Two years ago, I was ordering a coloring book or something from Amazon.com when I noticed that I could get free two-day shipping if I tried out something called “Amazon Prime.” It was one of those “Try it for 30 days. Risk free!” sort of deals. If you wanted to cancel, you just had to click a button somewhere before 30 days elapsed. If you liked the service, or if you forgot to click the button, you were billed $70 for a year’s worth of “free” two-day shipping. I signed up for the free trial, like a sucker, and then forgot to click the button. I made the most of my mistake and proceeded to use Amazon Prime with gusto. This year I purposefully renewed my subscription.

During the past two years, Amazon Prime has become a staple of my day-to-day life. When my roommates run out of Crystal Lite, instead of writing it on the grocery list, I check out Amazon Prime. When my favorite mechanical pencil broke, the one I used for a four-year engineering degree and a year of teaching, I didn’t go to Office Max or Office Depot or Target. I went to Amazon Prime. When I wanted a digital projector for my classroom, I researched on Cnet.com and then purchased through… Amazon Prime.

The two-day shipping is just so convenient. I order printer refills, T-shirts, movies and, of course, books and they all arrive on my doorsteps two days later. Days that I come home to find those brown boxes with the distinctive Amazon smile logo on the sides are like miniature Christmas Days — my dull gray door does not have the sparkle of a traditional Christmas tree, but it has just as much space underneath its boughs, er… on the steps.

So when it came time for real Christmas shopping, I naturally turned to Amazon Prime and its glorious two-day shipping. I found great deals on board games and books, snacks and movies, shirts and video games. I completed all of my shopping in about two hours. I never had to face Christmas crowds, and I never had to go to the mall. I never even left my house.

While I love, appreciate, embrace, applaud, encourage, laud and enjoy the use of Amazon Prime, I can’t help but question the changes it is orchestrating in me. I had zero interactions with any of the sellers, shippers, packagers, distributors, manufacturers, designers or resource suppliers who took part in the arrival of my Christmas gifts at my door. I had no ownership of the creation of these products and, as a result, felt no responsibility… for safe creation or disposal. Amazon Prime allowed me to consume without thought or reflection.

Some questions that I didn’t ask include: Was the cardboard for my brother’s board game created by child labor? Was it pressed in a plant with adequate ventilation for its workers? Does the plant use toxic chemicals in the paints or the presses? Does it use local water sources to cool machines?

I did not ask these questions because I was blissfully focused on consuming. Amazon Prime has helped me to make consumption completely ordinary, completely expected. It is as if all the things my heart might momentarily desire just magically appear on my doorstep. All I have to do is say that I want them.

I am extremely thankful that Amazon Prime exists, and that I am in a financial position that I can give gifts to people I love. I am grateful that I did not have to travel to the Galleria to shop for gifts. But I want the things I do to have purpose and thought behind them. Just because it is easy for me does not mean it is the best thing in general.

So next year, I am going to think very hard about renewing my Amazon Prime subscription. When I eventually decide to renew it, which I will, I will challenge myself to reflect on whether I actually need the things I am ordering. I will think long and hard about where the things came from, and what my purchase does to support or crush the lives of other people.

I will use the answer to dictate my purchase, taking a small amount of comfort in the fact that my buying habits will help to spur change in the products offered on Amazon. So while I hope that a lot changes in my relationship with Amazon Prime during this next year, one thing will not - I will still smile and skip when I see that smiling box waiting on my doorstep.

I set my alarm for 5:30 a.m. Since I normally wake at 4:30 or 5, 5:30 was quite a luxury.

5:28… 5:29… trumpets! And drums! And shouting Spanish sprang out of my speakers.

It was cold.

The chill forced me to pull my head under my covers. I refused to acknowledge the jumble of Spanish noises emitted by my clock-radio. I refused to admit that it was, indeed, morning and that work would commence shortly. A goose-bumped arm stretched out from my bed and hit the snooze button.

5:38… 5:39… SABES something something EN VIERNES something something DEL MUNDO!

My Spanish was rusty under ideal conditions, so a radio guy with a radio voice yelling about something at 5:40 a.m. just did not form a coherent sentence. I hid from whatever excitement the radio guy was selling. I braced myself against the wave of “responsibility” and “duty” and “obligations” that bounced in my brain. My hand snaked out from the covers again and lightly, delicately pressed the snooze button.

5:48… 5:49… Soothing notes crescendo to the entrance of a soft female voice, whispering beautiful Spanish phrases at my semi-coherent form.

I stretched. I turned off the alarm. I sat up. I pulled on sweatpants. I pulled on a sweatshirt. I began to face the day.

The day turned out to be amazing. I received professional feedback that lauded and encouraged and challenged. I discussed the theories of motion formulated by three smart dead dudes: Aristotle, da Vinci and Galileo. My students became experts on using graphing calculators to perform quadratic regression. My students articulated the criteria for distinguishing between a linear data set and a quadratic data set. I ran four miles in blustery, chilly conditions. I debated the merits of a GPS watch: speed, distance, elevation, heart rate. I made and consumed steak fajitas. I watched my favorite TV show.

I did all these things and still had time to hit the snooze button. Twice. In fact, hitting the snooze button did not bring the world to a halt. Hitting the snooze button did not make my students not learn, or jeopardize my job status or make my hair fall out or turn my brain to jelly or slow my metabolism so I no longer craved food. The world continued to function, even though I was not operating at my normal post.

I hardly ever hit the snooze button. I am a firm believer in the idea that “If I need extra sleep, I should just build it in. Because, who am I kidding anyway? Nobody gets up at 4 a.m.” approach to the snooze button. In other words, I don’t use, I just set my alarm 10 minutes later and enjoy the extra sleep in blissful peace, completely devoid of regularly scheduled 10 minute bursts of MEGA101 LATINO AND PROUD!

This morning however reminded me of the very important axiom: I am not as important as I think. And I think it this a very good thing for me to remember.

Okay. So here is the route. You start with this yellow shell and you get this little jib for your feet. You move up to the block, then bump to the white-swirl pinch.”

“That looks far. How do you keep your feet from cutting?”

“Oh, just heel hook on the start hold before the bump.”

“Ahh.”

“So then you stand up on the start hold while moving to the white pinch, then bump to the blue pinch.”

“How is the blue pinch?”

“It’s not that big, but it’s good. You can match on it.”

She nods.

“Once you match, move your feet up and throw to the red and white rail.”

“What?”

“Yea, it’s a big move. But the rail is actually pretty good on the upper right side. That rail is definitely the crux.”

“I think it’s too far. There’s no way I can hit that.”

“Well, do the beginning. You can add a different foot. Once you hit the rail, swing your feet over, match and top out.”
She moves through the route I created a couple times. Each attempt brings her a little closer to the finish. Each attempt refines her technique; she pulls in to the wall and tightens her abs on the heel hook; she matches on the block; she leans back off the white-swirl pinch. After 4 or 5 tries the movements start to develop a flow; left, dip, hook; left, stand, right; right, stand, reach. In the end however, she cannot reach the final hold, the long flat rail that looks completely useless until you find the lip on the upper right corner.

I sit, take hold of the start hold and stand up on the jib.

I move left, heel hook, bump and stand.

I move right, bump and match.

I move my feet up.

I throw for the rail.

I hit it.

I slide my hand out to the nice lip on the upper right corner.

I swing my feet over.

I match my hands on the rail.

At this point, my left hip is into the wall. Both my hands are holding onto the rail, with the right hand pinched on to the nice lip, and the left struggling for purchase on the slopey center. My left foot is on a hold out to my right. My right foot is flagged out, smearing on the wall. My feet are roughly nine feet from the ground. My hands are probably at thirteen. My next move is to the top, about sixteen feet above the ground.

My fingertips dig into the coarse hold.

My toes curl tightly into the rock.

My left hand moves off the rail.

I stretch for the top.

I hit it.

I lose it.

I fall.

It seems that common thought on failure (or falling) is that it is best when avoided. In fact, at my school we have made “Risk Taker” a specific learner profile; there is such an aversion to risk that productive “risk taking” must be taught. While failure is disappointing and potentially embarrassing, I think that life (and climbing) teaches that risk is critical to improvement. If I just climb the same easy routes over and over again, my mind will never see or think or dream of different ways of climbing. My body will never get stronger or more flexible because it is never forced to move in new ways.

When I am climbing I am always flirting with the border between comfortable and crazy. I am straining for a move out of my reach, but making sure that my current position is strong. I am finishing the climb that has you stretched out horizontally 12 feet off the ground, but placing the crash pad below me to protect the fall.

But this is more than just a training philosophy; this is how I want to live my life. I want to live boldly, because it is only when I risk greatly that my mind and my spirit can get the workout my body gets in climbing.

So when I fell, I lay there for a moment. I inventoried my body – arms, legs, head. All functioning. I stood, and walked, letting the adrenaline run its course.

Then I sat back down.

I grabbed the yellow start hold.

I climbed it again.

For Veteran’s Day, the Student Council organization at my school sponsored an Open Media Contest. Students submitted artwork, videos or essays answering the question “What does Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness mean to you?” Student Council representatives introduced the question at an assembly last week. When the Student Council President read the “Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness” part, it was as if I was no longer standing at YES North Central, but instead, I was standing in front of my eighth grade social studies class, reciting the Preamble to the Declaration of Independence.

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal…”

Even in eighth grade, the language of the Preamble impressed me. Words like “Self-evident” were a drug to my nerdy and maladjusted self. When measuring myself against classmates, or against some self-constructed bar of success, I invariably found myself lacking in all physical categories; I had wavy hair, chubby cheeks, huge glasses and an awkward Southern accent while living in a Northern city. But where physical attributes let me down, mental acuity was a bastion of strength. So maybe it was petty to insult stronger, faster, better-looking and better-coordinated boys with words they had never heard of, but sometimes calling one a “narcissistic ignoramus” brought just the right amount of cheer to my life.

“that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and pursuit of Happiness…”

While I delighted in the sophisticated wording and the carefully-crafted arguments of the Preamble, my summary of its meaning fell somewhere between “Eff you King George” and “Eff you King George, this is our RIGHT.” The greater implications of the document were lost on me.

“That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed…”

The whole idea of idea of unalienable rights, of human dignity, was just not a concept that I had much experience with. The Education System was slowly working on reshaping my mind into a useful tool with respect to science and math and reading and writing, but in terms of understanding people, in terms of empathy, my progression was, well, slow.

“That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or abolish it, and to institute a new Government…”

In ninth grade we read Lord of the Flies. I thought that book was so cool. I think I said “Sucks to your asthmar” practically a thousand times that year. It was almost as good as “That’s what she said,” just without the sexual overtones. That book was the genesis of my Empathy Movement. Talking about “Man’s inhumanity to Man,” especially with children as the main actors, forced me into cognitive dissonance. I suddenly was aware of heartache and suffering and abuse and sadness on a large scale, but I was not doing anything about it. In fact, since I was telling people they had a “malformed frontal lobe” I was contributing to the suffering and sadness, even if just by a little bit.

“laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness.”

In 12th grade I worked toward my Boy Scout Eagle Award by organizing the construction of a gazebo at a nursing home. I managed other Boy Scouts; some were friends of mine; others were just screw-ups. I treated all of my helpers judiciously, even the boy whose claim to fame was peeing on his own shoulder during a camping trip. Even though I wanted to punch him in the face the entire time he was helping, I didn’t. The Empathy was building.

“Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes;”

In college, I volunteered at this organization called Love, INC. The organization consisted of one guy and something like five volunteers. We acted as a go-between for people in need and local churches. People would call and ask for help, and we would give them information so that they could help themselves through organizations like HUD. If they still needed help then we would call churches to try to raise support. There were a surprising number of families that could not afford to pay their water bills or rent, but could shell out $80 per month to get basic cable with HBO. I connected these people with churches and organizations, and always made a point to highlight the savings possible from eliminating the TV.

“and accordingly all experience hath shewn, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed.”

Now, I teach. I make students re-ask questions to include “May I…” and “please?” I greet my students with a smile and a handshake, even on the days that I did not get enough sleep. I congratulate them on their success, and challenge and support them in their failure.

“But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security.”

Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness? What does that mean to me? To me, it means that I am able to provide future security to others. Security to grow and develop and walk the long road to self-awareness. This is the road that I am walking right now.

I’ve had a “beard” on and off since I was 15, when my buddy Ian showed up with this huge beard after spring break. The moment I saw that beard I was captivated; I knew deep down in my soul that my destiny would forever be tightly interwoven with facial hair.

Since that life altering introduction, I wore my beard in numerous shapes, with countless densities and for myriad causes. My beard has braved the frigid tundra of Indiana winters, protecting me from the elements. It has been trimmed to a ’stash so as to augment ambitious costumes such as the “80s police officer,” “80s exercise instructor” and the ever-popular “person from the 80s.” It has morphed into ridiculous and intimidating sporting accessories such as the chinstrap and the fu Manchu (studies have shown that the fu Manchu leads to an 80 percent increase in any athletic performance). It has also covered grand swathes of emotional territory from isolation (Paul Bunyan beard) to brooding bachelor (three-day scruff) to the eager achiever (clean shaven, no side-burns).

It is my infinitely variable accoutrement. I guess you could even say that…

My beard:me::a purse:some lady person

Maybe the analogy does not work so well in the functional sense, because I definitely do not store lipstick, pencils, chewing gum, etc. in my beard, but in terms of accessorizing, my beard does the job.

So when Hurricane Ike hit and proceeded to:

1. Knock out power for a week,
2. Uproot hundreds of trees,
3. Tear the roof off of half my school rendering it unusable until January and
4. Force our entire sixth grade to relocate to another school campus 10 minutes away

It was a natural response to stop shaving. My facial hairs unkempt look was a physical representation of my inner turmoil. Well, turmoil and laziness. Then, after the week of no power, with time spent moving classrooms and sorting through debris and working along side co-workers who looked just as disheveled as I, whether bearded or not, I found that my beard began to represent something more than just turmoil and laziness. It began to grow, to thicken into a symbol of my perseverance. So, when school resumed on Sept. 23, I returned with full facial hair.

At the end of that first week back our staff gathered for our Friday shout-outs. Some members looked shell-shocked. Some looked overwhelmed. All looked exhausted. There were three however, who stood out.

Just like the Three Musketeers who fought and rallied and did important things and probably had beards, we three brave, intrepid and ruggedly handsome men banded together to form a pact of solidarity – a solidarity beard if you will. We vowed to not shave until our entire school body was rejoined at our main campus. Until that time, our beards would grow; both in length and strength of support for our displaced colleagues and students.

After a solid month of solidarity, our beards are collectively solidifying solidly. We all look pseudo-homeless. I am starting to have trouble eating normal foods. But these are the sacrifices you have to make in the face of extraordinary circumstances.

We are currently scheduled for reunification on Jan. 1. This means that solidarity will continue for two more months. I do not know what those two months hold, whether beard dreads, a nesting wren family or an arrest for vagrancy. What I do know is that any and/or all of these scenarios are acceptable when they come with a little bit of solidarity.

I met a girl last weekend. She was about my age. She had a boot on her left foot. It was one of those blue, doctor’s boots. The kind that make you walk like your leg is in a block of ice and forces your butt to wiggle in and out while you stomp, stomp, stomp.

When I met the girl with the blue boot I asked what happened to her foot.

“Well, I broke it a while ago, but then I just ignored it for two weeks. Then I went to a wedding and wore high heels. I danced and the pressure made the break go up my foot. Then I had to wear this boot for eight weeks.”

My response: “So, do you have any lessons learned from this?”

Yes, I actually say things like this.

She did not look at me and say, “What? Are you a robot?” Instead she just said, “No, not really. Why?”

At this point it was somewhat amazing that we were still trying to have a conversation about her blue boot and the life-changes or soul-searching it wrought. I tried to explain my awkward question by answering, “It seems to me that walking around in a boot for eight weeks might not be worth dancing at one wedding. But I don’t know. I just like to think about stuff.”

Again, these are the things I actually say to people.

She still had no answer. “I don’t really make rational decisions,” she said and continued with a story.
“So I love Sweet N Low” she began. “It makes my coffee into a candy. I hate milk. I mean putting milk in coffee, that’s just nasty,” she shuddered. “But Sweet N Low, that stuff is amazing. I don’t even need that much. One packet will do me. So I found out that apparently Sweet N Low causes cancer. I quit using it that day. But smoking…”

She took a drag on her cigarette and continued.

“I obviously know that smoking causes cancer. Shit, those statistics are everywhere. Yet I don’t even think about quitting. What’s with that?”

I don’t know. I can’t really speak to the smoking question. I’ve never tried it. Not even part of a drag.

But similar incongruities pop up all over the place. Why do I decide to go eco-crazy, start recycling AND composting, and then drive my car 12,000 miles this summer? Why do I budget my income and save purposefully and then spend $300 on a Wii that I have not even played in the 2 weeks since I bought it?

I don’t know why my neurosis makes me OCD on one front and completely non-functioning on the other, but I love blue-boot girl’s story. I love the thought of rejecting the candy in my coffee on the one hand and hastening the decay of my lungs on the other. They are just so interesting.

I definitely hope to slowly iron out these creases in my life, to have my eco-craziness seep into everything or to have my budget protect me from needless stuff. I will continue to work on these irregularities, but in the meantime I will embrace. Today that means I embrace organic groceries and still eating Skittles.

Is Red #5 organic?