Squeaky shoes and new adventures!

As hard as it is for me to believe, it’s back-to-school time where we live.

It seems earlier than ever this year. Even the dogwood leaves are still green.

The streets in our neighborhood have been full of school bus drivers, practicing their skills at the essential art of blocking traffic.

The football stadium up the road is sporting a new coat of paint on the bleachers while last year’s crop of artificial turf waits expectantly and crows bob energetically in a fountain at Kudzu.

I’ll even bet that guy is skipping around the office supply place on TV, singing, “It’s the most wonderful time of the year!”

I used to think it really was the most wonderful time of the year. I loved going back to school.

And, even though I’m letting my hair grow at the moment and I wear shoes as rarely as possible, especially squeaky, slippery ones, there’s still part of my non-conscious calendar that has required a bit of reassurance that skipping those particular rituals will be okay.

(I had considerably less trouble talking myself out of the three little plaid dresses from Sears!)

I did, however, invest in some updated make-up, which actually has to do with the prospect of being out of school (again!) in the forseeable future and the need for some photographs.

And, frankly, I’ve kind of solved the whole back-to-school thing by just deciding to stay there and not really contemplating being “done,” at least in a big picture sort of way.

Yesterday, I had a conversation with a friend about learning.

Well, it started out having to do with covering chair cushions and moved on from there to the science of learning which, as it happens, I know a bit more about than actual upholstery.

I was reminded of my studies in Neuro-Linguistic Programming, also known as the psychology of excellence. It is, in many ways, learning about learning and it’s a really big subject.

A subject which involved a bit of book shelf excavation. I found what I was hunting for in a little volume called Principles of NLP. (Mine is the old, tattered, yellowed edition from 1996 but the link, above, is for a shiny, new, updated version in case you’re interested.)

In a section titled Behavior to Capability, authors Joseph O’Connor and Ian McDermott explore the question of how behaviors become skills.

The short answer is practice!!!

The slightly longer answer involves the four stages of learning a skill. I’m going to let our talented teachers take over in their own voices for a bit:

Learning a skill goes through four stages. Think of some intentional skill that you have acquired in the course of your life — driving, riding a bicycle or reading — and see how it fits into this scheme. You start from unconscious incompetence. In this state, not only can you not do it, you have never tried. You don’t even know that you don’t know.

Then you start to do it. At first, although it is part of your behaviour, you are not very skilled. This is the stage of conscious incompetence. You know enough to know you are not very good and it takes a lot of your conscious attention. This stage is uncomfortable, but it is also when you are learning the most.

Next you reach the stage of conscious competence. You can do it, you have reached the capability level, but it still takes a lot of your attention.

Lastly, if you persevere, you reach the stage of unconscious competence, when you do it easily without thinking. It has become streamlined and habitual, and is taken over by the unconscious part of your mind. Beyond this stage is mastery — but that is another book!

Here’s the big message for this moment in time… There are a lot of things I don’t know much about yet. My new Instant Pot. Adding darks and lights to faces! My new cell phone. Upholstery. Most of what Bill does at work, all day, every day.

I do know a lot about learning.

And knowing that — knowing what it looks like and feels like and what helps it to happen — is a big part of the reason that my friend has four chairs in her house that she’s excited about, even though we needed to do still more learning along the way.

It’s also what we should be teaching our kids. And all the folks around us.

Not the answers to the standardized tests but how to tap into the part of them that already knows how to learn.

How to have confidence in their ability to keep learning.

Once upon a time Sally, Dick & Jane was hard. There are moments when getting my paint brushes to cooperate is hard. I’m still trying to figure out the rosary thing. Let’s don’t even talk about head shots.

Except to say that learning is familiar even when what I’m learning is totally new.

If you have a story like this, tell it. The future is counting on you!

And one more word on new adventures from my friends at The West Wing.

Oh, and the crows… symbolic in some traditions of life magic and mysteries. Also intelligence, flexibility, and destiny!

 

 

 

Ready For Another Go!

I took a course in Philosophy once.

Thirty years or so ago.

I wanted to love it.

Our professor loved it and I thought him a miracle of wisdom and kindliness.

I wanted to know what he knew. To glimpse what he loved.

In that moment, though, I did not love philosophy.

My mind, raised as it had been by mostly modernist world views, wondered alternately how we as humans could have been in a place when we did not know this or that and how we might ever have questioned thus or so.

In my defense, I was also consumed at the time with the seemingly more urgent matters of baby Greek, putting groceries on the table, and a document we Presbyterian types refer to as the Book of Order.

Lately, I have begun to expect that the mere mortal intellects among us cease to be philosophical somewhere around the age of four or five and, if we are lucky, find ourselves ready for another go at it somewhere on the far side of fifty.

Which might suggest that we wonder a bit about the usefulness of conventional American Kindergarten and many of the survival skills we take for granted in our world, though that is, perhaps, an issue for a different day.

Another professor of mine said much the same thing when he called to us to be poets. If you don’t know Walter Brueggemann, there’s an episode of The West Wing that covers this nicely. I think it’s the one about the late night flight to Portland.

In any event, I found myself in a philosophical mode this morning.

I started out pissed.

Actually, I started out tired but, in my experience, tired often leads to pissed.

In this case, the immediate cause appeared to be Luther.

The same Luther who went out, with the four-footed girls, for his last stroll around the back forty about 11:00 last night.

I knew, when he barked at precisely 6:45 this morning, that he had no urgent personal needs. He simply wanted to go lay outside on the cool, damp ground and feel the world come alive.

Now, I’m not opposed to such a wish, in principle. On this particular morning, though, it coincided with a long night full of two paintings clamoring for my attention and nowhere near enough sleep.

Luther, however, has not yet developed a neurological circuit for, “I’ve heard your message and the answer is, ‘No.'”

I caved, reluctantly, justified by the other relevant factor that Bill’s shoulder hurts and he hadn’t slept well either.

About 20 minutes and a brief visit to my paintings later, I sat curled under a favorite quilt in my magic chair with a steaming cup of lemon water in my hands, listening to the birds sing the garden awake.

All the while, I fumed.

“Rotten, no-good dog! When is he going to learn?”

“He’s never going to learn if I keep caving in.”

“How am I supposed to get anything done today if I lost another hour’s worth of sleep?”

Feel free to fill in some more blanks, if you like. You get the drift.

Suddenly, though, I heard two of the more philosophical voices in my current universe warming up in my head.

“Expectations are the root of suffering,” said Qigong master, Chunyi Lin.

And, with a throaty California sort of accent, “In this moment, nothing is wrong,” from actor, author, and teacher, Samantha Bennett.

Frankly, it’s taken me a while to get on board with Chunyi. And, at the risk of plunking a detour in the midst of your own philosophical journey, I’m going to leave you with that one to chew on in your own way.

Sam has been a bit easier for me to wrap my head around.

It has a lot to do with here and now. And with a bit of relief from the shoulda-woulda-coulda routine that calls us to the past or the future, neither of which is actually happening.

Except in the sense that it’s really all kind of the same and Dave was right about time!

That, however, is a bit ambitious for morning, so I decided to notice, at least for a moment, that I was warm and safe. There were crows playing in the garden and roses peeking through the dawn. My world was filled with the happy scent of lemon. And there were three big dogs snoring gently at my feet.

All of whom I love.

Usually.

When I took my glasses off and squinted just so, I could almost see Ben grinning.