The Machine

Any part of a machine is equally important. Without the cog, the machine stops working.  Without the linchpin, the machine stops working.  Thoreau said to "Let your life be a counter friction to stop the machine."  I guess it comes down to a choice that we each have to make for ourselves: stop the machine or make it bigger?  The default, of course, is to help build it.  But it's still your choice.

Waking Up

When you wake up in our society and find that you've turned into Kafka's metaphorical bug, confused as to your place in the world, you're probably headed in the right direction.

When you wake up and find that your life is in perfect alignment with our unnatural world, be worried.

Making Trouble

In "War is a Force That Gives Us Meaning," Hegdes discusses the fact that war is often used as an antidote to loneliness and isolation.  By being involved with a force larger than ourselves, we are pulled out of our own private struggle into a collective, however negative that collective might be.

I agree.

I also think that we do the same thing in relatively smaller conflicts.  Often, we struggle and create small conflicts--whether it's a fight or just generalized grumbling--in an unconscious attempt to connect where there is little or no connection.

This is true in the middle school classroom as "troublemakers" light metaphorical fires in order to draw the teacher's attention.  It's also true with many adults, who would rather experience conflict than a cold, impersonal bureaucracy.

Of course, if we know that the conflict is being created to make a connection, a simple (although certainly not easy) solution to conflict might be to create positive connections and rituals.

Just a thought.

Language of the Future

Language is cause.  Language is effect.  Language can be liberating; it can be enthralling.  One thing that language almost never is:

neutral.

We go to war for "Freedom." We call a bureaucratic ploy for control a pretty name like No Child Left Behind, and--suddenly--it's untouchable.  How can you disagree with freedom?  Do you really want to leave children behind?

So, how does a sane adult cut through the rhetorical catchphrases that oversimplify such complex issues as war and education?

Well, language is often used to create positive change.  In "Beyond Civilization," Daniel Quinn argues that instead of trying to steer people away from something (in his case, civilization; in this case war and NCLB), we should create a new meme, a new vision of what is desirable.

Sometimes changing the meme is as simple as changing a word.  Quinn quotes Marshall Sahlins who said, "We are inclined to think of hunters and gatherers as poor because they don't have anything; perhaps better to think of them for that reason as free."  The choice of words is essential to the vision.  Instead of insisting (in our materialistic culture) that being poor is good, we simply find something that our culture values (at least in theory) even more, such as being free from restraints.

Changing the language that surrounds the issue, however big or small it may be, changes the thinking and the values attached to it.  And, of course, once the mind and the heart are pointed in the right direction, we need only get out of our own way as we head to a better future.

Three Kinds of Laws

As far as I see it, there three kinds of laws.

The first kind is a natural law. Natural laws are unchangeable. It is what it is, and there's nothing any mere mortal can do to change it. Gravity would fall into this category. Also in this category: if you eat three super-sized McDonald's value meals a day, you will gain weight (allowing for a few very lucky people out there.)

The second kind of law is the imposed law. This is a law that most people in your circle or society believe wholeheartedly to be true. Democracy is the best form of government. Adults should own cars. Cellphones are necessary. Success can be measured by one's paycheck. War is inevitable. Abortion is wrong.

The third kind of law is the chosen law. These are laws that you have--over the course of years--created for yourself. I have to live in my current city. I can't leave my abusive partner. I'll never be a good writer, cook, or whatever it is I want to be. No day is complete without some vigorous exercise.

The trick is realizing that the last two types of laws are human-made and thus changeable. Not that all laws have to, or even need to, be changed. But they do all need to be at least challenged, just in case.

Designed to Fail

"The art of design is to make complicated things simple."

--source unknown

The problem with our society is that we're trying to design our world--to manipulate it into simplicity--when it is (or was) already as simple as nature can and should be. Eventually, all of these manipulations boil down to one thing: we're trying to cheat death. We are collectively so afraid of pain and death that we are willing to strip ourselves of the very essence of what makes us human. Nature can't touch me. I have dismantled her and enslaved the many fragments that are left behind. Slowly, I lop away at her until I reach her core. And when I reach it I find that I have scraped away my humanity, my sensuality, my vitality in the process.

I think of Emily in Faulkner's "A Rose for Emily." One of my favorite parts of the story is how Emily matches her house in her brutal decay. Each step into the house is a metaphor for getting to know the inner Emily.

Our planet and our treatment of it could be seen as a metaphor for the inside of each of us as well. As we tear down our natural environment to build yet another parking lot, highrise, subdivision, we lose a little bit of who we are. Humanity is replaced with laws and processes. Sensuality is replaced with hard core porn. Vitality is replaced with hours of mindless television or internet surfing. So, as the sleek new building is erected (with an energy efficient heating system!), and we watch the biodiversity become fragmented and eventually die, we watch it happen in ourselves as well.

Of course, we managed to sever our collective conscience years ago, so I guess it doesn't really matter anyway.

Back to Basics

I almost bought a breadmaker recently. I contemplated the purchase. I did my research online and in stores, and when I was finally sufficiently prepared to take the plunge, I chose not to buy it. As it turns out: I don't even need a breadmaker.

So, why did I think that I did? Well, back to my relentless pursuit of efficiency. I make pizza every Thursday night. The breadmaker could have the dough ready when I get back from work so that there is no need to wait the required hour of rising.

For over a week, I just knew that my life would be easier if I only had a breadmaker.

Of course, the truth eventually dawned on me. My options were clear: I could purchase, house, clean, and maintain this clunky product, or I could use the bowl and countertop that I already have. The bowl and counter are easier cleanup, cheaper (free), and I get to feel the satisfaction of knowing that my pizza dough is truly handmade.

It scares me to think of how often I overcomplicate my life in a vain attempt to simplify it.

Not Theirs to Give

The likes of Ted Turner, George Lucas, and David Rockefeller are joining Warren Buffett in donating a significant part of their wealth to charity. In many cases, it seems clear that the philanthropic acts are genuine acts of giving back, of trying to make the world a better place. I'd be the last one to attempt to dissuade them from such donations; however, the problem is: the money may not be theirs to give.

On first glance, a billionaire such as Bill Gates is the picture of generosity. But whose money is he donating? If his company has that much money to give away, why are the workers--the cogs as it were--not being given their fair share of the wealth?

On a smaller scale, my employer claims that--due to the stringent economic times--all employees are to have their salary increase postponed by a certain amount of time. That's fine. I can handle that.

But.

In the meantime, they are hiring more teachers, creating an i-touch lab, buying new computer carts, and undergoing useless, aesthetic renovations. All of these expenditures would be fine if I (and the other employees in the district) were not paying for them.

So whenever you hear that Bill Gates has donated several million dollars to charity, remember the many people who helped to make that donation a reality. And when your child tells you about the cool new equipment in the computer lab, be sure to thank a teacher. After all, he probably paid for it.

Just a Dream

Every year since the beginning of my teaching career I have had a version of the same start-of-the-year-dream. The two elements that remain constant: I arrive to class after the students and I'm overwhelmed. In some of the dreams I've been barefoot. In some I've been moved to a new classroom filled with "observation windows." But the theme is the same.

Now I should make it clear that in my waking life I am always prepared for the first day of school. I will have been in my classroom for countless hours before the first of my new students ventures down the hallway. Still, the dreams have come.

Until this year.

I had yet another back-to-school dream recently. In this dream I arrived to school and no students were waiting expectantly for their tardy teacher to arrive. In this dream I was early and I was prepared.

I believe in the power of dreams to reveal the subconscious. This dream--it would seem--reinforced what I already know to be true: I'm ready and excited for a new year to unfold. I finally just completely surrendered to my summer this year. Meaning that I didn't teach summer school, or study teaching books (much), or stress out about the coming year. Instead, I slept late and read books of my choice and took my boys to Butterfly World. I disengaged from work completely. David Allen says to "...relax. You have to put in the clutch to shift gears. You have to let go to reengage at another, more high leveraged ratio."

I'm fairly certain that this summer was a season of putting in the clutch, of letting go, of simply enjoying my life. As a result, I am going back to school with a renewed sense of vigor and excitement. And this time I might even be wearing shoes.

The Deep End

"Efficiency leaves no room for the enchanted." --Derrick Jensen

I go back and forth on this one. I look at MacDonald's, and wholeheartedly agree that there is little enchantment to be had in a star shaped McNugget Happy Meal. When I look at the way that our society is systematically (that word always reminds me of Hitler) chopping away at cultures and even nature itself at an ever-accelerating rate, I am watching enchantment being lopped from my life.

The irony is--if you'll forgive me, Laura, the use of the word--that in order for me to experience this contentment with the physical world, I must deal rather efficiently with the realities of my synthetic existence. If the laundry is not finished and the infinite tasks that are involved in teaching are not performed efficiently, then there is not even time to go to the park, much less room for the enchanted. Seth Godin would define this as a "perfect problem," one to which there is no obvious solution. A "perfect problem" is one that has only unresolvable elements.

Godin contends that there is only one way to solve such a problem: eliminate one of the elements. The only obvious--to me--element to eliminate would be the lifestyle that demands efficiency in order to exist. But giving up a civilized life is quite a step, so I play it in small doses. Moments of enchantment linger at the perimeter of my day-to-day existence and I (too bent on being connected with the ultimate "castle of meaning"--the internet) choose to let them eventually flit away.

Perhaps, the only solution is to just jump into the deep end, immerse myself in this enchantment, and pray to whatever force watches over me that everything will be okay. I was at the pool this summer. I have (or had) a bizarre fear of jumping into the deep end. It took my brother finally just pushing me in to finally do it. Then, of course, I contentedly swam out and lost my fear of jumping in.

I don't want to have to be pushed into this magical world of enchantment. But so much worse to sit on the edge of it pining for a day when my relentless need for efficiency will run out--which it will not--and wasting so much in the process. For now, however, I must go put a load of laundry in the wash, plan for my first days of school, and get ready to take the kids to the pool. If I time it all just right, I might even have time to check my Facebook.

The Thoughts of Things

I've spent quite a bit of time lately contemplating the difference between theory and reality, the man-made world that we think we inhabit and the natural world that we actually do inhabit. Many texts and experiences have informed my thoughts: Italo Clavino's short story, "Love Far From Home," Northrop Frye's The Educated Imagination, anything by Daniel Quinn, and so forth....

Calvino elucidates this difference when his young, male character says, "I still live in a castle of meanings, not things" (7). He describes the difference between kissing Mariamirella and kissing the thought of her. I find that I live in this castle of meanings more often than I probably should. Perhaps this is the curse of the educated? Frye refers to this construct as a tower--the Tower of Babel, more specifically. I agree that our literature, our man-made reality, our thoughts, are taking us away from our most basic and natural selves and that we need to find a way to reconnect our myth and our physical reality.

Of course, Daniel Quinn holds nothing back as he questions the "realities" that we, as a culture, have created. Reading his books--especially Ismael--left me questioning the meaning for my existence and whether or not our current view of the world is even feasible.

In "The White Album," Joan Didion says that, "We tell ourselves stories in order to live" (1). Reading her essay reminds me of the many ways that I distance myself from my own particular reality by creating these stories, these explanations that live only in the mind. I take myself away from "the shifting phantasmagoria which is [my] actual experience" (1), because I--quite frankly--do not know how to live in the moment. The theory of a thing always hangs before me like a gauzy curtain, not fully obscuring my view of reality, but most definitely impairing my full attention to it.

A Day with Alan

Alan and I went on a day long date in D.C. last week. I had been promising him that we would go for a while, and finally everything came together. He is so much fun to be around. He was really looking forward to the Double Decker, but--as it turns out--he ended up liking the ride on the bike/cart much better.

An Evening in D.C.

This is video from this winter....