Someone said something mean about me yesterday.  Admittedly, it stung a bit.  I suspect that’s because I’m human.

But before we go there let me tell you about a time when I smiled and cried simultaneously.

Education is my second career.  By the time I first stepped into a classroom as the teacher I could hardly even see my thirtieth birthday in the rear view mirror.  I was all grown up.  I had already had many rich life experiences.  I had read all the best “how to be a teacher” books.  I was supremely confident that I had the ability to provide the students I served with the highest quality education they could possibly get.  Turns out, I didn’t.  Not yet anyway.

I may have had the capacity, but I found out quickly that at the time, I didn’t have the ability.  Old or young, I was brand new to the job…and brand new, no matter how ready you feel or what you’d done to prepare, means that you have a lot to learn.  I specifically had a lot to learn indeed!

After the first few weeks of getting trampled by the unique challenges of being a sixth grade teacher without really knowing how, I cried…and now, at the risk of having my “man card” revoked, I’ll admit that Bette Midler pulled it out of me.

In my defense, I’ll invite you to pretend as though you’re embroiled in a deep and intemperate personal struggle as you read the following lyrics:

“When the night has been too lonely, and the road has been too long, and you think that love is only for the lucky and the strong, just remember in the winter, far beneath the bitter snows, lies the seed that with the sun’s love, in the spring becomes the rose.”

Think what you will, but I almost just cried again.

It’s not always easy to see the big picture.  Even then, I knew full well that I had the capacity to learn and grow.  Moreover, I knew that it would happen.  I knew that I was on the path to becoming the best teacher I could be.  I knew that it was possible, and even likely (given the nature of learning and growth), that I would become even more impactful than I could have imagined at the time.  I knew that no matter what challenges I was facing in that moment, one day I would inspire students, and that I had it in me to eventually become a driving force in their individual and collective wellbeing and achievement.

I knew, even thought I felt like a failure, and even though that particular moment was pointedly dark, that I could become a significantly positive force in the lives of those I serve.  I knew all of that and more, but I didn’t have the maturity, the wisdom, or the strength to hold it together.  I know now, that it was o.k.

The long & lonely road was truly daunting.  The cold falling snow was indeed bitter.  It was the perfect storm of self-doubt and exhaustion when Bette’s hand reached through the radio and landed gently on my shoulder.  It was as if she caused the DJ to spin that song, in that moment, and specifically for me.  It was as if she was saying, “Pull it together big guy, this is simply how it goes…the sun will shine, the snow will melt, and when you’re looking back on this moment, having progressed along whatever pathway you’re on, this stinging frustration will have diminished, and more than likely, it will have transformed into the reassuring joyfulness of reflective realization.”

And there I was, at a stoplight, blaring “The Rose” full tilt, bawling my eyes out, a sniveling, blubbery mess, when I looked to my left.  The lady in the car next to me was staring (rightfully so).  I wasn’t surprised at the staring, but I was surprised at the look on her face.  She didn’t seem concerned.  She was smiling.  She nodded, and then she drove off.  I was compelled to look in the rear view mirror.  I did.  Again, to my surprise, I didn’t look concerned.  I was smiling too.  Even with tears streaming down my face, I seemed to be just fine.  It was cathartic.  It was o.k.

Again, if the recounting of this experience doesn’t strip me of my “man card” nothing will.  But so be it.  I’m flawed, and what good am I to myself or anyone else if I can’t be real about that?

Now, I haven’t had a really good cry in many years, but I have been stung, which brings me back to yesterday.  As I wrote above, someone said something mean about me.  Actually, someone who cares about me (and was being protective) told me that someone else was told by another person the she (the other person) has some “dirt” to report about me.  Initially, I bit.  But before the person who told me this had an opportunity to go on about the “dirt,” I blurted out, “Thanks for letting me know, but actually, I’m not interested.”  The truth is, I was curiosity to know what was being said about me, but at forty-years-old, I’ve been down that path enough times to know that it’s fruitless.  Besides, I’m in leadership.  This wasn’t the first time someone has spread an unkind rumor about me, and I’m guessing it won’t be the last.

To shake off the sting I turned to the most gratifying thing my job requires me to do.  I visited a classroom.  I went straight to kindergarten because I knew that I would find a group of joyful and holistically genuine little people just aching to share their time with me.  Find them I did.  Joyful they were.

As I walked thought the door a little girl excitedly shouted, “Mr. Berg…guess what!!”

I asked, “What?”

As a five-year-old would, she enthusiastically declared, “The sun is just a big ball of fire!”

Smart kid.  I think she’s right.  The sun IS just a big ball of fire.

We teach our kids to work through the many challenges of their lives by focusing on learning and growth.  We work hard to help them understand that life is a process, and that while everything might not work out exactly the way that we’d like in every moment, that we can each set our own course.

We teach them that the words and the actions of others are outside of our control, and that we can truly only decide for ourselves.  We teach them that when people treat us in ways that hurt our feelings or cause us to be confused, we can look inward for solutions, and then choose to act in ways that move us toward those solutions.

We teach our children to treat each other with kindness and to exercise tolerance.  We teach them that when people say mean things, it’s often because they’re sad and don’t know how to express that sadness.

We live and work in a highly energized and emotional world.  With a focus on compassion and understanding, I’m trying hard to be the kind of person who responds to meanness and negativism with kindheartedness and maturity.

The sun is not trying to burn anyone.  It’s just a big ball of fire, and sometimes, big balls of fire do burn things, not because they have bad intentions, but simply because they’re big balls of fire.

We are human beings, and sometimes we hurt each other’s feelings.  I don’t think that we do it because we genuinely want each other’s feeling to be hurt.  I think that we do it because we’re trying to work through hurt feelings of our own.

I move through life working hard to focus on learning and growth.  I hold service to others among my highest ideals.  Through my words and my actions I aim to positively impact my own life, and the lives of others.  Sometimes I’m really good at it.  Sometimes I’m not so good at it.  Sometimes, specifically when I’m hurting, I do and say the wrong things.  As a husband, a father, and an educational leader I’m committed to continuous reflective growth…in large part so that I can be a model and a teacher of tolerance, compassion, effective communication, and ongoing development that leads to achievement.  I’m proud of my progress and aware that the road remains long.

You can cry or you can smile, or you can smile while your crying, and the sun is just a big ball of fire.  As we work together to make this world an ever-better place for us and for our children, please consider forgiving yourself and one another, and when crying is the thing to do, which it occasionally is, please consider smiling while too.

Live.  Learn.  Lead.

 

Dream Big.  Work Hard.  Be Well.