|
Working
with Uncertainty
By
Stephanie Sarantos, Staff member and parent
Now
more than ever in our lifetimes, friends and family
are thinking and talking about the uncertainty that
life brings. As the terrorist events of September 11
and the ensuing war hover over all of us, other topics
become insignificant by comparison. In preparing an
article for the school newsletter this fall, I found
myself unable to attach to any of the many topics I
think would be of importance to the school. Instead
I am compelled to share my thoughts about uncertainty
with the extended Clearwater community.
When
The Clearwater School commenced the school year on Monday,
September 10, 2001, we dove into the annual business
of renewing friendships, joking and bantering that always
permeates the first days of school. On that Monday,
a radio talk show host from 107.7 THE END, called to
schedule a telephone interview with me for 7:15am the
following morning. On the morning of September 11, I
rose early to squeeze in a run before the interview.
On my way home I heard a phrase about "all of Manhattan,"
broadcast from a car warming up on the side of the trail,
and had a passing thought that something bad had happened.
When I arrived home, my husband Tom and I turned on
the radio to get a sense of the tone of questions I
might face on the talk show. Instead we were blasted
with news that a plane had flown into the World Trade
Center in NYC. At first, I could not take in this information,
but watched Tom's reaction of shock. Watching Tom I
felt myself realize the horror of this unfathomable
thing that was happening. Over the next few minutes
the reality sunk in as the second plane hit and the
towers collapsed. My family continued to listen to the
news and talk about what had happened as we prepared
and then left for school.
The
tone at school that Tuesday was so different from Monday.
On the second day of the school year students, staff
and parents were talking about what was happening in
New York and Washington. We moved our old TV to see
if we could get reception closer to windows or with
a wire antenna. Failing to see more than shadows, many
of us turned to radio and Internet news. I was especially
aware of a complex interweaving dance between people
following every minute of news coverage and others who
sought to avoid the sounds and images. I found myself
in the middle of the dance—wanting more information,
but needing to walk away after hearing very little.
My role as a staff member followed this same dance,
taking me away from the news and back again. My responsibility
to be available to the needs of students led me in many
different directions throughout that day and in the
weeks to follow.
Right
away I interacted with two four-year-olds starting their
first day of school. These children were not paying
attention to the news. They needed to play with Legos,
learn about rules and go to the park. At two different
times, an eight-year-old and a ten-year-old each told
me they wished the news would stop talking about this—they
wanted to proceed with more routine aspects of their
lives. Later in the day I gravitated to the computer
room for glimpses of Internet coverage and discussions
with the teens about the implications of what was happening
in the world.
The
reactions of different students at school paralleled
the reactions of many of my friends and family members.
Across the week I was struck by the different ways that
the people around me chose to cope with an event so
beyond expectations. Many people talked of needing to
see every image and hear as many reports as possible—watching
TV, reading the NY Times cover to cover and talking
about each new bit of information. Other people avoided
turning on the radio or even picking up the paper. Some
of my friends spoke of numbness, others were overcome
by tears throughout the day. I noticed myself reading
a paragraph of news, sighing deeply and walking away,
only to circle back for a second and third bite of information.
I had many moments of hoping I would wake up to find
this had not happened.
In
the immediate days after September 11th,
I found myself struggling with conflicting feelings.
I felt devastated at the destruction of so many lives
and fearful that my life and my family might not be
safe. I wanted to wake up from a dream, yet I wanted
to understand and feel the sorrow of this event. I was
struck with my disbelief that something like this could
happen and at the same moment knew that such devastation
is a daily occurrence in many parts of the world. I
realized it is easier to think about uncertainty in
the abstract than to experience it close-up.
Looking
back on my activities of September 11, I am grateful
that I could be at The Clearwater School with so many
wonderful people of all ages. I learned many lessons.
That Tuesday morning living with the terror of what
had happened and the fear of what might yet happen,
I found I could still enjoy wading through Meadowbrook
creek with four-year-olds on a crisp fall day. I learned
that life goes on. At Clearwater that day there was
much playing to be done—full of joy and conflict
and hope. When my ten-year-old friend told me she wanted
to hear less news, I learned we can feel sad, but we
can also maintain the daily rhythms that sustain our
days. In the computer room talking with the teenagers,
I learned of their thoughtfulness, internal strength,
and emerging wisdom. From everyone I talked with that
day I learned about the importance of allowing space
and acceptance for the range of different responses
people may have to the same experience.
I
have given much thought to how we can best help each
other—adults and children—to cope with the
feelings that tragedy uncovers. We did not do formal
"interventions" at Clearwater. But we gave
our thoughts and feelings full attention. At Clearwater,
students coped with this experience in individual ways—talking
about all that needed talking about, taking space for
silence, and continuing with play. I found inspiration
from the students' resilience and thoughtfulness. Through
my conversations I learned that this tragedy has a different
reality for each of us. We all have different histories
with trauma and different ideas of what the future may
bring. I hope that my presence and conversations with
students helped them in some way to process their experience
and think about the world. Their conversations with
me strengthened my faith in their ability to work with
the uncertainty of our times—and my hope for the
contributions they will offer the world.
Reprinted from the November 2001 issue
of The
School Bull, the newsletter of The Clearwater
School
|
