A NEW YEAR TOAST

Well, it’s that time when the old year is leaving us and the new one will soon be upon us. Susan and I have started our frantic holiday travel. We just returned from a delightfully hectic and little planned out few days in Mexico. At this moment, we’re in our frenzied unpack and pack mode. Without any respite, we’ll load up the car in a couple of days with a bunch of Chanukah presents for almost a week of “grandmunchkin spoiling” in Nashville. Then, the day after we get back, without a chance to catch our breath, we’ll be hopping a plane for San Francisco on a comparable ten day mission. And finally, without missing a heartbeat, we get home next year in time for me to get ready to go right into the new semester classes. This time of the year is always a “whew” time.

As I was on the plane heading back to Orlando from Cancun, I started jotting down some lines as I realized that our success of being south of the border for the first time was the result of expecting a bunch of unexpecteds, how we calmly greeted them, without a care went with the flow of things, and took in stride anything that came along. This is what I scribbled down:

“You know, what I like most about the new year? You know what I will toast on the night of 2009 December’s last day? That is, if I’m still awake and don’t DVR the dropping of the Times Square’s ball (Susan and I don’t do the New Year’s Eve drinking and horn tooting party scene). I’ll pour a quiet glass of champagne then or on 2010 January’s first day and lift it to this coming year’s surprises, to all the coming unawares, to the inevitable reshuffling of the deck, to the complexity of it all, to what I cannot now know, to what I cannot now guess, to what I have no clue, to what I cannot now control, to what I cannot now guarantee, to the out-of-the-blue bolt of lightning, to the unpredicted, to the unexpected, to the unfamiliar, to the without warning, to the out of nowhere, to the unforeseen, to never stepping into either the same river or class, to all the twists and turns in life’s road that will keep me from falling asleep at the wheel, to the unplanned interruptions that like an earthquake will shake me from the doldrums of routine, to the as yet unknown challenges that will keep me from atrophying, and to the unanticipated adventures that will keep me questing for truer answers.”

“I was reminded a couple of weeks before the beginning of the Fall semester, when unexpected disaster literally threatened to tear all my courses apart, that while the way ahead is pathless and everything is shrouded by uncertainty, how we meet each challenging “what’s going to happen now” is both a character revealer and builder. For however fearful “new” may be, however a challenge it offers to the security provided by the status quo, as recent research on how the brain works shows, it also has the power to quiet and keep in check “fear,” that mother of all stress, that deadly killer of both curiosity and imagination, that great inhibitor of action, that extreme dreader of things, that deadly intimidator, that pernicious imposer of stagnation.”

“To be sure, I cannot dictate to Clotho, the Fate who spins the threads of human life, but I can decide how I will weave her yarn and design the clothing I wear. Like it or not, want it or not, all of these “without warning,” in my personal, social, and professional lives will invariably come knocking at my door in the coming year, as they have in the every past year, with their possibilities and potentials, with their failures and achievements, and with their sorrows and joys. I have the power to decide how to greet them, to answer the “now what” question they pose. I can smile, confidently open that door to all of these “all-of-a-sudden,” welcoming in, embracing, adapting to, adopting, and giving meaning and purpose to them. Or, I can grimace, use up a lot of time and energy struggling and straining to keep the door shut tight and fearfully cringe behind it. That choice is not as easy as it sounds, for fear, that ancient survival mechanism in our brain, puts up a heck of a fight, defending the tried and true, strengthening the walls of routine, often deepening the ruts, and refusing to go gently into the sweet night. It’s mortal combat between the comfort of the familiar and safe on one hand and the discomfort of the unfamiliar and dangerously risky on the other.”

“But, as M. Scott Peck had once said, our shining moments are more likely to occur when we are deeply shaken from our smug comfort and complacency. After all, what else but “new” can teach me lessons from the rich experiences of everyday life, pose alternatives thoughts and feelings and actions, alter courses, transform hopelessness into hopeful, disbelief into belief, resignation into expectation, an ugly “ugh” into a beautiful “wow,” blah into spirited, unhappiness into bliss, dream into real, plod into dance, “no” into a “yes,” numbness into aware, pessimism into optimism, and callousness into love? What else would keep me better focused on and moving towards my vision, as well as working my way there? What else would offer me a tool to avert being hypnotized into sleep walking into class and teaching in my sleep? What else would stimulate my mind, heart, and soul? What else would keep every fiber of my being on full alert? What else would rouse my curiosity? What else would fuel my imagination and creativity? What else would give me the chance to sow, blossom, and ripen? What else would give me an opening to become a better person? What other occasions would be as exciting, adventurous, enriching, satisfying, meaningful, and significant?”

So, will you raise your glass with me? Here’s to the wondrous blessings of discomforting serendipity in the coming New Year! See you and talk to you all in 2010! May you each be joyful and blessed in the inevitable coming unknowns of the New Year!!

Louis

THE MOST WONDERFUL TIME OF THE YEAR

      I was listening to that Christmas song which says, “It’s the most wonderful time of the year.” Yet, while we celebrate Chanukah, Christmas, and Kwanza with shopping, giving presents, cooking, vacationing, traveling, feasting, partying, lighting up, and decorating, many of us miss the point of it all. By merely decking the halls with boughs of holly, by merely burning candles, by turning holy days into holidays, we lose our perspective. This is the most wonderful time of the year because for a few weeks we’ve found connection and put off contention. This is the most wonderful time of the year because for a few weeks we’ve replace the sadness and gloom in our hearts with comfort and joy. This is the most wonderful time of the year because for a few weeks we’re moved by the spirit of generosity. But, we shouldn’t wrap our presents only with paper and we shouldn’t light up our houses with only bulbs and candles. Instead, we should wrap and brighten with hope and love. For while the trees and decorations and celebrations are seasonal, while so many gifts are returned or broken or forgotten or tired of, a truly loving and giving heart is not.

      Now, what does this have to do with the classroom? Everything! Let me tell you why yesterday was one of those most wonderful times of the year. At the end of closure yesterday, when we each reflect on what if anything meaningful we will remember from our class experience, I asked if anyone had any final “words for the good and welfare of the class.” A student whom I’ll call Sam suddenly jumped up in front of the class to speak.

      I cringed. “Now what,” I silently moaned to myself.

      I was totally unprepared for the gift we were about to receive. You see, Sam had been what could only be described as a student from hell. He had played the demonic role of the cackling smart aleck. Disruption, sarcasm, and disdain seemed to be his middle names. I had been on his case and in his face all semester. He wouldn’t journal; he wouldn’t write the conversations with the assigned photographs; he wouldn’t work on the projects. His class attendance was erratic. When he came, he was always late. His attitude was one of smugness, arrogance, and even defiance. He didn’t take much of anything seriously though he said he did. He didn’t care what effect his actions had on his community. He never communicated with his community members inside or outside of class. He and I had gotten into it in class on more than one occasion, especially when he challenged me by first refusing to bring in donuts as a result of blatantly using his cell phone in class. Every time I laid down the law, he’d twist and bend and break it. But, something, something I couldn’t put my finger on, told me something was there, not to surrender, not to cut him loose as I had with another student, and to be there as that man of many second chances. It was a sixth sense that told me that he was testing me, daring me to lose my cool, seeing if my money was where my mouth was. So, I kept on pulling him aside for brief, private “you’re better than this” chats. I kept parrying his mocking thrusts. I kept encouraging and edifying him in emails. Two weeks ago, Sam did a one eighty. His body language, facial expressions, general demeanor completely changed. He was seriously journaling; he was working hard on the commercial project; he came to class every day. Was he scared of failing? Was he doing the right things for the wrong reasons? I wasn’t sure. I was afraid to hope. 

     I had come up to him Wednesday and asked him, “What hell is going on?”

     He answered with a smile that was rid of any sign of smugness, “I got it. It may be too late, but I finally heard you. I’m beginning to see what you see and decided it was time to stop disrespecting myself and everyone around me. You’re right. I’ve got to dare to dare if I’m going to get anywhere. I’ve got to start living your words and make them my words.”

     To say I was stunned would be a proverbial understatement. Sometimes you accept and just don’t ask why. Today, it all paid off. He displayed such humility and courage. There was, standing up there in front of everyone, not only admitting that he had been a disruptive force, not only thanking me for never giving up on him, but most of all, publicly apologizing, with a sincerity in his voice and a tear in his eye, begging for forgiveness, for the disrespect he had shown to me, to his fellow students, and to his community member. I stood there amazed, dumbfounded, speechless, screaming with a tear in my eye and a “yes” in my heart as everyone yelled and applauded. After class, his community member came up to me, deeply touched by what Sam had done, to plead his case even though she said she had raked him over the coals all semester. What a wow! What a holiday present. It was the most wonderful time of the year.

     So, in the spirit of the season, I ask if you have ever thought about the atmosphere you create in the classroom when you invest your teaching with the glorious message and meaning that each person unconditionally is sacred, noble, valuable, and worth every ounce of effort? Have you ever thought of the impact you have when you refuse to give up on a student? Have you ever thought that this is truly the greatest story ever told and the true miracle of the lights, and should not be lost among the passing academic bells, bows, and baubles of lectures, technology, tests, grades, and GPAs? Have you ever thought about how good you feel after you have encouraged and supported someone else, been respectful and thoughtful, believed in and loved, been kind to or smiled at her or him? Have you ever thought how good that other person feels? I don’t really have to say anything else to advocate that we should never miss the opportunity to be thoughtful and respectful, to give encouragement and support, to be kind to and to smile at, to have faith in, to have hope for, and to love.

     We have to love and admire–if not to support and encourage–those academicians who can bring their loving hearts to the campus and into the classroom, who feel each day in that classroom is a wonderful time of the year. They know that warming emotional sunshine has a better chance of helping things grow than does a chilling overcast; they know that where faith, hope and love grow, miracles blossom.

     Susan and I want to take this occasion to wish each and every one of you a very Merry Christmas, a Happy Chanukah, and a joyous Kwanza. And, may each of your coming days be a wonderful time of the year.

Louis

A CASE FOR CLASSROOM AND CAMPUS LEARNING COMMUNITIES

      It’s 3:45 am.  Can’t sleep.  Maybe I was thinking about a phone call I got last night.  It was from a student whom I’ll call Jane.  Her voice had a trembling, pleading, desperate tone to it.  I could tell she had been crying.  “Dr Schmier, I need someone I can talk to.  If I don’t, I’ll explode.  I have so much work to do.  I just can’t do it.  It all seems so small.  You’re the only one I have to turn to.  Do you have a few minutes for me?  Please. Just a few minutes.  Promise.”  I went into the dark living room, sat down, and listened to sobbing, confused words and broken sentences.  The few promised minutes ran into over an hour.  She talked about her semester-long distracting, depressing, and near paralyzing agony, and it was truly agony.   That’s all I’ll say about what was tearing out her guts.  It was not the first time I had listened to her, and it was not the first time she refused to talk with a trained counselor.  She ended with “Thanks.  Now I don’t feel alone.” 

      That last word, “alone,” stuck with me.  So, as I sat on the porch in the rainy dawn sipping a hot cup of freshly brewed coffee, as the beauty of the day drove back the dark, I was thinking about Jane, about how the beauty of connection drove back the dark of isolation, and about elephants.  Yes, elephants.  Why?  Because there are elephants in the room all over our campuses.  There is so much isolation, disconnection, aloneness, and loneliness on our campuses among both students and faculty.  Rousseau was right. We humans are wired to connect.  We don’t do well when we perceive and feel that we‘re alone. We don’t like isolation.  We need and want and seek the company and companionship of others.  Our brains are designed to be social.  Daniel Goleman in his Emotional Intelligence and Primal Leadership tells us that; Richard Boyatzis in his Resonant Leadership tells us that; Edward Deci in his Why We Do What We Do tell us that; Jacqueline Olds and Richard Schwartz tell us that in their Lonely American  ; a recent study by Nicholas Christakis, of Harvard Medical School, and James Fowler, at the University of California-San Diego that appeared in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology Learning titled Alone In The Crowd tells us that; the studies on brain activity such as that by Gregory Berns of Emory University in his Iconoclast tell us that. “Alone” fires up our greatest fears.  The primitive part of our brain, the amygdala, equates “alone” with becoming “prey.”  All this research says that someone who feels disconnected and alone has more negative feelings and interactions than non-alone people.  The most reliable antidote is not academic degrees and scholarly resumes.  It’s not in emailing, texting, or twittering.  It’s not found on YouTube or Facebook or My Space.  It’s not in the electron communication of distance learning.   The true and lasting cure is in face to face, eyeball to eyeball, tactile touching the flesh, connection; it is, as Daniel Goleman asserts, in an evolved version of primal grooming behavior.   Each of us, student and faculty and administrator alike, needs and seeks the crucial companionship that carries with it the essential “you’re not in it alone” security, assurance, encouragement, and support network.

      Is it any wonder that threat and anxiety rule the emotional roost on our campuses?  Yet, it’s not easy to control these elephants.  Students do it outside the classroom by rushing to rush sororities and fraternities, to join clubs, to participate in theater and bands, to play on teams, to twitter, to Facebook, and to avoid being “single” by hooking up with each other.  We academicians try half-heartedly with occasional faculty socials or teaching circles, but ultimately too often turf warfare stands in the way.  We all, students and academicians alike, need, whether we admit it or not, genuine and strong connections with others on a personal one-to-one basis.  Students certainly don’t get it in our classes.  More often than not, they feel isolated in our classes by both the academic culture and physical structure.  It’s eyes front, spotlight on the speaker at the front of the room.  It’s eyes front, gazing into the computer screen. It’s eyes down, taking notes.  It’s eyes front, memorizing the nape of someone’s neck.  They don’t feel wanted, embraced, noticed, and cared about.  And, the result is they just feel scared, controlled, threatened, endangered, lousy, and uninspired.  Then, we wonder why—if we wonder about such things at all–the classroom experience is usually not memorable to them.  As for the faculty, let’s just say it’s usually plagued with a divisive and disconnecting “us versus them” attitude. 

      But, when anyone does seriously take aim at these elephants, it’s too often taken met with resistance.  They’re accused of being un-academic and attacking “academic freedom;” they’re being un-American by attacking individuality; and “group work,” as a colleague on my campus once told me, is a loophole that promotes “legalized cheating.”  Students, we, are personally and trained as soon as we come out from the womb to see ourselves as self-reliant people who do not depend on others.  We’re taught to push aside Donne’s idea that no man is an island.  We’re told to be self-made men and women.  We are told to idolize rugged individualism.  We’re told to be the heroic iconoclasts who stand out in and away from the crowd.    That’s what all this “I don’t want to rely upon anyone for my grade” echoing in the classroom means.  It’s what a lot of this call for “academic freedom” means.  It’s a stigma to think otherwise.  It’s blasphemy to think no man is an island.  Because it is socially unacceptable, because it’s an embarrassment to talk of it, that aloneness and loneliness gets lost in both the student’s and our stories.   

      Let me offer a caveat from the start.  I love being alone on my pre-dawn walks.  It’s my time for my inner journey of reflection, contemplation, self-evaluation, and connection.  But, that’s far different from isolation, loneliness, and aloneness.  Students and academics come on campuses that are balkanized by individual, departmental, school contentions over budgets, programs, courses, new positions, grants, not to mention professional jealousies and sense of threat.  The feeling of being set apart from rather than being a part of a group—be it a department, a school, the university or college, the classroom—where we’re not in touch with each other, where we can’t share the load, where we can’t get support and encouragement can become demoralizing, paralyzing, and have an impact on our well-being and performance. 

      Those recent sociological, psychological, and anatomical studies are showing that this sense of isolation is a major cause of self-defeating attitudes.  And, increasing the size of classes isn’t helping.  That is why we have to take community seriously.  That is why we need learning communities among faculties and administrators.  That is why we need learning communities among students.  That is why we need community in the classroom.  We have to communicate with each other.  We have to find common cause among each other.  We have to pay full attention to each other.  We have to experience each other. We have to understand each other.  Empathy is the key promoter of kindness, support, compassion, encouragement, respect, faith, hope, love.  We have to create and strengthen these meaningful connections to be free and fully functioning persons.  It with these connections we can deal positively with demands, pressures, prodding, controlling, and cajoling swirling around us.  It with these connections that we can better explore, risk, experiment, develop, and take on challenges.  It’s with these connections is what we can become all that we capable of.  We must, as I say in my workshops on creating a motivating classroom environment, break barriers, build bridges, and forge community.  We have to do it throughout the campus.  We have to live four simple and profound words, as well as helping others learn to do the same:  YOU ARE NOT ALONE!  That may sound like a cliché; it may sound trite; it may seem so obvious. But, I’ll tell you this from having discussions with faculty and administrators in workshops, having schmoozing conversations in hallways at conferences, talking with students, and reading hundreds of student journals:  those words reverberate to the depths of all people’s souls—all people’s souls. 

       That the feeling of being disconnected just might be the deadly salmonella of education’s food for thought should give us pause and some food for thought.   

 Louis