Although ending my maternity leave and returning to work has been painful, I am happy to have the responsibilities of both my job and my baby. The luxury of free time is gone, but I am coming to understand how daily toil serves us. I am becoming grateful to spend my time helping to create and maintain a home where our family can grow and develop. Would I say that I am elated to wash dishes? I would not go nearly that far, but I can say that I am becoming less miserable when I am cleaning. And that is progress.

Bridge of the Gods: Holiday Edition

Teaching Writing: Novel Experience

Classroom View

Teaching a book is very different from reading it for pleasure or as a student. For one, as a student, at least as a high school student, I read with the intent of being entertained. As a college student, I read looking for text and subtext. In graduate school, I read with an eye for taking the novel apart and figuring out what made it go. Now, teaching college in the high school, I try to keep in mind all of these experiences, with the additional lens of interrogating the novel to see what central ideas, historical context, and relatability I can discuss with my students. The latter--relatability--was a word I started to hear from students the moment I began to teach an undergraduate creative writing workshop. The students wanted everything to be relatable and they wanted to experience its relatability without doing much work.

Teaching high school students is a bit different from teaching undergraduates. High school students are even more fragile than college students--almost as often as I heard the word “relatable” I heard the story of a high school teacher who ruined a book or whose criticism made a student feel incapable of writing. Since I am inherently a reader and writer, relatability never occurred to me--I didn’t read to find out about someone who experienced the same things as me, I read to expand my understanding and experiences. I welcomed criticism from my teachers, as I wanted to become a better writer, not just be heaped with praise. Although heapings of praise didn’t hurt, either. As an instructor, though, I have to keep in mind that not all students are aching to be better writers, and blunt criticism is not effective. I also have to remember to heap on the praise, as this does not come naturally to me. Maybe putting stickers on graded essay would help?

Reading The Great Gatsby for the first time since high school, and in preparation for class discussion, I discovered a lot of things I did not notice the first time around and quite a few things I had forgotten. For one, I am not sure I ever had a clue that Nick fled the midwest in part because he was escaping a relationship that had become too intense for him--he claims that “gossip had published the banns”. His cruel treatment of Jordan also alluded me. Even as we discussed Nick as an unreliable narrator in my high school classroom, it did not occur to me that part of his unreliability was his lack of culpability in romantic relationships, as well as intense denial any time things got serious. Having years of serious dating behind me, which included more than one cad who could have given Nick a run for his money, I was shocked to realize how callous he was regarding women.

The anti-Semitism, too, I had not remembered. Meyer Wolfsheim, not only the only Jewish character, but one of the few with a clearly labeled ethnicity, is one of Gatsby’s shady business partners, and he is quite proud of the fact that he helped rig the 1919 World Series. He also speaks in dialect and openly discusses seeing other gangsters murdered. There’s also the the “lovely Jewess” at Meyer’s office and the business name on the office “The Swastika Holding Company.”

I had also forgotten the stunning prose, the keen descriptions of lives built on idleness and money. Fitzgerald’s descriptions of the valley of ashes, the scene Nick encounters when he first enters the Buchanan mansion, and the exterior and interior of the Gatsby mansion are so present and wondrous on the page. I had not forgotten how juicy the plot is, how it unfolds like a true crime mystery, but I certainly enjoyed it just as much, if not more, than I did when I read it for high school.

The Great Gatsby not only stands up to my adult rereading, but it exceeded my pleasure. It offers so many complex discussion topics for the classroom, more than just the American Dream and the treatment of divinity, but also our complicated views of wealth and class, partying and hard work, and even family life. My students were shocked by the treatment of Pamela Buchanan, the daughter of Tom and Daisy. She barely exists in the presence of the novel, and it is implied that she is raised by servants.

While researching books to determine classroom appropriateness, I also became acquainted with the Focus on the Family website, pluggedin, which provides amazingly detailed information about any content that could possibly be considered objectionable in a book (the headings include “Authority Roles,” “Profanity/Violence,” and “Kissing/Sex/Homosexuality”). Never in my life did I think that I would be a visitor, let alone a frequent visitor, of a Focus on the Family website. But, as Justin Bieber famously said, Never Say Never.

If you haven’t read The Great Gatsby in years, give it another whirl. If you have kids in high school, consider reading it with them. It would be a good way to bond and encourage appreciation for great literature.

Teaching Writing: Living It

My journey to work.

As I am about to embark on a new school year, at a new school with new courses and new students, I am examining writing textbooks, and discovered that many assign students the task of writing about themselves as writers. What they write, who they write for, and how they feel about writing. As a writer who has been seriously focused on creative writing since high school, writing is a part of my daily consciousness. I think about when I will write, I think about what I want to write, I think about revising what I’m working on. I think about what I am reading, from advertisements to texts to poems, considering what each piece is trying to communicate, how it’s communicating it, and how effective the writing is, to various degrees of consciousness. I do not take a lot of time to think about who I am as a writer. I take for granted that I am a writer, just like I am a woman and an American and a Jew. It is inherent to my basic identity.

But as I prepare lesson plans, class schedules, and syllabi, and I prepare to ask my students who they are as writers, I am being given the opportunity to consider who I am as a writer, what are my goals, and who do I want to write for. I am asked to think about my writing history, which is closely intertwined with my life and my self-esteem. I am asked to consider my influences, habits, and methods. When I first began to think about my relationship with writing and myself as a writer, it seemed simple: I am a writer, and I write to share my voice with the world. However, this is not an introspective or revealing response. If a student turned in this answer, I would respond with questions like, but what does it mean to be a writer? How do you feel about writing? How do you share your voice with the world?

When I was still small enough to sit in my mother’s lap and too young to yet know how to read, I fought for my mother’s attention so that she would read to me. Once I started writing, I loved that, too. I wanted my teachers to tell me how good my book reports were. I wanted other students to think that I was the best writer in the class, just like I wanted to be the fastest runner. Writing was not just something I enjoyed, it was also a way to get recognition.

When I was in sixth grade, a friend of mine became the object of our teasing, and was nicknamed Dogwoman. At the end of the previous school year, I had similarly been singled out, and everyone in my class barked at me when I walked by. Since it had happened to me at the end of the school year, I spent all summer worrying that the harassment would continue when I returned in the fall. Although it was a terrible experience, I did not translate my feelings about this experience when I joined in the teasing. In fact, when a mutual friend suggested we write a book about Dogwoman, my immediate thought was all the jokes I could include. So began a series of books about the adventures of Dogwoman, written by me and illustrated by my friend. I completely forgot the stories were about a real person and reveled in silliness of the writing, coming up with sixth grade level dirty jokes and ridiculous situations. The books were wildly popular in my grade, with a better circulation than any library book. If I had ever considered the cruelty of the stories, it was quickly squashed by the attention the books got.

Thanks to my whit, not only did I destroy a friendship, but for a period of time she did not have any friends at our school. Still, it took me years recognize the damage I had done and accept responsibility. I wish that an adult had intervened. It might have saved my friend a good deal of pain. I wish that I had some empathy and some guts and I would not have participated and would have instead stuck up for my friend. Writing has consequences, sometimes unintended consequences. And there are some wrongs which you are not given an opportunity to write: I have not been able to find my friend and make a proper apology.

The kind of writer and person I want to be is one whose writing makes the world a better place. I want to make people think about their choices and consider their behavior. I want to help people by sharing my own experiences and what I have discovered. I want to be part of a dialogue of joy. When I was pregnant, I wrote about morning sickness and some other challenges I experienced. A few months later, a friend told me that she had tried my suggestions, and it had helped her. For me, this was a great compliment, because it meant that something I had written had a positive impact. Part of what I want to teach my students is the power of writing, that with their words they can inspire change, both large and small. Something as small and transitory as a social media post can darken or lighten someone’s day. As Uncle Ben in Tobey Maguire’s 2002 Spiderman says, “With great power comes great responsibility.”

It all depends on how you look at it.

Writer on the Move: You Can't Take It with You

Cake and Boo trying to look innocent.

Traveling across the country with two cats and an infant is an adventure. Most cats, mine included, do not like car rides and do not like to be put in carriers. For the past several states, Cake, a gray tiger cat, has been hiding under the bed in the morning, in an effort to avoid her carrier. Being underneath the center of a large bed necessitates clever contortion and acrobatics in order to get her out. Boo, the larger calico, has been more pliant, as she generally is. As I put her into the carrier, she tries to block the entrance with her paws, but when she realizes that she is going to lose the battle, she allows herself to be pushed inside.

When it was time to leave Chicago, and we were doing the dance of one person taking care of the cats and baby while the other loaded the car, Boo disappeared. We looked under the beds. We looked in the bathroom. I ran outside, calling her name. The hotel staff had doors open across the side of the building as they cleaned the rooms. There was a highway behind the hotel, a road in front of it, and businesses on either side. Frantically, I ran into every open door and looked under every bed. Then I ran around both buildings, calling Boo’s name. Then into the parking lots nearby and along the perimeter of the highway. The longer I looked for the cat, the less pretty my imagination became.

After nearly two hours of frantic looking, we had to face the possibility that we would not find the cat. It would be difficult to stay another night in the hotel. Once we had nabbed Cake from under the bed, we would have to leave. So, I stuck my head under the bed as far as I could to see if I could make a grab for her. While I was wedged under the bed, I noticed there was a bulge hanging down from the box spring. I pushed on it, and it was soft. I pushed again, and it meowed. There was Boo, hiding inside the bed.

Packing for a big move, especially for such a long distance, is a challenge. The more belongings to move, the bigger the cost, with a higher price tag for furniture. Before the movers came, we did some downsizing. The second bedroom, as of late the baby’s room, housed five large book cases. Some of the shelves were doubled up with books. There were also a few boxes of books that had yet to be unpacked from the last move.

It had previously been my policy not to get rid of books. What if I wanted to return to the book later? Or copy a passage to teach in class? If I gave it away, I would be in quite a bind. In reality, there are very few books that I return to and with the internet and the efficiency of ILL (Interlibrary Loan), I could find almost anything I needed for class within seconds, or at most, a few days. I had no actual need for all of the books. But when I started to think about giving them away, I felt a little threatened, as though I was endangering myself by giving them away, because what if I did end up needing them? The logic of the situation had nothing to do with the thin fear that crept in.

I often feel this way when it is time to thin out my belongings, whether it is a skirt I will clearly never be small enough to wear or the hand mixer that was given to me five years ago and never used. While I have no need for these things, it pains me to let them go.

In the end, I parted with a good many things, including several boxes of books and many unused things. For the few seconds I am troubled when I give things away, almost always, I forget by the end of the day and never remember that it is gone, let alone lament no longer possessing it. Letting go of a loved one is a completely different experience. When I had to put my sick, elderly dog down I was devastated. I cried every day for over a month. It broke my heart all over again when the cats waited by the door for the dog’s return.

Intellectually, I know that possessions are just things. Usually, they are not unique, and can be replaced, often at not too great of a cost. Loved ones, like a cat or a dog, or even more so in the case of a friend or relative, are not replaceable. “Losing” Boo was a reminder of just what it means to lose something I truly care about. As was saying goodbye to so many people we care about. We will be able to visit in the future, and we can keep in touch, but we will no longer have the close, physical intimacy that we once did. It was a powerful reminder at minimal cost.

We have now been through PA, OH, IN, IL, and are stopping over in Madison, WI. We have several more states to go, but we are making progress. May the rest of the journey be relatively painless, and everyone who got into the car in Philly leave it safe and sound in Portland.

Writer on the Move: Phone Home

The Cousins Visit

Tisha B’Av, which is observed by fasting and rituals of mourning, such as sitting low to the ground and refraining from comforts such as bathing and clean clothes, not only recognizes the destruction of the Temples but also bemoans the lack of achdus, or unity, among the Jewish people.

Before we left Philadelphia, a group of family and friends gathered in our apartment to say goodbye and to help with the last, messy parts of moving. They loaded the car, cleaned the kitchen, cared for the baby, and helped us part with a few more things in order to fit us all (husband, baby, two cats, and myself) in the car. My brother and future sister-in-law bravely dosed the cats with over the counter calming chews. In the summer heat, all of this can only be considered acts of love and kindness.

While I believe we made the right decision, that does not take away the sadness of the physical distance we are creating. I am notoriously bad at keeping in touch with people. The phone has often been a tool to induce guilt instead of a way to keep lines of communication open. In order to make this move not only an easier transition than past moves, but also not to lose those we so fiercely love, I considered a few strategies to stay in touch.

1. Public Weekly Updates. A friend of mine who made aliyah (moved to Israel) two years ago writes a weekly email about the week’s adventures and her upcoming Shabbat plans. She sends the email to nearly everyone in her address book and includes pictures and notes of who is visiting. For myself, a weekly update on Facebook makes more sense than an email, but the idea is the same: a line of communication which includes regular updates and gives friends a chance to respond with their own updates. Already, I have been posting weekly photos of the baby. Now, I will be making the post more robust information about our lives.
2. Phone call appointments. When I was in college, a Sunday never went by without calling home to my parents. If I had ever forgotten, my parents would have been calling the authorities to send them searching for me. An appointment, recorded on the calendar in my iPhone, to call friends at an agreed upon time will help me to keep in touch. Like an appointment to see the doctor, it becomes something not to be missed or rescheduled, a fixed time to be protected. Psychologically, seeing it on the calendar is not only a reminder of making the phone call, but an actual imperative.
3. Regular blog posts about our new adventures, including the return to teaching and transition to a new home. Writing has always been a way for me to process things. As Flannery O’Connor said, “I don’t know what I think until I read what I say.” Through writing about our new life, I will be able to share with others while unpacking the experience for myself.
4. Skype with the (Grand)Rents. Our daughter will undoubtedly know and see her grandparents in person, but that is not enough for her or her grandparents. Being able to see her grow up will be a comfort for her grandparents, as well.

On Tisha B’Av, we mourn a Temple that no one alive has seen. We mourn the loss of unity of an entire people that no one alive has experienced. This year, I mourn a place I loved and closeness to many family and friends. I am blessed to have had the opportunity to have experienced such love, and to continue to experience such love, though now from a distance. Next year, may we celebrate in Jerusalem.

Writer on the Move: I Couldn't Do It

Traveling is hard work.

I was telling my friend, who writes a fashion blog, about how I had adopted the practice of writing on my iPhone. Having a newborn requires living life one-handed and there had been no time to spend alone with my laptop or notebook. However, I found that I could use Google Docs to write on my phone while feeding the baby. “I couldn’t do it,” my friend said. "I couldn't write on my phone."

My friend, a dedicated writer, was perfectly capable of writing on her phone, and had she been in the same situation as me, she would have either done as I had or found a solution that suited her. She would have figured out a way to keep writing.

“I couldn't do it” and its fraternal twin, “I wouldn't be able to do that” are phrases we use when what we really mean is, “I don't want it that badly.” In reality, if running were a top priority to me, I would wake up at 6:00 AM to do it or stay up after midnight or make some other time in the day. Following around Phish sounds like great fun, but I am not willing to sacrifice a home and the ability to pay bills in order to do so. However, I make constant sacrifices for my infant daughter, which do not feel like sacrifices. Because I love her and am happy to care for her, it does not bother me when she pees on me while I change her diaper, or that I have given up time with my friends for conversation with someone who can only coo in return. My life has significantly less freedom than I had a year ago, and I am happier for it.

When we choose what we can and cannot do, we are making choices of attention, effort, and allocation of resources. Once we have decided that something is essential to us, something we could not live without. then we will give up sleep and leisure in order to do it. When something is essential, we will make the time, money, and energy. It might not be easy, and could take a lot of sacrifice, but it will not only be within our realm of possibility, it will actually happen.

Recently, I accepted an offer to teach at a brand new STEM school in Washington state. When I tell people that I am moving to the other side of the country for a job, many tell me that I am brave and that they could not do it. What they mean is that the risk of leaving behind all that is familiar to them is not worth it. What they also mean is that perhaps I am not of sound mind.

Life gets comfortable. Even when we are not fulfilled, life can be pretty comfortable. The job I had was a nice office job. The pay was livable, my coworkers were easy to get along with, and the work was not boring. However, I missed teaching. I had been thinking about the amount of time I spent at work, much more time than I spent with my family or writing. I thought about how we get one shot at this life. And I thought about how I wanted to leave the world a better place than I found it.

I applied for the position because the job posting sounded promising and the more I learned about the school the more I wanted to be a part of this new start up. When I was offered the position of English teacher, my family and I discussed it and decided that the opportunity to work in a place that better used my talents and offered the opportunity to make a difference in others’ lives was too good to pass up, even though it was nearly 2,900 miles away. We decided that the chance to be happier and more fulfilled was worth the risk. It might sound idealistic, but what are we if we give up all of our ideals and dreams? And who or what are we really serving if we spend a full third of our day at a job we only go to for a paycheck?

There are some things in life that are worth making sacrifices. Family, Gd, art, things which are more noble than any individual by herself is. These are the things which make us say: Let's do this thing.