In the Hawaiian language, the past is thought of as ahead of us, with the future behind us. This is a counterintuitive way of thinking about time, but I think it’s more accurate to how we actually experience it. The past is clear, or at least clearer to us than the perpetually murky and uncertain future. We can “see” what has already happened, so to speak, and we can only ever see what’s in front of us.
I’d like to think I use the past as a guide, that I look to it and learn from it as I moonwalk effortlessly into the future behind me. But as anyone who has tried to learn how to moonwalk can attest — or anyone who has tried to learn from their past — there is a lot more pain and frustration that goes into it than the final result may suggest.
2023 was, on paper, a great year for me. I started grad school; I won a bunch of writing awards, both local and national; I presented at a teacher conference alongside my talented friends and colleagues (the presentation was titled “Math: It Doesn’t Have To Suck”). From the outside looking in, things were going well for me on all fronts.
But I felt untethered from myself, stuck in shitty patterns that I was powerless to change, no matter how desperately I wanted to change them. I felt frustrated and stifled in the classroom, like I was repeatedly running into the same brick walls. I barely wrote anything, and what I did write felt laborious and uninspired. I watched myself drift away from the people that matter to me most.
2023 was awful, probably the worst year of my life, memorable primarily for how absolutely shitty I felt for most of it. I don’t care to go into more details than that, so I’ll segue with one of my favorite lines from one of my favorite poems:
“You’ve caught me,” Grief answered, “and you’ve ruined my business. How can I sell sorrow when you know it’s a blessing?” — Rumi
Through the heartache and confusion and frustration and pain, I think I’m a better person now. It is akin to what has long drawn me to combat sports: the beauty that can only be found in ugliness; the triumphant sparks of humanity emitted from the friction between hardship and determination; the excruciating self-discovery that can only occur after brutal defeat, after you pick up the pieces of yourself and rearrange them as best you can while you trudge on to the next fight. My world imploded, but I’m proud of myself for how I responded to it.
I dropped 50 pounds and started going to therapy, both of which were a long time coming. I left my previous job mid-year and started teaching a new subject at a new school, while also teaching my first university class, both of which have reminded me that I do love teaching. I’m writing again, still not as much as I used to or want to, but I’m enjoying the process, and I think the results will show that once they’re out in the world.
I know I’m not moonwalking so much as I’m merely stumbling backward, collecting foot cramps and posterior bruises as lessons learned. But I see where I’ve been, how I got there, and I’m working to make sure I learn from it all. In that work, I feel the future at my back like the warm embrace of a lover, and I’m remembering who I was—who I am—and who I’m becoming.
Books I read in 2023
Before I started grad school in June, I read the following (my favorites boldfaced):
Kubrick by Michael Herr
The Big Drop: Homecoming by Ryan Gattis
The Big Drop: Impermanence by Ryan Gattis
The Gift of Underpants by Neal Milner
Fantastic Numbers and Where To Find Them by Antonio Padilla
Arbitrary Lines by M. Nolan Gray
Local by Jessica Machado
Ongoingness by Sarah Manguso
I Want to Die but I Want to Eat Tteokbokki by Baek Se-hee, translated by Anton Hur
Record of a Night Too Brief by Hiromi Kawakami, translated by Lucy North
Ask the Brindled by Noʻu Revilla
Circe by Madeline Miller
Earth Angel by Madeline Cash
Rogue Moon by Algis Budrys
Born Knowing: Imprinting and the Origins of Knowledge by Giorgio Vallortigara
For grad school, I read nothing but essay collections, the aim being to take a semester-long tour of the form from its origins until now. It was enlightening and challenging, and also gave me the excuse to finally read certain writers I had been meaning to get to but hadn’t, for one reason or another. Here’s what I read, my favorites in bold:
Essays by Michel de Montaigne, translated by J.M. Cohen
Essays in Idleness by Kenko, translated by Donald Keene
The Pillow Book by Sei Shonagon, translated by Ivan Morris
Dialogues and Essays by Seneca, translated by John Davie
Essays of E.B. White by E.B. White
Facing Unpleasant Facts by George Orwell
The Vintage Mencken by H.L. Mencken
The Art of Personal Essay, edited by Philip Lopate (only the British essay section)
In Praise of Shadows by Junichiro Tanizaki, translated by Thomas J. Harper and Edward G. Seidensticker
Let Me Tell You What I Mean by Joan Didion
Against Interpretation by Susan Sontag
An Urchin In The Storm by Stephen Gould
Heart’s Desire by Edward Hoagland
Changing My Mind by Zadie Smith
The Enigma of Anger by Garret Keizer
On Animals by Susan Orlean
Broken Vessels by Andre Dubus
Yoga for People Who Can’t Be Bothered to Do It by Geoff Dyer
Draft No. 4 by John McPhee
Teaching A Stone to Talk by Annie Dillard
Writing of 2023
I didn’t write nearly as much as I had wanted or planned to last year, due to reasons aforementioned (grad school, personal life imploding). But I wrote one essay/feature:
A Fine Pickle — Hana Hou! Magazine
And I also wrote a handful of columns and articles:
Hawaii’s Zoning Laws Are A Self-Inflicted Wound — Civil Beat
Would It Be A Catastrophe If We Built Too Much Housing? — Civil Beat
Teachers Aren’t Burned Out, They’re Being Hung Out To Dry — Civil Beat
New Contract Is A Much-Needed Win For Teachers But There’s More To Be Done — Civil Beat
Why I Have A Pride Flag In My Classroom — Civil Beat
This Is What It’s Like Training For How To Respond To A School Shooting — Civil Beat
Famous Frangipani — Living Magazine
The Man Makes the Hat — Hana Hou! Magazine
Sound Pedagogy — Hana Hou! Magazine
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