The Lilly conference was over.  I was overwhelmed by fulfilling happiness mixed with a tinge of sadness.  As I put my stuff into the rented car, getting ready for a short jaunt to the Dayton airport, a young man approached me, and the Lilly mystique shone once again in all it’s glory and began to work its magic.  “Mind if I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“I noticed that a lot of you hugged and said ‘Love you’ as you left.  I don’t get it.  We never do that at our English conferences.  We’re so ‘professional.’  At best, if we even say goodbyes, we merely shake hands.  After all, we’re just colleagues.  Why do you do that?  I don’t understand.  But I want to.  I really want to.  This conference seems so different.”

I smiled and initially gave him a quick answer.  “It’s Lilly!!”  Then, I went on. “A lot of us don’t just talk about teaching or academics in general.  Lilly is more than about methods and techniques.  This is a place where you can help someone be happy, help them improve their life both professionally and personally, help them find a purpose to live for, help them guide themselves through the rough water of a storm, help them find a meaning in their lives.  This is a place where a lot of us do more listening than talking.  What I mean by that is what Greg Wentzel said during a schmoozing conversation, ‘There is love.’   That says it all.  For me and many others, Lilly it’s a very special place,  I hug with my hellos because I’m happy to be here and hug with my ‘love you’ because I’m sad to leave.  These good people are not my colleagues.  These are my friends; they’re my family.  Some of them I won’t see for another year, but I’ll talk and listen, share with and be shared with, throughout the year.  This is my first of two yearly Thanksgivings where I am grateful and give thanks for having these people call me “friend.”  Come here a few times and you’ll feel that gratitude; it’ll get under your skin, and seep into your soul;  and, then, you’ll live it.”  That’s why I go to Lilly each year.  It’s a place of authenticity and sincerity, of renewal and growth, of helping and being helped.  Sure, it’s a time and place to get and keep both the open mind and heart of a learner on the Mondays after the weekend of the conference.  And, boy, did I learn this time.  I’m going to experiment with incorporating something new in my classes:  clickers.  That’s what Lilly does to you.  I came here as an “anti-clickerer,” heard a plenary on it by Derek Bruff, got a flash of an idea a day later, bounced it off over lunch just now with him, and now I’m going home to work on it with my IT people for my Spring semester classes.”

He looked at me.  “But you’re a real old timer.  What keeps you going?”

I wasn’t sure how to take that “real old timer stuff,” especially the “real.”  Smiling, I answered, “This is a place where you’re constantly reminded that being a teacher, or just a plain ole human being, is like being an athlete keeping yourself in mental, physical, emotional, and spiritual shape.  The science of teaching means a mind, body, spirit meld, an organic unity of physiology, the brain, with psychology, the emotion, with sociology, the connection.  I’ve studied teaching for the last twenty years.  If I’ve learned anything, it’s that if you truly love teaching, if you want to do it for a long time, if you don’t want to burn out, it takes constant unlearning and learning, and constant deconditioning and  conditioning of the spirit, of the attitude, and of the mind.  I guess it’s something of academic yoga that makes you emotionally and mentally flexible, that allows you to accept change, that urges you to grow, that gets to the attitude of always asking ‘now, what’s next?  What’s over the hill?  Where’s the next mountain?’  It’s about transforming challenge from an obstacle to an opportunity so you can achieve the fullest potential.  It’s about reinventing yourself from time to time, time after time; it’s about growing and changing.”

“How do you know anything will work, for example, the clickers?”

“I don’t.  But, after nearly dying from a cerebral hemorrahage, I’ve learned there are no guarantees.  You don’t stay trim by being a couch potato.  You just have to take chances if you don’t want to become mentally and emotionally flabby.  Nothing worth doing doesn’t involve risk.  I mean, if it’s easy, if there’s no element of ‘danger,’ if there no possibility of it falling flat on it’s face, you already know how to do it and you’re heading for the straitjacketing rut of safe routine.  Personally, I feel so much better and it feel so much more meaningful if I overcome something new and risky than if I just keep on doing something ‘old hat’ and ‘safe.’  You have to have a ‘seeking spirit’ to be and stay alive; you have to have a sense that you can never get to the end of teaching; you have to realize and accept it’s an eternal journey.  I know a lot about teaching.  I offer conference sessions, plenaries, and keynotes.  I give workshops on campuses that will have me.  But, there so much I don’t know and have to learn.  It’s a constant intrepidness, a constant curiosity, a constant search, a constant adventure venturing out into the known, constant challenge–and constant wonder.  Whatever I do will work if I keep working at it!”

Then, he countered me with a fearful tone and look, “I bet you have tenure.”  We talked a tad more.  He tried to end our conversation by offering me his hand. I moved forward slowly and gave him a hug.  “Can I talk with you later?” he hesitantly asked.

I said, “Keep in touch.  You’ve got my telephone number and email in the conference book.  Buzz me any time.  I’ve got a shoulder and ear.”

He smiled.  I got into the car.  As I was heading to Dayton to catch my flight back into Susan’s arms I was thinking about that conversation.  Lilly really is a time and place when and where you can strike the spark or keep the spark alive, kindle or rekindle, and get or keep your “inside me” ablaze.  It’s a place where you don’t have to power walk to keep your heart in shape, for you discover that there is no better exercise for your heart than helping to lift someone up.  And, in the effort to do that, nothing is a waste of effort or time.

Susan and I wish all of you and your families the happiest of Thanksgiving.  And, may you not overdoes on food and go into a caloric coma.

Louis

Just as I’m putting on my “game face” for the Lilly conference this week and getting into what I call “the Lilly groove,” Mary comes up to me in class with moans and groans.  The students are finishing and getting ready to present their final history project.  This past semester, they’ve written a Dr. Seuss book, composed and performed a song, sculpted, and now they’ve gone to Hollywood and are making an eight minute film.  Our conversation went something like this:

“Dr. Schimer, I hate this project.  It’s hard!”  Mary grimaced.

“You want it to be easy?” I softly replied with a smile in an understanding tone.

“Yes,” she exclaimed.

“You want to just get by, then.”

“Yes!” she quickly came back. “I just want a good grade.”

“And what do you think that takes?” I asked.  Then, I said, “You’re a cheerleader?”

“Yes,” she said proudly.

“Would you tell your coach that you want practice to be easy?”

“God, no!”

“Then, don’t tell me that!”

“But, that’s different.”

“No…it’s….not,” I quietly and slowly, but firmly, replied.  “That’s why ‘it’s so hard’ is so important in anything–anything–you do, anything I do.  ‘It’s easy’ is not a sign you’ll find on the road to achieving anything.  You don’t win championships or learn with ‘it’s easy.”  You have to sweat and ache in here, and put in the time and effort in here, just like you do on the field.”

Then, she admitted, “Well, to be honest, making this film is really fun.  And, I really am learning a lot by doing it, a lot more than just cramming to take a test.”

I replied, “That’s the point.  That’s the method to my madness and the madness to my method.  Let me tell you a story. There once was a person who discovered a butterfly struggling as hard as it could to escape its cocoon through a tiny opening at the top. She got worried when it stopped and seemed to give up after making no progress. She was sure the butterfly wouldn’t make it out without help.  So, she enlarged the hole.  On its next try, the butterfly wriggled out easily. But the young woman’s joy turned to horror when she saw its wings were shriveled and useless. Her well-intentioned intervention had interrupted a natural process. Forcing the butterfly to squeeze though a small opening is nature’s way of assuring that blood from the butterfly’s body is pushed into the wings. By making it easier, she deprived the butterfly of strong wings.  You’re a butterfly working to get out of your cocoon.  ‘Hard’ is important if you want to spread your wings and be able to fly; ‘easy’ is not.”

“Yeah.  I guess.  Makes sense.  But it is so maddening!  I just wish I didn’t take so much time and work.”

God, this conversation sounded like one I had with Dr. Viault over fifty years ago.  Sometimes the more things change, the more they don’t change.  Now, neither I, Mary, nor so many other students had come out from the womb this way.  Where did so many learn to want merely to just get by?  Where and when were they told that the philosophy of Popeye, the Sailorman, was silly and downright wrong:  “Youse gets out whats youse puts in?”  Where and when did they learn to do the least and expect the highest grade?  Why don’t they focus their efforts on more than just getting a grade?  Why aren’t they committed?  Why are they inclined to settle for the shadows of the valley rather than the glistening summit?  Why don’t they realize that if they’re spending all this time and money why don’t they make enough effort to make whatever they’re doing great.  Why do they settle?  Do they think they will reach the summit by staying in the valley?   Why do they live with mediocrity instead of excellence?  Don’t they have faith in themselves?  Don’t they believe?  Why don’t they do what’s necessary to do?  Why don’t they give that “just a little more?”  Why don’t they want to “be on a roll?”  Do they think they can dance spritely with leadened feet?  Do they think they can soar high without wings?  Why don’t they bring the values they’ve learned on a sports team, cheerleading squad, theater troupe, or music band into the classroom?   What is the source of this attitude?

Anyway, my mission is to find ways to get to them so they have a shot at getting to themselves.  I have to help them see that it’s of no use for anyone to be a wisher if you’re not a doer as well.  Sure, aim high, but to get there you have to get down and dirty, and focus on the details, on the nitty gritty grind.  So, again, as a teacher, my job goes beyond merely transmitting information.  It is to help them help themselves develop their character, and to understand that they have choices and the power to make those choices.  Now, because I pride myself on being unconditionally caring, respectful, and loving of students, that doesn’t mean I’m a push-over, and because I’m empathetic that doesn’t mean I’m a pussy cat.  If I must be a harbinger of that message of challenge, so be it.

Students like Mary have to learn that part of their collegiate learning experience is that college is another cocoon. If they are to leave our campuses as “wholesome graduates,” we academics must challenge without being an obstacle and destroying; we must nurture without weeding out.  We have to put in our own sweat equity in the classroom.  We must find ways to create something of a safe haven while allowing, even encouraging, the students to take risks, to take responsibility, to find new strengths, to convert their weaknesses into strengths, to struggle, to make mistakes, to learn from them, and to accept consequences for bad judgments and conduct.  I’m confident that Mary will find in all aspects of her life that “it’s hard” and “too much work” are not enemies. She’ll see that she can develop wings strengthened by self-confidence and self-reliance, and by commitment, determination, and perseverance.  Someone once said that nothing important can be developed when you already know how to do it. Only when it’s hard can a student have a chance to transform a challenge from obstacle into opportunity; only through the experience of trial and tribulations can her or his soul be strengthened, character developed, vision cleared, determination inspired, and success achieved.

At the same time, we have to be fair in asking late teenagers or people in their early twenties to know just what is the prize they should have their eyes on.  So many of us academics call them adults when they’re really not.  So many haven’t learned how to hit the curve balls thrown at them.  They can’t know the purpose of life or of their lives because they haven’t lived long enough or lived enough to know his/her purpose.  They can’t see the future; they can’t peer into a crystal ball; they don’t know what looms.  They have to learn to balance between planning and adapting, between having a specific goal and going with the flow, between doing what they want and they they need to do.  Heck, some of us degreed adults have yet to learn how to walk that high wire.

So, while I’m a tender, empathetic, supporting, and encouraging teddy bear, out of unconditional caring about and respect for each student, it’s because of that caring and respect–and love–that with a loving smile, and a soft and encouraging word, I can also be an intractable, take-no-prisoners grizzly bear when it’s called for.  That’s the balancing act between “love” and “tough love.”  After all, as I just told some of my e-colleagues and friends, contrary to stereotypes and generalities, there’s no such thing as evenness.  Students, like anyone else-do not move, change, or grow absolutely, uniformly, or chronologically–or even willingly.  Movement, growth, and change are always partial and uneven.  We all grow in one dimension, and not in another;  we all grow in one direction while heading in another; we are mature in one realm, childish in another; we have strengths while we have weaknesses; we are experienced in some areas and not in others.  Our different pasts, present, and future hopes mingle and pull and push us backward, forward, sideways, or diagonal.    And so, at any given time, for a host of reasons, some get it or some of it by seeing the light; some start getting it or some of it when they feel the heat; and, alas, some just haven’t gotten any of it–yet.  It’s those “some” and “yet” that should drive us to figure out ways to get to them and get to them some more.

Louis

All this archaic, “fall backward” time change we did this weekend with our clocks and getting in the groove for the Lilly conference in a week got me thinking about change.  How many times have you said with a carved in stone defiant finality, “It’s not me” or “that’s just me.”  Well, I’d like to chip away at that block with a question or two.  Ever wonder who the real “me” really is that you’re talking about?  Did you know that every seven years every one of the cells in our body has regenerated?  Every seven years we’re biologically new people?  Every seven years, we’re all completely changed.  Outwardly, we notice that change.  We call it “aging.”  Yet, inwardly we so often act as it nothing has happened.  But, it does.  One night, while in Shanghai, I was telling some students about how Buddha, Rumi, Picasso, and the brain researchers all agree that we don’t see.  We perceive; we interpret.  Our sense of self, sense of others, and sense of the world around us are in many ways illusory.  They are transitory perceptions, feelings, mental constructions, interpretations, selective awarenesses, picked through conscious or unconscious memories.  They are not permanent actualities.  It’s a kind of daily rising from the ashes.  It’s a sort of perennial dying and being born each moment process while the succeeding moment is tied to and builds on the preceding ones.  There is no fixed you or me from which to be transformed; there is no precise and static “is;” there is only “becoming.”

We live a world of constant forward motion.  I mean, if I think about it, “me” when I was born is not the “me” when I was ten years old is not the same “me” when I was 20 is not the same “me” when I was 30 and is not the “me” now that I’ve hit 70.   Life is not stasis because life is change, and it changes us.  Each day we live in a world that combines greeting “hellos” and departing “goodbyes.”  We morph each day of our lives.  We learn; we unlearn; we develop new habits and traits; we shed old ones; we acquire new memories and bury old ones.  Change is natural.  Time warping, skin deep Botox, liposuction, or face lifting that make you appear as someone you aren’t are not.  So, when someone says “that’s not me” or “I am,” or “I can’t do that,” or “I know how” or any other way they fight against change, that’s unnatural.  We can deny it all we want; we can resist this reality all we want, but in the end we cannot change it.  And, to think we can defeat change will only mean, we’ll get bitten in the ass;  we’ll be more troubled and beaten up, and thrown more off balance by the unavoidable reality of change.  Trust me, I’ve been there.

Change, like life, is about constantly making choices.  It’s understanding that arriving at the answers to one set of questions isn’t where change and choice end.  It’s where they begin with a whole new set of questions demanding a whole new set of choices.  It’s about letting go of some things that were and grabbing hold of some things that are.  It’s about leaving warm, cozy, and comforting things behind and going out into the cold of  the discomforting unknown.  There’s no map; there’s no compass; there’s no guide.  We just have to gulp, deeply inhale, maybe at times tightly close our eyes, and take a tentative step with belief, hope, and faith.  We don’t have to like it; it’s okay to fear it, but we can’t stop it from coming.  Our lives are about making choices.  How we handle them is up to us, and that shows us what we’re made of.  We either adapt to change or we get left behind.  It can be a fearful drag or an adventurous high; it can be “sure death” or it can be an exhilarating rebirth; it can be paralyzing or it can be another shot at life.  Sure, we want risk-free assurances, comforting guarantees, emotionally satisfying answers.  Sure, we want to ease the pain or, at least, the uneasiness, that comes with the unknowns of change and growth.  Anybody who tells you they don’t isn’t really being totally honest.  It’s not a matter of erasing the slate; it’s a matter of where we focus.  We each are really a “I was,” “I am,” and “I will be” all at the same time.  But here’s the truth, from personal experience, it’s never too late to dream; it’s always too early to stop dreaming.  It is not enough to dream; you have to make that dream come true.  You don’t know what’s out there for you, but you wont find out until you just muster the courage to do something and practice doing it.  On any given day, if you can open your fingers, if you can loosen your grip, if you can let go, you’ll have a better shot at finding your new and truer self by losing your older self.  And, when you do, when you give yourself the gift of life, painful and terrifying as it may be, you’ll feel an adrenaline rush of rejunvenation that makes it worth it.  It’s risky.  God knows, it’s scary as hell.  Most us don’t know how to do that, and are afraid of making mistakes while they struggle to figure it out.  But, we are fallible human beings. Accept that.  We make mistakes.  We make wrong turns.  We are flawed. And, we cannot see into the future.  But, I’ve discovered that any “oops” that comes from doing something beats the hell out of a static and stagnating “I can’t” or “It’s not me” or “I know how to…”

Louis

I hadn’t intended to write anything this morning, but I have been receiving birthday wishes from people literally all over this globe.  How you all knew is beyond me, but it is, to say the least, gratifying.  Thank you.  And, your warmth has countered some of the chilly responses I’ve received off-line lately to my reflections on happiness and feeling “Seuss-ish.”  It was as if I unintentionally had been hitting a raw nerve.  I put those sub-zero messages into four categories.  There is the disbelieving “Surely you get discouraged by it all.”  There is the accusing “Oh, Louis, now!”  There is the limiting “Be reasonable, you can’t get to them all.”  And, there is the rationalizing “You can only do so much.”

They’re wasting their time.  By sheer coincidence, my word for living today is “warm.”  I am so grateful for what I have in my personal and professional lives, I have no space in me for negatives and limits.  I fill my heart with love and thankfulness for all that I now have;  I fill my mind with thoughts of the very best of what is possible; I fill my your spirit with a bright, sparkling vision of how good I know life can be; I fill my soul with a sparking faith of what each student can be; and, I fill my eyes with sights of my Susan.  And, doggone, at 70 I feel so young of heart and soul and mind, like, as Susan’s birthday card said, an “18 year old with 52 years of experience.”  I don’t and won’t let the disbelieving, accusing, resigned, frustrated, fearful, cynical, and immobile define me.

You know, those people, who want me to feel guilty about enjoying life, about always smiling or telling people to smile, or about celebrating what I do, sadly don’t seem to understand.  If life is not to be enjoyed, enjoyed to the fullest, then how would it be possible to enjoy anything?  It is how we dance and sing in the rain that reveals most of who we are.   All that is within each of us constantly works to meet the expectations we set for ourselves, our relationships, and for our classroom.   We each will see, and hear, and touch, and taste, and learn, and achieve whatever we expect, and our expectations become our reality. What we expect most sincerely and persistently, we experience.  Expectation compels us to find or avoid a way or deny there is a way.

We’re alive, and life moves; it doesn’t want to stand still; it doesn’t let us remain stagnant; change is natural and all around us.  We have only one directive in life:  do something!   We’re built to look, listen, feel, imagine, create, dream, choose, act.   So, why do we immobilize ourselves–and students?  You know, we–and students–are human beings.  And, human beings are not designed to be passive and compliant. They’re not supposed to lie dormant.  They’re supposed to be active and engaged. You see, when you get involved, you feel the sense of hope and accomplishment that comes from knowing you are working to make things better.  That’s why we humans learn best and retain most when we’re doing something, when we’re on the move, when we have our hands on, when we are involved, and when we are “down and dirty.”  So, what’s so wrong about appreciating the good things while I have them, to see beauty in everyone and everything, to love feeling the love, to be aware how striking it is to be aware, to intensely experience experience, to find adventure in working through challenges and difficulties?   It’s not egotistical or even masochistic to find real joy in the great variety of ups and downs we all have to deal with, for it is in overcoming the downs that gets you up; it is to know what it means to live and enjoy life; and, the more we enjoy and give meaningful purpose to life, the more joy we have to give to the lives of others.  Let me tell you something, I learned the hard way was that it doesn’t pay to get discouraged or pessimistic.  You can’t build with negatives.  No, on one hand, I’ve learned to make disappointment make me even more determined, to learn from it, to let it move me forward, to empower me, and to help me change and grow.  On the other hand, making optimism and enthusiasm my ways of life keep me alive and young, and maintain my faith in myself and what I’m doing.  It’s a proverbial win-win situation.

So many of us  don’t do or attempt to do or even want to do by rationalizing that there are limits.  It’s that paralyzing and atrophying “You can do and give only so much” or  “You can’t get to them all” thing.   My answer is  “How much is ‘only so much?’ and how many is less than ‘all?'”  Is there a limit to how much love my heart can hold?  Is there a limit to how much beauty I can behold?  Is there a limit to how much joy I can experience?  Is there a limit to such things as kindness, hope, faith, belief, passion, purpose, encouragement?  I don’t think so; I haven’t found so.  I don’t think there are limits to what really matters.  Those limitless things are the things I treasure  because I have discovered that the most difficult work, the greatest challenges, feels easy and flow easy when I let them flow from my heart.

No, it’s stasis stemming from resentment, disappointment, resignation, frustration that is sand in the cogs, that makes things feel unsatisfying, unpleasant, disagreeable, and difficult. They make troubles only feel more troubling; they only bring you down even more; they’re the things that wears you down.  Enjoyment doesn’t do that.  When I enjoy something, when I’m having serious fun, it’s invigorating, a joy and it’s fun.  And, I do a heck of a lot better job of doing it.  Faith in possibilities is what drives the fulfillment of those possibilities.  Someone said, that the deeply lived life always expands beyond itself.  So,  I don’t see limits to the sense of accomplishment, fulfillment, and significance they are bring to me.  And, so, I can give much.  No, I don’t and won’t feel guilty about anything I do.

Thank you once again to all you well-wishers.  It was so kind and considerate of you, and I truly, truly appreciate your thoughts and words.

Louis