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 the Over-Commercialization of Christmas

About 12 years ago I was working at a job where 25 or 30 of us sat in a large room cataloging library books. Several of my co-workers repeatedly requested to have music play in the background, but this request was refused over and over again.

Except at Christmastime.

Much to my dismay, at some point around Thanksgiving, Christmas music started pouring out of the stereo in the corner. Some of you who know me personally are aware that I don't like Christmas music. At least not in every setting or all of the time. Listening to the radio makes it seem as though only a few songs exist and that most pop artists can only sing those tunes. So, in an eight-hour shift, one might hear the same song--albeit different versions--at least a dozen times. And, worse, they're all peppy little numbers with happy, unimaginative lyrics. The exceptions are the actual religious Christmas carols, which have meaning and purpose and, therefore, seem out of place in a retail or other basically secular environment. And, perhaps, these should be reserved for a private (home) or religious (church) setting? If you're going to throw Christmas music at me in a public setting, at least give me something creative like, say, the Kinks' "Father Christmas."

So, when the Christmas music started at the aforementioned workplace, I told my "supervisor" [she was not my actual boss, but she spot-checked my work] that I was offended by it. She replied, "No, you're not; you just want to cause trouble." Well, she was mostly right (she knew me well). But I asked her, "What if I were Jewish?" She just rolled her eyes.

The fact remains, though: I do not think Christmas music should be broadcast ruthlessly on the radio. And certainly not in November. What is this obsession with Christmas music? With Christmas, in general?

And, lest I seem bitter and Scrooge-like, I must add that Christmas is actually my favorite holiday, but I like it for its true meaning. Peace on Earth. Goodwill toward all. Sound familiar? The commercialization of the holiday has gotten completely out of control. The true holiday spirit comes from giving something of yourself to others, and not necessarily in the form of a material object. It should come from the heart; it should have meaning.

And the true holiday spirit lasts all year.

Which is why one Christmas song I don't mind hearing all year round (as long as it's not played ten times a day on one tired radio station) is John Lennon's "Happy Christmas (War Is Over)." Because, really, wouldn't it be a merry Christmas for everyone if there wasn't fear in this world, if there wasn't fighting, if war really was over?

Isn't that what's meant by "Peace on Earth, Goodwill toward all"?

Think About Marketing

Each year, Christmas comes too early.

It's supposed to be a joyful holiday, a celebration of Jesus's birth; but, instead, marketers create a depressing collage of commercialism. And like pawns in a board game, people fall for it, going to malls and superstores and spending money they don't have for things they don't need (and, often, don't even want). I avoid superstores, and I've been to a mall about twice in the last two years. I avoid shopping at all (except for groceries and other necessities), although I will support local/independent stores--if I have a need to buy anything, that is.

The day after Thanksgiving is the day I do the opposite of what many people do. Instead of buying anything, I give stuff away. I'm currently in the process of sorting through my clothes, books, and other items. While I clean out my closets and shelves a few times each year, November is when I do my major "Spring cleaning" (I know...wrong time of year). Donating to a good cause (I usually take my items to the American Cancer Society's local Discovery [resale] shop) feels to be more in the "spirit" of the season than buying things. It's my mini-protest against the commercialism of Christmas.

The marketing department at the company I work for sends out an e-newsletter every two weeks with what they deem note-worthy or interesting information. A couple of weeks ago one of these items was about retail giant Nordstrom and how it "will not be decorating its stores for this holiday season until the very end of November..." in order "to give its customers a chance to celebrate Thanksgiving with their families first." The newsletter blurb continues: "Whether this is truly the spirit of Thanksgiving in action or simply a genius marketing tactic is up for you to decide." (Note: I have not confirmed that this information is actually true. If I knew where a Nordstrom was, I might be curious enough to actually visit; but I'd rather hear from my readers. That way I don't have to go near a mall or shopping center--I break out in hives if I get too close....)

The cynic in me wonders why Nordstrom customers can't celebrate Thanksgiving with their families anyway, regardless of how the store is decorated. How would a store's decor affect that?

Is it a marketing ploy? Is it a tactic to get customers in the store to see if it's decorated or not? If so, I don't want to fall for it.

Even without shopping (at Nordstrom or anywhere else), I'm bombarded with Christmas everywhere I turn. Instead of putting me in a joyous spirit, it depresses me. I don't want to hear Christmas music yet. I don't want to see Christmas trees or festive decor. I'll be sick of it by the time Christmas actually arrives.

Call me Scrooge, but it's marketers who have ruined this holiday for me.

Bah-hum-bug. Pass the eggnog.

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 Education, Part 2

Graduate school takes up a lot of time.

That is not a complaint.

(It is, however, an excuse for why I haven't posted in a long while. And, if this post seems a bit simplistic, lopsided, or disjointed, it's only because my brain is taking a break from analyzing and synthesizing sources for a research paper--I've sifted through and skimmed over 50 articles and books in the last three days.)

So, yes, I'm having to work hard to maintain "A's" in my classes, but I love the challenge. In fact, this is how I thought undergrad would be. But, really, the last time I had to work this hard was in high school.

So, what does that mean? Does it mean I went to "easy" colleges (I attended several before graduating)? Does it mean I went to an academically competitive high school? (I didn't.)

Perhaps it just means that my teachers in high school adequately prepared me for the college environment, as teachers should. Granted, I was in "honors" and "college prep" classes. One of my English teachers, in particular, pushed and challenged me for most of my high school career. (Maybe it's no surprise that I'm an English major?)

College is not difficult to get in (depending on the institution, of course; there are always exceptions). But didn't it used to be? Colleges used to have standards. Kids spent weeks fretting over essays; they spent years making sure their names were on the honor roll. For some--at least at my high school--it seemed that they spent 12 years studying, just to get into college.

Online college classes (how I ultimately earned my bachelor's and the way I'm taking my master's classes) work great for me. A student takes the educational reins and, in some ways, teaches herself in an online class--you can learn as much or as little as you want; the instructor merely guides you, gives you deadlines, and grades your papers. I've been able to learn more in an online "classroom" than I ever did listening to a typical college lecture. Now a little over halfway through my first semester of grad school, I've realized that the greater expectations and the higher caliber of student I've encountered this time around is what I always expected--but rarely, if ever, saw--in an undergrad class, online or otherwise.

Which leads me to a question I've thought about many times: is college meant for everyone?

Should colleges "dumb down" their standards and curriculum so that they can let more students in?

In doing research for a paper a couple of months ago, I was reading articles in an online journal called OPEN WORDS: Access and English Studies. The journal is intended for higher education English instructors and, in particular, those who work with students with disabilities. The articles talked about ways instructors can work with/address these students. When I started reading OPEN WORDS, I assumed "disabilities" was referring to learning disabilities. In at least one article, though, the authors stated that the term can refer to a variety of things--it could be a physical handicap or an "invisible" disability--a psychological or mental disorder, for instance. It could be a chronic illness. It could be a language barrier. Anyone who strays from the norm.

Which leads to another question: what is the "norm"?

Not everyone should go to college. Not everyone needs to. But anyone who has the desire to learn should have the opportunity to do so, regardless of any disabilities. (I'm not talking financially here; I'm strictly referring to skill and drive.) Working in a university bookstore, I'm privy to some of the ins and outs of certain students' skills, and I've seen a number of students in college who are there merely because somebody else is paying for them to be there. They are unable (or unwilling?) to string basic sentences together, they are unaware of what is expected of them, and--perhaps, worst of all--they don't care.

While all students who want to attend college should have the opportunity, there still need to be standards of some sort. Students ("disability" or not) may need to consult a tutor or work with the professor out-of-class. Otherwise it can be disruptive for students who have been academically prepared for college to sit alongside other students (whether they're "differently-abled" or not) who cannot follow directions or listen, and who do not care.

I know the United States' public education system is broken. It works for some but not for others. Colleges have to cater to a wide variety of abilities and preparedness in their students. But standards tests are not the answer; it is clear that they do not work as intended.

If the system ever gets mended, perhaps colleges can challenge students in a different way? Maybe the colleges will stand for education and learning once again. Maybe they will stop emphasizing sports over education (maybe, but not likely...). Maybe they will stop following the dollar signs and look to the future of this country. This country--the world, actually--needs thinkers. If they aren't challenged in a meaningful way, students will not think. I've mentioned critical thinking in several posts before, but it can't be emphasized enough.

Many Americans' deep thinking abilities have begun to stagnate. Students should come out of an educational setting raring to think and do--to make a difference. College or not, it doesn't matter.

Think About Peace

Do you think about what's going on in the world?

Or do you live in a comfortable, safe place--white picket fence, blue sky, sunshine, cheap beer?

I'll be honest with you: I'm guilty--guilty of living in my own little world (and in my own little head). Right now I have so many personal issues to deal with that it's especially hard for me to even remember that there's a larger world that exists outside of myself. It's sad. And I know this. I need to be reminded. Not all of us do, but I do.

I am part of an online community called Twitter (you may have heard of it...? :-D). Today, like every Tuesday, is #AfghanistanTuesday. To me, it's a reminder to get out of my comfortable (or, in my case, uncomfortable) shell and think about what's going on in the rest of the world. What I especially like about Twitter is the connections I've made with people all over the world--I get perspectives from individuals from many other countries and read blogs and articles that my "tweeps" deem important or, at the very least, worthwhile. For me, #AfghanistanTuesday is not just about Afghanistan. It's about peace worldwide. It's about building a community of people from different backgrounds and cultures (albeit virtually) to share thoughts and ideas--to discuss and debate.

I don't understand why--and I'm paraphrasing a bumper sticker I once saw--people kill people to show that killing people is wrong. One of my tweeps remarked that fighting occurs because of greed. Government. Money. Oil. Corporations. Corruption. Greed. War.

I am not agreeing or disagreeing. I have too little knowledge to expand on the reasons for national and international conflict. I speak solely from a humanistic point of view. One of my favorite poems is "Norman Morrison" by Adrian Mitchell (if you go to the link, it's the second poem on the page). It was written in protest of the Vietnam War/Conflict, and it's a hauntingly powerful poem. I first read the poem nearly 18 years ago, and the lines I've never forgotten are "He burned. He suffered. / He died." I'm not making a judgment as to whether Norman Morrison was right or wrong to do what he did, but the poem draws awareness, even decades later, to what was happening in Vietnam--that burning women and children was wrong, that burning anybody is wrong. It seems to me that if we could all adopt a more humanistic approach to the world and those with differences, we could get closer--instead of further--from peace. Obviously that's a little too simplistic, but isn't it a start to acknowledge and value each other as human beings? To value each person's differences? Is it too much to ask?

In high school I had to write an essay with the following theme for a contest: "Peace Is More Than the Absence of War." I don't remember what I wrote (I know I didn't win); but I could add now that, yes, peace is more than the absence of war, but eliminating war would be a good place to start.

Wouldn't it?

Think About Libraries, Part 2

You've probably heard this phrase (or similar wording) before: If you're not outraged, you're not paying attention.

There are a lot of people not paying attention.

In the latest Toledo-Lucas County Public Library e-newsletter, the library director writes that the Toledo [Ohio] Public Library system "continues to see major increases in customer use. Last year, nearly 3 million visitors, more than any other Lucas County institution, visited one or more of our 19 library locations, while checking out over 6.9 million items." Access to books, computers, information in general, is essential to human development. Not all households have computers or internet access. Not all households have books.

Children who do not have early access to books start falling behind in their formal education before they even start school. According to the National Institute for Literacy: The Partnership for Reading, by age three, children should be able to recognize books by their covers, they should pretend to read books, and they should understand how to hold books and how to turn their pages ("print awareness"). They should understand what words are. Even when children are only a few weeks old, they benefit from being read aloud to. Those first few years of a child's life are critical for learning to read. When children are read to often and in a positive environment, reading becomes a pleasant experience. Children learn about print, words, "book language," and the world. It's also important for young children to see others reading--newspapers, magazines, books. It helps them grasp the significance of reading. And reading IS significant.

If parents or guardians do not have access to books or if they cannot read, the children are the ones who suffer. Many libraries offer programs that can help. Or, at the very least, it costs nothing for a parent to take a child to the library. For this reason, libraries are one of the most important public institutions in this country.

But here's the thing: "Although demand and usage is high, unfortunately since 2001 state funding for public libraries has continued to drop, prompting TLCPL [Toledo-Lucas County Public Library] to spend less on materials...."

The TLCPL e-newsletter goes on to tell about the job search and computer skills programs that are available for FREE at the main branch library. This career service is highlighted with one patron's personal story. Read her story, and you'll see that public libraries clearly make a difference.

And if we're not doing something to make a positive difference (directly or indirectly) in someone's life, what are we here for?

Are you outraged yet?

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On a semi-related note, I highly recommend the book Readicide: How Schools Are Killing Reading and What You Can Do About It by Kelly Gallagher. I read it a couple of years ago and consider it one of the most important books I've ever read. Check it out at your local library!