Imprisonment, Freedom, Teaching

My fingers are stiff; my knuckles are swollen; the tips of my fingers are bloody and calloused; my shoulders ache; my wrists hurt as I vainly struggle to answer 586 warm messages–and a very few chilly ones. That’s what I found resting in my mailbox when I returned home last Sunday. I guess talking about dreaming and teaching struck a sweet chord, as it should, with a lot of you good people out there.

More than a few comments, especially one from a student in Montana and another from an adviser in North Carolina, stirred my soul. I’d like to share what I replied to one:

Until a time not too long ago I was for a very long time in my own hidden prison of self-doubt, weak self-confidence, and consuming sense of failure. I am sure, having spoken with students from that other life, I had transferred in some inimitable way those attitudes however I desperately tried to hide it away from both me and everyone else as if I was a magician wrapping myself in a cloak of invisibility. As I have gotten to know me, to engage in a near decade long conversation with myself I often wondered what really has been changing about me these past nine years. I think I know now. It was not merely a change of make-up; it was a make-over. It was not me that was changing. It was my perceptions about myself that was changing. That change allowed me to emerge ever so slowly from the depth of the victimizer to the heights of the overcomer. That change allowed me to seek out, tap, bring to the surface, and use that which was always there but to which I was blinded and deafened. As I ventured inward and reflected, as I got acquainted with myself, I saw how so much had been hollow, shallow, illusory. The truth was that until a fateful day in October of 1991, I victimized myself. I really felt chained and imprisoned, impotent. Though I often roared like a lion for all to hear, many was the time I felt so sheepish where I and no one could see. I slowly and painfully discovered I was an inmate in a deep, dark, confining, and isolated prison cell: myself. Despite my words to the contrary, I kept myself locked in by having only one way of looking at myself.

Since that “hollywood moment, ” as my son, Michael would call it, I have been painfully and delightfully discovering a way for changing my underlying belief in myself so that I would become an overcomer. Problem is that I also have discovered that I really can’t advise others who ask a bunch of “hows” because what happened, happened to me. And, I have not yet found, the self-help cottage industry not withstanding, the sure-fire how-to-do formula, guaranteed fix-it technique, instant question and answer list, mysterious incantation, or magic elixir or dust. Reading and hearing the words is one thing; living day after day after day is quite another.

No, something far more disarmingly simple yet profound proved to be a vast untapped resource and strength: telling the truth, however uncomfortable and painful. And, believe me when I say it was uncomfortable and painful. I have discovered slowly that in order to achieve I have to become someone I’ve never been before; I have to develop skills I never had before; I have to acquire an outlook I had not had before. In order to achieve something on the outside, I had to become someone else on the inside. To achieve all that, I came to realization that I “just” would have to struggle to be honest with myself. And the truth was that I thought I was free, and I had to admit I wasn’t; I thought I had been satisfied, and I had to admit I wasn’t; I proclaimed myself a success as did others, and I had to admit to a deep sense of failure. Then and still, I have a relentless hunger and thirst, relentless desire and need to root out the ways I had limited myself and to discard those beliefs and techniques I had used to deceive myself from seeing what truly is. It meant trying key after key, going through door after door, crossing boundary after boundary, breaking wall after wall, building bridge after bridge. It meant letting go of the self-satisfying, pat answers and grabbing hold to the questions. It meant re-opening the book of my life and start reading the never-ending story, of searching constantly for understanding, accepting that there is no ultimate answer. It meant entering a state of openness, accepting the truth that any “answer” is at best an approximation that is forever subject to modification, adaptation, reapplication, improvement–never final. It meant letting a curious–some say courageous, “let’s see” surface. It meant an unending broadening of my self-awareness and awareness of others, of trying to see more of the human playing field. It meant continually deeping my understanding of myself, people and forces.

It meant “the spirit of love.” That is at the heart of the true freedom. I have come to realize that love slowly opens the cell door, shoos away that pimply troll called fear. Love for yourself and others has everything to do with attitudes and intentions–and actions: of a commitment to serve something larger than myself; of visualizing a world that is not deeply self-centered and self-interested; of the willingness to be open and vulnerable; of a willingness to suspend certainty; of a willingness to exchange in the spirit of the question mark rather than of the exclamation point; of a willingness to share in order to influence and be influenced; of the commitment to my own completion and becoming all that I can be–whatever that is and wherever and whenever it occurs, again and again and again and…….

And so I become selfish. Sound strange? Well, selfish is a much maligned word. It’s gotten such a bad rap as a cardinal sin. And why? If I were to carve some teaching commandments in stone, one would say “Thou Shalt love each of thy students as thyself.” That means that I must first make peace with myself, love myself before I can make peace with and love students. That is not being egotistical or narcisstic. It means if you have self-love, self-esteem, self-respect, self-regard, self-acceptance, you’re more likely to esteem and respect and regard and accept, more likely to be likeable, less likely to get depressed, more likely to love life, certainly more likely to love people around you. I admit that I need self-love. So, I go in and find it.

I think the highest form of selfishness is to give of ourselves to others so that we may broaden our understanding and confidence, so that we may reach inner security, serenity, and fulfillment. The richest reward in teaching comes from helping others with no thought of reward. This is constructive selfishness. We cannot get unless we give. If you are not willing to serve students, you will not be a class act in class. If you walk into the classroom as if you’re entitled, if you shy away from sharing yourself with students who need you, you’ll get frustrated. If you believe and give, the teaching coffers will never be empty.

As I slowly and humbly came to that realization–not by intellectualizing, philosophizing, or theorizing, but through personal experience–a deep chord resonated within me that I still have trouble describing, even to myself. There was something new inside me and something new out there. It drew me into a whole new series of commitments and connectedness, educational insights and personal changes; it led me to see an invisible wholeness in myself, in others, and in things that is so often hidden by divisions and separations which we have invented and by which we have become trapped. I began experiencing life in a way I then had no way to describe. I began experiencing a broader vision, wider goals, a higher energy, a true aliveness within me, an aliveness in everything I did and do.

I am forever learning the difference between the positive and forward looking “freedom to be and do” and the backward looking “freedom from.” The former is the freedom to create what I want I honestly desire. It’s the freedom of personal mastery. Freedom. It’s the heart of living. It’s life’s exclamation points that replace the question marks etched by fear. In my life, in my teaching, in my gardening, in everything it is perhaps among my highest values. It’s the core of my dignity. I am always working on the struggle for freedom. The freedom to be free to be truly myself–free of the imposing and imprisoning restrictions of my own self-prejudices, free of the traps of my confining preconceptions of others, free of the chains of the limiting preconceptions others have about me.

Memories and experiences are important, but not as important as how you see the future. Regardless of the past memories or experiences, today is a new day. Someone once said that the past is not equal to the present. How true. As I often say, the present is the only present we have, and we’re obligated to unwrap it and relish in its gift. Tomorrow is not yet. We have the power to determine our attitude tomorrow and not let someone or something in the past do it for us. It is for us to choose whether to hear the dark, imprisoning voices of the past or to follow the freeing voices of light into tomorrow. How well I know that.

With that inner sense of freedom, I arduously discovered that each of us can in some manner, shape, and form create something new, something that has value and meaning, something that is important, something that leaves tracks in the sand, something that touches someone’s soul, something that alters the future, something that says I was here. Every time I feel that freedom at work, it’s like holding each of my son’s just just after they were born!!

Make it a good day.

–Louis–

To Dream

I just received a message that came out of nowhere by a person with whom I have never had contact. She blindsided me. She said she had read my Random Thought on creativity. She called me a dreamer in such an accusing tone as if I was threatening the very foundation of the world of academia and was about to bring the halls of ivy tumbling down. I guess “dream” to her is one of those word that seems out of place in the intellectual world of academia. Personally, I think it has to be the foundation. The tone of the message left little doubt of the professor’s skepticism. That’s okay. Skeptical is okay as long as skeptical is a starting point and not the finish line. An open-minded skeptical leads to study and to smart. A close-minded skeptical leads to stubborn to stupid.

Anyway, this professor said that I have my head in the clouds and that I instead should have my feet on the ground. That’s okay, too. Then, I started thinking about her comments.

How can I soar into the clouds or climb mountains with my feet planted on the ground. Yes, I am a dreamer. I plead “no contest.” No, I plead “guilty as charged.” What’s wrong with that? I don’t think being a dreamer is to be a genetically flawed professional. Tell me of one thinker, one achiever, one experimenter, one leader, one inventor who wasn’t dream, whose accomplishments weren’t his or her dreams come true.

I let my dreams be an inspiration to all things positive and possible because no one can place limits on my dreams. It’s my dreams that help me to put first things first, to ask “Am I doing the right thing?” as a guide to asking “Am I doing things right?” It’s my dreams that, as it says somewhere in Scripture, put my hands to the plow, that keep my eyes ahead, fixed on the goal, to deal with obstacles and cut straight furrows, to keep on keeping on, and to keep me from looking back and cutting crooked furrows, that almost forces me to complete my efforts. It’s my dreams that evoke the meaningful and true north “why” for all the “whats” and “hows” and “dos.” So the skies the limit, and its dreams that transform reality. They’re the starting line for great things; they’re the road to fulfillment; they create possibilities, broaden horizons, expand worlds, create new realities.

Am I a dreamer? You bet I am! I am a “positive” dreamer. Positive dreaming is a step in the process of teaching. It creates a “it can happen” spirit of hope and belief and faith. I am an “its possible” dreamer. And, I translate that into being a practioning positive and possible teacher. One way or another, I will do it. That means I am always thinking of different ways things can happen, designing a variety of plans, thinking of what I can do, and figuring out what steps I can take to take action.

Action is important. I am not impressed with someone who merely says, “I am comitted.” I am more impressed with someone who says, “I am comitted to do.” I am really impressed with someone who does, who is faithful, to the point of ridicule, of being laughed at or snickered at. When that happens, that person is no longer a part of the faceless herd, the nameless culture. Someone once told me that people don’t laugh at you unless you’re doing something right.

The incentive to develop a moral identity of caring is the most pressing need in my teaching: To perform one pure act of love, to be a blessing to someone, to make a difference to someone, to be a life to someone else. We have to tear down our own restricting fences, reject rejection, drag on in spite of the drag of “reality,” lift the limits on our own limitations, explore our own world, believe in our own possibilities and those of others. It’s my dreams that keep my hand to the plow. I don’t fear how, and I’m not afraid of making a mistake or taking a misstep or asking a question; I’m not afraid of being authentic. Doubt will come. Self-doubt will come. The dream won’t allow any of them tp deter or do damage. Dreams won’t let you teach merely to earn a living or just to exist. I truly believe that giving persons are living persons, true teachers. Those people, like you said, to requote Emily Dickenson, “dwell in possibility.”

This professor said I can’t change the world. Probably not. Besides, I’m not out to change the world. I’m not responsible for changing the entire world or altering the entire “system” every time I do something. Atlas and Hercules I am not. I am responsible for changing my own little world. And as I impact on my world, it impacts however slightly or imperceptively on the larger world: one student, one class, one day, one semester. One by one by one. Out of these ones come many.

A dreamer? I’d rather soar on the uplifting currents of dreams than be stuck in the drag of the heavy wet sand of supposed “reality.” This professor said I should stop dreaming. Stop dreaming? That would, crush my spirit. Doesn’t say it somewhere in proverbs that a crushed spirit dries up the bones?

Make it a good day.

–Louis–

On Creativity

Good morning. And, it is a good morning. It is the first time that I’ve hit the pre-dawn pavement in almost five weeks. A war of biblical proportions against a vicious cold virus will do that. Anyway, the muscles ached a bit and my breathing was a tad heavy. But, it did feel good being out there in the quiet once again.

In the dark, I was thinking about two words I read in a student project evaluation: wonder and marvel. As I thought of those two words, bright images of the classroom, like sugar plum fairies were dancing in my head that lit me up like the passing street lamps.

The classroom has been rocking these past few weeks. Chairs strewn about; students hunched over easel paper and poster board spread out on the floor; students lying about, a serious pose on some faces, smiles on others; color markers and scissors scattered on the floor; communities outside in the hall. Pen and pencils racing across paper, textbook pages are being flipped, sentences being read, paragraphs being discussed, questions being answered, fingers being pointed to words. Lots of creative noise; lots of creative movement; lots of learning noise. and movement.

It’s the time the students are working on the “Broadway” Project. After two weeks of community building at the beginning of the term, the students have been applying the four working themes of the class that we developed during community building: “It’s Communication, Stupid,” “Don’t Forget ‘The Story,'” “Remember ‘The Chair.'” “I Sang And So I Can Do Anything!”.

They’ve already done the “Dr Seuss” project, and just have completed the “Salvador Dali” project. The “Bruce Springteen,” “Madison Avenue,” “Scavenger Hunt,” “Nureyev,” “Hemmingway,” and “Jeopardy” projects among others, along which the course progresses, are waiting in the wings.

Four classes of first year history, over 200 of mostly supposedly “average”–or less than average –students, 70 “communities of support and encouragement of three” have been and will be engaged in a series of projects. For each project, they have been and will read, write, hunt, talk, struggle, cut, think, create, gyrate, paste, search, curse, ponder, laugh, imagine, snarl, draw, present–and learn. No memorization here; no cramming here. They will learn history. They will learn people skills. They will learn communication skills. They will learn about life. They will learn analytical and decision-making skills. They will challenge themselves. They will push themselves. They will risk themselves.

In the end, most will surprise themselves. The projects will take them out from the comfort and safety of their known world into new worlds and thereby expand their world. They will unlearn and learn as the same time.

The rules of each project are simple:

(1) as a community the students have to read the assigned chapters in the textbook. Yes, I do use the text as a core to the course. But, then, I don’t lecture;

(2) the community has to develop a written response to chapter comments I hand out;

(3) as a class we discuss, argue, re-enact the community responses to those comments;

(4) then, each community has to decide what it considers to be the most important issue in the material and prepare a written defense of that decision;

(5) next, each community has to engage in a project explaining that issue. The project might be (a) a ten page (cover not included), post-size, illustrated “Dr Seuss” book, (b) an abstract painting of the Salvador Dali Project, (c) a six minute “stage production” of the Broadway Project, (d) a three minute song, with original lyrics, in the Bruce Springsteen Project, (e) a two minute interpretive dance in the Nureyev Project, (f) a commercial campaign in the Madison Avenue Project. Symbolic items found or created in the Scavenger hunt project. You get the point.

(6) and finally, each community has to present their project to the class and teach them.

During the process, they have and will continue to bombard me with a barrage of nervous questions, “What do you want?” “Can we….” “What do you think about….” “Is it all right to…” “Are we going to get graded on….” “Are we allowed to….” “Tell me what ….. I expect it.

To the annoyance of some and the frustration of some others, with a confidence instilling smile, I struggle to break their habit of submissiveness and their habit of playing it safe. My answer was and will always be a quiet and short encouraging and freeing, “You heard the rules.” “Remember ‘The Chair.'” “It’s your project.” “Don’t forget ‘The Story;'” “What do you want to….” “You sang; you can….” “What do you think about….” Sometimes I will smile and remain silent. At first, they aren’t wild about it. Many are puzzled. Slowly, as the semester progresses, most of them understand, and the barrage quiets and their self-assurance resounds.

The result? Amazing! The students are more surprised than I am. With so few exceptions, as one student imaginatively said in his evaluation of the Dr Seuss Project: “from what our community did and what I saw other communities do, most of us have been in and out of the textbook and over and under the material like earthworms turning garbage and stuff into a rich compost heap. Who would have thought that we had it in us. I didn’t. I’ve heard so many “nos” and “that’s wrongs” that I was scared to believe in myself. So many teachers here and in high school told me to do it their way that I was scared to make my own decisions. I just snapped to attention, saluted with a “yes, sir,” and followed their orders like a good little robot. I became more interested in getting a grade than learning, really learning. Not here. Here you couldn’t help but wonder and marvel at yourself and everyone else.”

Wonder and marvel. Interesting words. Neat words. Core words for an education, or, at least, they should be. This evaluation and comments from a horde of others got me thinking. Maybe we teachers and professors have to ask ourselves about the extent to which we are therapeutic influences promoting wonder and marvel and significance, or we are pathological influences spreading horror, fear, and trifle. Maybe it is because we so often impose pressure rather than have things done for enjoyment. So often we direct as loosely as authoritarian dictators; so often we hover over students like vultures, making them feel so self conscious that their creativity goes underground; so often we make students worry about the grade and how we will judge them; so often we make them focus on the “what do you wants” rather than on the satisfaction with their accomplishments; so often we make them copy our answers rather than ask their questions and make their statements; so often we demand they do it our way that they don’t have the excitement of learning how to find their own way.

We overuse the rewards–and threats–of grades and underuse the intrinsic pleasure of self-discovery, creative activity, and learning; we put them in a win-lose competition with each other; we control and tell the students how to do it; we control so much that we frighten, stifle, paralyze, and suffocate; we confuse micromanagement with teaching, control with leading, efficiency with effectiveness; we tell them what to do rather than tell them to follow their curiosity; and we impose the hothouse pressure of grandiose expectation; above all, we impose time limits that so often subtly destroy the process of “creative mulling,” that explorative process of “walking-on-it,” thinking about it, getting it, and doing it.

I find that creativity plays sweetly in the mind and on the soul. It has a arousing effect which heightens the range and intensity of a person’s readiness in which he or she is better able to deal with anything at hand. Unlike dull note taking, boring memorization or deadening cramming for a test, and more like engaging lab experiments or field experience, it’s a seminal emotion for averting stagnation and boredom. Like a steam piston, it drives the students forward; it heightens their joy. It keeps them on their toes, alert and wondering and alive. It quickens their pace, brightens their eyes, sharpens their sight and hearing, and increases their heart beat. It gives a greater sense of purpose and accomplishment.

Maybe, then, as I thought about “wonder” and “marvel” this morning, the ultimate purpose of education is not to hand out a test, make assignments, give a grade, or hand out a diploma. Maybe the ultimate purpose of schooling is not merely to be a series of vocational way stations to a better job. Maybe our purpose as educators should be to get students to wonder and to marvel at the new rather than merely parrot and copy the old. Maybe our ultimate purpose, the reason for our existence and the reason for students’ presence, is to aid in the transformation of the whole person, to be a series of way stations to a better life, to assist each and every student to search for and discover and develop and express and combine their latent talents and character with ideas and skills in something new that they experience every day; to help each student wonder and marvel not just about the material, but about him or herself, about his or her latent potential, and be courageous and foolish enough to drill deep for it and see what erupts from the well; to get each student intoxicated with wonder and marvel first about something–and ultimately about everything; to get each student to wonder and marvel about complexities and difficulties, to utilize the tools of questioning, noticing, and observing; to help each student develop a stick -to-itness, a will, a strength, a drive so he or she learn not to give up easily at the first sign of resistance and frustration; to assist each student to break through the walls of fear and criticism that threaten to lock him or her in a confining cell; to help a student develop a compassion or respect for others and him-or herself so he or she can fend off the barbs of criticism and self-judgement that discourage taking of risks; and to help instill in each student a courage to use his or her wonder, marvel, intoxication, and drive.

No. No maybes about it. It’s in the cradle of that constant wonder and marvel that creativity and imagination really rock, and the boughs of life-long learning about life will then never break.

Make it a good day.

–Louis–