Think About the Lessons from Walden Pond

When I was about 20 years old, a poet friend told me that I was an enigma. I probably looked a little dumbfounded, because he quickly added (presumably so that I would know it was a compliment) that it was a "very endearing quality." He was quite a bit older than I was (of course, when you're 20, anyone over 30 is "quite a bit older"), but it was one of those rare moments in life when you feel like someone has caught a glimpse of what's inside you and has understood, on a deeper level than most people, who you are.

That's what--and who--a poet is. 

And I don't mean someone who writes verse: You don't have to write verse to be a poet (likewise, one is not necessarily a poet just because he or she writes verse). A poet is the person who sees and understands the enigmatic elements in another person, and a poet is also the enigma. Round and round, back and forth: This is why poets--thinkers, bohemians, artists, and other authentic selves--are drawn to each other.

And Henry David Thoreau was most certainly a poet.

I think that Thoreau's Walden is one of those books that people want to have read but don't actually want to read. In eleventh grade, we had to read a snippet of an already small snippet of Walden out of our literature textbook. It contained the passage that most people recognize and equate with Thoreau: "Our life is frittered away by detail. . . . Simplicity, simplicity, simplicity!" We probably even discussed it for half a class period.

But how many people have read that passage and thought about what it really means? How many have gone even further and actually applied it to their lives?

And why is that the only passage from Walden that students tend to be exposed to in school? I typed out three (single-spaced) pages of my favorite quotes from the book. I considered them "favorites" because I found them thought-provoking and/or applicable to my life. Or I found them to be things I think--or have thought--only not with as much clarity or eloquence as Thoreau. Consider, for instance, his perspective on clothing: "As for Clothing, . . . perhaps we are led oftener by the love of novelty and a regard for the opinions of men, in procuring it, than by a true utility." Think about this the next time you put on a skirt, dress, or pair of pants that doesn't have a pocket.

Another choice quote: "While civilization has been improving our houses, it has not equally improved the men who are to inhabit them."

And his take on education: "We boast that we belong to the Nineteenth Century and are making the most rapid strides of any nation. But consider how little this village does for its own culture. . . . It is time that we had uncommon schools, that we did not leave off our education when we begin to be men and women."

It is surprising to me how so little changes in so much time (about 160 or so years since Thoreau penned Walden) . . . especially when so much has changed.

Thoreau writes that he is "convinced, that if all men were to live as simply as I then did, thieving and robbery would be unknown. These take place only in communities where some have got more than is sufficient while others have not enough." How come this was not the passage we discussed in eleventh grade English class?

But the reason I know, with certainty, that Thoreau was a poet is because of the line he wrote for me (and for every other poet): "The one who came from farthest to my lodge, through deepest snows and most dismal tempests, was a poet. A farmer, a hunter, a soldier, a reporter, even a philosopher, may be daunted; but nothing can deter a poet, for he is actuated by pure love." This, too, is what makes poets different.

If you can get past Thoreau's periodic bitterness and arrogance, Walden is actually a smart, occasionally humorous, readily accessible, and, perhaps most importantly, relevant book. It should not be taken merely as literature, as a crazy man's two-year living experiment in the woods. That negates its usefulness. It should be read and considered as actual lessons for living.

Think About How You Know What You Know

I've never taken a creative writing class.

Still, I consider myself a writer. A poet. A creative writer. If you ask me what I write, I'll probably say, "Poetry, mostly. Some prose...when I have time."

Don't get me wrong: I've taken plenty of writing courses. I have a degree in technical/professional communications; and I could probably write any number of informal essays, critical essays, or research papers in my sleep (although they probably wouldn't be very good...). I even make a little extra money from freelance technical writing...yet I tend to call myself a creative writer first. A poet.

And I've never taken a creative writing class.

This fact had never dawned on me until yesterday. This weekend I attended a writing festival at a nearby university. I go to writing festivals not just to learn new writing techniques, but also to get inspired and rejuvenated--to get the creative juices flowing. (Between work, grad school, and my on-the-side technical writing, my creative juices have all but dried up in the last few months.) It had been more than a month since I signed up for the workshops I would take this weekend, so it was kind of like opening a present when I checked in at Registration on Friday afternoon and received my personalized itinerary. Ah, yes. Not surprisingly, I had chosen a couple of poetry workshops--specifically, ones to help generate new ideas. But I also had chosen a workshop with the title "Creative Approaches to Teaching Grammar" and one called "The Overlap: Teaching Creative Writing and Developmental English."

As expected, I found inspiration from the poetry workshops and even wrote a couple of (still rough) new poems, but the two aforementioned workshops also proved delightfully beneficial for me--energizing me with information that I can use for a school project I will be working on intensely this week (since I have time off for the Thanksgiving holiday...and since I've been procrastinating way too much for the last two months...). I learned about a teaching strategy called RAFT, which lends itself nicely to my school project; and I learned about the fascinating similarities between teaching a creative writing class and teaching a developmental English class, both subjects that I am drawn to. (Literacy, in particular, is a subject I am passionate about; and my school project is about integrating reading and writing into teaching across the curriculum in order to develop fluent readers, writers, and critical thinkers.)

As I sat in the Creative Writing/Developmental English workshop, the realization that I had never taken a creative writing class hit me. I wondered: So, how did I learn creative writing? Why do I (or, even, how can I) consider myself a poet/a creative writer when my formal education has all been on the other side of the writing spectrum?

I started writing as soon as I was able to form sentence fragments (who are we kidding? I was five--I'm sure there were just as many fragments as sentences). At six, I declared I would be a writer. My first published "story" was a pleasant little number about how my dog threw up every time we took him for a ride in the car. I was in first grade, and my teacher "caught" me writing and asked if she could submit the piece to our elementary school "journal" (xeroxed pages stapled together, the desktop publishing of the early '80s). I went home and spent the evening revising and editing (I probably wrote three drafts!), thrilled out of my mind, adrenaline pumping. I can still feel the rush I felt, sitting at the dining room table, reading my piece over and over to my parents to make sure it was just right.

And I never stopped writing. I still have all the notebooks I filled throughout elementary school and junior high, story after story, unfinished novel after unfinished novel, splatterings of poetry. Since my early twenties, I've immersed myself in writing communities, have attended various writing festivals/workshops, have read about writing extensively; and now I, more or less, rightly or wrongly, consider myself to have a strong creative writing base of knowledge.

I've become a writer because I've written. I picked up tidbits along the way; I've learned from other writers. Apparently, I've learned by "doing" (proving John Dewey's theory?). One similarity (among several) between a student in a creative writing class and a student in Developmental English is that both will only improve their writing by writing. Good writing, bad writing, grammatically incorrect writing--it doesn't matter. Everyone has to start somewhere, and students learning to write--no matter what their interest or skill level--must write.

I was surprised to realize that I had never taken a formal creative writing class, the kind where the teacher grades you; but, in many ways, I sort of have--I've just stretched it out over many years (and will continue to stretch it out, as knowledge and improvement do not have an end point...), and I've done it a little more unconventionally than some (as I tend to do many things).

I think I'll give myself a B+.

Think About Measuring Standards of Knowledge

I recently read an interesting article called "The SAT and the Assault on Literature" by David Ruenzel. The author--both a parent and a teacher--opines that, while preparing for the SAT, students stop reading books that are unrelated to schoolwork and unrelated to studying for the exam. Essentially, they stop reading for pleasure. His assertion is backed up with his experience. Without agreeing or disagreeing, I might take it a step further: Perhaps it's the whole atmosphere of the American education system--which has become what I would call a "testing nation"--that is creating the assault on literature (and reading and writing).

I took the SAT because I had to. I didn't know--and didn't really care--what it was supposed to say about me or about my intelligence. In the long run, it probably didn't say much; and whatever it did/didn't say doesn't matter anymore anyway (if it ever did). In high school, I knew kids who studied for the SAT, and I knew kids who fretted about it. But I didn't do either. At least, I don't remember studying for it. Perhaps I did the weekend before or, half-heartedly, for the month before, but I don't remember it being a focal point in my life. I know I never attended any SAT prep courses. But, when all was said and done, I did well on it. A decent score. Nothing out-of-this-world-great, but I did better than several of the people I knew who had taken the prep courses and/or studied intensely for months. So, does that measure my knowledge? My problem-solving skills? My aptitude? Or, does it just say that I was lazy and could have done really well had I put any effort into it? Does it take into account that I was in mostly all honors courses, spending hours a night on homework, juggling several extracurricular activities--drama, band, and soccer--and that, for me, studying for another test seemed pretty pointless at the time?

If you study just to take a test, what are you really learning? This is how I feel about the standardized tests that many teachers are required to teach to. "Teaching to the test" does not--in a lot of cases--help the student learn how to think critically or read closely. It is my understanding, though, that the SAT now has an essay component to it. This could be progress; I don't know enough about what the essay part entails to form an opinion, but certainly it measures at least a little more than how well you can fill in a little bubble with your #2 pencil. Because, the thing is, essays are a lot harder to study for: You really have to know the information...in most cases. (I actually B.S.'d my way through a number of essay exams in high school, getting "A"s and "B"s when, in reality, I had very little idea of what I was talking about. But perhaps writing B.S. skillfully is a measure of aptitude, too?)

Generally speaking, though, essays require, at the very least, the ability to be able to form words, sentences, and thoughts. And, to me, being able to communicate effectively (and correctly) is crucial to a person's success (whether the rest of society thinks so or not).

The one test I did care very much about in high school was the AP English exam my senior year. David Ruenzel asserted in his article that the SAT ruins literature for students? Well, our small class (6 or 8 of us) spent the year preparing for the AP exam by dissecting every inch of every piece of literature we read. It didn't kill literature for me; on the contrary, it made me appreciate it even more. (I'm not sure, though, if anyone else who was in the class would agree with me, so Ruenzel might have a point.) We had to read carefully and with understanding, and we had to think critically about what we read. We had to be able to carry over everything we'd studied all year--all those poems, all those stories, all those novels--to the exam and be able to write coherent essays, backing up every thesis statement with proof and, then, backing up our proof with proof.

To me, there's a big difference between an essay exam and a filling-in-a-bubble test. When you're required to take information and pose it into an essay, you need to have some grasp--no matter how weak--of the subject matter (even if all you're going to do is B.S. your way through it). I remember what I learned in my AP class, and perhaps I never want to read The Great Gatsby again (including both high school and college, I had to read it for three different classes), but I did very well on the AP exam; furthermore, very few college (including grad school) classes I've taken have ever matched that class in difficulty.

I don't have any answers...at least, not any that can be neatly filled in with a #2 pencil. I can assert that essay exams are better than the standard standardized tests, and I'm sure I could find enough articles and books to back up my claim. But, ultimately, what does it mean?

We still have students graduating from high school who can barely read and write. What they need is not necessarily a way to be tested and measured; what they need is a way to be taught. Does it really matter where we rank, how we compare to other students, teachers, schools? Yes, I'm sure it does, but maybe it shouldn't be the focus. And...if a student fills in all the bubbles of a standardized test correctly but cannot write an essay, how is that student's aptitude measured?

Yes, there needs to be a way to assess students. But should the focus be on what they know or on what they don't know?

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If you have any further interest in this subject, I'd recommend checking out Rethinking Schools' blog.

Think About Social Media

I was a reluctant neophyte to the social networking scene.

I like to consider myself a non-conformist, but so do a lot of other people, which effectively defeats the point. It's just another label, anyway, and I'd prefer not to place a label on myself. I'm just me.

Generally speaking, though, if the proverbial "everybody" is doing something or seeing a certain movie, I refuse to. I don't necessarily think everyone else has poor taste, but I want to form my own opinions and do or see something based on its merit, not its popularity. I've too often been disappointed when I've seen movies that multiple people told me I just "had" to see.

There are exceptions, of course. I had refused to see Forrest Gump for a long time because "everybody" kept raving about it. I've always enjoyed Tom Hanks, though, and I also have a lot of respect for my parents' taste in movies. When they told me that I'd like the movie, I trusted them. They were right; I loved it. (Incidentally, I prefer not to see movies that have been adapted from books, unless I've read the book first. In this particular case, though, I read Forrest Gump after I saw the movie. The book, though, is so different from the movie that it neither affected my view of the movie nor tainted my enjoyment of the book.)

So, before I joined Facebook, I mulled it over for months, with this singular thought running through my head: Am I being duped into joining? As silly as it seems now, I was so afraid that I was giving up something of myself. Like my dignity or my self-respect.

Joining Twitter was easier. In my research of that medium, I read a number of articles about how essential Twitter is for a writer. Sure, you can connect with other writers/publishers/editors on Facebook, but certainly not in the same way you can on Twitter.

As with most ideas, I like to take into consideration the views of someone "external" whom I respect, someone who carries weight as a kind of mentor. Yesterday I watched a short video clip of author Margaret Atwood expressing her views of social media. She offers an interesting perspective, as she sees social media as just an "extension of the diary" and as nothing different from anything we as a society were already doing, like sending letters to people. She even compares a tweet to a telegram. I found her point of view fascinating. She is, especially, an enthusiast of Twitter and actually sees it as a chance to boost literacy. I must acknowledge that what she says makes sense. Much more than on Facebook, "tweeps" (Twitter peeps) read and share articles and information, regularly exercising their minds and entering into discussions. (I realize that this is not the main purpose of Facebook, so this is not meant as a negative comment. I know that each form of social media has its own motivation.)

While I realize many of the merits of Facebook, I'm still hesitant. One part of me wants to ask, "Why do so many people want to share all the personal and often mundane details of their lives with the world?" But, the other part of me answers, "You idiot, that's exactly what YOU'RE doing." Touché.

When I first joined, I checked Facebook religiously. It's addictive--you sit on pins and needles waiting for people to post what they're going to eat for their 3 o'clock snack, how long it took them to shower that morning, and whether or not they've recovered from yesterday's root canal.

For me, it quickly lost its luster, though, largely because of the poor grammar, punctuation, and spelling I kept witnessing (In case you didn't know, my nickname in both high school and college was the "Grammar Nazi." Dude, I take this stuff seriously!) It doesn't bother me as much on Twitter because when you only have 140 characters to work with, you have to give a person some slack. Same goes for texting.

What really inspired this particular post on social media, though, was an online discussion in one of my classes (Teaching Literature). After muddling through 50 pages of a chapter on literary theory, I learned that literary theory, by definition, might not really exist. And, what about literature? How is it defined? As much as I love literature, you'd think that this would have been something I'd thought a lot about. I hadn't. My answer (in (very small) part) was: "Like Justice Potter Stewart on the definition of pornography, I say about literature: I know it when I see it."

So, how does this apply to social media? Any learning, in my opinion, in order to carry weight, has to have some relevance (personal relevance, political relevance, social relevance, whatever, as long as it has relevance for the student). When we teach literature, perhaps we need to start with a prompt (intuition-based or not) and see what a particular piece means to a large scope of people. If relevance is what we need to get at, we need a broad (and diverse) scope of people to look at it. To this point, maybe social media/forums are the best ways to teach (and learn) literature. You get a wide variety of responses under the guise of anonymity. You reach outside of the classroom. Isn't that the fad nowadays anyway? (And I'm not using fad as necessarily a negative term here.) Learning doesn't (and can't) take place in a vacuum.

So, my now-definitive conclusion about social media is that it is, in no uncertain terms, good for something besides displaying one's poor grammar and lack of proofreading skills: it's good for prompting discussions about "real" things in the world...like the social implications of literature!

Perhaps this is precisely what Margaret Atwood was getting at.

And that's all I have to say about that.

Think About Courage

It's hard to say good-bye. Even to an abstraction of time, such as a year. What does it really mean to say that 2011 is over and 2012 has begun?

I'm not one for New Year's resolutions. I don't need to wait until the beginning of a new year to try to better myself. For me, it's a daily process, a weekly process, a forever process. As it happens, though, 2011 was a tough year for me for a number of reasons, and the unpleasant whirlwind began in January. Consequently, for most of the year, I struggled to center myself again and it seems that the end of December is when I started to find some sort of balance, or, at the very least, some kind of peace for myself. It's not solidified yet, but these things rarely are. So, despite my aversion to New Year's resolutions, it seems that as the new year has begun, I am also beginning again.

Still, it's hard to say good-bye to a year that seemingly passed me by, as I merely went through the motions much of the time...just trying to get through each day. In my haze I often forgot to be thankful for all of the positive elements and people in my life, of which there are many; and I'm remembering to be thankful now.

I see, in my memory, a collage of the many new friends I met this past year--smart, creative, unique people whom I'm fortunate to have crossed paths with. These new friends (along with my other already "established" friends...and family, too, of course) mean more to me than they probably even realize. (It's also amazing, by the way, how some small words of encouragement from people you've never met--but feel like you know anyway, merely because you're experiencing (or have experienced) similar situations--can make such a difference. My Twitter friends--you know who you are--I thank you as well.)

And here's something I've learned: it takes courage to heal; it takes courage to live your life the way you want to live it, the way you need to live it.

In October I signed up for a Grand Canyon hiking adventure trip for the week between Christmas and New Year's. I couldn't easily afford it, but I knew I needed to do it, so I dipped into my savings. I needed to start the new year in a different way, in a way that would help me shake off the pain and sorrow of 2011. But signing up for a trip three months in advance is different than the looming reality of it when it's two weeks away. By mid-December, I was nervous. Taking a trip with a bunch of people I didn't know? What was I thinking?

But I had also started reading a book called Only Pack What You Can Carry: My Path to Inner Strength, Confidence, and True Self-Knowledge by Janice Booth. Although it may sound like it, it's not a self-help book (I don't read those, on principle). Published by National Geographic, this book is part memoir, part adventure story, part geography lesson, and part history class. Booth, a travel writer, writes about her adventures as she combats her fears and finds the courage to be an active participant in her own life.

Booth refers to courage as a muscle that gets strengthened with use. As a teenager I made a rule to myself not to avoid activities that I really wanted to do just because the prospect seemed scary. Shy and awkward back then [as now...], I convinced a friend to audition for the junior high play with me. I landed a part. I had always loved acting but, at the same time, I was terrified. Of what? Of being judged by my peers? Probably, but after I got the part, that supposed judgment didn't even matter. My courage muscle became stronger.

Once you do something that's somewhat frightening, the next time it is not so intimidating. I acted in plays throughout high school; it was as natural to me as breathing. When I went out for roller derby a couple years ago, I was petrified. I loved it, though: the fast-pace, the danger, the intense workouts. I'm not dissuaded by physically demanding exercise: if you can do roller derby, you can do anything!

After spending this past year just trying to keep up with the day-to-day, my courage muscle needed strengthened again. My trip to the Grand Canyon (just over a week ago) was amazing, possibly the perfect antidote. Five million people visit the Grand Canyon each year, and less than one percent make it down to the bottom (a smaller amount actually hike down, since some ride the mules), and now I am one of that small percentage of people who have hiked down to the bottom and back up again.

And I'm ready to do it again.

My courage muscle is flexed; bring on the next adventure!

Think About Education, Part 3

Syndicated columnist Kathleen Parker had an interesting piece on October 4, 2011. In the Toledo Blade, the heading for the article was "It's time to put 'education' back in higher education." Naturally, my interest was piqued.

Everyday at work I see college students who lack the motivation and necessary thinking skills to complete their education. But the "problem" is that they do graduate. Parker writes: "A study published by the Association of American Colleges and Universities found that 87 percent of employers believe that higher education institutions have to raise student achievement if the United States is to be competitive in the global market. Sixty-three percent say recent college grads don't have the skills they need to succeed. And, according to a separate survey, more than a quarter of employers say entry-level writing skills are deficient [my emphasis]." None of this surprises me. What surprises me is that it is taking other people so long to realize it. But, actually, that doesn't surprise me much either--we're talking about critical thinking skills here, skills which many Americans don't possess.

Ah, yes, critical thinking skills. My final research paper for one of my grad classes this semester is about the education system and critical thinking skills (Are you surprised?). Parker states, "...the consensus is growing that young adults aren't being taught the basic skills that lead to critical thinking."

Duh.

Parker is only concentrating on higher education though. While it's true that higher education needs some work, the problem starts much earlier than that. Poor higher education is inevitably a result of poor primary and secondary education. Colleges have had to lower their standards in order to accommodate students who have graduated from high school without the basic reading, writing, and thinking skills.

I link reading, writing, and critical thinking together. Students aren't reading or writing at high enough levels. Teachers are teaching at them and testing them, but the teachers are not giving the students the time to actually learn and apply what they've learned. English is a subject that crosses all disciplines. While grammar and language mechanics can be taught as a separate subject, reading and writing are part of every subject. Students learn best when they can research a topic of interest, write about it, and apply it to their own lives. That way their reading, writing, and critical thinking skills are challenged. Unfortunately, though, their learning is stunted when they are pushed through subjects, tested, and moved quickly on to something else, memorized facts soon forgotten.

So, while Kathleen Parker makes some valid points about higher education, she's missing the mark. The problem is in the K-12 grade levels. And, if those problems get resolved, perhaps higher education will begin to fix itself. Instead of searching for ways to "dumb down" the curriculum, professors will be able to challenge their students.

What a wonderful world that would be.

Think About Libraries

There are a number of problems in the United States: dysfunctional governments, failing public education programs, problematic justice systems, and an unmanageable national debt...to name just a few. These aren't new issues.

We Americans have gotten cocky, thinking that because we were once the "greatest" country, we always will be. Writes poet Charles Simic in a May, 2011, article, A Country Without Libraries: "[Our nation] no longer has the political will to arrest its visible and precipitous decline and save the institutions on which the workings of our democracy depend." He's referring to the large number of public libraries that have been closed down all over the country. When I was visiting Pasadena (CA) earlier this summer, I was saddened to see the large empty building that used to be a Borders bookstore. But Borders Group, Inc. is a corporation--I have very little sympathy for corporations. Libraries, on the other hand, are a public necessity. A closed-down empty building is sad, but an empty library is a crime. Not illegal, but it should be.

Libraries are part of many of my fondest childhood memories. Whenever I picture my elementary school, my mind's eye goes directly to the library. I remember it as the most well-lit and friendliest place in the school. Rainy days made the rest of the school seem dreary. Not the library though.

In the summers, it seemed like I spent much of my time at public libraries, in my own city and in the towns in Iowa and Indiana where either set of grandparents lived. I inhaled books, sometimes several "chapter books" a day. Encyclopedia Brown. Nancy Drew. The Mouse and the Motorcycle. Aldo Applesauce. And Ramona Quimby, of course. And that's just off the top of my head.

I was in awe when Stan and Jan Berenstain (of Berenstain Bears fame) came to our public library when I was five or six. These were the writers/artists who created the bears that I felt I knew as though they were my real friends! Brother Bear and Sister Bear went through the same things--first days of school, new friends, etc.--as I did. Meeting their creators was inspiring. A couple of years later, author Daniel Pinkwater came to the library. Another year, it was author Marc Brown.

My first semester in college was a disaster. I was several states away from home and had a roommate who disliked me to the point of making my world as miserable as possible. I spent almost all of my time in the college library, only returning to the dorm to sleep. I read constantly--it was my only means of escape. (As a result, I also aced that semester!)

Fast-forward to the late '90s, living on my own, after college. I had an apartment that was freezing in the winter and way too hot in the summer, but I could walk the three blocks or so to the public library. And that's exactly what I did almost every other day after work. I decided right then that I always had to live within walking distance to a library (and, except for one lone year, I always have).

When I read Simic's article, I realized I was not alone in my sentiments. He states: "Like many other Americans of my generation, I owe much of my knowledge to thousands of books I withdrew from public libraries over a lifetime." I am not of Simic's generation, but I concur with his statement. If libraries continue to close due to lack of funding, what will happen to current and future generations' wealth (or poverty?) of knowledge?


As I've mentioned in previous entries, I started this blog in part because I have observed that people (in general; Americans, in particular) are getting stupider. It seems as though we've let the generations before us do all the work, and now we are coasting along as if everything is peachy--never bothering to analyze situations, think independently, take a stand, or act ethically. Obviously I'm generalizing, and I'll never claim to know the way to correct our broken systems. All I know is that we need to think about what is wrong, take a stand against unethical practices, and do something to make a change.

Writing and thinking are what I know how to do.

Think About Thinking

I started this blog, Inciting Thought, in part because, based on many (but certainly not all) of my interactions with people, I've come to the conclusion that society (generally speaking) has lost--or, is losing--the ability to think. Some possible contributing factors: the United States' education system, the influence of mass media, and a general narcissistic attitude.

When I read The Shallows: What the Internet is Doing to Our Brains by Nicholas Carr (which I also referred to in Think About Solitude, Part 2), I realized that the problem runs much deeper than I had originally thought, and much of our thinking problem has to do with internet and technology usage. Our brains are literally changing, and there's no easy way to reverse what's happening. Carr writes: "Experiments show that just as the brain can build new or stronger circuits through physical or mental practice, those circuits can weaken or dissolve with neglect.... The mental skills we sacrifice may be as valuable, or even more valuable, than the ones we gain. When it comes to the quality of our thought, our neurons and synapses are entirely indifferent. The possibility of intellectual decay is inherent in the malleability of our brains... [T]he farther we proceed down [the paths of least resistance], the more difficult it becomes to turn back" (p. 35).

Scary.

Terrifying, actually.

The more time and energy that we spend on the internet or using our i-gadgets--checking email, Facebook, Twitter, and/or texting, etc., the less time we spend in a quiet space reading (or writing) for an extended amount of time. According to Carr, in the "undistracted reading of a book, people made their own associations, drew their own inferences and analogies, fostered their own ideas. They thought deeply as they read deeply" (p. 65). Now, even when we do read deeply, "we do so in the busy shadow of the Internet." Already in 1997, literary critic George Steiner noted that "the silences, the arts of concentration and memorization, the luxuries of time on which 'high reading' depended are largely disposed" (pp. 110-111). Carr states that, while it's possible to think critically while reading on the Internet, it's "not the type of thinking the technology encourages and rewards" (p. 116).

Carr further cites how reading and writing skills are declining. Between 1992 and 2005, literary reading aptitude dropped twelve percent (p. 146). And, as our reading and writing skills decline, so do our critical thinking skills.

And, then, as our critical thinking skills decline, we become more and more a society of robots...or cookie-cutter cookies, whichever metaphor you prefer. I would argue that self-actualized people know how to think deeply, but when I see so many young people (it's not just young people, but they are the most susceptible) wearing the same clothes, sporting the same hair-styles, talking in the same manner, listening to the same music, etc., I question how self-actualized they really are. It is difficult for one to have a healthy and successful relationship or marriage without truly knowing and loving oneself first. I would even argue that these lack of critical thinking skills are partly responsible for the high divorce rate in this country.

Ever since our reading, writing, and thinking skills have waned--most notably, since the mid-'90s--I've also been aware of a decline in "feminist" (I use the term loosely) thought. I'm not talking about a "men are scum" mindset; I'm talking about women and equality. I'm talking about women feeling good about being women and about women being independent people (not dependent on men). I'm talking about making sexist remarks and stereotypes of women disappear.

If any of you are familiar with author Peggy Orenstein/her blog, PBG, or Hardy Girls Healthy Women, you are familiar with what we--meaning: the above people/groups and any other woman who thinks deeply about the images and issues surrounding her--thinking women are up against. People and organizations such as those three, which try to combat the disgraceful commercial images that stereotype and/or degrade women, are few and far between.

Encourage the females (I'm focusing on females, but, actually, this applies to males as well) you know to think critically and deeply, to read deeply and often, to learn about themselves and the world, to be unique and independent individuals. I see so many young (let's say under 25, give or take a few years) women who "relationship-hop," thinking they always need to have a boyfriend. But one cannot easily learn about herself when she's always connected to another person. People change. I know with certainty that I am not the same person I was when I was 25. I thought I knew what I wanted back then, and, yes, some of my goals have remained the same. But many are different. And, in many cases, the reasons and the processes have changed. I've matured; I've grown. I've read and thought and learned.

And, because of all this deep reading and thinking, I know who I am.

Think About Haiku

writing good haiku:

climbing a tree and reaching

to the highest branch

Haiku are fascinating. They look simple, but, much like the moments and thoughts they represent, are deceptively so. Although my haiku attempt above has several elements of a true haiku, I'm not sure if it would actually count as one; I am, by no means, an expert.

I became interested in haiku about eight years ago when I came across (and subsequently bought) the book How to Haiku: A Writer's Guide to Haiku and Related Forms by Bruce Ross. But, as sometimes happens, my interest waned. Life went on. A few times throughout the years I tried writing haiku, but, getting frustrated or bored, I'd go back to other forms of writing that I was more comfortable with.

My interest in haiku was renewed, though, when I received the book, Haiku Mind: 108 Poems to Cultivate Awareness & Open Your Heart by Patricia Donegan, as a Christmas gift this past year. Maybe it was because I was older (more mature? wiser?!), but writing and reading haiku (and about it) felt more natural to me, less exasperating.

Haiku Mind is a book that you can pick up, read for a couple minutes, set back down, read another book, then come back to, without losing your place or having to backtrack several paragraphs or pages. Each poem and explanation is independent of all the others. Consequently, I was reading it slowly, two or three pages at a time, taking time for many other books in between.

Then, a couple weeks ago, my dad ended up in the hospital after a heart attack and open heart surgery. I found myself doing a lot of sitting at the hospital that week, which, ordinarily, would be a perfect time to read. I was between books at the time, though, and didn't have the concentration to start something new. So, a bit absentmindedly, I grabbed Haiku Mind to take with me to the hospital. It ended up being the perfect book to read there. Throughout the week I read two-hundred pages while my dad slept, ate, or just sat. It was a book I could easily stop, start, and stop again, if my dad wanted to talk or if the doctor or nurses came in.

Not only that, but haiku poems are excellent reminders of the preciousness of life and the value of each moment. Haiku Mind inspired me to write a number of hospital poems (although not necessarily haiku). The hours I spent at the hospital with my dad were the clearest moments of that week for me. I was living in a haiku state of mind...living in the moment...cherishing the present. In the book, author Patricia Donegan states that "[w]e are so caught up in hope and fear about the future or rethinking the past, that we are rarely in this present moment" (p. 197). How true! The combination of reading haiku, writing "in" the moment, and praying gave me clarity, understanding, and peace of mind. And, I was thankful. Very thankful. Of life. Of each moment. Of being in each moment.

One of the days, I spent several hours reading while my dad just slept. It was important to him that someone was there, though, and being there was equally important to me. Even though he was sleeping. Even though there was silence. Donegan tells us, though, that "[m]ost of our deepest moments occur when we are alone in silence or with others in silence. It is a gateway of nurturing, of healing, of renewal, and sometimes of revelation" (p. 151).

As a society, we tend to move so quickly that we forget the little moments that make up our lives. Donegan writes: "If we could but stop for a moment, if we could turn off the TV, computer, iPhone, or whatever gadget we are using, feel our breath moving through our lungs, smell the air, and see around us, we might be amazed by what we find" (p. 47). It is precisely that mindset that helped me really "feel" the moments with my dad at the hospital. Those moments led to poems. To thoughts. To lucidity and understanding of the situation.

I have a new awareness of haiku now, a new passion for it. I'll keep practicing being in a moment, valuing it; and I'll keep practicing recording that moment as well, even if it's in the form of an imperfect haiku.
 

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(For more of my thoughts on being aware/being in a moment, see the post, Think About Being Present.)

Think About Solitude, Part 2

(If you haven't read my original post, Think About Solitude, I encourage you to do so--but you do not need to have read it to make sense of Part 2.)

I recently read The Shallows: What the Internet Is Doing to Our Brains by Nicholas Carr (which I mentioned briefly in Think About Books, Part 2). It was a fascinating book and I will probably refer to it in several upcoming posts. It's one of those books that I keep pondering, even though I finished it two days ago. That seems an appropriate reaction, too, since thinking deeply (or, critically) is one of the main ideas that Carr discusses in the book.

As Carr demonstrates, the internet is changing our brains in such a way that one might say it's creating, generally speaking, a society with technology-induced ADD (Attention Deficit Disorder). The internet limits one's ability to really contemplate and understand the information one reads and how it might apply to his or her life. Carr writes that "[t]he development of a well-rounded mind requires both [my emphasis] an ability to find and quickly parse a wide range of information and [my emphasis] a capacity for open-ended reflection.... We need to work in Google's 'world of numbers,' but we also need to be able to retreat to Sleepy Hollow. The problem today is that we're losing our ability to strike a balance between those two very different states of mind" (p. 168).

Carr later quotes novelist David Foster Wallace: "Learning how to think really means learning how to exercise some control over how and what you think. It means being conscious and aware enough to choose what you pay attention to and to choose how you construct meaning from experience" (pp. 194-5).

In other words, we need to "unplug" every so often. We need solitude, nature, and some form of silence. We need time and space to think.

This evening I rollerbladed a little over 11 miles. A lot of people like to listen to music when they exercise; but, when I exercise, I like to just think about things--in the way that constantly "connected" people might not be able to.

Me, unplugged.

While I rollerbladed I thought about Carr's book, and that is when the idea for this blog post came to me. I also pondered my career/job options. I wrote poetry in my head while I rolled along. I thought about my friends and family. I listened to my wheels against the pavement and enjoyed the sound they made. I delighted in the little noises of nature and watched bunnies hop through the reeds along the path. I thought about how, at 90+ degrees (even in the evening), there was no way I could do the full 15.8 miles I've done the last few times I've been out.

And every thought took me back to Carr's book and our society's reliance on technology and the distractedness it creates. I am certainly not immune to this technology-induced ADD; and, as I thought about Carr's book, I realized that I don't want to lose my capacity to read deeply and think critically. Therefore, I think that in order to hold on to this ability, I need to make time to read, write, or do any other activity uninterrupted--time when I'm not texting or checking email, Facebook, or Twitter.

Solitude.

Think About Reading

I'll proudly wear the title of Literary Snob. I'm okay with that, I admit it. There are some authors that I won't read because their books don't contain what I think of as "good" writing. They may be engaging stories, but their writing is simplistic and basic. Their characters are flat. No depth.

So, yes, I'm a Literary Snob. I'd rather stay a more-or-less unpublished writer than be an author of a flatly written book. That's just me. I value good literature. Likewise, it's what I strive to write.

However, I also believe that if millions of people are reading a poorly written book, that is far better than not reading any book at all.

Think about everything you might read in a day, words you read without even thinking about it. When I became a tutor for a local literacy organization, I realized just how much I take my reading ability for granted. Twice a week I meet with a student who managed to graduate from high school without knowing how to read fluently. Every day she faces struggles that the average adult knows nothing about. Menus, prescription bottles, recipes, receipts, billboard signs, ingredients on a box of cereal, and on and on.

Although poor writing, grammar, and proofreading skills irk me, having poor reading and reading comprehension skills sadden me. It saddens me because it is often under-privileged children who are the victims of poor reading skills. Through no fault of their own, these children may start school already academically behind their peers, simply because nobody has ever read to them or taken them to a library or even showed them a book.

But what about the children who are not under-privileged? I don't want to make this an issue about the public education system in the United States; that's only part of the problem.

A larger part of the problem in this country has to do with our society's values (or lack thereof?). A large chunk of people in our society put emphasis on the wrong things: money, status, fashion, outer beauty..., to name a few. An enlightening article from the April 18th Publishers Weekly articulated this idea nicely for me. In "The Light at the End of the Publishing Tunnel? On finding fans, not formats," Rudy Shur writes that "[i]nstead of focusing on how our books are going to be delivered to the reading public, we ought to be concerned with who will be left to read books."

Think about that for a moment.

Additionally, he cites that video game sales surpass book sales. Twenty years ago, books were a common form of entertainment. Now, though, a lot of people look for ways to BE entertained, as opposed to finding a way to entertain themselves. To that point, Shur writes: "While other countries focus on educating their children, we seem more focused on amusing them.... However, the responsibility of raising children who value education, and hence read, in any form, is no longer a priority. Without a vibrant and growing reading public to buy e-books or tree-books, who are we going to sell our titles to in the future?"

I will counter Shur here and suggest that many people will still buy books (e-books or otherwise); for some, it's about status--a way to show off their e-gadget--or a way of appearing intellectual. Whether they will read them or not...?

Perhaps the people who have earbuds fused to their brains, ipods sutured to their pockets, and cell phones superglued to their hands actually take e-breaks when they are alone. Turn off the tunes, switch off the television, and power down the laptop. And, then, maybe they simply sit on the couch with a book (or an e-reader).

Ahhh.... Simple pleasures. When I learned to read, my mom told me that a book could transport me anywhere, that I could do anything or be anyone by reading. Not only that, but I soon discovered all sorts of stuff I could learn by reading!

Think about reading. Actually, don't just think about it. Read to yourself or read to someone else. Read to a child!

But, mostly...READ.

Think About Books, Part 2

Back in October, I posted "Think About Books." After reading an article in the April 11th Publishers Weekly just now, I felt compelled to write on this subject again.

The article is "Books Without Batteries: the negative impacts of technology," written by Bill Henderson. (I read it in the print version, by the way.) Henderson's thoughts echo many of my own, although he has different reasons for them. He refers to the book The Shallows: What the Internet Is Doing to Our Brains by Nicholas Carr, a book I was not familiar with (but have just requested from the library). Henderson states that Carr's premise is that people cannot read in depth anymore, that people can't think anymore, in general. "They are becoming 'chronic scatterbrains...even a blog post of more than three or four paragraphs is too much to absorb.'"

I have to agree that many people can't (or, at least, don't) think anymore. Working in retail, I witness this scatterbrain-ness on a regular basis, though I think "scatterbrain" may be too nice of a term. I am not sure if it's due to technology, as Henderson and Carr state, but it's definitely out there. I tend to think that it stems from our superficial materialistic society, in general, and our public education system. But, whatever is causing the problem, it has created a society of people who read poorly, write poorly, and, as a result, think poorly. They just don't take the time to do those things anymore. I regularly see Facebook posts where people use your instead of you're (and vice versa). (It's just Facebook, I know...not a big deal. But it works toward my point anyway. See my post "Think About Professional Communication.")

I'm sure there are many reasons that people love their e-readers, and I have no issue with that. Some people like gadgets, and that's fine. Some adamant proponents of e-readers, though, think that they're good for the environment. Of all the things Americans are wasteful with, print books and the paper they use are probably the least of the problem. One does not usually read a book and trash it. Library books can be re-read for decades. A person who buys a book often loans it to other people or, at the very least, ends up selling it at a garage sale or donating it to Goodwill. In any case, most books get read more than once, usually multiple times, by different people. Even textbooks that go into new editions every couple of years (which is a problem in itself, one that I won't address here) get used more than a couple of times.

E-readers, on the other hand, are like any other gadget in that they become outmoded, sometimes within a few months. Not only does that feed American society's heavy consumerism (which is problematic in itself), but it isn't as "green" of an option as those who rationalize it that way might think. According to Henderson: "To make one e-reader requires 33 pounds of minerals, plus 79 gallons of water to refine the minerals and produce the battery and printed writing. 'The adverse health impacts...from making one e-reader are estimated to be 70 times greater than those for making a single book,' says [a recent New York Times article]. Then you figure that the 100 million e-readers will be outmoded in short order, to be replaced by 100 million new and improved devices..., and you realize an environmental disaster is at hand."

Henderson goes on to say: "Here's what it takes to make a book, which...will be shared by many readers and preserved and appreciated in personal, public, and university libraries that survive the gigantic digital book burning: recycled paper, a dash of minerals, and two gallons of water. Batteries not necessary. If trees are harvested, they can be replanted."

As both an avid reader and avid writer, I can't help but love books. As though they are my own kin, I want to protect them. And, if anyone chooses to read on an e-reader, that is his or her choice, which I respect. But, please, PLEASE, please, don't drag the printed book and all that it encompasses down with you. According to Henderson, "Books are our history and our future. If they survive, we will, too."

So, if you made it through this blog entry and understood what you read: Congratulations, your brain has not yet been stunted by digital society! The world needs more like you! And, if you really understood what you just read, you'll pass this link on to others to read because knowledge is power, and knowledge comes from words. And maybe, just maybe, knowledge can start to displace the ignorance and apathy which are all too prevalent in American society.

(And, trust me, the irony of my platform here--the internet--is not lost on me. However, if someone offered me a book deal right now, I'd willingly put my blog on hold to write for the printed page.)

Think About Routine

You are no doubt familiar with the (over-used) phrase instructing us to "think outside of the box." I think we've probably all heard it so many times that we don't even think about what it means anymore. It, of course, means to be creative and innovative. It means that we need to look at a situation from a different point of view. It means that we need to break what is routine, habit, or instinctual.

If you are anything like me (human), this can be difficult. To use another trite phrase, I am "a creature of habit." Each morning, I do my morning things in the same order. And, whenever I come home from somewhere, I always put my keys, coat, and bag in the same spots. Being this habitual is not necessarily a negative thing. For example, I always know where my keys are. I've also never been a "regular" at a coffee house where the barista didn't know what my usual drink was (and I've been a regular at a lot of coffee houses!). Sometimes I look at the menu as though I might get something different (every once in a while I do), but, usually, I end up ordering the same thing as previous visits: a tall soy mocha, no whip.

While routine can be comforting and easy, it can also be too comforting and too easy. Fifteen or sixteen years ago (maybe more), I made a sort of pact with myself to do something out of my comfort zone at least once a week or so (I don't remember the specifics). With that, I began going to poetry readings regularly and met some wonderful friends that I would not have met otherwise. It was really scary at first. But, then, there was the reward and satisfaction that followed. This is the way you learn about the world. Not only that, but you can learn about yourself this way also. You learn how strong you are. The next time, then, you can stretch yourself even a little further.

Several books that I read last year made an impression on me to the point that I consider them "life-changing" books, although "mind-changing" may be a more accurate description. Derrick Jensen's Walking on Water: Reading, Writing, and Revolution was one of these books. Jensen writes about why schools are failing their students, and he demonstrates what should be done differently--with anecdotes of what he has actually done differently when teaching in the (college) classroom. I cannot go over all of his ideas here (but, as a sort of side note, I would definitely encourage anyone interested in teaching, education, writing, and creativity to read the book).

One idea, though, that has stuck in mind ever since I read the book, is Jensen's "seating rule." From the book: "'The one rule in seating,' I say, 'is that you can't sit where you sat yesterday. Nor can you sit next to the same people.'...The first reason for making this rule is obvious: I want for them to try to see things from a different perspective each day they come in. The second is sneakier, and something I wish my teachers had done for me when I was in school: I want to give the shyer members of the class an excuse to sit next to someone they might be interested in educing, or at least talking to, or at the very least admiring from close-up rather than afar" (Jensen, 2004, p. 25).

In his classroom, Jensen makes (perhaps, demands?) his students to think outside their boxes; he makes them break their routines. He gives them lectures that leave them with more questions. He does this because he believes that students (everybody, actually) need to question everything. He makes his students look deeper, beyond the lecture, beyond their papers, beyond the questions and the supposed answers. His goal is for students to discover something about themselves that they didn't know before. I think that this is what could be called critical thinking--something which I know is lacking in many classrooms in the United States. "When people know what problem they can solve using the gifts that are unique to them in all the world, they often know what they need to do next" (p. 46).

Those gifts cannot be discovered (or, at least, nurtured) until a person steps out of his or her normal routine or comfort zone. Think about what routines you may break in the upcoming weeks. Leave comments below, and let me know how it goes!

One final thought on routine (from Jensen's book): "If they give you lined paper, write the other way." There's a notation that he is not sure to whom to attribute that statement..."might have been Ray Bradbury, William Carlos Williams, e.e. cummings, or Juan Ramon Jimenez" (p. 53).

Think About Education

For those of you who are Toledo locals and read The Blade on a regular basis, you will remember the article a few weeks ago regarding overpaid (public school) teachers. While I have definite thoughts about what public school teachers get paid, I have not done enough research to substantiate those thoughts in a public forum as this. Succinctly, though, the main issue of a teacher's pay as I see it, is that there is little or no correlation between how good a teacher is and how much he or she gets paid. (And, yes, this trend is apparent in many other businesses and segments of society as well.)

As one of the editorials following that article's publication mentioned: "We pay kindergarten teachers $90,000 a year for 185 working days. That's outrageous.... I won't be voting for any levies." I agree wholly. I don't care how much schooling a kindergarten teacher has, if he or she is getting paid that kind of money, his or her students better be entering first grade able to read the abridged versions of Charles Dickens. We know this isn't happening, though, because, sadly, many high school graduates in this area cannot read Charles Dickens, not even the abridged versions. When I started my volunteer tutoring work for Read For Literacy, Inc., I learned just how illiterate the greater Toledo area is.

Now, this post is really not meant to be about the public school system.

It is meant, instead, to show the disconnect between college and grad school applications. Let me explain:

I never had to write an essay to get into college; I never had to do much of anything. The applications were simple. Of course, the schools needed transcripts and SAT scores, neither item telling very much about the student. I never worried about being accepted. It seems, these days, that colleges--save the Ivy Leagues and other highly competitive schools--accept most anyone nowadays. There's not a lot of pomp to it; it just happens.

Grad school, though, is a different story. Once I found the program I was interested in, I signed up for the GRE test, studied intensely for three months, and still did just okay--essentially, average. No problem, though; it could be checked off the list. Next, I've been working on finding three unsuspecting people who will write my letters of recommendations. This is difficult, as they should be people familiar with my writing, with my academic work, and with me. I also want to pick people who will write a grammatically correct and organized letter, since I will probably not see the letters before they are sent on to Admissions.

Probably the most important piece of my application (besides the application itself) is my Statement of Purpose, a well-framed essay displaying my strengths and my learning objectives and career goals. And, when you're going for a Master's in English, you really want it to be written perfectly. Oy vey.

Then, there is the 10+ page critical essay.

Shouldn't getting into all college (even to obtain an associate's or bachelor's degree) be this tough? At the very least, a Statement of Purpose should be required. Perhaps this might weed out some of the oh-so-many students who do not belong in college. Not only would this make it more pleasant for the college instructors, but it would also make it more pleasant for the other students.

I am certainly NOT complaining about all I have to for my grad school app. On the contrary, I am relishing in the work I have to do for it. That's because I want to go to grad school; I want to further my education. I'm excited about my future!

Unfortunately, I don't think many first-time college students share this same ambition and excitement. And, if they don't, that's fine; they just shouldn't be starting college yet. Then, perhaps, (undergrad) college instructors would not have to water down the lessons, adjusting them to go over information that students should have learned in high school. Which, of course, brings us back full-circle to public education and its problems...a good place for me to end.

Think About Books

I love books. I love the feel of one in my hands. I love to touch and smell each page as I read. I fold over the corners of the pages when there's something I want to come back to. I often make notes in the margins and underline important or interesting points. Inevitably, I also correct typos or grammatical errors that I find.

Digital society, though, is trying to make the book as I know and love it disappear. Kindle, the Nook, CafeScribe, and other digital platforms threaten independent bookstores. But, I'm not interested in talking about the business aspect of this subject. Instead, I wish to wax nostalgic about the way a book's pages yellow and crinkle with time; about how I can fall asleep reading and wake up on top of the book, its cover bent or torn; about how I can spill a few drops of my soy pumpkin spice latte on a page and know that the stain will be there for the life of the book; and about how I can look at a unique price ticket on a book and remember where I was when I bought it and, maybe, even why.

A book can create stories and moments other than the one its words tell.

I once knew of a person who started to read the book Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert Pirsig. When he realized that the book wasn't actually about motorcycle maintenance, he threw it across the room. How many people will do that with their digital books?

Think about it.