Learning is Change

4: The Lawn and The Car #LifeWideLearning16

I used to mow the lawn every week from spring to fall. Only the front or back half, though. The other half was a brother’s responsibility. To pass the time as I turned my shoes green, I would listen to music and sing-along. Or, more accurately, scream along.

I sang those Weezer or The Vandals songs as loud as I possibly could. I thought the mower blades covered up the noise, but they only helped our neighbors to know when my serenade was going to commence. In that time and space, it was just me and the music and the mower. I was able to get out all of the stress of the week while walking back and forth across the large southeast Ohio lawn.

Later, this scream-singing moved to my car. When I got my driver’s license, I would often just drive so that I could listen to “Say it Ain’t So” or the Rent soundtrack at full volume. At some point, I thought that I would grow out of this. Nearly two decades later, I am still listening to Paper Bag by Fiona Apple and pounding on the steering wheel.

I do not care what the people in the other cars are thinking. I don’t care if they see me crying at the crescendo of Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels). This is my fortress. This is the place where I go to be alone.

Unfortunately, it is also the place I now go to listen to podcasts and have phone calls and get really stressed out about traffic. So much of the time, my solitude isn’t so alone. I’m connected to so many different things going on out in the world of work or my home life. I get pinged about tweets or meeting reminders or text messages from my wife.

That is when the “airplane mode” is for more than just when I am flying at 30,000 feet. It is also for when I need to scream.

It is for when I need to put on a song that I know by heart, and make dangerous decisions with my vocal cords. It is when Matt and Kim make the Daylight feel okay because I can’t look directly at the sun. It is for when I need to just let Table for Glasses spill all over me and not look at the mess it might make.

My fortress is mobile and has four wheels. It the thing that lets me forget all about the outside world… except for the driving part. I try not to forget about that.

3: Little Ben #LifeWideLearning16

I have a vivid memory of digging in the dirt underneath my grandmother’s deck, looking for arrowheads and brittle rocks that I could break with my fingers. The house was on the top of a hill and the land all around was covered with tall trees. I felt like an archeologist, or whatever my 7 year old self would call putting together dinosaur bones.

While I was digging, I would imagine all sorts of things. I would dream up situations where the arrowheads would imbue me with magic or lead to solving mysteries. I would have hours to think of these things. On my own. With no parents or brothers to interrupt my imaginings.

This time does not exist at 32, with 3 children of my own. I cannot just play and make believe something into existence. This lack of time would have been anathema to my 7 year old self. Without robust internal dialogue between imaginary characters or seeing every handheld object as a symbol of my future greatness, I think little Ben would be pretty disappointed.

I’d like to think that he would like my kids though. He would certainly be impressed at just how much they can do on computers and tablets. He would also like how much they write and think and dream on their own. While they may have more shiny distractions from their imaginations than I ever did, they still play and pretend. They still open up their minds to things that aren’t real except for them. 7 year old Ben would have been right at home.

I think that is part of imagination legacy. I have left it to my kids, and it is up to them to keep it going, to nurture it by digging down deep into the dirt to see what they can find.

2. Always check the bag. #LifeWideLearning16

I am by no means a good cook. I mean, I can make some decent french toast or fry an egg if need be, but I do not, even in the best circumstances, qualify as competent in the kitchen. Mostly, this is a result in a lack of interest and the incredible abundance for takeout and fast food in the general vicinity.

It is the latter reason, however, that my answer to this question hinges upon.

You see, as I am the one who picks up the vast majority of takeout for myself and our family, I happen to also be the one in charge of ensuring that we receive the correct items that we order and subsequently pay for in any given transaction. Although I am in charge of this ritual, I wouldn’t say I learn very well from the habitual nature of it.

Often, I forget to check the bag(s) for accuracy. Often, I will arrive home only to realize that a key component of our meal has not made it and I am forced to go back and rectify the error. “Check the bag” is something I have learned and relearned dozens of times at this point. And yet, whenever it comes time to trust someone at the restaurant to do their job, I look into their eyes and I become distracted by the little compact we have just made: I give you money; you give me the exact food I requested from your menu.

This doesn’t generally work out so well for me. Continually, my trust is ill-placed. Continually, I am disappointed to find missing items or incorrectly heard orders. And so I keep on learning to check the bag. In fact, I congratulate myself whenever I successfully catch an error as I am sitting in my car in the parking lot, rummaging through the various foodstuffs.

But, a little part of me is sad when this happens too. It means a little less of my words were heard, and a little less of the things that mattered to my family were taken into consideration. So, sometimes I will tempt fate on purpose. Sometimes I will remember to check the bag and stop short just because I want the universe to have done me a solid. I want to arrive home triumphant and righteous in trusting the restaurant employee.

It is a small thing, sure. But, maybe I keep learning this lesson because I want to unlearn it eventually. I want the rules of call and response to be followed. I want to receive what I ask for. I want it to be a fair trade and for neither to take advantage of the other.

And so I struggle with anyone who hands me “the bag.”

Will I trust you and learn one lesson, or will I check the bag and relearn another?

1. What will you do less of this year to be happier? #LifeWideLearning16

I wait to tell my wife about my extra-curricular work commitments (conferences, after-hours PD sessions, etc.) until the last minute. It has never served me particularly well, but I continue to do it because it feels easier. It feels like I am saving her the stress of knowing she will have to take care of our three kids on her own. It doesn’t actually save her the stress, though.

The stress is still there. It is just compacted into the shorter amount of time I have allotted, which means we have less time to problem solve or come up with unique solutions. It gives us less time to work as a team. But, I still do it anyway.

I think it is probably because I’m lazy at heart. Even though I create a lot of things and want to be productive at all times. I am still the kid who wanted to watch one more Saved By the Bell Episode before starting my homework. I’m still the one who, without intervention from my kids, will not leave the house for the entirety of the weekend.

And so I wait. Until it is almost too late. Until I am forced to by the simple fact that if I don’t say anything, I won’t be able to make the time commitment happen at all. Or, at least I used to.

I think I’ve been burned enough by the waiting to opt for an alternative this time around. Let’s call it, “not waiting.” In 2016, I would like to “not wait” quite so much. I would like to be outspoken, and perhaps even a bit proud about the things I am working on and the time I am giving to others. While it may be more painful initially, I believe that this “not waiting” will have a tremendous impact upon my life.

Not only will I be spreading the stress out more evenly, but I might even choose to make fewer commitments as a result of truly knowing how it will impact the other people in my family. I might better understand how to prioritize or create time for other things when the open and honest conversation is happening all of the time.

I’m sure “not waiting” and clear communication has lots of implications elsewhere in the world of teaching and learning, but for some reason, I just can’t put my finger on it…