To the East Kentwood Graduating Class of 2016

To the Class of 2016:

The Millennial Problem (Actually, there isn't one)

I doubt there will ever be another class like the class of 2016 in my career; I will never know another class first as gangly freshmen over across the parking lot, then as nervous sophomores finally in the big house, then again as juniors who popped in to visit randomly when they had a few spare minutes, all the way--and I’m so proud of you for getting here--through their senior year of high school. After four years with some of you, you’re now on the cusp of adulthood, and I feel it’s my job to give you some last-minute considerations before you take that leap of faith. I am so happy to be here to help usher you on to the next stage of your life. You are about to go out into the world, and there is a great deal of responsibility that comes with that.

By definition, you belong to the millennial generation. Researchers Neil Howe and William Strauss categorize millennials as born between 1982 and 2002, which is funny to me, because that puts both the class of 2016 and the person wishing them well with this letter--me--in the same category. And I don’t know if you know this (mostly because I see evidence of this belief all over Facebook and most of you use this odd little app called Snapchat), but the world has a surprisingly negative view of Millennials. Narcissistic, broke, entitled, egocentric, lazy… the list goes on and on.

I hope that makes you angry. I hope it makes you angry because, as your teacher, I can personally attest to the fact that it is not true. The class of 2016 has activists, politicians, philanthropists, and inventors. It has hard working students simultaneously caring for themselves and their families, but also saving and preparing for college. It has young men and women ready to sacrifice everything by serving in the military. It has individuals who have dedicated their entire lives to a sport or an instrument or a fine art. It has probably the largest database collection of selfies to ever exist so far in our worldly existence, but it also uses Twitter and social media to spread awareness on issues like feminism, institutional racism, and tolerance. The millennial generation will be the generation to call into question everything this country does currently that makes no sense, and it will be the generation to steer our country in new directions that will make us better.

I believe there are three things the millennial generation must do to prove wrong the negative stereotypes cast upon it by those who forget what it is like to be young.

First, be kind. Treat others the way you would like to be treated. It is the golden rule, the lesson repeated to us over and over as children and yet, somehow, one of the first things we forget in any disagreement. The best way to be kind is to practice empathy: the ability to put yourself in the shoes of another and feel with them, not simply for them. I firmly believe that there is nothing in this world that cannot be cured by empathy. It is the most important skill to learn. Be inclusive and patient. Celebrate differences rather than fearing them. Support one another instead of tearing them down. Recognize that what benefits one benefits all. See the good in people; be forgiving of their flaws. Be kind. Ms. Kooy uses the phrase, “Choose joy.” Show those who think so little of millennials that you are worth investing in. Demand the respect of those who do not think you deserve it.

The second way to prove the value of a millennial is with your voice. I am unapologetically an English teacher, and those of you who have had me in class hopefully realize that I have two running themes in a course no matter if it is English 10 or College Writing. In those classes, I teach you to determine what you believe, and I teach you how to express it in a way that is productive. Content and craft. What you say, and how you say it. It is so important for you to determine what you personally believe. Without convictions and morals and values, you are invisible. But it is not enough to know what you believe if you cannot express it in a way that welcomes others into the dialogue. For that, refer back to our first point: be kind and empathetic.

When I was in college, there was a spot in the middle of WMU’s campus where extremists assembled to shout their beliefs and condemn the beliefs of anyone who did not agree with them, and it always turned into a malicious argument when it would have been more productive as a dialogue. One of my classes--a class in leadership--actually skipped our intended lesson and went out to listen to the exchange between this extreme man and those who disagreed with him. And at the end of that experiment, my teacher asked, “Did any on-looker’s opinion change because of that man?” The answer was obviously no. Their anger was riled up and they were energized by confrontation, but no minds were changed. And she said this: We are more likely to influence others by walking alongside them than by colliding with them head on.

Words matter. How you approach an argument, far more than what you add to it, determines the outcome. What you say matters little if how you say it alienates those who you are trying to persuade. Recognize, millennials, that you can disagree without being disagreeable. You can coexist beside people who do not share your views. You can change your own mind, beliefs, and values without being villainized. Worry first and foremost about how you speak, and then what you say becomes more valuable and relevant to those who might otherwise doubt you.

The third way--and perhaps the most important way--to prove that you are worth your place in this world is by your choices. It is the most powerful thing you possess, and if you give away the power to choose, you give away everything. I don’t think this would truly be a letter from Pretz without some reference to literature, so I wanted to share with you the passage of the book, East of Eden by  Steinbeck, that changed my life.

“The American Standard [Bible] translation orders men to triumph over sin, and you can call sin ignorance. The King James translation makes a promise in ‘Thou shalt,’ meaning that men will surely triumph over sin. But the Hebrew word, the word timshel--’Thou mayest’--that gives a choice. It might be the most important word in the world That says the way is open. That throws it right back on a man. For if ‘Thou mayest’--it is also true that ‘Thou mayest not.’ Don’t you see?”

You and you alone have the right to decide your path, which means you and you alone are responsible for any success or failure you experience. And while you cannot always choose what happens to you, you can choose how you react to it. Every poor choice, every procrastinated assignment, every piece of gossip you partake in or pass along is a choice, which means every good decision, accomplished goal, or strong friendship is because you made it so. Take personal responsibility. Own up to your mistakes. Accept who you are, or vow to make yourself better. Do not pass blame. Choose wisely. For every crossroads you face for the rest of your life, remember: you may, or you may not.

I think it is fitting that you face adulthood the year of the 2016 presidential election. And I think, regardless of your political affiliation, the fact we can all agree on is that this election is unlike one we have ever seen before. American is at a point in her life where she, too, is on the cusp of something new. And our generation--the millennials--are going to have a huge say in where we are headed next. It is you young people who will play the biggest part in ending institutional racism, in reforming the education system, in ensuring that women receive equal protection under the government as men do. It is you young people who will write the movies of tomorrow, will solve the problem of global warming, will determine the outcome of the conflicts in the Middle East. And though those generations older than you are afraid of that--“Pot smoking kids with man buns attending Electric Forest are going to figure out how to get clean water in all of Africa? Yeah, right.”--I have nothing but the utmost faith in you all. (I have to believe in you, because I am one of you, and I have seen greatness in you already.)

I will leave you with one last thought before I watch you leave and stare solemnly at your empty desks for the next three weeks until I myself am also on summer vacation. There is a band based out of Grand Rapids called The Crane Wives, and they have been fighting an uphill battle in the music industry since at least 2011, yet they persist. Their fan base is small, but ever growing. They work their asses off to promote themselves and get gigs. They, too, are millennials. They, too, are deciding for themselves the life they will get to reflect on when they are old. One of their songs says, “No amount of waiting will make you, make you brave. No amount of fear will keep you, no amount of fear will keep you safe.” Do not waste your life waiting for the right day to start living it. Do not be so afraid of failure that you never begin at all. You deserve so much more than a half-life. You deserve every good thing you fight for. You deserve to be recognized for the exceptional people you are.

Do not let anyone tell you your voice does not matter because it is young. Do not let anyone tell you your ideas are illogical or farfetched or delusional, because those who changed the world were once seen as illogical and farfetched and delusional. Be so powerful and wise and compassionate that in fifty years, as they review generations and their contributions to history, the millennials will become known as the greatest generation since the original Greatest Generation.

“No amount of waiting will make you brave.

No amount of fear will keep you safe.”

-Miss Pretzer

To the East Kentwood Graduating Class of 2015

To the Class of 2015

Alethiology: The Study of Truth

Perhaps the wisest literary character of my generation once said, “Words are, in my not-so-humble opinion, our most inexhaustible source of magic. Capable of both inflicting injury, and remedying it.” And that wise sage was Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, which I doubt any of you find surprising, given that I’ve sorted most of you into Hogwarts Houses, and one of my most prized possessions is a green, leatherbound copy of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone.

What really matters there is not who said the words, but the words themselves. WORDS ARE MAGIC, it says. Words are weapons for the tyrants, but they are also elixirs for the broken. Which means possessors of words, communicators of meaning, tellers of stories… they are the most powerful souls to walk the face of our planet. Anyone who tries to tell you differently--anyone who suggests your words lack value--has already used their words to beat you.

You must not let them.

The list that follows contains some of the most important words upon which I’ve ever stumbled, words by which lives are lived and grown and changed. Some are words we do, others are words we need. There are words we long for and words we’ve lost. Words we must find again in order to be our truest, best self. Words we must know to enrich our evanescent blips on eternity’s timeline. These are words you do not possess on the tongue, but in the heart, the mind, the soul. If you know these words so completely that you become them, then, by Dumbledore’s logic, you become an inexhaustible source of magic as well.

Appreciation: a full understanding of something; recognizing good qualities of someone or something. You did not get here by yourself. You did not breathe life by your own will. Rather, you have two very important people to thank for that. You did not, as an infant, change your own diaper or feed yourself. In fact, some of you might still depend upon your parents to feed you. You have had parents, family members, friends, friends’ parents, co-workers, coaches, pastors, and teachers who have dedicated countless hours, months, years of their lives toward your success. Recognize that. Recognize them. And don’t just recognize them internally, but speak to them or write to them and acknowledge that which has been done to make it possible for you to soon be sitting on that football field, receiving that diploma, going to college or joining the workforce, becoming your own perfectly imperfect self.

Sacrifice: the act of giving up something valued for the sake of something seen as more valuable. Those people I just referenced above--the ones you subconsciously thought of when I suggested you show your appreciation--know this word, sacrifice, well. Not only did they give you their time and energy, their advice, their words (of encouragement, of logic or reason, of disapproval at times). Those people have given you their lives expecting nothing in return. You do not need to thank them when you’re famous for them to recognize a job well done. You do not need to call and check in with them every other week to let them know you’re doing ok. That’s not what sacrifice is about. That’s not what they need. They have given you everything they possessed because they valued the time and energy they gave up less than they valued you. Pay that forward. Pass that along. Give to someone not because they can give back in return, but because you recognize their inherent worth and you want others to recognize it as well.

Honesty, Sincerity and Integrity: telling the truth; possessing moral uprightness; being free from deceit or hypocrisy. What fulfillment comes from lying, cheating, deceiving others? What joy is there in being known for underhanded or dishonest behavior? It takes ten times the positive feedback on a person to dismiss one negative comment; live your life so you are without those negative comments. Tell the truth, sometimes delicately but always in favor of the dishonest alternative. Do what is right despite it being more difficult than what is easy, because to do nothing against injustice is the same as helping that injustice persist. Examine and evaluate your life, avoiding hypocrisy, avoiding throwing stones while you yourself are living in a glass house. Avoid double standards. Practice patience and an open-mind. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

Loyalty: a strong feeling of support or allegiance. I doubt I can express this one as articulately as I would hope to be able, and that is because it is one of the most important. Loyalty does not mean agreeing with a person simply because they are your friend, it means standing behind them even if they are not always right. You do not have to fight others for them, but you had better not deliver them on a platter to their enemies. Loyalty is keeping your mouth shut on topics you were told in confidence. Loyalty is not going somewhere that would upset someone you care about, or talking to someone they would hurt to know you spoke to. Loyalty is to think sometimes about another person before you think of yourself. Loyalty is steadfast and stable. It is a commitment to someone, friend or family or significant other, and without loyalty, you cannot possess any of the qualities needed for a successful relationship of any kind, romantic or otherwise. Joyce Maynard said, “Those who deserve my loyalty receive it.” It does not have to be unconditional to everyone you meet, but to those whom you love, love them unconditionally.

Ambition: a strong desire to do or achieve something. We all have at least one. We must possess ambition toward something in order to simply wake up each morning. Ambition to see all fifty states. Ambition to graduate from med school. Or maybe community college. Ambition to break out of the cycle of poverty our family’s have experienced for generations. Ambition to survive another day under the crippling weight of depression. Ambition to find someone who loves us exactly as we are, despite our imperfections and in spite of them. Ambition is the drive to achieve, and I don’t care about where your ambitions lie, simply that you have some.

Ebullience: bubbling enthusiasm. Probably an odd word. Probably the first time you’ve ever heard it and quite possibly the last time you ever will. Similar to but different than ambition, because while that word, ambition, deals with the moving toward something bigger or grander, ebullience is simply the attitude with which you move. Find enthusiasm for everything you do, whether you feel the task beneficial to your end game or not. If you treat each experience or encounter with enthusiasm, you’ll learn more from the trivial than some learn from their deepest, most sincere studies. Everything has or is a lesson if you look at it correctly. Everything can help bring you into your adult identity if you give it the chance.

Humility: a modest view of oneself or one’s accomplishments. Do whatever it is you want to do not for the recognition, but for the intrinsic reward that accomplishment will bring you. Kind words can turn scathingly malicious overnight; people who once applauded you will use your simplest of mistakes to turn against you. Do not rely on others for your happiness. True happiness--internal satisfaction and pride in a job well done--comes from humility. Icarus thought too highly of himself and his cleverness, yet in the end, when flown too closely to the sun, his wax wings--his proudest creation, the testament to his genius--were his destruction. If you find that happy medium, not only are you in range to pull others up, but you’ll be able to see areas in which you can improve.

Meliorism: the belief that the world gets better; the belief that humans can improve the world. What an incredible concept. Despite all of the cynical realists in your life (myself included, at times), hope persists. And this belief--that you can improve the world--exists because without it, what are we doing? Why are we here? Without meliorism, our entire existence is demeaned and trivialized and logicked away by pessimists and negative thought. You cannot fall victim to pessimism. You must believe that one soul, yes even yours, can impact our planet. Because one soul can inspire another, and that one soul can inspire another. That is how movements occur. That is the source of revolutions. Meliorism should be that internal ambition to improve. You possess in you the power to affect the world, but you have to access it, nurture it, and fight every single day to achieve it.

Sonder: the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and as complex as your own. Now while this word is not recognized in Webster’s dictionary, it was created to fill the void of not having a word for this particular sensation. For more words created to explain feelings we have no words for, seek The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows online. Print dictionary approved or not, what an unusual word. What a humbling realization to make that we are not the center of our universe. That while we exist entirely within ourselves, there are people who exist entirely separate from us but with the exact same level of complexity. Your problems are completely valid because they are yours, but others possess problems that are valid because they are their own. We cannot operate under the assumption that humanity exists on a ladder, that people exist above or beneath one another and not side by side; there are no echelons to problems or happiness or fear. We all possess our own, and they cannot be qualified against anyone else’s. Our experiences are our truth, just as the truth of others is defined by their own experiences. And those truths can contradict one another without either being incorrect or false. An extra in your movie is the heroine or hero in someone else’s. Try to treat them as such.

That really leads to the most important word of all.

Empathy.

I have not found one word more all-encompassingly important than empathy, and I doubt I ever will.

Empathy: the ability to understand and share feelings with another. Every other good quality a person could possess, in my opinion, is a direct result and measure of one’s empathy. Compassion? We see what others need and we take care of them. Respect? We expect others to let us have our own opinions without being attacked or ridiculed, and so we allow others that same basic human right. Loyalty? We understand how terrible betrayal feels and we refuse to allow it in the lives of those we love. Honesty? We’d want someone to tell us the truth, even if it would hurt. Empathy causes us to look at a person and see what they are not telling us, because we know the sort of ways we hide from others. Empathy lets us know how to take care of one another, because we know the type of care we ourselves need. Empathy puts us in tune with the people around us, helps us recognize that all of those extras in our life’s movie possess fully developed, live-in-color feelings and emotions and needs and wants. And empathy helps us make this world safe for everyone. Empathy makes us better, stronger, helps us change this world for the better.

And that’s everyone’s responsibility.

I cannot express my adoration for the graduating class of 2015. Though I’ve known some of you hardly any time at all, you are all miraculous. You all possess some of these words already. You all are capable of embodying all of them. You are inspiration in a tangible form, and I am grateful to have known you for however long or briefly our stories might overlap. I hope that is a long, long time. I hope you never hesitate to return home and revisit those who have sacrificed for and loved you on this journey; know they will think of you long after high school becomes simply a memory to you.

Stephen Covey said, “There are three constants in life… change, choice, and principles.” So now we shift from high school to, for some, college, from college to the rest of your lives. Choose a life you are proud to live every single day. Stand by your beliefs and never waver. Revel in every change you undergo on your way to your perfectly imperfect selves. And while this period of your life is over, every minute and memory you still possess is ripe with potential.

“Every once, once only. Just once and no more.

And we also once. Never again.”

-Rainer Maria Rilke

All my ineffable love, intangible and boundless,

Miss Pretzer

EK 2015: CATS

After three months of hard work, five live performances, and two weeks of musical hangover, I'm still in love with the show, and I think I've finally figured out why.

We spent nearly every day with each other for three months straight.

It's said that absence makes the heart grow fonder, but I think that's only true if you've actually grown to appreciate someone's presence first. And I think that's why this musical has become the most unique, incredible, miraculous production of which I've ever been a part. What we created with CATS will never be created again by anyone--EK theatre or otherwise. And the only reason we created what we did, in all its magic, is because we built one another up, we let one another into our lives.

When we decided CATS, I was dumbfounded. The adults sat in a circle and threw out ideas and talked hopes and dreams and all the sudden Mr. Mellema said, "What about CATS?" And we all scrunched up our faces and asked, "Really? Are you sure? Are you feeling ok?" But there was logic to it, and he argued it well, so we agreed, and as soon as we left the room, the enormity of our decision hit us.

"Ok, we're doing CATS... what did we just get ourselves into?"

I watched the show online. I'd never seen it before because Andrew Lloyd Webber's never really been my favorite, and my first exposure left me... confused. I wikipedia'd the show, hoping for a plot and finding none, digging through lyrics and vocal parts and character names (I think T.S. Eliot did a lot of drugs...), and I was prepared for callbacks because I knew these characters but I was unprepared for callbacks because it was the third longest running show on Broadway and it was about... cats.

I've been humming "Macavity the Mystery Cat" ever since.

The cast list sort of just fell into place. We commented how painless it was as we ate pizza and hummus and weird foreign pastries made by Mr. Hoeksema. And then the list went up and the show we had planned on being smaller than last year was sixty plus kids strong. But there was so much talent and heart and zeal at callbacks and auditions that it didn't make sense to trim the cast.

What worked with this show so phenomenally well was that it was an ensemble. Everyone was at rehearsal every day because everyone was on stage every minute (nearly). And that's rare for shows of sixty cast members to accomplish. We should be very proud of that. I lost count of how many people came up to me after the shows and gawked about not only the size of our cast, but the quality of their voices. Theatre veterans (friends from high school) and musical virgins (my father) were saying the same thing: how did you fit them all on stage? they all sounded fantastic. I can't believe these are high schoolers.

I hope you realize how special this show was. I hope you realize how impossible it will be to create anything that will ever compare to this. Sixty brilliant young people on stage for an hour and a half singing nonstop is the kind of goal high schools set for themselves as a far and distant achievement. We've already achieved it. Recognize that only happened, I firmly believe, because you grew comfortable with each other's presence.

Every day.
Every cast member.
The whole time.

Every day.
Every cast member.
The whole time.

Every day.
Every cast member.
The whole time.

It created a focused rhythm to the show. It helped you discover nuances to the music and choreography you might have otherwise missed. It kept you constantly practicing, rarely forgetting. It was a Fine Arts bootcamp, and you survived it with flying colors. And as icing on top of our cake, it created memories, it forged friendships, it diminished grade level lines and built up a cast loyalty. You all put in so much work that you were all invested in the outcome. I can say that with confidence, because I saw it.

In the orchestra room dance rehearsals, I saw it. Popping in to vocal rehearsals, I saw it. On stage for our two day sitzprobe, I saw it (even when you got antsy and chatty). Those long, exhausting night rehearsals, I saw it. When you showed up to optional Saturday makeup sessions or stayed after school to help put our set together, I saw it. When you tweeted day after day, put it in your bios, snap-chatted it (is that the correct verbage?), I saw it. When you wore those shirts once a week (or more) to advertise our show, I saw it. When you ran through the halls in full makeup with the goal of drawing attention to yourself, I saw it. When you practiced your songs and dances before the show (and if you're Emma, at intermission), I saw dedication and commitment and love for everything we had created.

No cast I've ever worked with has worked harder than this one. No cast I've ever worked with was so focused as this one. No cast I've ever worked with was as professional and as optimistic and as proud of their production as this one.

That's why you miss it now.

A plotless musical about cats... WHO WOULD HAVE THOUGHT?

No musical I've ever been a part of (including all of mine in high school, including my LAST one in high school) was missed so much as this one seems to be. And I don't know if it's actually because we miss singing about Mistoffelees six thousand times, or if the naming of cats and those creepy head twitches making audience members shiver excited us, or if it was more about the people we've met and the memories we've made, but this show was a defining moment in our seniors' lives, and it very well could be the defining moment in a lot of underclassmen's careers as well. Why?

Because we grew so used to have each other around that we felt safe, and we felt wanted, and we felt valued. (And maybe because the music was so damn catchy. And maybe because the dancing was a blast. And maybe because the puns made available because we were doing a musical about Cats were abundant. But mostly because we are nostalgic, emotionally vulnerable, perfectly imperfect human beings who desire acceptance and inclusion and who found that acceptance and inclusion in other nostalgic, emotionally vulnerable, perfectly imperfect human beings.) We became a home away from home (did any of you have a real family dinner at all in March?), and home is the place you can always go back to, the place you can let down your guard and be a mess some days and still be loved.

I'm getting wordy and long-winded, so I'll wrap it up by saying this:

I have never met a cast so memorable and phenomenal as this one.

CATS will forever have an enormous and irreplaceable hold on my heart.

I will never not miss what we've created.

You are always welcome back.

But for now, it's up, up, up, to the heavyside layer. At least we've got the memories (I couldn't resist). I love you all, more than I think you will ever realize. I will brag about those five nights for the rest of my life. No one will ever understand the love you have for this show and this cast like this cast will, and when it comes to figuring out why we love this show so much, that's all the proof you really need.

Writer's Block

There's no easy way to combat writer's block, that much is obvious. But when I find myself staring at an empty page, or a necessary but almost stagnant part of a work-in-progress, all the advice on beating writer's block goes out the window. There's nothing to be said--literally: in the story or out of it.

And I accomplish SO much outside of the four corners of the page on which I'm stuck, but those victories (a clean closet, a waxed car, a seventeen page scrapbook) lose their luster when I realize that, as soon as I'm out of distractions, I have to return to the page and come to terms with my incompetencies.

That is so scary.

That is life, too.

And if you look at it from life's perspective, if you follow that metaphor for a while, you realize the way to go is not to seek distractions, because distraction from life is death sooner. Distraction from life is the planning for the future, the figuring it out, the working endlessly to have a good lifestyle only to realize when you're retired it wasn't what you wanted in the first place. So, too, is writer's block.

So there are two ways to go, I guess. I can accomplish a million insignificant things in search of the next big thing, the newest inspiration, and hope that inspiration takes me further toward success than the problem piece, OR, I can plod through the rough stuff, trust that I'll get through it, grow from the miseries that accompany me while I plod, and come out at the end and stare back with deep satisfaction.

Satisfaction not necessarily in the end result, but in the journey.

And while that's not a helpful answer or a secret trick or a get-rich-quick scheme, that's sometimes the best there is. Plod on.

I've forgotten if I'm talking about writer's block or life.

I suppose they're interchangeable.

To The East Kentwood Graduating Class of 2014

I’m sorry to say that the only thing I can afford to give you besides unending and unconditional love and support is words. Because talk is cheap and it’s more impressive to walk the walk than simply to talk the talk. That, and you’ve spent who knows how long listening to me talk already. But if you haven’t ever really listened to me under the teacher-student context, consider listening to me now. Because I’ve been where you’ve been. I’ve feared what you fear and I’ve wondered what you wonder regarding what the rest of your life might hold. And I feared and wondered what you fear and wonder not too long ago. So while I am technically offering you words, realize that these words are full of pain and experience and failure and success and love and loss and fear and uncertainty and confidence and hope. So I suppose, in that sense, these are so much more than just words.

I begin with hyperbole, which I hope by now, after four years of high school, you know to mean that I am about to drop an extreme exaggeration upon you. A character from the movie Fight Club, the best movie ever, can be quoted as saying, “You are not a special snowflake.” The hyperbole here is not the quote itself, which I firmly stand beside as being completely accurate. The hyperbole is that Fight Club is the best movie ever, because while it is great, it will always be second to The Lion King as the best movie ever. The movie debate, however, is neither here nor there.

The quote is what I like, because it is true. You are not a special snowflake. You are nothing different than the person sitting on either side of you. And you’re probably internally consoling yourself, promising your internal psyche and self-esteem that you are, in fact, special. “Not me, Miss P, surely you don’t mean that I’m—”

Yes.

I do.

You are grey matter and tendons. You are muscles and blood and 70% water. You are 10:1 more bacteria than human, and it’s funny to me that we forget that so often. You are poop and piss and phlegm. You are bone and marrow and dead hair that never seems to do exactly what you want it to. You stink, literally and sometimes figuratively. You are flawed on a fundamental level, and you are weak. You were born crying, and you’ll die—hopefully—old and ugly. You can be broken.

Conscious adulthood and mature thought is great, isn’t it? Really uplifting?

There was this thing circulating the internet a while back that I saw, and it claimed that every living thing had approximately one billion heartbeats, give or take several thousand. One billion. That seems like forever, right? To the healthy, it could be about eighty years. To people like me, eh… sixty-five. But the concept is interesting, and to some extent, it’s rather logical. Whales live for a long time and have slow heartbeats. Birds… not so much. Alligators can slow their heart and have been known to live without food for sometimes as long as two entire years—it’s how they supposedly survived the extinction of the dinosaurs. So if that’s true, if you have one billion heartbeats—no different than the birds or the whales or the alligators—it really only reaffirms the idea that you, sorry to say, are not special.

Too often nowadays, we are rewarded for existing. You know what I mean, right? You show up to class on time after sixteen consecutive days of being tardy and you are bold enough to ask for extra credit? You help your mother clean dishes you dirtied and you want money to go out? Honorable mentions? Awards for participation? You suck at Tee Ball but you get an All Star Ribbon at the end of the year banquet? WHY? It teaches us that we are inherently valuable, and that is false. Not only does it warp our reality, it sets us up for terrible, terrible failure.

We create around us an ego. We believe by birthright that we deserve to be respected. And that is a lie. The most important thing I can teach you is this: RESPECT IS EARNED. You have to prove that you are valuable. You have to work hard for your rewards. You have to recognize that the people who are above you in life are there because they have proven their value and done the hard work that is necessary. You cannot get into the NBA without a lifetime of experience. You cannot get a painting in the Louvres without practice and time and failure!

If I reaffirm that you are special, that you are inherently valuable, that you are good enough as you already are, slap me. I give you permission to slap me, hard, right across the face. Because I would be setting you up for failure. I would be instilling in your still maturing brain that you are perfect, that you can do no wrong, that you need no further guidance or coaching, that you cannot learn from the people around you. I would be insisting to you that you are done growing, that you are “finished.” I would be stunting your potential by convincing you that you have reached it already as fully as potential can be achieved.

No.

Work for it.

FIGHT for it.

Find what you love and study it every day. And don’t be afraid to choose doing what you like over what can make you the most money. Don’t let your GPA (a highly skewed measure of worth) tell you that you’re not good enough. That just means you haven’t found the subject or the career path to which you are most committed. In fact, ignore the GPA altogether, because that number doesn’t have any indicating power over your future success. What matters to your future is that you’ve chosen a path that excites you. If you are intrinsically motivated to succeed, you will do better than any GPA could ever predict. In fact, it is not a grade point average, but an intrinsic passion, that makes an individual successful—an intrinsic passion fueled by insanely hard work and the occasional failure to keep you modest. Like what you do, or stop doing it. Love what you do, or find something that makes your heart of one billion beats beat faster.

But, here’s where I contradict myself, which is good preparation for the real world because the real world—whatever “real” turns out to be—in most instances, almost always contradicts itself. I contradict myself because while I wholeheartedly believe that you are not special, I just as emphatically believe that you are miraculous.

You are grey matter and tendons, just like the person next to you, but you are beliefs that you have concluded for yourself after intense research and personal inquiry. You are muscles and blood, but you are tied to people who have shaped your entire existence in a way that no one else could ever understand. You are 70% water, and you weep it out of you while remembering inside jokes with friends, or at the funerals of those you love most and have lost. You are bacteria, but you remain alive and healthy. You are poop and piss and phlegm, but you are ideas and imagination and dreams, too. You are bone and marrow, but you are morals and ethics formed through trial and error. You are dead hair, but you are beautiful. You stink, but no one can fill the space you occupy with the same grace and wonder with which you occupy it. You are flawed because you have experienced trauma that has put worries in your mind, experienced pain that stirs motivation in your soul. You were born crying in fear, but you do not have to live that way. You can be broken, but that does not mean you can’t also be repaired.

But you will die, just like everyone else.

So I challenge you to really contemplate what that means.

We don’t like lingering on that part of our eternity. I sure don’t. It makes my stomach do this weird flippy swirl that makes me want to throw up. And I think the reason most of us get so upset by the idea of death is because we have no idea what it means to live. Cliché? Absolutely. But most clichés are so because they are, in one way or another, true. We are so afraid to waste our time that we never start anything. We refuse to do something unless we think we can do it perfectly, and the world is cruel because for so long you’ve been told you are a special snowflake and when you fail the world does not pity you. It makes it hard to be brave.

We should be motivated by death. It should be the catalyst for everything. We should always be asking ourselves, what am I going to do before I can no longer do anything? How am I going to spend my one billion heartbeats? How will I impact my corner of the world for the better? Who might I irreparably hurt? How will I be remembered by the people who knew me best? What would be said of me by people who have only observed me from afar? 

And I hope you care about those answers, because the most productive and inspiring people are those who live each second as if they were immortal. If you do life well, you live on long after you are gone, and you live on in the lives of those you’ve made an impact upon. And when you undoubtedly die—because you are not special—you live on when those people you’ve touched teach their children what you taught them. You live on in the mindsets you influenced, maybe without even realizing it. You are the heartbeats you have, but more importantly, you are the heartbeats of everyone you’ve touched.

It’s not forever, but it’s enough.

And that is an exhilarating responsibility.

Rise to that challenge. Work hard at that. Don’t assume that just because you are alive that you are important. Miraculous? Absolutely. But important? Valuable? That’s the hardest work you’ll ever do.

Tyler Durden reminds us that we are not special snowflakes. We are one of billions. We are forgettable and average. And if you haven’t figured out by now that I believe he’s right, you’ve probably been lobotomized. But what Brat Pitt’s ridiculously handsome character forgets to add is that, though we are not born special snowflakes, we can most certainly become them. And we become them through hard work and determination and a will that cannot be wavered by momentary defeat. We can be brilliant works of art if we work to become them. We can become amazing if we dedicate ourselves to surpassing the expectations set for us by others. You have to earn your place in this world; those who think it is handed to them will spend their lives waiting for their future to be delivered—gift wrapped, with a bow on top—and they will do so without realizing that someone else has already taken it.

So no, you are not a special snowflake, but if you can accept that… my god, you can be extraordinary.

All my love (impossible to measure or quantify),

Miss Pretzer

To The East Kentwood Graduating Class of 2013

First of all, I want to say congratulations on your graduation, and that you've made my time at Kentwood one of the best teaching experiences any new teacher could hope for. You've assured me I'm in the right profession and you've reminded me what is important in life.

So good job...

I'm so proud of you... 

And never forget how valuable you are as students, as human beings, and as shapers of the future world...

[What Follows] is Not a Lesson in Morality or Growing Up, But You Should Still Read It 

Five years ago, I was in your position (for those of you who have spent all this time guessing and wondering, that does, in fact, make me only 23). I was preparing for graduation from high school (and later college), and I was scared out of my mind because that meant the rest of the world was out there, waiting to snatch me up and put me in my niche and use me. And I wasn’t sure where I was supposed to fit in or what I was supposed to do or if I’d fail miserably at it. And I stood behind that podium at graduation, looked out at some three thousand parents and family members and friends (gah), and some 380 classmates, and I did my best to give a motivational, moving speech about how much potential our lives had and the amazing things we would all do.

This is not that speech. Nor is it a speech at all. It’s me tying up loose ends, because for you to graduate without me doing so would feel unfinished, and I think highly enough of you all that I feel you deserve a glowing, pride-filled affirmation from someone who loves and respects you as much as it is possible for an individual to love and respect another. And while I’m certain you’ll do anything to which you set your mind, what I want to say here is that I believe in you. Because I feel like you don’t get to hear that enough.

In the eyes of (a large portion, but not all, of) the world, the youth is a generation of degenerate, drug-using, sexually promiscuous hoodlums who cannot be trusted based solely on the principle that they are young. And I want to tell you that’s just a foul stereotype, and this generation, this graduating class, is more than capable of turning that stereotype on its head. Because I taught you for three months (only three months), and I saw intellect and hard work and compassion, sacrifice, dedication and maturity, even the other-wordly ability to step out of your self-center and comprehend that there is something bigger of which you are apart. I saw students who held political opinions, who supported themselves through hard work at jobs they may have had no choice in the matter to work, who took responsibility for their failures and could therefore celebrate their successes all the more sincerely. I saw adults---by obligation or by choice---who were well on their way to self-sufficiency. I saw confidence grow, and I saw self-respect, and I saw self-restraint in the face of adversity, which is more than I can say for many of the adults in my life.

I believe you will all make great additions to the “real world,” the rat-race, the place where too many adults settle for something that is not, in their heart, their destiny. I believe the planet could be changed for the better by inventions of your design, or laws of your making, or simple actions on your part that are done without thinking and solely because they are right. I believe you will find the right person for you, you will find them at the right time in your life, and you will be better for having found them. I believe you will develop a set of morals and ethics and ideals that will guide your life in the right direction, but I also believe you will be humble and modest enough to admit mistakes can be made and that you can be the one to make them. I believe you will revolutionize the music or fashion industry, you will engineer new technology to make our world better and safer, you will be the best stay at home mothers or fathers there have ever been, maybe even that some of you will consider passing on your knowledge to the next generation of learners. 

I believe you’ve learned enough in your first eighteen years to help end injustice and oppression, to speak eloquently against ignorance, and to advocate to those without a voice or the means to advocate for themselves. I believe you will pay forward the blessings you have received in your lives to those who desire but do not have access to such blessings. I believe you will let your hardships play a positive role in who you become. I believe that even if you falter and find yourself in the darkness of failure or addiction or doubt or mediocrity, that you can overcome that which pulls you down. I believe that, if you live your lives conscious of the imprint you are making on this planet, that you can, through memories of your good deeds and the lives you’ve improved, live forever.

I hope you believe that, too.

I hope you never forfeit the persistence and determination to decide you want a better life for yourself than people expect of you. I hope you utilize your natural ability and work hard to achieve that to which you set your mind. I hope you understand how valuable compassion and dedication are both to your relationships, to your dreams, and to helping your relationships achieve their dreams. I hope you never take for granted the three pounds of grey matter between your ears, that you realize it is that brain---your brain and no one else’s---that decides who you are or who you date or what you do with your life. I hope the people who hurt your feelings toughen your skin, because the world is harsh and cruel at times but if you survive that it is welcoming and wonderful. I hope you keep tabs on everyone who ever told you that you can’t so you can show them that you have. I hope you thank the people who gave you the opportunity to discover yourself in an environment where you could safely explore all aspects of your potential. I hope you are brave enough to step out of the comfort zone you have spent your whole life constructing and view the world from beyond it, be it traveling to a different country or taking a class solely because the topic seems interesting or talking to a complete stranger just because you like their shoelaces. And I hope you’re brave enough to go to a movie alone (and maybe even cry over the movie by yourself) and listen to your music and read your books just because they make you happy. 

I hope you learn when to compromise and when to never waver. I hope you never let a person break your spirit, but also that you know when second chances are appropriate. I hope you sacrifice when others are in need, but also that you know when a person is poison and needs to be put on a shelf. I hope you know memories are crucial to your development, but that living in the past dements your future. I hope you know that you can be charitable without being exploited, that you can be kind without being a pushover, and that you can change your mind without being a hypocrite. I hope you cherish your good days. I hope you learn from your bad ones. I hope you take a second out of each day to feel your lungs expand, feel your life, albeit it a hard one sometimes, continue, and put the most into that life every day you have it. I hope you listen to your heartbeat and feel the heat of your skin and stare at your hands until they look oddly extraordinary, because too often we take for granted that we are alive and we are the only one of our kind and that no one could ever do what we do or how we do it.

Most of all, and I cannot express adequately in words how sincerely I hope this (above everything else, actually), I hope you love yourself and see all of the perfection in you that I saw, and the value and the humor and the spectacular individuality.

You don’t have to have every second of every year of your life figured out. And if you think you’ve got it figured out, you don’t have to stay on that path if it turns out to be wrong. We are human because we choose. We are human because we fail and hurt and cry and get discouraged. We are human because we doubt and because we break and because sometimes we allow our anger or jealousy to get the best of us and cause inconvenience to others. We are human because, sometimes, we act disgracefully. But we are also human because we rise from the ashes of each disappointment, each failure, each mistake, and we move forward. So in that way, I suppose we are the most magnificent creation or chance evolution or whatever you call it to ever have existed.

We must not squander that gift, that privilege. We must not overlook that responsibility.

I’m proud to have had those few months to teach you, to learn from you, and to watch you learn and teach each other. And had I been given only minutes as your teacher, I would be equally as proud. And if I could speak a million words on your behalf, they would not be enough to show the world your potential, your heart, your persistence, your perfection in all your imperfections, and your ability to grow and think and create. Plus, you’ve spent the last eighteen years of your life reading for information, so I should probably spare you the trouble of a million words when, ultimately, these 1,745 can say it just as well.

I have complete faith in the students of East Kentwood, the Graduating Class of 2013, to achieve their goals, to improve their lives, and to positively impact the entirety of the world spread out before them. And I wait anxiously from the sideline to witness your successes, bursting with pride for having known you.

Best wishes in everything you do, a congratulations for everything in your future you will achieve, and I say for the millionth time, if there is anything I can do to help you succeed in any way, do not hesitate to ask.

Miss Pretzer
kelsey.L.pretzer@gmail.com

To Clear Up Any Confusion

I know it's fun to tease and ask "who's your favorites," and I know you doubt me when I say I do not have favorites, but I don't. I really don't. And that's because each of you has your own place in my heart for your own reasons. *This is for Zeeland and East Kentwood and Parchment and any classes from any schools I teach in the future.* I am so blessed to go to work each day and get to know my students. I truly feel you all give so much more to me than I could ever possible give back. I might teach you English (or whatever), but you teach me patience, and compassion, and open-mindedness, and how to laugh when days are hard, and that the world is beautiful for 7 billion different reasons. Hopefully I teach you through my actions (really, sometimes that's more important than the subjects you learn in school), but I really cannot express the rush of emotions I feel every time I reflect on a day with any of my students. I love you all, each in your own way, and in ways that I cannot possibly explain in a way that makes logical, rational sense.

You all are the next generation of world changers, and I cannot put into words the pride I feel to know all of you. Whether you believe me or not, one group of students does not replace the other. My heart only expands to make room for each of you.