Catalyst eighty-three is : What’s the one thing you never thought you could do?



My journaling:

“Come work for me,” he said. I had worked for him before and I loved it. I knew he was a great manager
and possibly the answer to the slump I was having at work. But to go live in Japan for six months?

Was he crazy?

I had to leave my life. My boyfriend. My home. And move somewhere where I knew no one. Didn’t speak a word of the language. And hated the food.

Was he crazy?

Was I crazy to be considering it? It scared the crap out of me. And, in the end, that was exactly why I decided to do it. I packed my bags, and moved miles and miles away. Six months in a faraway land.

As it turned out, it was some of the best moments of my life. I made friends. I learned Japanese. I worked hard. I proved to myself that I could do it. Leave it all behind and still be ok. Go despite my fears. I still hate the food. But now I know I can do anything I want.

I am brave.

Catalyst eighty-one is: Who’s the person who supports you the most in your life (emotionally and intellectually)?



Here are my words:


i thought about this one for a long time. i wanted to make it about someone different. I’d already made so many of these about him. it was getting rather ridiculous but anyone else would just be lie compared to him. he’s the one who’s with me night and day. crazy and sane. success and failure. the wonderfully amazing thing is, i managed to find someone who understands what i do and can support me intellectually. can push me. but also he gets me. he’s there for me when i go dark and become the worst part of me. he’s there when i win and i want to celebrate. he’s not jealous, he’s not scared, he’s not angry. he’s always there. with those arms that wrap around me and envelop me tightly make me feel secure and loved. so loved. how can i choose someone else when he’s the one? there’s no going around the truth. he’s the one.



btw, I got this wonderful idea of scattering the sequins from the amazing Gigi Kennedy. I just love its whimsicalness.

Creative Therapy catalyst number seventy-nine is up: What’s a family or personal tradition your cherish?



Journaling Reads:

december is my favorite time of year. it’s when we get to buy a beautiful tree that gives off the most amazing scent in our house for a whole month. the tree that’s lit up. the tree that brings me joy every single day. it’s also when i get almost two weeks off work to enjoy my time with my family so we can curl up in front of the tv or the fire or our tree and enjoy each other’s company. december is when all the houses in our neighborhood light up and spread the joy. but the best part of december, for me, is the little book i get to create every single day. full of our memories, our daily moments. i love putting the pages together before the month starts and sitting to alter each page every day. just a little bit of art and a little bit of memory-keeping that allows me to re-live my day and smile. my december daily album is something i cherish deeply and a tradition that is here to stay.



Karen Says:

Two years ago, thanks to Shimelle, I started a december album. Last year, thanks to Ali, I did a more personalized december daily album and I fell in love with it so much that it’s, by far, one of my most cherished albums. You can see the pages in my albums here: 2007 and 2008. I highly recommend making one of these.



Technique Highlight:


It seems I go through phases when I create my catalysts. Sometimes they’re artsy, sometimes plain, sometimes with no journaling and sometimes with a lot. Ordinarily, I am someone who likes to journal a lot and I like to create journaling strips because they allow me to create a design with the words if I so choose. So in the next few weeks you’ll see that my pages will all have a lot of journaling and I will create the art/design around the journaling. Sometimes it’s all about the words.

Catalyst seventy-seven is: Create art around a time when you had a lot of turmoil and indecision in your life.

Here are my words:

Karen says:
As I mentioned a few weeks ago, here’s another entry about Teach For America. It was, by far, one of the most troubled and tumultuous times in my life. I took this photo from our summer school and added the journaling on it. The journaling is a blog entry I did during the year I taught.

Journaling Reads:
Memory is selective.

There’s a reason we forget things. Human resilience has been tested millions of times in history. Tons of women have told me that if we didn’t forget, no one would have more than one child. Well, I haven’t had any babies yet and can’t tell you what labor pain feels like or how quickly I might forget it. But I do know that I’ve been known to distort the past as things change or as time passes.

The last few weeks have been so difficult that I decided, this time, I want to keep a record so that I can’t fool myself when I choose to look back upon these memories. Think of this as a time capsule. Something for me to lock up and put away, only to be opened when I begin to forget. Something for my friends to show me when I start saying things like, “Oh, it wasn’t that bad.”

The fact is, it is that bad. It’s hard. It’s frustrating. At times, it’s heart-wrenching. It’s infuriating. Sometimes it’s funny. But it’s constantly overwhelming.

When I decided to quit my six-year job and change career paths, I knew that my life wouldn’t be the same. I knew that teaching would eat more of my free time than investment banking ever did. I also knew that I’d feel it was worth it. So I assume the big question now would be: Is it?

Is it worth it?

Honestly? I can’t tell you yet. All I can say so far is that I underestimated how difficult this is. Getting up at the crack of dawn, grading on the train to school, climbing 98 steps eleven times a day, four to six of which includes leading a class of 28. Spending every moment on my feet. Having to think about what I’m saying all the time. Having my incompetence stare me so squarely in the face.

My life has changed alright: I get up when it’s dark, go to school, teach, stay after school to grade, come home when it’s dark, prepare for the next day’s lessons, call parents, eat dinner and crash in bed. Every single day. I dream about my students. I dream about photocopying onto overhead paper. I dream about lizards eating me. I spend my weekends planning for the week. Preparing charts for my room. Writing papers for my graduate classes. Buying prizes for my students. Photocopying. And sleeping.

My only moments of peace come on Sunday mornings where my amazing husband and I go to the local bagel shop at 8:30 and read the New York Times for two hours. Two hours of heaven. Two hours of not thinking about all the things that go wrong in my room. Two hours of not worrying about how the next day’s lessons will go. Two hours of not feeling so incredibly incompetent.

I do love my students. Even the most mischievous ones. I can’t help but care about them. I want to laugh at their ingenuity even when it disrupts my class. But my tolerance and patience has dwindled almost to nothing. It’s gotten so bad that when I see people chewing gum anywhere, I have to work extra hard to suppress the urge to yell, “spit it out!” I fix everyone’s grammar constantly. I can’t stand it when people are being disrespectful at a meeting by having their own side conversation. I have heard every excuse and more as to why homework is not complete. I have listened to parents hollering at their children in front of my eyes. Much to my despair, I have made students cry.

But I have also made them smile. The magic of a student understanding something I’ve taught is immeasurable. Just like the drain when a student refuses to stop calling out loud in class or refuses to stop being disruptive.

So many things happen each day. I always come home with the urge to write, knowing I’m going to want to remember these days.

But I don’t write.

Days pass, I forget. My memory knows I won’t survive it if I keep remembering, so it helps me out. Maybe it’s better that way.

Maybe some things are best forgotten.