Poetry: Rage and Love
Never assault forward without fire support.
Life craves both rage and love.
Entwined with the harmonious sound of talking guns.
Fighting for her love.
HXV
Poetry: Burning Love
Days of
blue, red, white, yellow,
purple, pink,
and grey.
Life continues to grab hold,
with so much energy.
Possible is possible
running my fingers over
the linings of her heart.
Sending electrical currents;
waking my
nervous
system.
A magical collaboration
of energy.
By plugging my fingers
into her heart sockets.
The realm of infinite love appears,
with flashes
of life.
To run wild and free
inside her heart,
turns to the heaviest of pressures
to be loved by her.
Stronger than times
of enemy
gunfire
and
rockets.
A sense of accountability
crosses, loops, twists, and pulls
on my arms.
As jolts of electricity
surge through my veins.
No longer an addict to lust,
now addicted to her love.
An overdose of pleasure.
No drug on the market brings the same potency,
one touch of her lips,
feels of flames fueled by burning love.
No Comm Plan
I will do my best to articulate my definition of organizational communication through this short essay and personal reflection. Connecting dots from my experiences as a Recon Marine about organizational communication comes from various theoretical threads of communication and forms the backbone of successful teams and businesses out there today.
Organizational communication engages my curiosity, and I've found that systems theory is one of the more relevant and insightful frameworks for understanding how to digest organizational communication. As a recon communicator, I found that I was taught to follow a set of steps and build a skillset to problem solve in high-risk environments and that all came from the workings of organizational communication.
For example; if communication was lost during a mission with our chain of command, we were unable to proceed. Brief before stepping out for the mission we all knew that it was a must to initiate the no-comm plan with no questions asked. Restoring communication became the top priority in such cases. The longer we remained without communication, the more critical the mission turned. Here is a second example; in nighttime patrols and missions, effective communication is crucial for successful outcomes. Every one of my teammates and I have to use night vision goggles, they provide each of us with a green luminescence, showcasing a glimpse into the hidden wonders of the night that would otherwise go unseen. If these devices were to fail, we would lose one of our ways of communicating and moving through the land of the Taliban. Therefore, we followed a standard operating procedure to help our teammate get their night vision goggles working. In case of a breakdown, we usually had a backup to replace the broken night vision goggles.
These example emphasizes that in high-risk environments of special operations units and teams, following a structured reality is crucial for quick decision-making and mission success. It's not about discussing hierarchies, but rather about applying a a set of systems that ensures our survival through effective communication. For me, organizational communication is about the interdependence of various components that need each other to function effectively. Without these systems, the organization or team would be greatly impacted as you’ve seen in my personal experiences.
Learn more by clicking here about organizational communication and system theory.
Reflection on the Grant Writing Process
This reflection below is an assignment from my final week in my grant writing class for my master degree. It asked a questions that I felt took me into different directions and truly allowed me to explore writing in a different way that was challenging and fun. Enjoy reading. Here are the questions from that reflection prompt.
What were your biggest challenges in developing and assembling your proposal?
What were your greatest strengths in developing and assembling your proposal?
What surprised you about the process?
What would you do differently the next time you undertake the grant proposal process?
What advice would you give to individuals who have decided to write their first grant proposal?
I'm addressing the gut-wrenching events of suicide and the profound impact it has on those who fall victim to their own hands. It's a subject that cuts deep, leaving gunshot wounds slowly bleeding long after the firefights have ended. I carry this heavy burden because I feel a deep responsibility to inspire and educate others who may find themselves struggling with being trapped inside a ditch on the side of the road.
This gunshot wound isn't just hurtful to the person taking their life but to mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles, grandmas, grandpas – the list goes on. The ripple effect of such behavior seems to expand year by year with no brakes to stop. The shadow of suicide never goes away; it ends lives, and many feel it's the best way to end this human experience called life.
Throughout the grant writing development, roadblocks hindered my progress. I needed to learn quickly to shift my mindset away from sounding too formal and become a storyteller, effectively showing what it is I feel inside about veteran suicide. Showing, not just telling, was crucial for building a relationship with the reader and potential grant funders over time. Another challenge was finding a unique angle different from other organizations fighting veteran suicide.
Crafting the story of battling nightmares, reacting to loud noises, and enduring persistent states of sadness showed why this project needed funding. What initially seemed like a roadblock turned into an opportunity. It allowed me to hone my storytelling skills in this new format of grant writing.
The numbers are still rising even with so many outreach programs and non-profits trying to be a gun in the fight against this enemy we call suicide. A surprising aspect emerged as I swam more into the grant proposal research on veteran suicide. The question lingers in my mind: what approach is needed to put a stop to these self-inflicting life-ending actions?
The eight-week approach from the course was valuable, helping me stay organized, and omitting as needed. Moving forward with this newfound skill in crafting compelling grant proposals, I would implement a different outline system, improve time management, and develop a system that allows me to assemble each part of the grant as I finish it. I found that the true writing process unfolds and breathes when the whole proposal on its final review.
Habits over Obligations
Maybe writing isn't an art; it's a habit. Let's not confuse habit with obligation. A habit is something we've wired ourselves to do, becoming second nature and, over time, a part of life.
It adds daily color to our world. An obligation, on the other hand, is something we have to do, often forgotten over time, casting a dim spotlight on our world for a short duration.
I've always been a writer. Everyone is a writer. Even if we don't publish books — what I’d call an author — the terms are interchangeable. However, I would argue that an author is synonymous with a writer. I realized I learned to assemble letters into words during grade school, blending letters like a, n, and t, then progressing to spell "ant" and forming words that blend into sentences. For instance, saying or typing, "I was bitten by an ant."
Writing, for me, is personal. It's for me and only me. Yet, simultaneously, I believe everyone needs to recognize that our words reflect who we are and how we perceive the world. If we don't respect our words in communication, we can unintentionally cause harm. Words are a reflection of us, offering insight into our minds and hearts. So, why not build a habit of writing that represents our current selves?
We write everywhere — in text messages, Instagram, TikTok, emails, and work environments. So, why not be intentional with our words, just as a musician is with their guitar or a weightlifter attempting a 140-kilogram snatch?
Building a writing habit is pushing limits, like those in the "75 Hard Challenge." But what a writing habit does is create a sequence of actions birthing lasting color in our world, free from our handcuffs.
I write about this because it's something I'm finally grasping as I enter this phase of my life. Developing positive habits that bring peace and action starts with the words I use, including those I speak to myself.
Without this perspective, I'd be stuck in the habit of writing as an obligation. I don't treat marriage or parenting as obligations, so why should I treat a habit that brings peace to my life any differently?
Writing as a habit is no different from spending 30-60 minutes in the gym lifting weights or running through the mountains. It's a necessity to keep breathing, providing oxygen for this beating heart and wandering spirit.
A Stealthy Elf
This is a short story about an Elf on the Shelf named Tickles. The Monday before Christmas, Tickles the Elf sends a situation report back to the North Pole via satellite communications. This report provides Santa with insight into the local environment and what to expect as he drops off Christmas presents for the children and parents.
Each evening or early morning, Tickles uses his magic, searching for another location near the Christmas tree to hang out. This tradition has been used for many years, bringing laughter and joy to the families graced by an Elf on the Shelf.
Tickles is with a secret group, Santa’s Reconnaissance Elf Team. As you can see Tickle’s true identity serves as a cover-up for Zipper his real name, who is a Team Leader of Santa’s Recon Elves.
Tickles and the other Recon Elves on the Shelf are embedded into families' homes all over the world at the same time the Christmas Tree is put up and decorated.
All the Elves on the Shelf are made and trained on specific skills to gather information for the naughty or nice list. Their training is intense and rigorous, building the strength and endurance to hang for a long duration, gaining the mobility to sit in an awkward position, and developing the discipline to be still for hours. This training equips them to observe, recognize, and report back to Santa on anything that might cause issues for Christmas.
The house is silent and not even a creature stirs. The fireplace was emptied by the dad for safety reasons, per his children’s request. The children didn’t want Santa to catch on fire and be the reason Christmas was ruined. Little did they know, Santa and his reindeer faced a challenge in the Forest of Misfit Toys. Luckily for Santa, a kind leprechaun with a gold chain, has gifted magic mushrooms to Santa, enabling his reindeer the magic to finish Christmas.
Tickles dangles from the curtain rod overseeing the Christmas tree excited and in high spirits. Eagerly waiting for Santa to drop off the gifts, and pick him up to take back to the North Pole. Tickles is excited because he is ready to return to the North Pole where all he can dream about is sipping on his favorite hot chocolate with fairy dust, candy cane pieces, and peppermint bark on top made by Mama Claus.
Tickles felt a surge of energy run through his body, the sun had set a few hours ago and the house was sound asleep along with the humans inside of it. Tickles looks down at his red legs dangling below. He starts to swing gaining momentum in his hips, with his grip tight around the curtain rod and his arms supporting his swing body.
Tickles begin counting in his head, “1,2,3…” he snaps his hips to the rod, wrapping his legs around, crossing his feet before they slip off, pulling himself up, and around to a stand. With perfect balance, he runs across the pole, leaps off like Buzz Lightyear, and lands with style on the wooden floor, performing a forward roll before sprinting towards the fireplace.
Aware that he still needs to climb to the roof before Santa arrives, Tickles hears another set of footsteps, he comes to a slamming stop and freezes. He looks back and it is those of Tiger, the family dog. With a grin ear to ear, his tongue flapping in the wind, and droll spraying everywhere, Tiger is at a full sprint towards Tickles.
Without panicking, Tickles makes a split-second decision, and falls back into a full sprint toward the fireplace asking himself, “How did he not see Tiger?” Tickles was so focused and concerned about getting out of the house and back to the North Pole. He failed to recognize the danger and threat of moving around with Tiger in the living room.
Having witnessed Tiger's destructive tendencies with stuffed animals, Tickles is determined not to become part of Tiger’s stuffed animal collection. Reaching the fireplace, Tickles climbs the brick chimney in a hurry, while below, Tiger barks and scratches, causing a commotion. Barking loud enough to wake up the entire house.
Tickles reaches the roof and sees the stars shining, the chilly air takes his breath away as he gasps. He runs to the side of the roof where he finds a bag of glow-in-the-dark candy canes. Tickles starts to lay out a Y-shape with the glow-in-the-dark candy canes across the roof so that Santa can pick him up. It was his only way of being extracted and that much closer to his favorite cup of hot chocolate with fairy dust, candy cane pieces, and peppermint bark on top.
Tickles gazes into the sky and spots a red light in the distance - uncertain if it's real or a mere illusion. The fluffy snowflakes swirling around makes it challenging to tell.
"Ho, Ho, Ho" bounces through the valley of homes; he recognizes that voice.
Soon, bells join in, softly singing in the wind—jingle bells. “It's Santa and his reindeer,” Tickles says to himself with joy, jumping up and down with glee.
Santa catches sight of the Y-shaped signal, shouting at Rudolf, to fly towards the glow-in-the-dark candy canes. Tickles watches Santa approach the house, hovering above the roof, he leaps out with his sack of toys and doesn’t say a word to Tickles.
Silently he descends the chimney, where he swiftly returns in a blink of an eye. The once-barking dog falls silent, and Santa completes his mission in a flash. Tickles blinked, and Santa was back, ready to roll. "Thanks," Tickles expresses. Santa replies, "No, thank you, for the help," Tickles jumped over the seat and joined the other elves in the back who had been on the same mission but in different locations.
Among his teammates, Tickles is no longer used, and his real name "Zipper," is used once again. A snap back into the reality. The mission ends, and it's time to rest, gearing up for the next year's venture.
Zipper turns away from the group laughing and chatting. He looks out of the sleigh, witnessing the merging of clouds and stars fly by; as the brisk air stings his nose.
Left with a lingering question only he can answer: will he return for another year, or is his time with Santa’s Recon Team of Elves over?
Unable to answer the question. All he can think of is his warm sweet favorite cup of hot chocolate with fairy dust, candy cane pieces, and peppermint bark on top made by Mama Claus - signifying, a job well done and a mission completed.
Giving Thanks
The warmth of the sun is a nice offset in temperature to the cool breeze brushing against my face. I open the door for the wife as she walks into the chiropractor’s office, we both took the morning to spend some intentional one-on-one time together. A day before Thanksgiving, and it is not every day we get this chance alone during the day. As we are both working hard to raise our children and live life. These weekly dates have become mandatory per her request, all I do is make sure I show up and be fully invested and present for her.
I enter behind her and follow in stride to the check-in desk as the door behind me closes. As we approach the check-in desk, we both recognize the front desk lady, as she is here every time, we come to get our bodies and joints adjusted. The front desk lady raises her head from scrolling her phone, throws her hands onto the keyboard, and with her happy tone, “Hey guys, how are you?” My wife replies as her blonde hair shines even brighter from the light bouncing off it, “We are good, I missed you last week,” she adds, while she steps to the side for this older gentleman who swipes his card on the scanner and beats Savanna and me in for check-in. He must have floated into the office; I didn’t hear the door open or the bell chime. I remember checking my rear and doing a quick three-hundred-and-sixty-degree scan of the area as we approached the door. So how he made his way into the office was strange to me as I reflect on it.
He says, with a gentle voice, “Excuse me,” smiles, turns, and walks away in a faded United States Marine’s Hat. The velcro strap on the back appears to spell out Wayne. In faded grey stitching that almost blends into the faded brown camouflage design of the hat. His pepper beard with gray hair flaring out from beneath the hat and sun-beat face made him look tired. A bit heavier up top than his lower half, with a button Hawaii-style shirt and a pair of blue jean cargo shorts that went to his knees, a pair of white long socks, and black slip-on Sketcher sneakers. I tune out the conversation that my wife and the front desk lady are having and sit down. I look over at the gentlemen and smile, saying, “Happy Thanksgiving Devil Dog!!!” Loud and proud with confidence. He looked at me smiled and said, “Same to you Devil Dog,” crossing his right foot over his left knee. The wife finally comes over and sits next to me, I lose track of what the man says next as my attention is broken by the beauty of my wife as she passes by. I reply stuck in my wife’s spell, not looking at the man, and burst out with, “I served for 8 years.”
He ignored my reply placing his arm on the armrest, and asked, “How old are you?” Without hesitation, I reply, “I am 35 years old.” He then goes,” I wasn’t a Marine, I served in the Army.” I sit more upright in the chair lock eyes with him, and reply, “Right on,” before I can finish my sentence, sadness comes from his mouth, “My son was,” and he looks down at his foot dangling in front of him. Shifting his eyes back into mine, then at the wife, he says, “He would be thirty-nine this year.” He looks away from us again, feeling the energy in the office morph into a grey day outside. Still caught off guard by the conversation, he turns back at us, his eyes heavy with tears in them, he builds the courage to speak again, “He died twenty years ago in Iraq,” still fighting the tears back from flushing out. I am not sure how to feel, but twenty years ago the war had just kicked off and the Marines were in full fighting force in Iraq. At first, not sure what to say or ask, but of course, I put on that coat of protection to stay strong, and I asked, “Where was he in Iraq?” The grey-breaded man gave me a surprised look, thrown off that I kept the conversation going.
A bit of life came back into him I saw, he started to think, his elbows raised up, and he said, “He worked in the Baghdad area and surrounding villages.” He uncrosses his legs, and keeps speaking, “He served with 1/7, he was infantry.” The conversation becomes discord as the doctor walks into the open lobby and hears us chatting. The doctor didn’t call him by his name, he just said with a cheerful grin and swinging arms, “You ready?” The old man pops up, walks over, shakes his hand, and says, “Good to see you, Doc.” The doctor dressed in all black, tall and lean, with fair skin and a brown combover meets his hand with his, and replies, “Same to you, my friend.” They both started to move towards the treatment room, where he continued to share the story, he was telling me.
I for sure was curious about this man’s story, yet I wasn’t meant to hear it from him. When I start to reflect on it, this time thirteen years ago, I was on a night patrol with my teammates, knocking on other human's doors and taking over their homes to fight from. Then locking them in a room or in the house with us. When they were not able to leave, we held them hostage to fight the Taliban and keep us safe. Again, thirteen years ago, I was in the same harm's way as his son was twenty years ago.
The only difference is I made it home and he did not. Did I get lucky? I will never know the answer. Very similar to the older gentleman who still questions why his son, twenty years ago was taken from him. It feels as if a rock falls into your stomach. Plus, I know firsthand how we played with the devil himself or evil while at war. What is it that makes me different than the older gentleman’s son? Who also put the same uniform on, went through the same phases of boot camp, earned the title Marine, and morphed into a war machine for his country.
Now, here I am thirteen years later, walking into the Joint Chiropractor's office, with four kids, a beautiful wife, and a positive role in society. Doing better than I was six years ago, and I certainly come very far from my time fighting the Taliban. Then of course the contrast of life slaps me in the face of this man who is old enough to be my dad, who lost his son twenty years ago. Yet, me returning from war and in front of him, makes the pain even more unbearable and it shows, that devastation weighs him down. The man finishes up with the doctor in happy spirits and his head up high, he comes by me, and I put my hand out and say, “Thank you, Sir.” He looks me in the eyes for a quick second, says, “Thank You”, and walks away.
The older man and I are no different, he misses his son every day, and I miss my father who died weeks before I headed off to fight the Taliban, thirteen years ago. The wife and I head to the back and the doctor fills us in with what happened. The man’s son fell off a twenty-plus foot tower while being shot at, his pants got stuck on some bob wire and he tussled to get loose but lost control, slipped, and fell to his death. That rock in my stomach I mentioned earlier, got even heavier, and my heart sank as well. What a way to go out and for his parents to still be wondering why today. And here he sees me at the age of thirty-five, four years younger than his son with my beautiful wife, striving, proud to be a Marine, who fought for his country. To stand strong as he would have wanted his son to do today, just as my dad would have.
I am four years younger than his son who made it back alive and living a life fuller than I would have ever imagined. These little moments offer so much fuel to keep living and gratitude towards my purpose of being here today. It gives me thanks for the lessons and pain I’ve experienced up to this point. It also gives me the lens to know that even when I might feel like I am losing. I am truly winning, and that is what matters. It is relearning how to view life and knowing it comes with a strategy and awareness to accept its gifts like I received today. I never believed in hope till today, learning that hope is a strategy that keeps me chasing my purpose in life.
Thank you, universe, for giving me something to share, a time to reflect and feel. For me, this moment will always be engrained into my heart and soul. I am thankful for these gifts, moments, lessons, and experiences. I am proud to be the man I am today, a true warrior, learning that warriors are not only here to fight external wars. They are here to teach us how to fight internal wars and never stop fighting by re-claiming our humanity and love for ourselves. I’ll keep living for this man whom I met inside the chiropractor’s office, I will keep living for my father whom I lost thirteen years ago, who I wish was here today. I will keep fighting the good fight for the brothers and sisters who are no longer to my left and right. I will never stop putting one foot in front of the other. Thirteen years later, full of emotions that I feel so much, no longer desensitized to the universe, no longer tough enough to hold back the tears as they roll down my cheeks while my fingers tap dancing across the keyboard finishing up my final words. So here is to those we miss and love and will never know why they were taken from us, but we must be proud to share their stories and keep their spirits alive.
Movie Clips In My Head
Half a marathon later
and here comes flashbacks of war.
They are short movie clips
projected on the inside
of my skull.
A movie-theater kind of
experience. With no one
in a seat but me.
Why does this happen?
Here’s an answer.
My words are not
to be of harm
as my rifle once was,
yet of love which
fills the gas tank
in my heart.
By painting a beautiful
picture with words offers space.
To accept, and be proud
of the man I
was then and now.
Full of energy to sit
and paint with words
a story like this one.
-
I find myself sitting
in moon dust dirt,
with a pair of brown
leather boots to protect
my feet, a rifle
to protect my brothers,
and a rucksack filled
with mission essential gear.
A vest that carries
rifle magazines, my radio,
my medical kit,
and two bulletproof plates
to stop the enemy’s
bullet from penetrating
my vital organs,
like the heart and lungs.
Night vision goggles
provide the ability
to see in the dark.
Attached to the helmet,
made to stop bullets
from hitting my brain.
Turning the night vision goggles
off to take in
the bright stars above.
Restores my eyes from
the bright green light
which filled my eyes
these last few
hours of our patrol.
Searching for Taliban fighters
that were shooting at us off and on
throughout the afternoon.
From the compound that me
and my teammates hold
security at now.
Under the lights of the stars and moon.
While two bomb doctors searched
for home-made bombs
those shit-heads left behind.
After a bomb exploded a few
hundred feet away scaring them away,
as a warning shot.
Correct, warning shot,
a tactic to force
the fighters to move out
of the building and
follow them to
another location.
With a drone in the sky undetected
providing a live-stream
of the battlefield below.
Sitting against my rucksack,
my eyes turned heavy
staring off into the dark sky.
The air warm with no breeze.
Leaves drips of sweat running
down my spine.
As my teammates
disappear into darkness.
-
As these words fill
the page, anger no longer bleeds
into movie clips as you read above.
When memories as such
flash into my head, the game of
hide and not tell is no longer helpful.
Creatively putting words onto
paper keeps my hands and mind
from destructive actions.
Accepting that writing stories about war
never goes away.
Writing teaches me to
be indestructible.
A creative action
bringing color to life.
Poetry Entry
“She Dances”
Kissing the drum softly
with every palm strike
he plays
and plays.
Boom, pop, boom, pop, pop—
Boom, pop, boom, pop, pop.
Images of flapping angel wings
Dance before his shut eyes. As she twirls through the galaxy.
Compelled and captivated.
By the medley and the grandeur of music.
Boom, pop, boom, pop, pop—
Boom, pop, boom, pop, pop.
She dances to the beat.
Gravity-heavy.
The cool, moist, earth beneath her
unshod feet.
Boom, pop, boom, pop, pop—
Boom, pop, boom, pop, pop.
As the sound waves
break. Ocean waves enter her
ears. Catalyzing sun rays.
Head thrown back and arms wide to the sky.
Boom, pop, boom, pop, pop—
Boom, pop, boom, pop, pop.
Her body vibrates,
restoring her soul’s
fuel tank:
ecstasy and jubilation.
Boom, pop, boom, pop, pop—
Boom, pop, boom, pop, pop.
Her spirit flies high
over-watching and dancing.
Excitement clashes and rages
inward, a riptide of peace.
Boom, pop, boom, pop, pop—
Boom, pop, boom, pop, pop.
She jolts with electricity.
To every
kiss of the
drum beat.
Boom, pop, boom, pop, pop—
Boom, pop, boom, pop, pop.
With each stroke of her
heartbeat, air consumes her lungs.
His heart drums
with no end in sight.
Boom, pop, boom, pop, pop—
Boom, pop, boom, pop, pop.
Plagiarism in Coaching and Teaching: A Catalyst for Progression
Teaching is a unique field where it is not only encouraged but essential to borrow and build upon the ideas of others for its progression. This phenomenon is observed worldwide and sheds light on the strength and conditioning industry. With access to various coaches worldwide through social media, there are numerous ways to learn how to squat, rotate or not to rotate, and more.
Practitioners in this field often incorporate techniques they have seen on social media into their training. While it may seem paradoxical, this aspect can be seen as a form of "plagiarism" in a constructive and ethical sense, most times with a tag of who they learned it from.
Education thrives on the collective knowledge and experience of educators, scholars, and experts who have contributed to a vast pool of pedagogical techniques and content. The same happens with strength and conditioning, where new ways to apply methods and principles are discovered by building upon the collective knowledge and experience of experts in the field.
The celebration of this "plagiarism" in teaching arises from several factors. Firstly, education is inherently repetitive and cumulative; each generation of educators refines and evolves the methods and materials of their predecessors. Secondly, it recognizes that no single individual can possess the entire spectrum of knowledge and innovative teaching strategies. Thus, borrowing and adapting ideas from others enriches the teaching process.
Furthermore, teaching acknowledges the importance of adapting and contextualizing knowledge to suit the diverse needs of students. In this way, even when ideas are borrowed, they are transformed and personalized, making them unique to each coach/educator's style and their students' needs.
Teaching has a unique approach to the concept of plagiarism, driven by its focus on educating and empowering future generations, instead of merely serving individual interests. This approach highlights the collaborative nature of education and the belief that knowledge should be available and adaptable to all. In essence, it underscores the importance of making education accessible to everyone.
Close Reading
Sometimes, poetry's beauty lies in its layers and multiple interpretations of one's self-expression of their creative mind.
Grandeur of Life
Let's continue to learn and recognize the difference between losing our sanity and being obsessed with life.
The paradox that we live in the grandeur of life appears unreachable to the blinded eye.
However, it's our choice which route to walk carrying a heart of obsession or remain sightless losing our minds filled with emptiness.
Spoken Word
Life has a way of abruptly halting, revealing the turbulence that surrounds us. Being a magician, dreamer, feeler, and creator requires no specific qualifications or skills, but learning to channel our emotions is essential. I used to struggle with expressing myself and feeling empty inside.
During a certain chapter of my life, I was known as a destroyer of life, and in some foreign lands, the son of Satan. With no real creative qualities but to survive.
My eyes were often overwhelmed by my nervous system's overdrive, always trying to keep up. Since I started exploring my creativity, I've continue to learn about the cycle of life and death that sporadically appears in our lives. Trusting in that the sun always rises and sets, bringing a sense of continuity and comfort to our lives.
Looking back now, many years later, I realize that there were plenty of people who were willing to help make my hands destructive, but very few who were willing to help me become a creator. It's a rare thing to take something from nothing and turn it into the most realistic experience life has to offer.
As I read my words aloud, I am reminded that I have survived for a purpose greater than myself. Being an artist has taught me that achieving the impossible is possible, but it requires practice, playfulness, and a deep connection to the depths of our heart and soul.
Magic Fingers
Writing is a magic trick.
To stay free, to relieve pressure.
As the heart wanders,
letters,
words,
sentences,
and paragraphs
transform into art.
Writing teaches me to be
indestructible.
A Past Time
Inside the “Valley of Death” known as Sangin, Afghanistan during a time the war was at its peak in 2010. The days and weeks fly by like the RPGs screaming at hyper-speed over our heads. Gunfights at their highest, in the middle of a hunting season, trying to kill as many Taliban fighters as possible.
Slowly piercing my skin and entering my veins with a syringe filled with the blood of our enemies. War becoming the gateway drug.
Recognizing whoever steps into a war zone, never steps out without sacrificing a part of themselves.
War still leaves me delusional and on the verge of a psychotic break even thirteen years later.
Compost Pile: Philosophy of Teaching
Introduction
As I’m pursuing a master's degree in English with an emphasis on education, I remember how some of my former classmates from high school would have made fun of the idea, and even my inner child raises an eyebrow. My desire to pursue education is fueled by the same passion to endure life it’s not necessarily only about teaching, but more about being able to communicate with the world around me effectively. Growing up, reading and writing were not emphasized in my community and school system, which left me struggling to express myself through written and spoken words. Later in life, I realized the importance of communicating effectively which has lead down this road to help others learn new skillsets no matter the sphere they operate in.
Principles Aid in Learning
As an educator in the field of strength and conditioning my philosophy of teaching is rooted in my experiences both as an athlete and coach. Learning how to apply principles of strength and conditioning as a coach becomes a transformative process that extends past the acquisition of methods and coaching techniques. My coaching and teaching career over the years has shifted focus from a singular way to approach learning, to creating a dynamic and inclusive learning environment that encourages creativity and collaboration. Deep in my heart, I believe that every person I get to educate carries an individuality to them that provides them with strengths, limitations, and unique critical thinking and problem-solving abilities. As the coach and educator, it is my responsibility to provide an environment to foster and identify those abilities to help individuals nurture their full potential.
Respect, Tools, and Value
To promote a respectful and cohesive learning environment, it is essential to establish a universal language for communication among the collective and flourish autonomy simultaneously. Respect unlocks the door that allows for implementing effective learning tools that aid in retaining and applying newly learned skillsets in real-life experiences. This mutual respect among classmates fosters a sense of unity and curiosity toward learning.
Each individual possesses a unique set of skills and tools that can enhance everyone’s learning capabilities around them. As the learning progresses, sharing these tools and values leads to a deeper understanding and appreciation for one another. By creating a safe and secure foundation for expressing oneself, each individual can confidently share their true self and contribute to a positive learning experience for all.
Expectations as a Coach and Educator
I hold high expectations for my athletes and students, but they are always realistic and attainable. I believe in mutual respect and expect it to be reciprocated, rather than a one-sided exchange. I encourage curiosity, engagement in learning, problem-solving, and taking responsibility for their learning and development, just as much as I am committed to doing so. I believe in treating others with kindness and professionalism. This means being approachable, compassionate, and responsive to the needs of every athlete and student, while also recognizing their diverse learning styles, training history, learning history, and life experiences.
To foster a collaborative and valued learning environment, I prioritize building strong relationships with individuals. By learning more about each person, I am better equipped to customize my coaching and teaching methods to align with their unique needs, values, strengths, and limitations. This approach emphasizes the importance of valuing each individual's uniqueness.
Motivations, Objectives, and Theories
My passion as a coach and teacher lies in being a supportive tool for those who are willing to explore new ways of navigating their world, both within and outside of the learning environment and themselves. I strongly believe that learning is a skill that needs to be constantly nurtured and developed. My primary objective is to be a positive and motivating presence for my athletes and students, just as much as they are for me. My goal is to establish a sense of community and connection that will enable everyone to reach new heights in their lives.
To achieve my objectives, I have drawn inspiration from various adult learning theories that have helped me shape my teaching philosophy. The views of Andragogy, Transformative Learning, and Experiential Learning have been instrumental in my teaching methods and styles. I believe that self-directed learning, hands-on experience, reflection, and those "aha" moments are fundamental to the learning process. Intrinsic and extrinsic motivation, such as autonomy and relevance, are powerful factors that drive individual’s to actively engage in collaborative projects and connect new concepts to real-world scenarios.
Conclusion
As a coach and educator, I believe in empowering and supporting athletes and students to become active, independent, and lifelong learners. My teaching philosophy centers around creating a learning environment that values and respects diversity; fosters collaboration, encourages critical thinking and problem-solving, and promotes innovative thinking. I will continue to apply adult learning theories such as Andragogy, Transformative Learning, and Experiential Learning to facilitate meaningful experiences for those I get to educate. My passion for teaching lies in building a community of self-directed learners who strive to inspire others and embrace the joy of learning, curiosity, compassion, and lifelong learning through autonomy, effort, motivation, and dedication.
References
Boyatzis, R. E., & Kolb, D. A. (1991). Assessing individuality in learning: The learning skills profile. Educational Psychology, 11(3-4), 279-295. https://doi.org/10.1080/0144341910110305
Hamlin, M. D. (2021). Enabling adult learning advantage in online learning environments. Research Anthology on Adult Education and the Development of Lifelong Learners, 735-756. https://doi.org/10.4018/978-1-7998-8598-6.ch037
Merriam, S. B., & Baumgartner, L. M. (2020). Learning in adulthood: A comprehensive guide (4th ed.). John Wiley & Sons.
Compost Pile -Lessons Fail
Imagine you taught a lesson and most students did not do well on the assessment. How would you adjust your instruction based on these assessment results?
Reflecting on this question, I am contemplating instances where athletes fell short of their desired accomplishments or failed to achieve their goals. In the realm of human performance, various variables can influence the effectiveness of coaching and the tailored program designed to aid an individual toward their specific objective. Factors such as the individual's external environment, sleep patterns, nutrition, stress management, discipline, adherence, and many more factors can play a significant role.
In situations where a student struggles to understand a lesson and is tested before being fully prepared, they may fail due to not having enough time to fully absorb the information being taught. It was evident from the research that the more the lesson is interactive, the more the learners are engaged/motivated to improve their learning experiences (Munna & Kalam, 2021).
One crucial element is the student's lack of interest in learning, which may result from the teacher's inability to keep them engaged during lessons. This can further hinder the learning process, especially in light of the lesson's environment and the dynamics between the teacher and students.
To enhance the learning capacity of students, it's important to provide them with sufficient time to absorb information. We must acknowledge that students, are like athletes and soldiers, they are humans and not machines. This means we must treat them as such, and understand that all humans come from different environments and communities.
It ultimately depends on the teacher to create an environment that enhances their students' learning abilities. Using various tools and techniques. Teachers can help students retain knowledge and succeed on assessments related to the lesson. It's important to establish a respectful and supportive relationship with students to encourage a lifelong desire for learning and expanding their intelligence.
As educators, it's important to remember that we are not machines but rather human beings. We should strive to cultivate a learning environment that encourages students to think critically and constantly seek out new knowledge. Our goal should be to foster independent thinking and a lifelong passion for learning, rather than simply producing artificial human beings.
GB3
References
Munna, A. S., & Kalam, M. A. (2021). Teaching and learning process to enhance teaching effectiveness: Literature review. International Journal of Humanities and Innovation (IJHI), 4(1), 1-4. https://doi.org/10.33750/ijhi.v4i1.102
Compost Pile - Music and Learning
One method I find effective for studying or writing is to conduct a 25-minute sprint session with a 5-minute rest period. Recently, I utilized this technique while answering a question posed by our professor in the community forum for school. I got lost with the the music attached below and it was a great feeling. I thought I share with everyone who follows my creative website.
Enjoy!!!
A D.Q Prompt from School
How do technology implementation best practices differ based on learning environment? What best practices apply regardless of learning environment? Explain.
When it comes to incorporating technology in teaching, whether it's in-person or online, the key is to prioritize the human aspect of learning. As teachers, we must understand our students' needs and determine how we can provide them with valuable interactions. However, different teaching methods may offer varying levels of human connection.
Our ultimate goal is to create an environment that fosters a lifelong love for learning. To achieve this, we need to focus on the individual student's human side, including their prior learning experiences, culture, and societal views, and how they respond to compliance and reward.
It is also considered a sacred obligation to learn not for personal benefit but for sharing with the whole community in most Eastern and Indigenous cultures (Merriam & Baumgartner, 2020, pg 268). Additionally, we must provide a safe space for them to learn and create without any obstacles. This practice can be challenging, as it requires teachers to reflect on their growth and purpose in life to make a meaningful impact on their students.
Throughout this class, I have been viewing it as a means to enhance my current profession with additional information. However, it has opened my eyes to a new level of teaching humans how to learn.
In today's society, with the overflow of information on social media, there is a need for a process and education on how to construct one's learning system. This is a crucial aspect that is currently missing when it comes to learning new skills. We should not fear acquiring new knowledge but rather embrace it.
To me, the difference in the educational experience between face-to-face and online settings is not significantly crazy. Although there is a variation in energy transmitted in a physical location versus apart, both settings utilize tools that serve a significant purpose in facilitating new and interesting connections in learning.
Finally, various interactions within the learning period help build a sense of community among students and peers.
GB3
Reference
Merriam, S. B., & Baumgartner, L. M. (2020). Learning in adulthood: A comprehensive guide (4th ed.). John Wiley & Sons.
Story Telling - Project Orange
Here is a chapter from a fiction project that I’ve been working on for a couple of years. I feel super happy with it, how it is going. Please enjoy something different from me. Writing fiction really takes me somewhere different and helps with balancing the chaos in life. Making it that much brighter.
Chapter 10 - Learning Something New
“Hello, Sheriff Joe Speaking.”
Without skipping a beat, “Sheriff Joe, Terry Hickman! I have some information that might help you with the case. Do you have a secure place we can talk?” Terry takes a sip of his coffee.
Sheriff Joe gathers his thoughts, “Can we meet at my place? It might look less suspicious.”
Terry chuckles, “Sure, what time works for you?” Without letting Joe respond, “I can come over now if you have time.”
Joe reaches for his bottle of whiskey, “Sure that would be fine. I will text you my address.” He twists and opens the cap.
Terry replies as he gets up out of his chair, “Sounds great. See you soon,” looking for his truck keys to his red Ford F-150.
“Perfect,” Joe hangs up the phone. Tilts the bottle and watches the brown liquid death fill his glass cup halfway. Joe gets out of his chair and walks over to the window. He unlatches the window seal and lifts it. The fresh air from outside brings life into the office that smelled of cigarettes and whiskey. Joe had been in the office for more than a few hours now going through Bonnie Hickman's files. Joe’s head was foggy and he hoped the fresh air and singing birds would help him reset before chatting with Terry.
Terry was in the CIA and is reaching his fifteen years as an undercover agent. Injecting himself into groups that were plotting against the government. He works counter terrorism both domestic and international. As an agent, Terry was involvement put him and his family at risk leading to him being pulled off the mission and put into protective hiding.
Sheriff Joe's phone vibrates on the desk, a text from Terry. Joe walks back to his desk, he forgot to text Terry the address. Joe quickly types the address and hits send. Terry responds with “ETA of twelve minutes.”
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Terry pulls into Sheriff Joe’s driveway and parks. He jumps out and slams the door, SMACK!!! Sheriff Joe is standing on the patio smoking a cigarette.
Terry walks towards the patio, “Joe, how are you?”, Joe takes another deep drag of his Newport, Terry does not hesitate, “Thanks for meeting me on such short notice.” Terry extends his arm for a handshake.
Joe reaches out and meets his hand firmly and shakes it, “No problem, thanks for offering up some information.” Sheriff Joe takes an even longer drag and exhales the cigarette smoke out his nose.
Terry waves his hand back and forth breaking up the cloud of smoke in his face, “I won’t lie to you. I have no idea where to start.” Terry steps out of the way of Joe’s cigarette smoke and stands at the top of the patio with him.
Joe, opens up, “This is my first big murder case. The media and everyone in the town is freaking out.” Joe takes another hit from the Newport cigarette. Terry can smell the menthol as he blows the smoke out through his nose.
Terry turns, “Joe that is why I am here.” Terry's attention is broken by the slowness of a white Honda Civic with black-out windows driving by a few meters away from the house, “Do you usually have cars drive by that slow?” Terry turns back to Joe.
Joe leans over, lifts his right boot, and smashes the end of the cigarette. Rolls up the filter and places it in his back pocket, “Yea, it is hard to see addresses around here, so you get the car’s slowly looking for the street number on the homes.”
Terry stuffs his hands in his pockets as if he is missing something, “I must have forgotten my cancer sticks, can I have one of your cigarettes?” Terry pulls out a blue lighter with a clown on it with a red nose and orange hair that’s on both sides of his head and the center was bare-skin.
Joe has a puzzled look on his face and pulls the pack of Newports out of his back pocket. Flips over the lid and tilts it at Terry. Terry pulls a cigarette out, covers the flame from the lighter with his hand, and flicks it on, lighting the cigarette. With his lungs full of smoke, “I know that you are confused and not sure where to start,” he then lets out a big exhale, and the smoke floods out from his nose and mouth. “Joe I believe I know who did this.”
Joe's face is even more noticeable in how confused he is, “What do you mean that you know who did this?” He starts to feel the urge that he needs another drink.
Terry takes another drag from the Newport. “We are in hiding, Joe.” He looks up at the blue sky with little to no clouds around. “Last year I got too deep into a mission I was assigned to.” Terry looks down at the ground, “I was tracking a group called Q.” He looks back at Joe, “They were a domestic terrorist in the eyes of the government.” Terry takes another drag and inhales deeply.
Joe can’t believe what he is hearing. He looks at Terry, “How did they find you?”
Terry clears his throat, “I am not sure.” Terry says with a defeated tone.
Joe's urge for a drink comes on even stronger, “Would you like to come inside and grab some whiskey or coffee?”
Terry gives Joe a small smirk, “I could use both.”
Joe moves towards the front door, and Terry follows behind. Once Terry enters Joe's home he noticed the yellow stains on the blinds and the wallpaper from the cigarette smoke. He sees a few photos on the wall of a young girl in a bathing suit on a tube. There is another one with Joe and her at some kind of formal dance. Joe was in slacks and a black button-up with a silver tie. The young woman had on an all-black dress and her hair was up in a ponytail with a crown around it.
Terry points to the photo. “This you and your daughter?” Taking a closer look.
Joe looks at the photo and smiles, “Yes this was at her high school prom.”
The father in Terry kicks in, “She is a bright young girl, Joe.”
Joe looks at the photo and remembers how much she stressed about her dress and makeup, “Thanks, I try my damnedest.” Joe turns and heads toward the kitchen, “So, Terry tell me more about this Q group?”
Compost Pile - On Art
Writing involves combining letters and numbers that create a prescription to elicit an internal response. With hope and intention, it enhances their quality of life both internally and externally.