My brother gave a speech in high school, and his central themes was simple: Don't sweat the small stuff.
It went over well. He had good things to say about being positive and not letting the small stuff tie you up or make you stumble. It was, and is, something that I think of fairly often.
But, as with everything, there are two sides to consider here. I'm not saying we should sweat the small stuff. That's easy to do, and sometimes it is necessary, but I still believe my brother Darrel (no, I do not have another brother Darrel) was spot on in his message to anxious high school seniors. I also think there is another angle, however. Not "sweat the small stuff", but "enjoy the little things". Yeah, the rules of Zombieland can be pretty insightful too.
Sometimes, that little thing might be a Twinkie. Did you know they actually do have a shelf life, and it is a lot shorter than we assume? We don't think they do, but a some point, they too will be past prime, and we should not let them go to waste while holding on until later.
Staying with the food theme, maybe that little thing is the extra breakfast bowl that a friend and colleague just happens to bring to school and nonchalantly asks if you want as she passes your room on the way to lunch. On that day, Jimmy Dean meant more that simply a sodium-laden, carb-packed way to restart the day. It was a little thing. And I enjoyed it. I think she enjoyed sharing it too. Win-win.
This week, I have found myself sitting down with more students for one on ones; sometimes they are for a few moments while others stretch longer. Yes, that is my job, to teach, facilitate, and advise my students in their studies. But sometimes it feels like we are always pushing forward, trying to drive toward that next academic milestone or assessment. In these one on ones, it was more like we were walking, taking a stroll. We were enjoying the scenery, breathing in the air, and making the most of moment without really trying too hard. And it meant more. For me, those moments are when I feel like a teacher. Or more accurately, like the teacher I want to be.
On a little bit of a side note, during one of these moments this week, I was reading a student's writing and we were talking about it, as well as where she was headed with it. I glanced up to see one of our administrators at the door. That is not unusual; our principals are in the halls and in our classrooms quite often. He was there to speak to the same student that I was seated next to, and he very easily could have pulled her at that moment. But he didn't. He nodded, and said, "Whenever you are done. No hurry." And we, the student and I, continued to talk. He stayed at the door, casually leaning on the jam, watching the class; I think he joked with a student seated near the door. It's a little thing, but I appreciate that, and that he let our moment continue. This was the first time I have been able to really share this type of moment with this student, and without knowing it, he showed that he valued that.
Sometimes, those little things are just a bit odd, but they need to be valued too. A yellow skullcap pulled on during practice becomes 3, then 6, then 10, until an entire group of teenagers becomes a herd of Minions waiting to see if someone will notice and laugh. A student asks if you want to see something funny, and shows you a picture of her "catdog" seated on the windowsill, and then tells you about how he walked off the edge of the deck yesterday, not because he is blind but because "he is stupid." A one on one discussion about a student's writing becomes sidetracked into a small group conversation about how ridiculous some punctuation rules are, and an attack on the monicker of semicolon. A student requests that you add "the Awesome" to her name when you address her because "you know I am." Self-conscious boys break into dance when a certain song comes on the stadium playlist during practice, or better, spontaneously start singing together.
Every year, I find myself stuck in a race where I forget to value the little things, and instead find myself sweating the small stuff. And every year, I have a student, usually several students, who consciously or unintentionally remind me that the little things matter. A lot. And I need to savor them, enjoy them, and let them be what they need to be at the moment.
So find a little thing. A really good one. It's there, somewhere, and it is waiting for you to notice.
